South Sudan, the world’s newest country, currently risks slipping into a violent malaise. The crisis in South Sudan highlights very clearly some of the key problems surrounding the practical implementation of the Responsibility to Protect. 

Five years after seceding from Sudan, South Sudan is about to collapse into its second civil war since 2013. Marauding bands of informally constituted ethnic groups contribute to a climate of vigilantism.  UN diplomats debate the utility of an arms embargo in a state awash in arms.  The threat is meant to leverage Juba’s permission to allow a four thousand peacekeeper regional protection force into the country.  But Juba’s complaint about its exclusion from negotiations, contributes to a climate of distrust about the international community and its intentions. The crisis represents a serious challenge for the Responsibility to Protect (R2P) doctrine and the international community to forestall a humanitarian disaster that is well underway.

The Responsibility to Protect

A 2001 report by the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty introduced the idea of R2P, creating a new international norm that made the formerly autonomous allowances of absolute sovereignty contingent on each state’s responsibility to protect its population from genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity, and ethnic cleansing.  Its controversial pillar two seized the international community with subject matter jurisdiction to intervene as the residual stop-gap agency to prevent internal abuse when states were incapable or unwilling to do the same.  Two other pillars addressed a responsibility to prevent (addressing root causes of catastrophe) and a responsibility to rebuild (to assist with reconstruction and reconciliation).

The development of the norm has been controversial and it has been reworked, principally along lines of nurturing states to live up to their internal responsibilities and tethering it to actions of the UN Security Council.  But its proactive charge of intervention has also been embraced by scholars and norm entrepreneurs as a progressive development. In its 2007 judgment in the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide Case, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) supported the duty of states to prevent atrocity beyond their borders if they have the capacity to influence persons likely to commit such acts; the ICJ acknowledged that this obligation extended beyond the competent organs of the UN.  The International Law Commission’s 2001 Draft Articles on State Responsibility provided that states cooperate to end through lawful means serious and systematic breaches of peremptory norms.  R2P’s normative development indicates that the idea of a collective responsibility to protect now informs the legalect of international courts and tribunals, suggesting a growing receptivity to and maturation of the doctrine.

R2P, Africa and South Sudan

Image of peacekeepers in Juba by UN Photo via Flickr.

Africa was the first region where the R2P was meant to be applied.  It grew out of the idea of responsible sovereignty, first articulated by Francis Deng and others in 1996.  Responsible sovereignty suggested benefits to cooperation among states.  These benefits went beyond the avoidance of international conflict or the mere ‘tending to’ of sovereign fences.  Responsible sovereignty suggested sovereignty could imply joint action and joint benefits.  It grew into the idea of R2P.

Nowhere has R2Ps reception been stronger than in Africa, having been well received by the African Union, the Economic Community of West African States, (ECOWAS), the Southern African Development Community (SADC), and a litany of African elites, including South Africa’s Thabo Mbeki, Nigeria’s Olusegun Obasanjo, Tanzania’s Salim Ahmed Salim, South Sudan’s Francis Deng, Ghana’s former UN Secretary-General Kofi Anan, and Algeria’s Mohamed Sahnoun.  Cases within the African context indicated its time had come: The UN Security Council validated ECOWAS’ interventions in Liberia (1990/92) and Sierra Leone (1997), offering praise in the face of its own inaction to these humanitarian crises.  R2P received the unanimous support of one hundred and seventy Heads of State in two provisions of the 2005 UN World Summit final document, presaging the incorporation of the doctrine by the African Union in its 2005 Ezulwini Consensus report.

But nowhere has its implementation been more problematic than in the world’s newest country, South Sudan.  Sudan, and now South Sudan, have been beset by internecine violence over the last sixty years.  South Sudan teetered on implosion almost immediately after achieving statehood in July 2011.  South Sudan devolved into civil war in December 2013, when its President Salva Kiir Mayardit accused former Vice President Riek Machar of plotting against the regime.  An improbable rapprochement, fortified by an internationally mediated agreement, was signed in August 2015, resulting in Machar’s much delayed return to the capital, Juba in April 2016, and the formation of a most tenuous unity government, which collapsed in July in a wave of bloodshed and atrocity in Juba.  Kiir has now rejected a US proposal to insert the four thousand peacekeepers, claiming it is an attempt to turn South Sudan into a UN protectorate.

