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Chapter 3
I began by describing the broadened scope and increased multi-functionality of peacekeeping operations - from the deployment of 'classical' deterrent forces during the Cold War period through to the current complexities of multidimensional peace support operations. This chapter will move on to explore the implications of contemporary forms of peacekeeping for other actors. First I summarise the arguments for and against military involvement in humanitarian and reconstruction assistance. I then move on to consider the structures and guidelines that have evolved in an attempt to regularise and institutionalise the often problematic relationship between military and civilian players.
The most obvious purpose of a military force is to provide security. In order to do that, however, forces need to gain access into an area. Without resort to overwhelming force, access to populations is likely to remain dependant on the 'consent' of combatants (Chong in Milliken, 2003, p.206). Civil-military coordination and the direct engagement of military forces in humanitarian assistance are ways of gaining local consent which can in turn generate a level of reciprocal protection for a military force. According to the most recent British Army manual on Peace Support Operations (PSO), 'consent promoting techniques that address attitudes and perceptions directly are of critical importance in PK (peacekeeping), and contribute to long-term success in all PSO' (British Army, 1998, p.7-1). It can be argued then that 'winning the hearts and minds of the local population' (British Army, 1995, p.2-3) is an integral element of any peacekeeping mission. Given that the implementation of humanitarian activities by military personnel is one of the most effective ways of 'winning hearts and minds', a level of encroachment into the territory of humanitarian actors can therefore be seen as a necessary means to an end.
There are also strong technical arguments for a military role in humanitarian assistance. Military forces, with their 'can-do' mentality (Weiss, 1995, p.163), are generally well trained, disciplined, self-supporting and highly organised for operations that require a rapid response. They are often able to transport large volumes of emergency supplies at short notice; have well developed and highly effective communication systems; can be virtually self-sufficient if need be; are well stocked with the sort of resources often in short supply in emergencies; come equipped with their own acute medical care facilities, which can also be put to use to serve local populations; and are skilled in areas useful in emergency situations such as engineering, logistical support, mine clearance, etc. (Sharp et al, 1994, p.387; Pugh, 1998, p.342; Weiss, 1995, p.163; Cuny in Gordenker and Weiss, 1991, p.57). Even the majority of the humanitarian community would generally agree that in situations of dire need, where access for humanitarian agencies is denied, there is a role for the military in providing life-saving assistance (Dahrendorf, 2003, p.41). In other words, military involvement is generally acceptable as a 'last resort' (Wilkinson in Ramsbotham and Woodhouse, 2000, p.75), when no other agencies are either present or capable of acting.
Problems arise when the military becomes involved in humanitarian activities alongside other actors - not therefore as a last resort. Whilst there is no overall stance or commonly articulated position amongst humanitarian agencies on the question of military involvement, it could be said that the general attitude is one of reticence and resentment (Slim, 2002, p.2). The arguments against military engagement in the humanitarian sphere tend to divide into two distinct categories.
The first line of argument is directed at a strategic level - questioning why the military should want to become engaged in humanitarian work. Humanitarian motives may well lie behind a military intervention, but it is generally more likely that they rank alongside or below political, strategic and national interests. The report of a meeting with NGOs on military interventions in response to human rights crises concludes that:
'NGOs are inherently suspicious of official motives, and this lies behind their sceptical attitude towards military interventions that are justified in human rights terms … most NGOs are reluctant to accept at face value government claims that an intervention is for altruistic purposes' (The International Council on Human Rights Policy, 2002, p.28)
It is the interests behind military intervention and the perception of those interests by real or potential enemies that often fuel NGO anxiety (Slim, 2003b).
