How Democratic is Democracy?

How Democratic is Democracy?

Spain's 'Real Democracy Now' movement - Opinion - Al Jazeera English

Spain's 'Real Democracy Now' movement - Opinion - Al Jazeera English

Manuel Castells en #acampadabcn (I)

Manuel Castells - respected communications and sociology professor speaks to acampadabcn

Carga Policial Plaza Cataluña.flv

Análisis del #15M con José Luis Sampedro - Spanish Revolution (English S...

“No es que el PP haya subido espectacularmente. El PSOE se ha hundido espectacularmente”

On the Front Line: Fighting Corruption in Palestine

Egypt to open Gaza border crossing - Middle East - Al Jazeera English

Egypt to open Gaza border crossing - Middle East - Al Jazeera English

A West Bank anachronism | Ahmad Samih Khalidi | Comment is free | The Guardian

A West Bank anachronism | Ahmad Samih Khalidi | Comment is free | The Guardian

History and Heartbreak: The Letters of Rosa Luxemburg | The Nation

History and Heartbreak: The Letters of Rosa Luxemburg | The Nation

Catherine Mills, “The more a health system is free, the more efficient and effective it is”

Catherine Mills, “The more a health system is free, the more efficient and effective it is”

Facebook update: Switch to renewable energy now | Greenpeace International

Facebook update: Switch to renewable energy now | Greenpeace International

Spire Demo - Ireland Palestine Solidarity Campaign (www.ipsc.ie)

Ireland Palestine Solidarity Campaign (www.ipsc.ie)

PalFest - Festival celebrating Palestinian and International literature, West Bank

PalFest 2011 Opens Tomorrow!


PALFEST 2011 OPENS TOMORROW
5 DAYS / 6 CITIES / 5 UNIVERSITIES

PalFest 2011 kicks off tomorrow. We have an amazing programme lined up and everything is free and open to the public. We're traveling through the country so, if you're in Palestine, the chances are we'll be near you one day this week. Come and join us.

And if you're not in Palestine, you can follow us on Twitter and Facebook - we'll be publishing author blogs, photos and videos every day!




FULL PROGRAMME

April 15
1 DAY CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL
10am Lajee Centre, BETHLEHEM, Aida Camp

April 15th
7.30pm African Community Society, JERUSALEM

April 16
7.30pm Arab Cultural Association, NAZARETH

April 17
Workshops with an Najah University
7pm Sheikh Qassem Café, NABLUS

April 18
Workshops with BirZeit University
Workshops with Bethlehem University

8pm Friends Meeting House, RAMALLAH
Performance by the Palestine National Orchestra

April 19
Workshops with al Quds University
8pm Khalil Sakakini Centre, RAMALLAH

April 20
7.30pm Solidarity Tent, SILWAN
OPEN MIC NIGHT

Arna´s Children Trailer

The Sharp End of Hebron - By Issa Amro

Issa Amro is a Palestinian resident of Hebron. He studied engineering at the Hebron University and was one of the non-violent political activists key to re-opening the Hebron University following its closure by the Israeli army. Below is an article that gives a clear description of the situation in Hebron and the roots of the tension in the city.
_______________________________________________________________________

Hebron’s problems began after 1967. The Israeli army worked hard to
create the Kiryat Arba settlement, and after that the settlers and
soldiers started living inside Hebron, transforming it into an
occupied city. We started to feel it when they created settlements in
the heart of the city. In the early 1980s settlers started to come
from all over the world, moving into our houses and markets. They
treated Palestinians as slaves and animals, fourth-class humans, only
there to be taken advantage of.

All this was not so obvious until 1994 and the Ibrahimi Mosque
massacre, when a fanatic settler killed 29 Muslims. After that we were
punished. The apartheid policy was employed more obviously, with the
closure of Shuhada Street and many local businesses. The army divided
Ibrahimi Mosque and confiscated the gardens.

My resistance efforts began in 2003. The army had closed Hebron
University when I was a student there. They locked the gates and told
us to “go to the streets. You will have no future here.” This made my
decision. I would struggle, in a nonviolent way.

I was fortunate to be guided by a specialist in activism. With him I
discussed strategic planning and a methodology for how to re-open our
university. One day we just broke in, opened the doors, started the
classes and began to study by ourselves. The army arrived shortly
after, so we camped out in a sit-in tent that we had bought. We called
our international friends and media. We explained to everybody the
importance of our university to us. After six months, it was finally
re-opened.

That has given me the encouragement to continue ever since. I
understand when Palestinians feel that resistance is hopeless. The
Israeli army does not distinguish between unarmed demonstrators and
armed enemies. They have one law, which is against protest in every
form. To oppose them is to provoke a killing machine.

I do not criticise any form of resistance. It is our right. I follow
the nonviolent path for two main reasons. Firstly, I want our
community to remain peaceful. As Ghandi said, using violence to be rid
of an oppressor “establishes a pattern of violence.” This is not our
way. Secondly, through nonviolence we can achieve massive
participation from whole communities rather than individuals.

Nonviolence is dangerous for the occupation. How do I know? Between
April 2010 and now, I have been arrested no less than ten times. This
tells me that our methods are working. The army is not trained to deal
with nonviolence, as the Egyptian authorities were unable to handle
the youth movements. It is only a matter of time, and will, before we
see a similar result here. When I am arrested they try to paint me as
a terrorist. I have been accused of attacking policemen and settlers,
of stealing guns, and of other crimes which fit their image of
Palestinians. I am never discouraged by being arrested, but it is very
difficult for my wife and family. We all know that my safety is
endangered by my activities.

The army has a new crime to accuse us of: “incitement.” It is such a
vague term that it can be applied to anything, especially protest. It
carries the threat of prison time and was used to jail Bi’lin
organiser Abdallah Abu Rahmah in 2009. The creation of this law
implicates the highest Israeli authorities and the legal system in
allowing, even promoting, institutional racism. The law itself is
racist. If incitement means anything, why not use it against Israeli
Foreign Minister Avigdor Lieberman, who talks about killing people,
rather than me, for exercising my right to peaceful demonstration? We
see racist laws every day in Hebron, where we are under Martial Law,
and our settler neighbours are under Israeli Civic Law.

We look to international leaders to help our struggle against
settlements, and we were shocked by the recent American veto (of a UN
resolution condemning them). US leaders announce that they are against
them, but when they are tested we find that they are still blindly
supporting Israel.

So we must do it ourselves. I represent the Youth Against Settlements
group in Hebron, which includes the Tel Rumeida project, empowering
families to deal with the daily effects of settlers. Our work is
preventing the quiet transfer of Palestinians from their homes and is
a barrier against the beatings, theft, and rights abuses so common
here.

Yet we face a complex and determined opposition. The Israeli
government is clever in using settlers. They are trying to say that
Hebron is important for religious history, but what I hear from
settlers is that it is a step towards taking Nablus, Ramallah, and the
entire West Bank. Hebron is a frontline. If they succeed here in their
campaign of ethnic cleansing under the banner of religion, they will
move on to new goals.

But I am very optimistic about the future. Our Open Shuhada Street
demonstrations attract thousands. Our movement is growing, and we will
soon have a new Youth Against Settlements branch in Ramallah. We need
Palestinians from all towns and villages to come and lend us their
support. On the settlement issue we are all united and our youth
activism movements are developing. International boycott campaigns
against settlements must continue as they are already effective.

It is only a matter of time before we see our own mass nonviolent
uprising, as in the other Arab countries. A new generation is coming
together to reject the violence and injustice of settlements. I
believe it will happen next year.

Issa Amro is a lifelong Hebron resident. He is an electrical engineer,
human rights activist and community leaders. He has founded several
youth projects and initiatives

Aristide Returns - From The Nation

Former President Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s triumphant return to Haiti after seven years of forced exile in South Africa signals a new stage in the Caribbean country’s popular and democratic struggle just as a resurgent right wing prepares to lay electoral claim—for the first time ever—to the country’s presidency in a controversial US-backed presidential poll on Sunday.

Irish Labour Watch - New Website

I have to admit I don't have high hopes for Labour's performance over the next few years. It is good to know however, that there are less cynical observers making a real attempt to keep them to their word. This new website proposes to track Labour's performance and measure the extent to which they stick to their word / completely sell out during the coalition. The most interesting will be whether the law of averages takes its toll and Labour follow the well-worn path of almost all junior coalition partners into the murky neverland with no where to sit down!