Kiir and Machar’s mutual distrust until the most recent violence in July was outweighed only by a common need for more money to support their factions and a mutual interest in avoiding a personal accounting of atrocities allegedly committed by their respective factions.  Interpreted alternatively as an explanation or a threat to the international community, the two allegedly wrote on the Op Ed page of the New York Times in June 2016 that any disciplinary justice meted out “even under international law” would destabilize unity efforts.  Translation:  If you try to bring us to justice, we will bring back war.  They invoked the name of the international community, calling on it to back their non-punitive plan for a mediated reconciliation.   Four days after publication, the New York Times appended an Editor’s Note to the South Sudan leaders’ world-wide call for reconciliation; Machar had disavowed the Op Ed piece, claiming his views had been fabricated. But not completely.  One month later, he and Kiir brought back bloodshed.

The episode highlights the complexities facing South Sudan.  If the international community is to facilitate a solution to the ongoing crisis, only cosmetically concealed by an unravelling claim of unity, the fundamental normative problem of R2P must be addressed:  where in the international community does R2P reside?

Transmuting the international community’s abstract but coercive cause of action to prevent domestic abuse into something other than high-minded rhetoric requires either a fully functioning UN Security Council or another agency with the legitimacy and authority to pierce sovereignty’s veil.  The UN Charter system created a jus ad bellum regime that placed monopoly power over all uses and threats of force (except in cases of self-defense) in the hands of the Security Council.  But that authority is often addled by inaction due to the veto-wielding interests of the big powers, exposing the fundamental weakness of the UN system and provoking the elusive international legal and political pursuit for a better or supplementary normative solution.

Internationalists have wrestled with the poor choice between supporting the legality of the Charter system, which often stood silent in the face of atrocity, or supporting the legitimacy of humanitarian intervention, which only problematized consideration of hidden agendas pertaining to regime change, remedial secession, and self-determination.  Establishing the international community as the ex ante entity vested with such a remedial power came as something of a surprise, and, after fifteen years of ontological development, remains in dispute.  In theoretical terms, R2P marked a return to and modern expression of Christian Wolff’s eighteenth century Republican idea of the civitas maxima (a ‘grand republic’ of nations), the meta-expression of community virtue that upholds the common good, secures the pluralistic interests of the state, and protects the solidarist interests of humanity by presenting a means to prevent internal atrocity.  But even Wolff, who had no understanding of the modern state system as we know it, thought it could not function without a rector.

Kiir and Machar embrace this much of Wolff’s eighteenth century mindset; they view the international community as a rhetorical trope that lacks a headmaster; they invoke its name to lend a fictive air of moral authority to their pieties on reconciliation, when they do not employ it as blackmail.  Much of the doctrinal disarray surrounding R2P’s non-appearance in South Sudan conforms to an uncertainty about the international community itself:  Is it an unwitting continuation of the mission civilisatrice – the persistently failed and resented attempt to make sub-Saharan Africa more European; does it embrace or dismiss African notions of community, which present a humanistic understanding different than contractarian models of liberal institutionalism (Ubuntu); is it an updated form of colonialism?  Perhaps it is an expression of Carl Schmitt’s Political Theology (1922), allowing its claimants the power to decide on the exceptions to legal rules.  Schmitt was wary of the keepers of humanity’s interests.  Paraphrasing Proudhon, he wrote:  whoever invokes humanity’s name wants to cheat.  Kiir and Machar would doubtless agree.

Equally problematic has been locating the international community’s headmaster amid South Sudan’s turmoil.  Does the international community fundamentally reduce to a sanctions policy orchestrated by the US and its allies?  Should it claim a regional identity in the form of mediations sponsored by the Intergovernmental Authority for Development (IGAD) or IGAD-Plus (an amalgam of states associated with the African Union Peace and Security Council), or non-African agencies of the EU, the so-called Troika (US, UK, and Norway), or perhaps China?