Many agencies would argue that working alongside military forces, with questionable intentions, can compromise the cornerstone principles of their own humanitarian action - humanity, impartiality and neutrality. If an intervening force blurs the distinction between military and civil spheres by becoming involved in humanitarian activities, then the worry is that the perceived partiality and lack of neutrality of the military force may be 'infectious', thereby compromising the independence of humanitarian agencies. This can have serious repercussions for the longer-term commitments of agencies who will likely remain once military forces have moved on. The 'contagious effect' (Studer, 2001, p.374) of military involvement in humanitarian assistance can have implications for the security of an agency whose staff safety is often precariously dependant on their perceived adherence to these basic humanitarian principles. By simply operating in the same space and apparently carrying out the same types of activities, humanitarian agencies often fear that they will be perceived as guilty by association with their military counterparts (Cuny in Gordenker and Weiss, 1991, p.76).
Of course, it gives a false impression to describe humanitarian agencies or the humanitarian community as though they were one homogenous group. To stereotype agencies and individuals in this way all too easily allows them to exclusively claim the humanitarian high ground (Weiss, 1995, p.170). There are considerable differences in approach and in the adherence to principles amongst agencies. They may use the same language but often to describe very different positions (Slim in Gordon and Toase, 2001, p.129). Neutrality in particular has been widely abandoned by all but the most 'classic' of humanitarians (1). Even when some semblance of neutrality is desirable it may not be realistic due to the frequent manipulation of humanitarian assistance (ibid., p.132). These differences are often forgotten or glossed over, however, when it comes to dealing with the military; and many unlikely alliances between humanitarian actors have been forged with suspicions of military motivations in common.
The second strand of opposition to military involvement in humanitarian programmes is focused at an operational or field level. Concerns centre not on why but how military forces carry out a humanitarian function. The military are traditionally thought to be highly centralised, hierarchical and task-driven in their approach (Flint in Gordon and Toase, 2001, p.246). These characteristics may serve them well in a war-fighting environment or when called upon to strictly enforce or keep the peace. But in a different context - when involved in a humanitarian role - they can make the military an uncomfortable partner for humanitarian agencies used to an entirely different working culture.
Humanitarian agencies often argue that military forces not only lack the correct collective psyche for humanitarian assistance, but also the necessary experience and expertise. Territorial arguments, framed to limit the involvement of the military, claim that soldiers are generally non-developmental and non-participatory in their approach. Their top-down approach to operations can discourage and inhibit a collective response that builds on local capacities (Cuny in Gordenker and Weiss, 1991, p.76). Slim (1997) writes that:
'The approach of most armies, in particular to infrastructure such as wells, schools and clinics, is to do something for people rather than with them, and not to think much about the long-term management implications of what they construct or repair' (p.135).
Military forces are accused of being costly, impacting negatively on local economies, undermining local cultures and values, creating dependency on external sources of assistance, and valuing short-term gains over longer-term goals of peace and stability. The high proportion of male soldiers to women and issues of poor racial diversity within forces only serve to compound civilian criticisms of the military (Williams, 1998, p.21). The short-term nature of military tours, and therefore the lack of institutional knowledge of local needs, priorities and culture, adds further to arguments questioning the appropriateness of military involvement (ibid., p.22).
Just as the humanitarian community should not be viewed as one homogenous group, neither should the military. Again, there are significant differences in the experiences and styles of different armies. Tamara Duffey's article (in Ramsbotham and Woodhouse, 2000) on cultural issues in peacekeeping argues that different approaches derive from the cultural origins of contributing nations, as well as their ability to adapt to different local cultural contexts. Some nations are better informed, trained and practised in this regard than others. Militaries have their own strengths and weaknesses. Richard Connaugton attributes the differences between US and UK/French approaches to the fact that the Americans lack 'the experience of policing an empire' (Connaughton, 2001, p.32). He describes the US fear of taking casualties, dating back to its involvement in Vietnam, and compounded by events in Somalia (as described in Chapter 1), as 'the body bag syndrome' (ibid., p.32). This aversion to casualties, he argues, makes the US an unsuitable player in peackeeping operations. Indeed, they are often seen conducting peackeeping tours in armoured vehicles, wearing helmets and body armour, and engaging in only minimal day-to-day contact with local people (Dowden, 2003, p.22).