The Pipe - Official Trailer - Hopefully it will be screened in Barcelona soon.

Democracy Now!-March 1, 2011

"Behind the Arab revolt is a word we dare not speak" by John Pilger

I am impatient to know how today's Arab revolutions will be understood in the history books of the future. Forcing an imaginary retrospective would help to shake off the constrained lexicon the powerful of today have imposed on our debates. But as ever, John Pilger has already done so!

Labour: What to do what to do!?

I see a couple of scenarios for Labour, and neither is that promising.

Scenario 1

They enter a coalition government with Fine Gael in which case they will probably end up compromising on what are supposed to be their founding principles - all in the name of 'the recovery'. In return they will take much of the flack - which junior coalition members generally end up with - as the new government oversees the cuts demanded by the IMF and the EU. 

Labour, in this role, will scupper the only chance for consolidating left-right politics in Ireland. In case it hasn't been drummed home enough yet: Fianna Fail and Fianna Gael represent the same side of the coin - they are both right-wing parties.

With one in government and the other in opposition, more or less since Ireland first won its independence, there has been no proper policy debate, and in the last 20 years, no one representing any alternative to neo-liberalism has been capable of grabbing the electorate's imagination.

With Labour undoubtedly compromising so much to provide a ‘national’ government with Fine Gael, and with Fianna Fail, Sinn Fein and the independents so seriously out numbered, there is no real chance that a left-right discourse might become the new fulcrum for policy debate. 

Labour will end up seat-less like the Greens. Ireland will be consigned to a perpetually self-defeating political debate. Fianna Fail will emerge rejuvenated on the back of Fianna Gael’s inability to produce any useful changes. At the next elections they will oppose all each of Fine Gael’s TDs vehemently, but not their core principles. And we might just fall for it, again. 

Scenario 2

Labour refuses to join in a national government and chooses instead to buttress the chorus of real opposition in the Dail. Along with Sinn Fein and ULA, they might just manage to construct a new and sturdy foundation for left-wing politics in Ireland.

Fine Gael will drum up enough support among independents to form a government but genuine alternatives presented by an ideologically coherent opposition will attract curious new voters. FF will be drowned out and lose their grip on family politics forever! Fine Gael will be exposed as Fianna Fail in different suits - and presiding as such over some very hard times for Ireland, will soon lose the support of the electorate.

Whether or not Labour join the coalition the policy outcome is likely to remain the same - Enda Kenny says he will attempt to negotiate lower lending rates for Ireland, but having already helped FF to pass the IMF-drafted budget through the parliament, FG have no intention of trying to renegotiate these basic conditions.

There are no plans for any major soul-searching for the new Irish government. The next few years will not be easy, for any one. But Fine Gael’s true colours will have shone through – they will attempt to clean up Fianna Fail’s mess with even less useful policies than Fianna Fail came up with.

When they are finally voted out they will have no choice but to join with the remaining Fianna Fail TDs just to survive in numbers. Ireland will join the rest of Europe and make choices between mainstream left and right parties. We may even start by asking not what can we do for the economy but what can the economy do for us! The answers should then be at least some way discernable between real alternatives.

This is unlikely to happen however. As with the Greens and their fatal headfirst dive into coalition with Fianna Fail in 2008, it’s just too tantalizing. Labour leader Eamon Gilmore already sees his role as tempering the policies of FG and his enthusiasm for coalition has been palpable throughout the electoral campaign.

He needs to ask himself, however: did John Gormley ever really temper the decisions of Fianna Fail? He may have if he had known about any of them in advance, you might say! But what happened to the Progressive Democrats after their coalition with FF, what happened to the Greens? The phrase complete decimation is not an exaggeration here. While it is probable that Labour members would become extremely frustrated at another term on opposition benches, and while they would need to work on convincing many people they are not just a protest party, Labour needs to seriously consider not going into coalition. 

"Learn Spanish with The Independent"

The Independent in the UK have made these podcasts available for people learning Spanish - and they work!! GENIAL!

"When Irish Eyes Are Crying" - Vanity Fair March 2011

This article gives a taste of what the view of Ireland is from the uninterested outside. It contains less of the petty finger-pointing and more matter-of-fact recognition of the general ineptitude. It does, however, completely fail to question the structural aspect; 'capitalists destroyed capitalism'- but is it really destroyed? Is the crisis in Ireland not very simply one of the built-in features of capitalism?

How did Egypt become so corrupt? - Inside Story - Al Jazeera English

How did Egypt become so corrupt? - Inside Story - Al Jazeera English

"Placing Mistakes in Perspective: The Left and the Iranian Revolution"

Mary Jane O’Leary

IBEI BARCELONA

Masters in International Relations

Islam and Politics

Prof. Fred Halliday

April 2009

Introduction

By February 1979, eighteen months of massive popular mobilisation, strikes and demonstrations had forced the collapse of almost three decades of imperial rule in Iran (Greason 2005: 105). A largely unarmed coalition of middle-class intellectuals, students, merchants, workers, leftist activists and Muslim clerics brought down one of the world’s most well-armed dictatorships, the Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi, (Greason 2005:105). In the ensuing power struggle, hard-line fundamentalist cleric Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini made his way to the apex of the alliance to become the spiritual leader and the de facto political power behind the new regime (Greason 2005: 106). In the process of establishing an Islamic Republic he attempted to eradicate potential opposition among his one-time allies and launched a “systematic campaign of terror” to root out the secular and liberal forces of the anti-shah movement (Greason 2005: 106). Leftists and liberals alike were persecuted, tortured and murdered, culminating in what has been called the mini-civil war of 1982-83 (Moghadam 1987:6). Marxists, who had moved out from under the anti-socialist tyranny of an imperial regime into the midst of a massive urban revolution were almost completely devestated. How did this happen? Did the left miss an opportunity to establish a socialist Iran or even to construct a coherent Marxist pillar in the new Republic? Where and how did they fail, was there ever any potential for success? What were the strategic and theoretical mistakes they made that led to this failure? In answering these questions this paper will focus on three propositions: firstly, that the left misinterpreted the social conditions that led to the revolution. Secondly, that it supported the wrong side as it struggled to gain a foothold in the new regime, and finally, serious theoretical shortcomings resulted in a failure to thoroughly critique the repressive aspects to the Islamic Republic.

The working-class and the Left

David Greason writes that an analysis of the relationship between the Iranian working class and left-wing parties reveals a fatally flawed assumption; that any leftist party actually had a base among the workers (Greason 2005: 116). The fervent pro-worker rhetoric, (and likely genuine aspirations for the proletariat) of most left-wing parties belied a tenuous link to a small and fragmented base. Independent labour unions had been suppressed and replaced by  government-run syndicates following the return of the Shah in the 1953 coup and for the next twenty-five years the working class were kept fragmented and despondent (Moghissi, Rahnema 2004: 199). Despite some successes in the 1970s when large-scale strikes achieved some pay-increase demands, SAVAK, the secret police, had been largely effective in suppressing workers’ efforts to organise under the Pahlavi regime (Moghissi, Rahnema 2004: 199). The Revolution had injected a new freedom into organisation and shoras, or workers’ councils sprang up throughout Iranian industry. Nonetheless, the relatively small number of workers employed during the industrialisation continued to impede strong, influential unions while the predominance of pre-capitalist workshops and an underdeveloped division of labour also meant it was impossible to attain unity (Moghissi, Rahnema 2004: 200).

In interpreting this situation the communist Tudeh party recognised the absence of a strong base among the workers and followed a more national democratic, rather than a peoples’ democratic line when formulating their revolutionary theory. Meanwhile, other Marxist groups such as the Fedayeen Minority and Pekyar who persisted with attempts to organise the workers suffered from a serious overestimation of their own capacity to lead and the workers to organise and follow.

Interpreting Iranian society: Dependency theory and Third Worldism

This description of the working class and its links to the left is just part of the overall picture of Iranian society. In examining the socio-economic conditions that led to the Islamic Revolution Marxist explanations are often used to interpret the mounting strain between the classes as government-led capitalist growth aggravated divisions in society. At first glance the conditions deemed necessary for Marxist upheaval appear clean cut and the Shah’s modernisation programme is often used to illustrate this. Impelled by the tensions of the 1960s, as well as pressure from the USA in Cold War strategies, the Palhavi regime undertook what Halliday describes as “pre-emptive” modernising reforms (Halliday 2005: 101, 102). The Shah used the massive influx of oil revenues to lead and finance major industrialisation in an attempt to alleviate mounting antipathy (Greason 2005:107).