An Emergent Dark Side

South Sudan’s misery teaches us something about the emergent dark side of R2P.  It reveals a heteronomous will of a fragmented international community, which, in South Sudan’s case finds expression in a variety of cross-cutting alliances.  Tensions exist within IGAD, certainly between Uganda and Sudan and possibly due to reports of Eritrean and Sudanese military support of South Sudanese opposition forces.  These tensions diminish IGAD’s mediation efforts and reputation as an honest broker.  Key sectors of South Sudan’s limited civil society (specifically Church leaders) are overlooked; an array of venues and sponsors compete for influence, contributing to complaints of forum-shopping, which allow Kiir and Machar to play components of the international community against each other.  The center of this unity government in South Sudan has not held; war is around the corner and famine is spreading.

Conclusion

Locating R2P within the international community would be daunting enough were questions of its authorization or operationalization in South Sudan settled matters of fact; but its non-appearance in the continuing misery of the country suggests the doctrine, fifteen years in the making, is neither thickly representative of historical process nor thinly embodied as an aspiration.  R2P, in the context of South Sudan, turns the international community into an ethical referent, a conceptual archetype that satisfies saints and sinners alike.

Christopher Rossi has a Ph.D. in international relations from The Johns Hopkins University School of Advanced International Studies and an LL.M in public international law from the University of London.  He lectures on international law and relations at the University of Iowa College of Law.

Tackling South African water insecurity will require addressing the technical deficiencies, governance gaps and social inequality that are currently having a dangerous and environmentally devastating impact. The links between environmental health and socio-political stability are clear in South Africa, where there has been an exponential increase in violent protests over poor or privatized service delivery, social marginalization, and unequal access to water. South Africa must act  to solidify the links between resilient societies and resilient ecosystems.

Rural water pump near Ulundi, South Africa. Source: Trevor Samson / World Bank (via Flickr)

Last month, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) unveiled the third and final Working Groupreport from its from its landmark Fifth Assessment. This, together with the Second Working Group Report released on 31 March, 2014, is required reading for those wishing to examine the societal impacts of climate change and the potential pathways for twenty-first century resilience. For the first time, the IPCC included a chapter on human security. This is a significant achievement that should increase understanding of the increased threat and impacts on individual livelihoods that climate change is bringing, particularly in the developing world. It is clear that the connections between environmental security and human security run deep, but it is less clear just how societies can build resilience and whether the political will exists to pursue it.

Adding to the complexity is the fact that these challenges manifest themselves uniquely across the world. Due to factors of geography, history, politics, and social development, each region and country experiences climate change in a distinctive way. For Africa, the picture is predictably bleak. The region as a whole has contributed the least to greenhouse gas emissions, faces some of the worst consequences of climate change, and has the weakest capacity to cope with the impacts.

The country of South Africa provides a fascinating example of how difficult building ecological resilience can be. Already the 30^th driest country in the world, it is expected to experience further drying trends, and an increase in extreme weather events, including cycles of extreme drought and sudden excessive rains. In relative terms, the country has in fact been a significant contributor to global climate change due to its energy-intensive economy. As such, the country has a global responsibility to engage fully with the IPCC reports and begin developing robust responses to environmental insecurity. However, doing so presents major challenges for a country that remains a “dual economy” with one of the highest rates of income inequality (and inequality of opportunity) in the world.

This is all the more troubling given the country’s progressive stance on environmental issues. In fact, environmental security has been, and will remain, a vital component of the evolving South African identity following the end of apartheid in 1994. The issue of environmental security in South Africa is one that has for years resonated across diverse sections of the population. There are strong cultures of conservation and environmentalism running throughout the country. However, the “Rainbow Nation” continues to suffer from sustained environmental degradation in ways that alter the natural landscape, destroy necessary biodiversity, and hinder social development.

Promises to Keep: water legislation and service delivery

Take for instance the issue of water security. South Africa has long been seen as a world leader in progressive water policy, particularly given its need to address unequal water policies of the Apartheid era. Its Constitution and its National Water Act explicitly declares the human right to water, guaranteeing a minimum allocation of 6000 litres of free, clean water a month for every South African. Nelson Mandela championed the cause, claiming that access to water is “central in the social, economic and political affairs of the country, [African] continent and the world. It should be a lead sector of cooperation for world development.” The guiding vision for South African water policy is eloquently summed up by the former slogan for the Department of Water Affairs and Forestry: “some, for all, forever.” The progressive language of water rights enshrined in the country’s legal frameworks is a point of pride amongst South African citizens, but also a flashpoint around which grievances often converge.