Other nations, however, including the British, French and Canadians, are frequently praised for their peacekeeping abilities. Whilst the US, in the words of Siddiqui (2003), has a 'particular knack for escalating ordinary situations into Wild West shootouts' (pg.F1), other nations have developed ways of calming and defusing tensions through close contact with local populations. Dowden (2003), in his article with the give-away title, 'The Brits really are superior', puts British superiority over their American colleagues down to the UK experience in Northern Ireland and an increasingly sophisticated approach developed since. Describing the experiences of the British military in Northern Ireland, he writes:
'Although the IRA had not stopped shooting at them, the soldiers had learnt how to patrol without tangling with the locals. They had developed one extraordinary ability, an ability that defies the deepest instincts of any trained fighter: they did not always fire back when fired on' (p.21)
So far, this chapter has focused on the civilian view of military actors and their involvement in humanitarian activities. Descriptions of the military in this role are, to varying degrees, generally unflattering. This certainly reflects the fact that, whilst the military generally seeks to create synergy between civilian and military operations, humanitarian actors are more concerned with maintaining distance and thereby preserving their independence (Richmond, 2003, p.8). Military handbooks demonstrate this willingness with substantial chapters dedicated to ways of managing the civilian-military interface and promoting co-operation (British Army, 1995 and 1998; US Army, 1994).
It is also worth dwelling for a moment on military perceptions of civilian humanitarians (often lumped together under the heading of NGOs [2]), some of which are equally unflattering. Stereotypical perceptions of 'NGOs' include descriptions such as ill-disciplined, unfocused, poorly led, inefficient, overly subject to the whims of donors, and media driven (3). The increasing professionalism of the humanitarian sector (4) has gone some way to countering such stereotypes, but negative perceptions, some of which are no doubt justified, do still exist.
Given scepticism about the military's motives, its capacities, and the appropriateness of the 'military mind' for involvement in humanitarian and reconstruction, on the one hand; and, on the other, a partially negative military view of the professionalism of civilian humanitarians, it is unsurprising that co-ordination between the two has proved problematic. Operating so closely together, however, both parties to a large extent increasingly recognise the necessity of some form of co-operation.
The discipline of civil and military co-operation (CIMIC) represents an attempt to regularise and to some extent institutionalise good practice within this difficult relationship. CIMIC structures aim to 'facilitate dialogue, mutual awareness, exchange of information and requests by civilian fieldworkers for military logistical support' (Pugh, 2001, p.352). For military forces, CIMIC mechanisms have become an integral feature of peacekeeping doctrine. Particularly influential attempts at CIMIC in past operations include the US Civil-Military Operations Command Centre (CMOC) in Northern Iraq in 1991, and Civil Military Liaison Centres in Somalia, Rwanda and again in the Balkans (ibid., p.352).
Co-ordination of humanitarian operations is not a new problem and is complicated enough without the addition of a military presence. In his article on understanding and promoting co-ordination, Van Brabant (in Gordon and Toase, 2001) writes that:
'Although nobody is in principle against coordination, in practice effort to achieve coordinated action lead to irritation and frustration. Coordination efforts can quickly provoke institutional 'turf' wars' (p.141). Or to quote the popular saying amongst humanitarian practitioners - 'everybody wants co-ordination but nobody wants to be co-ordinated' (Kühne in Ottunu and Doyle, 2001, p.387).
Given the differences between the two parties, both ethically and operationally, it is no surprise then that CIMIC initiatives have been beset with problems. On the military side, one of the main problems is the lack of a clear and obvious focal point for co-ordination. Humanitarian agencies are a spectacularly diverse group representing a wide spectrum of interests and priorities - differing in size, structure, culture, and operational style. Even UN co-ordinating mechanisms, such as the designation of OCHA or another UN agency as lead focal point for co-ordination, have for the most part failed to solve the problem of how to effectively co-ordinate the often vast numbers of independent agencies operating in the humanitarian theatre. For the military, with its centralised and rigidly hierarchical structure, the body of humanitarian agencies can 'display a schizophrenic and amorphous nature' (Gordon, 2001, p.13), making 'NGOs unpredictable and even tempestuous partners' (Slim, 1997, p.128).