The ‘White Revolution’ incorporated a policy of import-substitution to expand the manufacturing and capital-intensive sectors in conjunction with the allocation of major concessions for multinational corporations (Moghadam 1987:11). In agriculture, sharecropping was initially established as a means of including peasants and family farms but it soon gave way to the promotion of large agribusinesses and capitalist ventures, trumping wealthy landowners as well as farm workers (Moghadam 1987:11). Women were granted more freedom through a number of secular social reforms and education and literacy programmes were set in motion (Halliday2005: 104). Importantly, the state also set about asserting a new, and deeply unpopular control over the many small and medium-sized operations traditionally centred around the Bazaar (Moghadam 1987:11). It even competed commercially with the Bazaaris when it opened modern, glossy stores selling equivalent products (Moghadam 1987:11).

The results: Secularisation was seen as a clear threat to the ideological authority of the Shi’ite hierarchy while, forced now to compete with the state and big capital, resentment began to fester among the Bazaaris and land owners (Moghadam 1987:13). Further still, the disenfranchised farmers and peasants flooding the cities in search of work came more and more to exemplify the “immiserated semi-proletariate” or mostazafin (dispossessed) of urban hardship (Moghadam 1987:11). Shanty towns sprouted up around the main cities and the mostazafin population in Tehran ballooned to 400,000 by 1976 (Saleth 2009:1). Left without services and basic necessities this stagnation paralleled the unbridled consumption among the privileged few in and around the shah as oil wealth continued to surge (Moghadam 1987:11).

In one sense the picture was viewed as follows: Iranian society consisted of an upper-class (including a comprador burgeoisie); an anti-imperialist middle class, and an urban working class (Halliday 2005). This perspective meant that analyses made in the 1970s often alluded to a “classic recipe for social revolution” (Halliday 1978: 1). Leftists in Iran employed this Marxist framework to explain the social tensions and presumed that any upheaval would  be secular in character, directed by the left, with any clerical involvement a purely symbolic feature (Greason 2005: 116). But one of the most dominant features of their theorising on Iranian society was the dependency aspect.

The Tudeh Party called for the creation of an independent national economy, the Fedayeen Guerrillas were heavily influenced by the Cuban and Vietnamese experiences (Moghadam 1987:10). All groups focused on an over-dependence on foreign capital, ie dependence on the United States and Iran’s position in relation to the world economy was the basis for the development of all strategies. In general terms each group also developed a “distaste” for theorising beyond this point (Moghadam 1987:9). They failed to recognise the tendency towards exploitation of the Bazaar for example, the bazaaris were simply seen as part of the ‘popular mass’ (Moghadam 1978: 14). So too were the clerics, despite the increasing politicisation of the mullahs and their own aspirations for an Islamic rather than a socialist government. All reforms, progressive and repressive alike were denounced as imperialist, without room for an acknowledgement of growing literacy or women’s rights, the regime in all its manifestations was defamed. Rather than social liberation they called for national liberation (Moghadam 1978: 14).

Essentially the model was too simplistic, everyone who was not the state, its few elites or modern capital representatives were the ‘people’ (Moghadam 1987: 13,14).  And most importantly socialist-democratic goals were subordinated to the urgency of the anti-imperial struggle. But why this confusion?

It was the unique way in which capitalism was produced in Iran that leads to this confusion in the analysis of the make-up of the social conditions and revolutionary forces. Via the Shah’s White Revolution of the 1960s capitalism was “grafted” crudely onto a pre-existing system, itself already in transition to capitalism (Saleth 2009:1). However, the power of the state in Iran had continuously disrupted this evolution and the reforms of the White Revolution further distorted class formation and the emergence of a bourgeois class in favour of a super-rich, western-orientated capitalist elite (Saleth 2009:1). This juxtaposed the under-lying class divide against what was in fact the primary divide in Iranian society; the ‘traditional/modern’ divide. Within the traditional sector of society bazaari merchants, land-owners and Shi’ite clerics were forced into opposition to the state and found themselves sharing common grievances (Saleth 2009:1). The modern capitalist elite associated with the state functioned as an uber-powerful minority in a stratum increasingly detached from traditional Iran, while the lower echelons of society consisted of a burgeoning urban migrant, worker and peasant population (Harman 2005:1). Flowing between these groups were ideas of Islamism, nationalism, anti-imperialism, urges to return to traditional pre-capitalism as well as an infatuation with modernity and the West. Many ‘modern’ intellectuals were anti-shah while many oil workers and teachers for example could be found in support of the regime. Notably, the revolutionary sentiment among the clerical elite, while avowedly anti-imperialist was later to prove itself just as anti-democratic (Moghadam 1987:12). Thus rather than a clear socio-economic framework many ideas and sectors overlapped in the Iranian society of the 1960s and ‘70s (Saleth 2009:1).

Leftists and the Islamic Republic

The Iranian left bifurcated in the immediate aftermath of the Revolution to represent what was essentially an “infatuation” with the populism and vociferous anti-imperialism of Khomeini on the one hand, and open and violent attempts to force the Revolution in to a socialist phase on the other (Moghissi, Rahnema 2004: 211, 212). The Tudeh Party and the Fedayeen Majority sought out an alliance with the Khomeini camp and stubbornly persisted with the idea that the regime posessed in general terms, an “objective progressive” character (Greason 2005: 106). The other branch, made up of smaller guerrilla groups such as Fedayeen Minority, Rah-e Kargar (Worker’s Path) and Peykar (Struggle), pursued open confrontation with a regime that did not hesitate to repress such ‘traitors’ quickly and brutally (Moghissi, Rahnema 2004: 212).

Thus arises one of the most puzzling questions in any study of the post-revolutionary phase in Iran: Why did the two left-wing parties, Tudeh and the Fedayeen Majority support Khomeini’s faction of clerics in the new regime and turn their criticisms instead towards the liberal nationalist Bazargan and his provisional government? The groups’ continued support of the mullahs and the Islamic Republic caused a serious rift in the Iranian left and was the cause of the split between the Majority and Minority factions in the Fedayeen. The ramifications for unity, and ultimately the ability of the left to sustain itself and finally defend itself as the new regime turned its fire against it, loom large. But first an examination as to the justifications for this support are necessary.

As mentioned above, Tudeh judged Iran to be at the national democratic stage of revolution and therefore at a stage in which a movement against the regime did not necessarily need to be led by communists. The theory drew on the Soviet idea of non-capitalist road to socialism; the idea that states with non-communist leadership could by-pass capitalism and still organise for eventual transition to socialism (Greason 2005: 115), especially prescient considering there was little evidence of a strong base among the proletariat in Iran at the time. The anti-imperialist rhetoric of Khomeini and actions such as the seizure of the American Embassy in November 1979 served to convince Tudeh of the regime’s credentials (Moghadam1978:21). Then, in its attempt to entrench itself with the new elite Tudeh propagated a pro-clergy lexicon (Moghadam 1987:23). Tudeh writers drew on similarities between the social principles of Shiism and scientific socialism and Islam was acclaimed as the “ideology of the anti-imperialist revolution” (Moghadam 1987: 23). In March 1981 Tudeh even backed the new regime as it ruled against other political parties and incitement of strikes on the grounds that anti-regime agitation would play into the hands of America (Behrooz 2000:150). They showered praise on the Ayatollah while choosing instead to attack the ‘liberal burgeoisie’ such as Bazargan and National Front members (Moghadam 1987:24).

Tudeh viewed the new regime as anti-capitalist as well as petit-bourgeois in the descriptive sense and thus deserving of its support, it failed to hypothesise beyond this to see that it was also simultaneously at odds with progressive socialist and democratic principles (Moghadam 1978: 20). Ideologically the stance belies a theoretical dualism at work below the surface. On the one hand Tudeh (and the Fedayeen) drew on the Leninist ideas of non-capitalist roads to socialism, hoping that nationalism via Khomeini’s state could prepare for a transition to socialism (Greason 2005: 115). On the other hand they seemed to willfully ignore Lenin’s call for struggle against the clergy, Islamic or otherwise (Greason 2005: 112). Meanwhile Khomeini had refrained from referring to any convergence of Islamic and Marxist goals, and was soon calling leftists traitors to the Revolution.