Unused farm stall on the road between Clanwilliam and Citrusdal. Source: John Hogg/World Bank (via Flickr)

However, while the Constitution and the National Water Act overturned the discriminatory water policies of the Apartheid era, they remain vague and non-committal on the delivery of their lofty promises. Given all the competing priorities and demands for investment, the country has neglected to invest the necessary resources to create, maintain and upgrade its water infrastructure and to adequately promote water conservation in the face of increased demands on the precious resource.

In addition, the continued failure of sustainable agricultural practices and the promotion of economic growth in a business-as-usual and water-intensive manner have severely degraded South Africa’s water resources. All told, 48% of South Africa’s wetlands are critically endangered. Another telling example comes from the province of KwaZulu-Natal, where the pursuit of economic development and social advancement has led to a rapid rate of environmental transformation. The rate of loss of unprotected natural areas is approximately 1% per annum, meaning that if it continues at this rate they (and all of the attendant services they provide) will be lost by 2050. Pushing back against these trends requires significant efforts on the part of many different actors. This will be, of course, a very difficult task.

Beyond technical deficiencies and economic tradeoffs, there remains a governance gap within the country that exacerbates the problems. The management of its water is largely disjointed and erratic. The various levels of government and the disparate non-state actors involved in water conservation and distribution are often arranged in Unsurprisingly, this leads to the multiplication of environmental stresses because stakeholders often lack technical knowledge, fail to adapt best environmental practices, contribute to spoiling common-pool resources, and contribute to social alienation from the natural world. This impedes economic development and hardens social cleavages between the rich, whose water flows freely and cheaply, and the poor, who suffer the debilitating effects brought upon by a lack of access to adequate water supplies. Thus, what is often lost in the discussion are the ways in which healthy ecosystems deliver valuable services to people. In essence, we are surrounded by ecological infrastructure.

The social component of South African water security combines with technical deficiencies and governance gaps to create a dangerous and environmentally devastating impact. This reflects the connections between environmental health with socio-political stability. Unfortunately, for South Africa, the picture is troubling. Non-violent resistance has been a common tactic, but even more concerning has been the recent exponential increase in violent protests over poor service delivery, privatization of service delivery, social marginalization, and the persistent inequality in access to water. One of the ways that could assist the country avoid further civil strife is to significantly increase sustainable environmental management and adjust its governance priorities to deliver upon the laudatory promises of its environmental legislation.

The Resilience of South Africa

On May 7^th, 2014, South Africans will head to the polls for national elections. This will be the fourth election since the fall of Apartheid, and the first for the “born frees” – the generation of young South Africans born and raised in a democratic South Africa. Most opinion polls indicate that the ruling African National Congress (ANC) party will be re-elected by a sizeable margin, though its support has dropped significantly in recent years. This is due in part to widening perceptions that the ANC has grown entrenched in its own privilege, reflected by ongoing corruption scandals and ineffective economic policies.

As South Africa moves further away from the legacy of Apartheid, it must confront continued social alienation, the pervasive effects of deep inequality, and the monumental challenge of building ecological resilience and sustainability. As service delivery protests increase, it is clear how the social cleavages of modern-day South Africa often manifest themselves around issues of water, sanitation, the environment, and human dignity.

The latest IPCC reports are remarkable achievements for a number of reasons. Not least, they clearly acknowledge the continued connections between human and environmental security. In this sense they reflect the growing awareness that to build resilient societies means to invest in resilient ecosystems, and vice versa. For South Africa, in possession of arguably the most progressive water legislation in the world, this requires actively investing in the ecological systems that builds and sustains human dignity. This will require the country to reconcile its rhetoric with its practice. A tall order to be sure, but one that is absolutely crucial for the country to fulfill the promise of its recent past.

Cameron Harrington is a Post-Doctoral Fellow in the Global Risk Governance Programme at the University of Cape Town. His work is based upon research supported by the National Research Foundation of South Africa. Any opinion, findings and conclusions or recommendations expressed in this material are those of the author(s) and therefore the NRF does not accept any liability in regard thereto.