From a civilian humanitarian point of view, joint planning and the transfer of information is often hindered by military operational secrecy or security paranoia. This can be paralleled by differing degrees of humanitarian agency sensitivity and an unwillingness to disclose information that may be used for military intelligence purposes (Gordon, 2001, p.14). Consequently the trust and respect required for a healthy level of co-operation is hard to come by, and can be damaged by successive bad experiences of CIMIC in different conflict or post-conflict environments.
Another problem for civilian humanitarians is the timing and level of CIMIC initiatives. Humanitarian actors are not typically involved in joint planning with the military until the implementation phase (Pugh, 2001, p.351), denying civilian humanitarians the opportunity to influence political strategy at the crucial design stage. And, whilst CIMIC Centres or CIMOCs may be useful for sharing information at an operational level, they are largely low-level vehicles which are rarely paralleled at headquarters level to allow effective joint humanitarian-military priority setting (Gordon, 2001, p.15).
The most significant problem perhaps that civilian humanitarians encounter with CIMIC initiatives, however, is a creeping sense of co-option or coercion disguised as co-ordination. Attempts at an 'integration' of efforts can easily be perceived as 'encroachment' (idid., p.8). Past experiences of CIMIC have left civilian humanitarians suspicious that co-ordination represents 'a hegemonic approach to civil-military relations that subordinates humanitarian action to military necessity' (Pugh, 2001, p.346).
The issue seems to be one of boundaries. Civilian humanitarians need to exploit co-ordination mechanisms positively in order to manage their 'separateness' from military actors (Gordon, 2001, p.1). Interaction of some kind is unavoidable and, if managed carefully, can help to preserve not blur differences. Studer (2001), in her guidelines for ICRC engagement in civil-military relations, presents three policies with which the ICRC has experimented in recent years: isolationism, which she describes as an untenably aloof position; proselytism, described as equally unrealistic; and finally the 'third way' of ecunimism (Studer, 2001, pp.384-386). This last policy is the preferred option - a pragmatic choice falling 'halfway between "damage control" and "constructive engagement"' (ibid, p.386). Ecunimism as a positive choice aims to allow the ICRC the opportunity to at least influence the work of the military without compromising its own identity. 'Complimentarity' is the desired end-state in this instance (ibid., p.386).
The ICRC is not alone in its efforts to better manage the civil-military relationship and so enhance co-ordination efforts. UNHCR, for example, has published a set of guidelines on the subject: a handbook for the military on humanitarian operations (Wolfson and Wright, 1995a); and a parallel training module for its own staff and associated personnel on working with the military (Wolfson and Wright, 1995b). While both set out the possibilities for co-operation between the two parties, outlining areas where the civilian and humanitarian spheres comfortably overlap, they are also clear on the limits of that overlap, stressing the need to preserve the integrity of the humanitarian mandate (ibid.).
More recently, OCHA's Military and Civil Defence Unit (MCDU), has launched a set of guidelines on the humanitarian use of military and civil defence assets in complex emergencies (MCDU, 2003). The guidelines, described as generic and non-binding, set out the main principles, concepts, tasks and responsibilities of the players in a complex emergency. Again, the guidelines stress the primacy of humanitarian principles and suggest clear limits for the use of military assets as a last resort where there are no civilian alternatives. Initiatives such as these accept the inevitability of close civil-military relations and seek to exploit the positive opportunities of co-operation and complimentarity.
Like it or not, the multifunctionality of today's peace support operations, as described in the previous chapter, is bringing military actors into closer contact with civilian agencies. Despite efforts on both sides to institutionalise best practice in civil-military engagement, humanitarian actors for the most part remain suspicious and cynical. In the heavily politicised environment of post-September 11th Afghanistan, agencies are struggling to position themselves vis-à-vis the counter-terror agenda (Stoddard, 2003, p.3), creating additional tension with military forces. The next chapter will describe the contemporary environment in Afghanistan, setting the scene for the introduction of the PRTs.
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