Analysis

In this brief review of the empirical data and analytical literature on the Iranian Revolution it appears that the biggest popular mobilisation in the world in the twentieth century was indeed a failure for the left. But how and why was it a failure? Assuming that the ultimate goal of the different Iranian leftist groups, Maoists, Marxists or Third World theorists, was at most to lead a revolution of the proletariat toward socialism or, considering their small number and historical experiences of repression, to at least participate in some constructive way in the new Republic, pushing for a more progressive and democratic aspect to new policies; they  failed unequivocally on both counts. They had worked hard for the overthrow of the Shah, but were soon subjected to persecution by followers of Khomeini, and later targeted by the state itself, culminating in almost complete decimation in numbers and capacity by 1983 (Greason 2005: 106). But in analysing the mistakes they made leading to this failure it is important not to overstate the opportunities available to these groups to advance their cause in Revolutionary Iran. For example, when asking why the communist Tudeh party and the guerrillas of the Fedayeen (Majority) supported Khomeini even as he consolidated theocratic rule and turned on his former allies, it is clear that the alternative meant simply a fatalistic counterattack against a strong and brutal opponent who ultimately commanded the support of the overwhelming majority of the people.

Nor could these groups have been completely immune to the surge in the “political spirit” of the time. As mentioned above the Iranian Revolution was the largest mobilisation of people in the twentieth century, and according to the French philosopher Michel Foucault the swell of collective popular action was almost irresistible. Foucault visited Iran as a reporter and although he was later discredited for his political analysis of the Revolution he did recognised the uniqueness of the events unfolding at the time and his descriptive work on the atmosphere in Iran and the exploration of his concept of “political spirituality” helps us to understand the counterdiscourse that characterised the upheaval. The militant Islam that was the predominant characteristic of the movement strove to break socially, culturally and politically with the Western order, as well as the Soviet Union and China. The ardent anti-imperialism was potent. Iranian leftists must also have been as vulnerable to the lure of the “privileged idealised premodern past”  as any other part of the population (Afary, Anderson, Foucault 2005:36). Although Marxism would have privileged modernity, the impoverishment of a large part of the Iranian population was seen as a direct consequence of the Shah’s industrialisation (Afary, Anderson, Foucault 2005:36). For Foucault the secular leftist students who took to the streets with the popular masses represented the heideggerian “freedom-toward-death”, reflecting perhaps the martyrdom glorified by Shia Islam (Afary, Anderson, Foucault 2005:6). To judge the actions and decisions of leftist groups outside this atmosphere is to disregard the overwhelming Iranian revolutionary zeitgeist. While criticism is necessary, especially considering Tudeh’s unwavering support of Khomeini even as he jailed and executed communists, it would be difficult to understand the decisions of some left groups outside of this singular Iranian context.

As regards a theoretical failing a brief quote from a Fedayeen writer illustrates the difficulties they faced at the time: “Owing to the rapidity of daily events we do not have sufficient time for rigorous periods of theoretical work and all-round ideological struggle to come up with answers to each and every question” (Moghadam 1987:22).

In this context most left groups drew heavily from dependency theories and hastily disregarded the advantages that a period of bourgeois democracy could bring. It was thus blinded to the fact that not every anti-capitalist movement is a step towards socialism.

Illustrating this is the fact in the run up to the Revolution the left and the religious right actually began to speak a similar language. Both sides focused on the Shah’s connections to US capital, they criticised the anti-national behaviour of the ruling elite and the detrimental effects of industrialisation (Moghdam 1987). The term mostazafin, or dispossessed was used by the mullahs to call on the oppressed to defeat their oppressors while Khomeini’s unrelenting attack on imperialism rallied virtually the entire population behind his banner. And it seems to be primarily on this point that many left-wing groups were willing to suppress their doubts and support the new regime. Actions such as the seizure of the US embassy in Tehran served only to solidify their support.

This is one of the major criticisms that continues to stick; many on the left compromised the independence of their ideology in the hope that the Islamic Republic would prove itself progressive in some aspects, and that it was at least anti-imperial, there seemed to be little room for criticism of its anti-democratic, chauvinistic aspects.

Structural factors also worked against the left. The make-up of society in Iran, the production of capitalism and the lack of a large coherent working class undoubtedly provided major hurdles. Sustained and targeted repression in the decades under the Shah and then again by the Islamic regime also deeply affected the organisational capacity of  leftist groups. But two factors that could have been controlled and at least could have provided some strength to the movement were unfortunately never pursued.

Firstly unity was never a strong point for the Fedayeen, Tudeh, Mojahedin and Peykar (Moghadam 1987: 6). Some splits were caused by personal rifts, while others were down to theoretical divergences. Some groups were tied to Soviet foreign policies and theorising, while others such as the Mojahadin tried to reconcile Islam and Marxism. A pro-Chinese group had already split from the Tudeh in 1966, while the Fedayeen suffered a bitter divide between the Minority and Majority over whether or not to support the Islamic Republic (Moghadam 1987:9). This proved the most tragic and insurmountable divide between groups on the left in general, those that followed Khomeini in in the hope of some sort of compromise between secular and religious government simply postponed the same repression that their counterparts had suffered in the immediate aftermath of the Revolution. The obvious question is to what point should they have compromised their principals when faced with little alternative, should they have pursued a path of opposition despite the overwhelming power of their opponent, or have sought out some basic common interests and hoped for some opportunity to make changes form within? Pragmatism or purity of ideology (Moghadam 1978)? Considering the outcome for both sides of the argument in this case, it would have been better perhaps to stick with the basic principles from the beginning despite the appeal of power and pragmatism.

Secondly, the decision not only to support Khomeini, but to do so at the expense of an alliance with the liberal National Democratic Front or the Liberation Movement highlights a major miscalculation (Halliday 2005). The reasoning for the decision is probably linked to the privileged position of anti-imperialism and Third World theory in the discourse on the left but had the ultimate effect of stifling any coherent opposition to the Ayatollah when he did turn against his one-time allies. Parties like Tudeh thought they could bypass capitalism and work towards socialism within the regime and thus disregard capital representatives such as the liberals. But had they simply chosen the wrong set of bourgeois nationalists? As Molyneux and Halliday wrote ‘a period of bourgeois democracy would have been of far greater help to the left, and to the Iranian people as a whole, than the clerical tyranny now installed in Tehran’ (1984: 21).

Conclusion

Any failure or mistakes of the left must be viewed not in comparison to, but simply against the background of the success of the Khomeini faction in establishing the Islamic Republic. It is difficult to separate the Revolution from its broadly Islamic character and in trying to do so creates the impression of agitated masses in search of leadership, at which point it could be said that the left failed to provide this leadership. Khomeini, the mullahs and their far reaching networks  however, had taken up the leadership role of the movement from the very beginning. Furthermore the fortunes of the Iranian left are inextricably linked to the proportion of state repression suffered by the movement at different moments in history. When it emerged from the repression of the Pahlavi regime there was therefore no great potential for organisation or leadership. The left failed in developing a theoretical framework to deal with the complexities of society and the revolutionary forces, it also splintered and pushed away its only possible ally in the face of a repressive theocracy. Any great failure however, must be viewed in the context of the minute potential for success.

Bibliography

Afary J., Anderson K., Foucault, M., (2005), Foucault and the Iranian Revolution: Gender and the Seductions of Islamism, University of Chicago Press, Available at

http://books.google.es/books?id=EIY2Qliz5SwC&hl=en

Behrooz, M., (2000), Rebels with a Cause: The Failure of the Left in Iran, Tauris,

Available at: http://books.google.ie/books?id=ouuRaF5Ug1IC

Greason, D., (2005), ‘Embracing death: The Western left and the Iranian Revolution, 1978-83,’ Economy and Society, Routledge, London, 34:1,105 – 140.

Halliday, F., (1978) Iran’s Opposition Forces: who are they? What do they want?, paper prepared for the Labour Party NEC Middle East Sub-Committee, December.

Halliday, F., (2005), The Middle East in International Relations, University of London, UK.