Toxic remnants of war and their legacy of civilian harm is seriously under-explored as an area of conflict. There is a growing consensus that the current legal framework governing conflict and the environment is not fit for purpose – so how could new international norms that merge environmental protection with civilian protection come into effect? 

In his message on the occasion of the United Nations day on conflict and the environment last month, Ban Ki-moon repeated the disappointingly persistent observation that “the environment has long been a silent casualty of war and armed conflict”. While verging on cliché, the statement speaks to a wider problem about how the environmental impact of conflict is currently recorded, assessed and responded to. Inadequate data collection on the humanitarian and environmental impact of particular weapons or military practices makes determining their acceptability difficult, empowers polluters and acts a barrier to effective post-conflict assistance.

The toxic legacy of conflict

An Agent Orange spray run by U.S. Air Force during the Vietnam War. Source: Wikimedia

The health and environmental impact of pollutants is widely recognised in peacetime but this aspect of the public health legacy of conflict is often sidelined in the face of urgent post-conflict response. Pollution sources in conflict can range from munitions constituents to substances released through the destruction, or loss of control, of industrial installations or oil or power infrastructure, from the ubiquitous building rubble to the waste disposal practices and footprint of military installations. As pollutants are released, wartime disruption invariably sees institutional capacity for environmental governance, such as the provision of environmental services and regulatory control, diminished.

The net result is increased pollution and less capacity to assess and manage it. These toxic remnants of war may leave civilian populations facing acute risks from dangerous industrial compounds, or chronic exposure to pollutants in air, water or food. Some may be highly visible, such as the black plumes of oil fires or military burn pits; others may be invisible but incredibly persistent, such as the dioxins from Agent Orange.

At a time where toxics in consumer products and emissions from industry, transport and agriculture are increasingly scrutinised and regulated, the lack of attention on the humanitarian impact of conflict pollution seems like a curious omission. Even more so given that the experiences of Agent Orange, Gulf War Syndrome, depleted uranium and more recently burn pits and metal-laden dusts, has placed protection from conflict pollutants firmly on the military’s agenda; as demonstrated by the US’s system of deployment health surveillance which merges environmental data on potential exposures with troop health records.

Modifying the legal environment

The norms and standards governing environmental, and by extension, public health protection in peacetime have left the laws of war far behind. Legal provisions for the protection of the environment during war and armed conflict date back to the 1970s, when international disgust at the conduct of the Vietnam War, in particular the use of the defoliant Agent Orange and Cold War fears over the use of environmental modification techniques, resulted in the codification of new international law.

The 1977 Environmental Modification (ENMOD) Convention and Articles 35 and 55 of Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions did serve to anchor the environment within International Humanitarian Law but it has become increasingly clear that the thresholds for unlawful damage are set too high and are poorly defined. In 2009, the UN Environment Programme (UNEP) joined a long list of legal scholars calling for more progress in the field. They were followed by the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) in 2011. Making the link between environmental protection and the protection of civilians, and noting the need for post-conflict environmental cooperation and assistance, they suggested that: “A new system could be introduced that is based on similar rules recently created for dealing with the legacy of landmines and other explosive remnants of war.”

While some member states at the ICRC’s 2011 conference did not respond enthusiastically to its proposals, the Nordic governments did take up the gauntlet, pledging to work on the issue of conflict and the environment and report back in late 2015. Following up on one of UNEP’s 2009 recommendations, the International Law Commission, which provides advice to the United Nations General Assembly, has also adopted the issue, initiating a three year legal review that will conclude in 2016. This renewed interest in the environmental and civilian impact of conflict and military activities is welcome, providing as it does a backdrop for engagement and debate, and with a consensus view emerging that the current legal framework is unfit for purpose, the search is now on for practical solutions.

How do you solve a problem like toxic remnants of war?

The scope of ‘conflict and the environment’ is vast, covering everything from climate change, to impacts on biodiversity, to natural resources and environmental sustainability as human security, and much else besides. Clearly, then, there is no one size fits all solution. The situation is complicated further by the low operational importance that militaries currently attach to environmental protection, in comparison to mission success and the survival of their personnel. Other nagging problems are the role of non-state actors and, surprisingly, how to define “the environment”, which as a complex system and one that has often been influenced by humanity is a more difficult question than first appears.

The reality is that conflict will always be environmentally damaging. Much of this damage will be subtle and cumulative – only a minority of incidents, like oil well fires, are photogenic enough to grab the headlines. This seems to suggest that pragmatic measures to minimise, assess and remedy harm are desirable. Happily, when it comes to conflict pollution, a constellation of peacetime environmental norms and standards are available as guidance. As the majority were established to ensure the protection of public and environmental health, the principles they contain are of direct relevance to efforts to increase the protection of civilians. Domestic and International Environmental Law are now being further reinforced by Human Rights Law, which is increasingly establishing links to the environment. Most notably, these principles are being forged in the field of participatory rights – through the right to know about contamination that may impact your rights to health, life or livelihood and to take part in decisions on its management.

The most cost effective way to reduce pollution is to manage it at source. In the context of toxic remnants of war, the diversity of sources involved requires that a number of parallel approaches be considered. This could entail stricter controls on the deliberate targeting of industrial infrastructure, perhaps by extending existing prohibitions on the targeting of sites that can release ‘dangerous forces’ and placing a greater onus on environmental considerations when determining the military necessity of strikes. Minimisation could also be achieved through greater environmental preparedness before conflict, something that Kuwait implemented prior to the 2003 Iraq War. Other measures could include more stringent controls on emissions and discharges from military bases, or improvements in the screening of weapons constituents.

Post-conflict environmental assessments are currently undertaken by UNEP. While robust, they often take place many years after conflicts and are dependent on the political interest and generosity of member states. To properly examine the environmental and civilian impact from conflict pollution, it is imperative that more environmental data be recorded. This will require that the number of actors recording data be increased, which in turn will require that the costs of data collection and analysis be reduced. Improvements to how it is then integrated into public health registries will also be required in order to establish harm and target assistance. New technologies are beginning to make this a realistic prospect and, coupled with mapping systems, would help challenge the cliché of the “silent victim”.

The final pillar of an approach that merges environmental protection with civilian protection is assistance and remediation. In this the ICRC’s 2011 study provides a useful starting point for discussion. Alongside monitoring and an obligation to assess damage and provide reparations, it also proposed new norms on international assistance and cooperation. ICRC’s proposal of a system akin to those applied to mines and explosive remnants of war is interesting and has parallels in the peacetime response to pollution incidents.

The Toxic Remnants of War Project is currently examining the possible structure of such a mechanism, based on the views of practitioners, civil norms and on historical responses to wartime environmental damage. The establishment this year of a new governing body for UNEP with universal membership – the UN Environment Assembly – perhaps provides a forum where a mechanism could be discussed in detail. Civil society also has an important role to play in efforts to reduce harm from toxic remnants of war. In 2015, a new NGO network will be launched, which seeks to ensure that the toxic legacy of conflict and military activities are minimised, assessed and properly addressed.

Doug Weir manages the Toxic Remnants of War Project (@detoxconflict) which explores state responsibility for the toxic legacy of military activities and the environmental and humanitarian impact of conflict. 

Featured image: An Agent Orange spray run by U.S. Air Force during the Vietnam War. Source: Wikimedia 

Originally set up the mid-1980s, the temporary village guard system’s purpose was to act as a local militia in towns and villages, protecting against attacks and reprisals from the insurgents of the Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK). Has this system been successful as a counter-terrorism strategy and does it still have a role in the Turkey of today?

In any counterinsurgency strategy, the separation of “bad guys” from the rest of the population is a significant objective which has a direct impact on the effectiveness of the campaign. To achieve this objective, forming, arming and using local militias may be a viable strategy, particularly in rural, remote, harshly mountainous and tribal contexts in which security forces face difficult challenges to reach the local population. In recent years, the “Sons of Iraq” or the “Anbar Awakening” case in Iraq and the “Tribal Security Forces (Arbakai)” case in Afghanistan are contemporary examples of this strategy.

Does the strategy of forming local militias yield successful results? The existing, yet limited, literature on this subject has opened the door to speculations and interpretations that are more journalistic than scholarly. To better elucidate the effectiveness of forming local militias, this article presents the case of the “Temporary Village Guard System” (Geçici Köy Koruculuğu Sistemi)” in Turkey, which was first initiated in 1985 and has been fully active since.