Moghadam , V., (1987) ‘Socialism or Anti-Imperialism? The Left and Revolution in Iran’, New Left Review.org, I/166, Available at: http://www.newleftreview.org/?view=1013

Molyneux, M. and Halliday, F., (1984), ‘Marxism, the Third World and the Middle East’, MERIP Reports in Greason, D., (2005), ‘Embracing death: The Western left and the Iranian Revolution, 1978-83,’ Economy and Society, Routledge, London, 34:1,105 – 140.

Moghissi H., and Rahnema S., (2004),‘The Working Class and the Islamic State in Iran’, Reformers and Revolutionaries in Modern Iran, Volume 1, Part 4 pp: 280 – 301.

Saleth, T., (2009), ‘Islamic revolution or counterrevolution’,Weekly Worker 756, Available at: http://www.cpgb.org.uk/worker/756/islamic.html

"Afghanistan: The challenge of reconstruction"

Mary Jane O’Leary

IBEI BARCELONA

Masters in International Relations

Islam and Politics

Prof. Fred Halliday

June 2009

Since the Taliban was removed from power in Kabul in 2001, the international community and the Afghan population have been struggling to fill the void with a functioning, centralised state apparatus. The challenge, although huge in and of itself, is made all the more difficult by a number of factors unique to Afghanistan. These problems include a diffuse and often illusive sense of nationalism, sometimes more potent than others, there is also the questions of ethnicity, religion, regional instability and the constant flow of displaced people. Problems of violence, unemployment and drug trafficking also compound the deadlock in the theoretical discourse. For this reason the so-called post-conflict period that supposedly provides the space to begin ‘re-building’ the state is in fact a ‘different phase in the long-term process of resolving state-building tensions’ (Cramer and Goodhand 2003:136). This essay seeks to examine the different tensions and challenges that characterise this phase and attempts to place them in a context of the history of state-formation in Afghanistan. In doing so the current programme is identified as one of a number of endeavours at modernisation of the state in 20^th Century Afghanistan.

Three previous attempts at modernisation in Afghanistan, highlighted by Suhrke, point towards the risks in rushing through reforms, the centrality of a balance of power, and the importance of building up a central state (2007). Nonetheless all three also failed to set in motion any sings of an ‘irreversible process’ that may have later contributed to modern attempts to re-establish or rebuild an Afghan state, despite some social gains in education and development (Shurke 2007:1296). Most benefits were reversed at the hands of the ‘anti-modernity’ Taliban from the early 1990s, but the experiences do hold some lessons for the latest rounds of reconstruction and can be linked to the tensions caused by the rapid social changes they endeavoured to implement. Beginning in the 1920s with King Amanullah, later with President Daoud and later again with the communist People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan, each programme of modernisation met with contestation arising out of attempts to graft a central state system onto a ‘feudal-like dispersion’ of power (Shurke 2007:1296). The fledgling central state attempted to extract revenue, regulate public life and build a national army affecting the population right across tribes, classes and religion. And on this view Shurke says Afghanistan’s history can be seen as a series of conflicts emerging as by-products of these attempts at state formation.

The importance of the balance of power in previous experiences also contributes to the analysis of modern reconstruction. In earlier attempts to build an Afghan central state exclusion of groups representing different fissions emerging in society as a result of educational and development reforms led to critical polarisation in society. Failure to include communist and Islamist groups put a serious strain on the state and led to the overthrow of King Amanullah in the 1973 coup (Shurke 2007:1296). Modernisation continued under Doud’s presidential reforms and accelerated even further following the proclamation of the Democratic Republic in 1978. But tensions soon turned to bloodshed as the communists discovered even partial reforms set alarm bells ringing around the provinces (Shurke 2007:1296). In all three cases reformists and modernists were defeated by the traditional elements in society. Amanullah could not override religious rhetoric with his own brand of Afghan nationalism; his liberal reforms alienated the clerics from the beginning of his regime as he tried to lever them out of religion, women’s affairs and law. The speed with which he attempted to institutionalise his reforms also impeded the gradual coalescence of a broad political alliance that could have won over the interests of different tribal, religious, ethnic, or military factions in society.

One factor stands out in previous state formation projects; impatience and over extension blighted both Doud’s and the PDPA programmes. Doud neglected the all-important construction of a broad reform coalition or to include the emerging communist and Islamist forces in his political system, the former of which allied itself with the armed forces managed to capture the state in the Saur Revoltuion in 1978. While the PDPA’s reforms were not novel in themselves, the role of women had been emblematic to previous modernisation programmes, but the force with which they attempted to implement them resulted in violent clashes. When women failed to turn up to newly installed classes in the provinces party members went to the villages to physically take the women from their homes to the class rooms, such a hands on approach was met with anger in rural areas where regulation of family life was regarded as out of bounds for the state. Nonetheless, it was not just the rapid pace of reform that the communists tried to instigate that led to the collapse of the Democratic Republic. The violence that came to characterise their rule and later legitimacy of the Soviet invasion coupled with easy access to weapons and training by opposition groups led to the communist’s defeat, accused consistently of anti-national and anti-Islamic sentiment (Shurke 2007).

Past experiences thus raise pertinent questions for latter-day would-be modernisers. Namely, can such comprehensive reforms as proposed in the Bonn Agreement actually profess broad-based support throughout Afghanistan? Can any reforms be sustainable without the support of all sections of society including the Taliban? Is the continued presence of foreign forces the only thing propping up the fledgling state and thus is it viable to stand alone? And importantly, how can reconstruction reconcile traditional, religious and cultural sensitivities with justice and human rights reforms especially in the case of the role of women in society?

Is the present project of modernisation legitimate and can it work?

The latest modernisation venture was framed in the Bonn Agreement in December 2002 and aspires to sew the seeds for the eventual institutionalisation of democracy, pluralism and social justice.  The agreements revolve around four main challenges in rebuilding the state. Firstly, the design of a new state, including the development of a new constitution and administrative structures, secondly, ensuring the new state is deemed legitimate by the widest possible cross-section of the population. Thirdly, attracting funding for the programmes and finally, transforming the aims and objectives to practice. While a constitution was successfully passed in 2004 there are some criticisms as to the suitability of installing a presidential system in a country with such diverse socio-cultural underpinnings (Maley 2004: 10).  Also, designing new administrative structures has proved problematic. Ministries have been more or less created to ensure all representatives at the Bonn Agreement are included as a patronage system perpetuates at the expense of a rational distribution of government ministries (Maley 2004: 10).

This issue points to another challenge common to countries where disorder has prevailed for a long period of time. Maley calls this challenge ‘reconstituting trust’. Trust, defined in terms of citizenship and not based on face-to-face interaction, he says, is a key feature in consolidated democracies and for stability more generally (Maley 2004: 10). It is to be expected then that a breakdown of state structures and a dependence on local networks in times of conflict shatters this broader sense of ‘anonymous’ trust, and furthermore that this is most problematic at the elite level of politics in times of reconstruction. It is this feature that generates the prevailing sense that the state is an asset to be appropriated and controlled, or even attacked should it fall into the hands of a rival group (Maley 2004: 10).

Decades of upheaval in Afghanistan have left both political elites and the wider population doubtful of the possibilities that power and privileges bestowed by a new democratic regime can be equally distributed. Violent conflict has widened divisions and consolidated bonds on ethnic and linguistic grounds. For example, the Hazara minority find it difficult to trust Abdul Rab al-Rasul Sayyaf, who plays an important role in assuring supporting Karzai’s government; his militia is widely regarded as responsible for the Afshar massacre in 1993 as well as violent intimidation of minorities outside Kabul (Maley 2004:11). The problem of trust is compounded by the lack as yet of a coherent justice system capable of trying and punishing human rights abuses.

These examples reflect other power struggles and fractions within the new Afghan government. Essentially a tug of war took place within the government that ended up re-establishing the traditionalist agenda and undermining the modernisation envisioned in the Bonn documents. Early on there existed a divide between mondernisers and those nominated purely on ethnic and political grounds and by 2006 it became increasingly evident that the latter was gaining ground as Karzai sought to co-opt potential rivals by appointing them to special positions and redistributed sought-after offices such as police chief positions in the provinces (Maley 2004:11). Importantly, Karzai, prompted by US policy, also began to recognise militias as forms of official state entities. Eventually as the co-opt-and-placate tactic out-weighs a merit-based system in the state-building project a broader divide became more apparent in the international coalition.