Turkey’s Village Guards System

Image via Facebook.

Since being founded in 1978, Turkey’s Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) has caused approximately 20,000 fatalities, including about 11,000 civilians and 9,000 security personnel. In the meantime, about 20,000 PKK members were killed and about 6000 were captured and imprisoned. In order to thwart PKK-initiated violence, Turkish authorities have implemented many different countermeasures ranging from repressive to accommodative strategies, including the village guard system. As of January 2016, the monthly salary is approximately the equivalent of U.S. $400, along with clothing expenses and some social security benefits that came with passage of the amendments between the 74^th article and 82^nd article of the Village Law on March 26, 1985.

With this legally founded, centrally appointed, and state-paid “security force,” the Turkish government created a civilian militia in the Kurdish populated southeast provinces of Turkey. Except for 300 Ulupamir Guards, who immigrated to the Van province from Kyrgyzstan, all village guards are ethnically Kurd. To supplement the employed village guard system, a “voluntary village guard” program was added in 13 more provinces, which led to the expansion of this system to 22 provinces in 1993, the year in which violence reached its peak level over the course of the conflict with the PKK. The difference between the two programs is that, while the employed village guards receive monthly salary and health benefits, the voluntary village guards do not receive a salary but are entitled to health compensation and benefits. The size of temporary and voluntary civilian armed force reached almost 60,000 by the end of the 1990s, accounting for almost one-third of the armed forces in the Kurdish region.

As of August 2013, Muharrem Güler, then the Interior Minister of Turkey, announced that there are currently 65,456 village guards, 46,113 of whom are employed (interestingly 337 of them are women) and 19,343 of whom are voluntary (161 of them are women). Currently, the village guard system is implemented in 23 provinces. Most of the village guards are employed on the border between Iraq, Iran, and in the extremely mountainous provinces of Hakkari, Sirnak and Van because PKK has been using safe heavens in Iraq and Iran for years.

All village guards, whether voluntary or hired, work under the supervision of the provincial Gendarmerie Commands and receive two weeks of basic military training from their provincial governor immediately after joining.

To better understand the debate, it may be useful to examine the existing arguments for and against the Village Guard System.

Arguments Favoring the System

1. The village guard system has been seen a success story in Turkey’s strategy against the PKK-initiated violence to such an extent that it has become one of the main pillars of counterterror strategy. If the village guard system had not been initiated, the state authority in the region would have eventually collapsed.
2. The village guards have first denied the mobility of the PKK both by separating them from the rest of the population as a bottom-up means of isolating them, and then prevented them from gaining territorial control.
3. The village guards have provided intelligence to the security forces both on the territory and the activities of the PKK.
4. The village guards have not been forced by the security forces to join this system. The existence of more than 25,000 voluntary village guards, who are not paid by the government, is a proof of this.
5. PKK’s numbers has never exceeded the number of the village guards, even during the early 1990s, the period in which the number of the armed terrorists reached its peak level of 11,000. This is an indicator showing the low level of popular support to the PKK.

Arguments against the System

1. The state pitched brother against brother. If it hadn’t been for the village guards, this conflict would have never reached this intensity.
2. The village guard system is a typical reflection of state tradition on the Kurdish issue. Enmeshed in the Kurds’ tribal networks, it exacerbated the tensions in the region. The equipping of the village guards, who were without even basic military training, increased instability in the entire region. The guard system introduced virtually extinguished social order in Kurdish daily life.
3. The village guard system was used by the state officials as a repressive mechanism to recruit villagers.
4. The village guards are poorly disciplined and inadequately trained.
5. The village guards have been accused repeatedly in past years of drug trafficking, corruption, theft, rape, and other abuses. Inadequate oversight exacerbated the problem, and in many cases the security forces allegedly protected village guards from prosecution.
6. Several reports document concerns regarding human rights violations resulting from the village guard system in Turkey.
7. The village guard system has been responsible for deepening mistrust and ethnic divisions in an already troubled region.
8. The village guards have moved with their families into villages that were evacuated in the 1990s and now the original villagers are returning to their villages to find the Village Guards already living there.
9. The establishment of village guards made civilians more vulnerable to attacks.

Has the village guard system in Turkey really worked as a counterterror strategy?