The role of transnational actors, foreign governments and non-governmental organisations in the reconstruction project in Afghanistan is a well debated topic, especially in terms of local ownership and in the wider literature on the critical analysis of the liberal, Western, one-size-fits-all, state-restructuring approach. Astri Suhrke highlights the increasingly negative effects of foreign state intervention from the invasion to reconstruction, and pragmatically, to the drop off of foreign concern when attention turned towards Iraq in 2003. In terms of the approach to reconstruction key institutions in the international community such as the World Bank, the OECD and the UN Development Programme have lent their support to a broad standardisation of programmes since the 1990s that reflect a coalescence around a set of general principles developed through past experiences. More recently new objectives of good governance and institution building have been added to this approach yet certain attitudes persist in the Western dominated post-conflict agencies.

In many was it is an inherently Weberian and western model and is so comprehensive in its objectives that it tends to crowd out traditional ‘knowledge and practices’ (Suhrke 2007: 1293). There seems to be little room for genuine participation or choice for recipients in the form of reconstruction and sacrifices slower paced more sensitive programmes for efficiency and effectiveness. In other words the model of reconstruction proceeding on every front as it usually attempts to do is in fact another form of Western dominance and could be more detrimental in the long term compromising sustainability linked to ownership. Suhrke argues that the key to this flaw is the major and defining role played by the ‘external agent’ (2007:1293).

In similar cases of post-conflict reconstruction in Japan and Thailand the projects were characterised by a self-conscious selectivity in terms of which areas should be reformed and in what way, especially in terms of maintaining national control in the face of perceived potential for Western dominance. In contrast, donors and aid agencies have taken the controlling role in reconstruction programmes since the early 1990s usually under the supervision and coordination of the UN. This raises the question of internal legitimacy, will the lack of endogenous programming weaken the utilitarian activities of foreign agents? What political or ideological force could over come rivalry and rebellions within Afghan society if national control over the state is perceived weak and of fluctuating loyalties?

On a more practical level, foreign actors can be divided into subgroups of interests and coalitions. As part of the regional landscape the national interests of Iran, Pakistan and Russia have played a more central role in their decision-making and policy formation than their original commitments made at the Bonn conference. The USA was also criticised for deciding to build up local militias and alter for lacking commitment as it turned to the invasion of Iraq. Inside Afghanistan the reaction to foreign participation in reconstruction is divided, but most groups vying for some share of control and aid can quickly mobilise the general sense of antipathy to both foreign troops and aid agency workers (Suhrke 2007: 1300). There were many reasons for this discontent, namely Karzai’s dependence on foreign aid and military offended many people’s sense of nationalism especially considering it is defined primarily by the country’s historical resistance to colonial conquest, the presence of ‘infidels’ was an issue for Islamists, the US’s support continued support for Israel as well as the lifestyle of foreign aid workers and consultants. Together with the failure to fulfil promises of employment and security these factors combined to produce the low turn out in the 2005 elections and a deepening sense of animosity across all sectors of society (Suhrke 2007: 1300).

            By the time of the US invasion in 2001 Afghanistan was already one of the poorest, most conflict torn countries of the world. The Taliban represented some semblance of a centralised state although they relied on violence for enforcement of laws and resistance to their rule persisted in the northern parts of the country. Since their displacement comprehensive efforts to build a centralised, functioning state apparatus has been central to proving the legitimacy of the foreign invasion. However, the obstacles to such a project have proved almost insurmountable. Resting on the assertion by Cramer and Goodhand that the success to state-formation in the past has been the ability of the nation-state to intervene to provide “reciprocal benefits”, that the instruments of the state could be strong enough to collect revenue and redistribute it fairly and provide public goods (Cramer and Goodhand in Milliken 2003: 136). The authors also point out that for the state to be able to do this it must attain a credible monopoly of violence (Cramer and Goodhand in Milliken 2003: 136). This process, they say, inevitably, and historically has involved violence as certain sectors will find themselves losing out in the shift of power and resources towards the state. But to reduce the harmful effects of attaining such grand objectives the state must mobilise different legitimising forces such as nationalism, religion and as mentioned, will depend very much on the establishment of a social contract between the population and the central authority. The challenges facing policy makers in Afghanistan as we have seen are many. Regional instability is becoming a more central factor, but religious and ethnic differences are still important in the distribution of power within the state. Other problems from unemployment to the question of legitimacy surrounding the presence of foreign troops, not to mention individual human security, persist. But even an honest acknowledgement of the huge challenges before them may prove helpful to those seeking to contribute to the formation of a just and fully functioning democratic state in Afghanistan.

Bibliography

Cramer, C. and Goodhand, J. 2003, ‘Try Again, Fail Again, Fail Better? War, the State, and the 'Post-Conflict' Challenge in Afghanistan’ in State Failure, Collapse and Reconstruction, Milliken, J. ed. Blackwell Publishing, USA.

Maley, W. 2004, ‘Political Transition in Afghanistan: The State, Religion and Civil Society,’ Asia Program Special Report, no 122, Woodrow Wilson Centre for Scholars.

Olesen, A. 1995, Islam and Politics in Afghanistan, Curzon Press. 

Suhrke, A. 2007, ‘Reconstruction as Modernisation: the post-conflict’ project in Afghanistan’, Third World Quarterly, vol. 28, no. 7, pp1291 – 1308.

Chesterman, S. 2002, ‘Tiptoeing Through Afghanistan: The Future of UN State-Building,’ International Peace Academy, New York.

"The Private Military Industry and State Collapse in Africa"

Mary Jane O’Leary

IBEI BARCELONA

Masters in International Relations

Peace Processes and Conflict Resolution

Prof. Gemma Colantes Celador

June 2009

Introduction

The proliferation of private military firms (PMFs) in the previous two decades has not only generated extensive debate in the world’s media, it has challenged the very way modern society conceptualises the fundamental dichotomy between the public and private control over the means of waging war (Singer 2004). The state, interpreted in the Weberian tradition, has maintained a privileged position as the exclusive operator of violence, legitimised in the social contract by its accepted role as provider of national security in spheres of human activity that deal in life and death, and in return for revenue and labour (Singer 2004, Small 2006). More and more however, private firms have moved through the commercial market into this specialised sphere and now present an alternative to national armies, not just in the support, but in the very acts of warfare, crime fighting and security. Over time names like Executive Outcomes, Halliburton and Blackwater have become household names and supply everything from armed security personnel to catering. This cross over from the realm of the mercenary or ad hoc condottiere into quasi-legitimate corporate military presents a new and distinct challenge for the state in the twenty-first-century (Singer 2004, Small 2006). And while it is indeed a question relevant globally, the prevalence of PMFs and the relatively weak and collapsing state of the state in Africa will be the main concern of this paper. The reason for this prioritisation is as follows.

The precarious existence of the Weberian state in Africa, where many states compete with well-armed rebel groups, organised crime and indeed particular regimes struggle to present a viable legitimate candidate for statehood, the struggle to assert and consolidate a monopoly over violence by the state is juxtaposed against a global drive towards the out-sourcing of military activities away from direct state control into the private sphere. That the effects of such a drive impact African countries differently to European countries or the United States can in someway be explained by a comparison of state formation historically and will be dealt with later. The outcome however, is that weak states in Africa have proved fertile ground for private military operations while private military activity proves a key factor in the continuing destabilisation of African states in which they operate. Therefore, while it will be argued that the successful consolidation of coercive violence in the hands of the state is largely contingent on the role of private military on the continent into the future, it is not to say that private military activity is the causal variable in weak and collapsing states in Africa. Rather it is a symptom as well as a contributing factor in the obstruction to possible solutions. Hence, the paper will attempt to analyse the relationship between the Weberian state, PMFs and the struggle to establish stability, peace and development in Africa, finally examining the validity of effective regulation and accountability in the private military industry (PMI) as a more pragmatic solution to current realities.

The Weberian state and Private Military Companies

The modern state, as the ontological point of reference for international relations is measured against the Weberian prerequisite that it wield a legitimate monopoly over violence (Small 2006: 12), thus an erosion of this primary property through the out-sourcing of violence to private companies points to an erosion of the modern state. In her paper on the ‘demise’ of the African state Michelle Small (2006) traces the evolution of mercenarism throughout history. She highlights the employment of private armies as characteristic of the international landscape from Ancient Egypt to Victorian England, and right through to the renting of non-state military actors in the decolonisation process in Vietnam and Afghanistan (Small 2006:7). In other words, the existence of private military agency is not new to international relations. However, its resurgence since the 1990s does present a new challenge.

Since the Peace Treaty of Westphalia more than three hundred years ago private armies have become the ‘antitheses’ of the state (Small 2006:9). The Treaty is considered the birthplace of the modern-state system and the source of the norms that came to define inter-state behaviour. Essentially it delineated the territory assigned to each participant, codified the principle of sovereignty of each actor within their territory, but most importantly granted each the right to a ‘monopoly of and over force’ within that space (Small 2006:10). Small suggests that since 1648 the state has succeeded, for the most part to bring non-state violence under its control, and that a raft of international treaties and conventions have outlawed mercenarism in many countries. Indeed, she says that the major success of the modern system has been to bring order and stability to the conflict and chaos that predated it (Small 2006:11).

Against this backdrop, many modern African states have found themselves in a position where they need to hire private companies to carry out military activity in the face of insurgency or invasion, thus it appears as if these states have failed in their primary and defining function. In Africa, PMFs have been recruited in Angola, Sierra Leone, Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda, Eirtrea, Kenya and Algeria, to name a few, to carry out functions ranging from private security to piloting war planes (Singer 2006:11). Furthermore, while the existence of some form of private military is not unusual historically, moves towards legitimisation and potential legal status, as well as the unprecedented proliferation of such companies under the rubric of neo-liberalism poses the distinctive threat we see today.

Neo-liberalism and PMFs in Africa

In analysing the ramifications of the private military industry for the African state a closer look at the international context in which this question has become topical is also required. The resurgence of private armies and security firms is inextricably linked to the process of deregulation of international markets, a defining feature of the neo-liberal paradigm (Leander 2002:6). Two of the principle private military agents in the previous decades, Executive Outcomes and Sandline International, both developed as part of the Branch Heritage Oil and Gas group as deregulation led to a decrease in border controls, more flexibility in joint ventures and new incentives for foreign investment (Leander 2002:6).[1] This development was mirrored by the push for structural readjustment in Africa as the IMF and the World Bank granted development aid conditioned on extensive privatisation of state functions (Collier 2007:41). Programmes that were aimed at eradicating inefficiency and corruption led to the privatisation of many of the ‘sovereign functions of the state’ such as tax collection and customs services, and notably security (Collier 2007:41). As Small suggests, corporate networks have come to own a large part of the state in Africa (2006). Leander labels this a ‘diffusion’ of authority away from states:

“State authority has moved upwards to international or regional institutions, sideways to firms and markets, but also downwards to (sub-national) authorities or regions.” (Leander 2002:1)

The question here is to what extent does such privatisation and globalisation concerning military functions affect the African state and in what way is this different to its Western counterparts? Differentiation between the stages of state formation is necessary here. African states did not undergo similar state-formation process as its European neighbours (Small 2006:13). The reason for this, as argued by Abdel-Fatau Musah (2002:915), is that the state in Africa is merely an imposed version of the organisation structure evolved over centuries in Europe and exported to Africa during colonisation; its principle aim was merely to secure access to natural resources and raw materials (Musah 2002:915). Essentially the outlines of a Weberian state system were grafted on to pre-existing traditional social structures and were devoid of any genuine institution-building objectives (Musah 2002:915). Under the surface, Abdel argues, parts of Africa are in fact undergoing the ravages of an evolution towards an extreme Tillian state system (Musah 2002:915).

The Tillian form of state characterised the preliminary stages in the forging of the social contract of the Weberian State, that the state would provide security for its citizens, who would in turn provide labour and taxes. This was then followed by the consolidation and legitimisation of the Weberian state model through the provision of public goods and bureaucracy (Dasgupta 2004:3). In Africa however, countries such as the Democratic Republic of Congo, Sierra Leone, Liberia and Somalia are characterised by a seemingly unending cycle of violence, perpetuated by state and non-state actors. Therefore, when exponents of the private military industry draw on the argument that private military can extend or benefit the state by allowing it, for example, to carry out missions in conflicts it would not otherwise consider committing troops, this argument becomes skewed. Introducing private military into a system where the state in different places is Tillian, weak or in various stages of collapse can mean that links between private interests and state structures is in fact detrimental to the state, especially where it is left up to a private firm to decide what is a legitimate state, grievance of a rebel group, or a charity or non-governmental organisation. Privatisation of state functions where the state barely exists is counter-productive, the privatisation of military functions in this type if state is especially dangerous, Below we will see examples of how.

National interest or natural resources

The recruitment of private military in conflicts in Africa can contribute to the undermining of the state through the compromise of national interests. In the broadest sense, the continuation of violence is what ultimately benefits the PMI, when peace is clearly in the national interest. Theoretically, the successful eradication of violence in Africa is in effect the liquidation of the PMI’s primary market. This then highlights another crucial factor evident in most cases of PMF involvement in Africa; their activities have primarily been carried out in countries with abundant natural resources (Francis 1999, Musah 2002, Small 2006). Sierra Leone, Liberia and Angola have been the main stages for PMF activity on the continent and in all three cases payments were made in the form of concessions to oil, diamond and timber extraction, either directly to the PMC or to a parent corporation with extractive interests in the region (Masuah 2002). On the one hand, conflict is to the private military company what diamond mines are to their parent multi-nationals. However, if mining companies require their partner PMCs to pacify strategic mineral zones, then by extension, conflict resolution might indeed be seen as the core objective of a private army; once their job is done the focus for profit within such interconnected entities can be shifted to lucrative extraction deals, thus providing an incentive for genuine pacification and stability of the state.

The reverse however, proves more akin to reality. The quest for concessions by extractive firms leads in most cases to the support by partner PMFs of sectoral interests within African societies; they distort conflict by contracting services to the group that can provide concessions to strategic mineral fields regardless of the legitimacy of that group (Francis 1999, Musah 2002, Small 2006). Ultimately, PMFs fuel the continuation of the conflict, which is destabilising the state by focusing on the pacification of mineral-rich enclaves rather than the priorities for stability required by the local population. In the 1990s African-American mercenaries and US private security firm Brown & Root (a subsidiary of Halliburton) trained and augmented Rwandese Hutu forces with arms and logistics as it took part in an attempt to overthrow Mobutu Sese Seko, an invasion widely regarded as an attempt to open up the Democratic Republic of Congo (then Zaire) for resource exploitation.[2] In fact, the America Mineral Fields mining company part-financed the Joseph Kabila rebellion against Mobutu and were the first entity to recognise Kabila’s government (Peleman 2000:155).[3] Also, on the other side of the confrontation a Serb mercenary army, tacitly backed by French intelligence, attempted to buttress Mobutu’s debilitated forces (Musah 2002:923). This illustrates the distortion caused by PMC involvement in such conflicts, here they have in effect supported both sides, escalating the fire power and deadliness of each sides’ military capacity, while blurring the legitimacy of each sides’ claims. That Mobutu presided over the prime example of a failed state in Africa, and that his credentials as a tyrant were more than evident by this time does not validate any claims to humanitarian or legitimate intervention by the Hutu army. More importantly, that the decision on what constitutes a legitimate democratic state, or even a genuine claim to displace a particular regime, should be at the whim of a private entity premised on profit through violence, is an urgent question for international relations.

Another direct effect of the payment-in-concessions scheme that has emerged in conflicts in Africa is the consequences this has for the consolidation of the African state through development. A conglomeration of Sandline International, EO, and their mining wing, Branch Heritage, effectively dictated the conditions of the Koidu diamond and security concession to respective regimes in Sierra Leone in the 1990s. When EO left Sierra Leone in 1997, it left its security branch LifeGurad Systems to protect Branch Energy’s interests in Koidu. When the government was overthrown just months later, former employee of LifeGuards Systems Johan van Zyl confirmed that his company had provided rockets and AK-47 ammunition to the military junta that replaced the administration in return for continued mining operations at Koidu (Sunday Times 2000, Punch 2000, in Musah 2002:925).  Then, in 1997 Asian businessman Rakeshn Saxena provided US$10 million to the Sierra Leone government in exile in Guinea to pay Sandline International to help restore Kabbah to Freetown (Francis 1999:328). Was Mr Saxena’s first concern the consolidation of a legitimate state in the small West African country or did his status as owner of Diamond Works and prospective owner of Branch Energy play a part in his investment decisions? Whatever his motives, the civilian government was restored to Freetown in 1998 and corporate interests at the Koidu mines were once again made secure; the eventual confluence of corporate interests and state consolidation came about only after the private companies changed sides depending on who could protect their mining rights as any given time.

Hence, if the moral premise is as precarious as it appears, could the activity of private companies have at least a positive side-effect through the coincidence of  securing mining enclaves for both public and private interests? In answer to this Musah argues that the presence of a superior military force entrenched in and around a mineral zone can demand favourable contractual conditions from a society devoid of negotiating structures and weakened by conflict (Musah 2002:929). These weak states effectively mortgage their primary commodity in order to elicit a quick fix to destabilizing power struggles. This is not to say that there is no nefarious enrichment of sectoral interests through the allocation of these concessions within the state itself. The process does ensure however, that any prospects for economic development through the ownership and export of its natural resource are severely diminished for an already struggling African state well into the future. Compounded in no small way by the diversion of valuable investments into private security rather that other more necessary economic activities (Small 2006:15). Even if these mines were located in consolidated democratic states, market structures allow for the outflow of the majority of the profits to the shareholders of these companies, and in the African context this is generally not the poor population who live in and around the mining regions. Peter Klerks suggests that “the trend is now for private corporations to actively reach out and ‘establish’ governments that will then make their decision with an eye on corporate interests, so that instead of a country’s citizens, foreign shareholders become the real basis of sovereignty” (Klerks in O’Brien 1998).

If the primary legitimising characteristic of the modern state is the social contract between ruler and ruled, the exchange between protection and revenue, then the processes of private security provision and transnational corporate resource extraction are indicative of a fatally flawed premise for aspirations of such a contract in Africa today. In short, and as P. W. Singer asserts succinctly; “the public good and a private company’s good often conflict” (Singer 2001/02:203).

Peacekeping possibilities

One potentially positive role for such firms in the future would be to employ them as peacekeepers in situations where governments are unwilling to send national armies; one example would have been Rwanda. As there were no foreign strategic interests threatened during this conflict there were no incentives for foreign countries to commit and risk their soldiers to intervene and prevent the genocide that took place. If private firms are willing, for a price, to intervene in such situations then the argument in favour of such operations seems to gain considerable weight. However, in the broader theoretical sense the very consideration of such an intervention as legitimate and conceivable feeds back into the argument on the detrimental effects of the existence of these companies on the state. Drawing on Tilly and Weber, and the assumption that it is only the state itself that can bring violence and stability under its control Michele Small argues:

“Employing external expertise is not a lasting way of building up internal state capacities.[4] It does not seek to re-establish the social contract between state and citizen, it does not seek to address the root cause of instability, nor does it seek to negotiate in the quest for peace. Coercive force is made the defining characteristic for achieving peace, a situation where violence meets violence.[5] This is the antithesis to peacekeeping…PMCs are not institution builders, they are not nation builders, nor are they socio-economic development specialists.” (Small 2006:25)

Private forces operating in conflict zones where violence is perpetrated by numerous non-state actors, and in many cases the state itself, will not further the cause of resolution, institution building or positive, sustainable peace. Its very presence would only serve to up the ante in terms of physical violence, and any successes would be premised on superior and asymmetrical force, either perpetuating or superficially and temporarily suppressing the causes of the conflict (Francis 1999:328). In so far as institution building it can be said that training and guidance in security sector reform is perhaps a valid and positive role for private companies, but in much the same way their very existence and the distortions it causes for the monopoly of violence centred in the state is still in question. The recruitment of PMFs to carry out state coercive and protection functions can be viewed as a “crowding out” effect of the state institutions whose existence and stability would in fact negate the necessity for private military in the first place (Leander 2002:9). Furthermore, any increase in their recruitment further boosts their legitimacy and weakens the incentives for international organisations such as the UN and the African Union to consider using their own, and therefore more legitimate troops in cases like Rwanda. In this sense the counter-discourse on humanitarian intervention as opposed to national interest needs to be reinvigorated.

Accountability, transparency and regulation

In response to the criticisms mentioned above many exponents of the privatisation of military action turn to pragmatism: the private military industry is already in existence, the question now is simply a matter of regulating it. Regulation, accountability and legal issues therefore form the core of the pragmatist argument on how to ensure these companies comply with a set of international norms and expectations. However, if PMFs are hired through non-state actors such as IGs and NGOs then to whom are they accountable? If there are any violations of human rights law carried out by a private company how does international law account for them? Is the company that hired them responsible, or the military company itself?

PMFs are not signatories to the Geneva Convention or the Rules of Engagement treaty and the evidence appears to suggest that a dearth of concrete international law dealing with transnational companies in general allows the PMI considerable scope for action that may not necessarily be in line with international human rights norms (Small 2006:15). For example, in a contravention of UN Resolution 1132 (UN.org) banning the sale of arms to Sierra Leone in 1997, Sandline International arranged for the shipment of 35 tons of weaponry in support of the government in exile (Musah 2002: 926). While regional international force ECOMOG successfully carried out a counter-coup before the supplies arrived, no one has been prosecuted for the sale (Francis 1999:334). Furthermore, in many African countries where democratic norms are considered fragile at best, there is a further disconnect between civilian rule and military activity as the employment of PMFs by private civilians, non-governmental organisations, intergovernmental organisations or the regime in question, are not subject to the political rigours of deliberation and prosecution that an institutionalised, parliamentary and party-system would provide (Small 2006:15).

Would stricter regulation then solve this problem of accountability? Two points here highlight the dangers in resorting to the imagined restrictions that more formalised integrated regulation would imply. Firstly, in the genuine attempt to curb private military activities in South Africa the government ended up incorporating 28 of 36 proposals offered to it during the research stage by EO into their Foreign Military Assistance Bill. Secondly, if it was possible to formalise international regulations of PMFs how could this be monitored and enforced if there is no integrated legal system through which to pursue violators. It is also telling that since the 1989 UN International Convention against the Recruitment, Use, Financing and Training of Mercenaries finally came in to effect in 2001 none of the major PMCs have signed it (Leander 1997:13). The fact that 80 private security firms registered in Angola after EO ended its contract there also signals the administrative feat involved in keeping track of such firms even if they had signed conventions and agreed to regulation (Leander 1997:14). In this way private military armies are free to act above and beyond the state.

Conclusion

The central argument of this paper is that the existence of a private military industry threatens the consolidation of the Weberian state in Africa by displacing the state in its core function. The diffusion of authority, capability and legitimacy of the state over coercive force signals the retreat of the state in its traditional role and is especially worrisome for African states where the consolidation of the Weberian state is still in sharp focus. That it is the weaker states that are more prone to PMF activity is the tragic irony of the case, as it is the weaker states that most need to reinforce their legitimacy and monopoly over violence as the first step towards building the Weberian state that would allow the establishment of a social contract that would in turn set in motion the economic and democratising processes, and institution building in general that would arguably allow more rapid, stable egalitarian development.  Many countries are still in the process of overcoming the trauma of colonisation and imported governing mechanisms as well as adapting to the demands of enforced privatisation processes. Private military companies, by their very nature, profit from destabilisation and violence. The widespread commodification of violence that their existence creates presents the danger that the debate will move from a question of legitimacy to one merely of logistics, regulation and legal parameters. Their proliferation threatens to engender a serious dependency on private security in Africa, crowding out the need to build a legitimate monopoly over violence, and by extension a dilution of the social contract.

Bibliography

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[1] Other contextual factors: The end of the Cold War and apartheid in South Africa saw millions of soldiers demobilised and in search of employment (Small 2006:19).

[2] A mineral compound called Coltan is a basic material used in the production of the microchip and in high demand since the information technology revolution in the late 1990s. It can be found in abundance in the Congolese forests (BBCNews.co.uk).

[4] Musah 2002: 56

[5] Malan, M. ‘The Crisis in External Response’, in Cilliers J and & Madison , P. (eds) Peace Profit and Plunder: The Privatisation of Security in War-Torn African Societies, Institute for Strategic Studies: Pretoria, 1999.