In military terms, and despite its drawbacks and unintended consequences, the village guard system in Turkey worked well as a counter-terror strategy between 1985 and 1993 and achieved the objectives of separation of the local population from the terrorists and denying the PKK control of their hoped-for secessionist territory. Early success gained just after the implementation of the militia system needed a follow-up before the insurgency adapts. In the following years, however, it gradually waned in effectiveness when considering the increased number of PKK attacks in the period of 1993-1999, and caused increasing socio-economic and political micro-level cleavages in the region. As the big inertia in a dispersed system means resistance to change, the guards system could not easily be modified, meaning the strengthening of the existing micro-cleavages and the emergence of the new ones.

Reasons for the decline in effectiveness

The village guard system in Turkey was originally initiated under the assumption that the emergent threat (PKK bandits) was so local and small that it was not considered to require commitment of national security forces. This perception of PKK fighters as “a few bandits” led the Turkish government officials to the authoritization of the system in a temporally (initially, the system was designed for a two-years long period ) and spatially (only in three provinces) limited setting. However, there emerged many institutional problems as the number of village guards was enormously expanded from 800 men to 40,000 men only within a one-year-long period. The primary sources of these shortfalls would be sorted as follows: the absence of comprehensive vision at the national level and the implementation of the planning and recruitment strategy of the system at the provincial level. The absence of a national-level institutional framework which would standardize the system led to the differentiating practices in the provinces. The dramatic rise within a short period of time, when combined with the attempt of government to micro-manage the village guard system at the provincial level, led not only to confusion about the rights, missions and responsibilities of the village guards but also caused different (sometimes contradicting) practices in the following years. Fast expansion meant both weak control at the national level and different interpretations of the operational use of the guards at the provincial level.

Furthermore, the formation of local militias may not only have pros and cons in the sphere of security but also may lead to implications in the socio-cultural sphere. The persistent characterization of the village guards as “traitor,” and the prevalent use of the term “Jash” (a Kurdish slang word for donkey) by PKK supporters to refer to Kurdish village guards, indicates the significance of the local political structure when analyzing the local dynamics of the conflict in Turkey. It is not hyperbole to suggest that the system has also changed the nature of conflict by first pushing the conflict into new areas and creating new micro-cleavages (whether tribal or at the family level) in the provinces.  These results, which clearly emphasize the explanatory power of local political structures in an ethnic conflict, confirm Stathis Kalyvas’s theorization. That is, when examining the dynamics of an ethnic conflict in a comparative perspective, Kalyvas points out that local political structures and rivalries among local groups have a great impact on shifting alliances, which are considered as acts of treason by rival factions.

The allegation of human rights violations by militias seem to be inevitable. The absence or lack of sufficient legal mechanisms to investigate accusations, especially in combination with low levels of transparency and accountability, may lead to structural legal problems and emotional conflicts over justice in the Afghan and Iraq cases as in the Turkish case.

To demobilize or not to demobilize?

The Turkish government has been in a dilemma when deciding on the fate of the village guard system. Opinions about this issue highlight two options for the government, each of which can take two forms.

The first option is demobilization. One form of this option is “honorable demobilization,” which implies that the government will end the guard system after providing all material and social rights and benefits to the retired and serving guards, and publicly elevating the history of the guards for their role in the Turkish state’s armed struggle against the PKK.  The other form, “dishonorable demobilization,” implies that the government will end the guard system with few rights and benefits for retired and serving guares, and will meticulously search the history of the guards to bring to justice those who allegedly committed crimes.  Interviewees who favor dishonorable demobilization argue the need to establish memorial sites for those crimes and brutalities allegedly committed by the guards, with periodic visits by government officials to these sites to keep the collective memory fresh.

The second option is to maintain and continue the guards system. With this option, there again appear to be two alternative forms.  One form is the maintainance of the system after a comprehensive revision that examinines the strengths, drawbacks and conseuqences of the system in the domains of security, law and politics so as to make it more effective and efficient. The other form is the maintainance of the status-quo which implies the continuation of the village guards as an open-ended commitment not restrained by definite limits, restrictions, or structure.

Currently, the Turkish government seems to embrace the last altenative; that is, maintainance of the system as it is in an open-ended process. With the information at hand, it is difficult to predict which option the Turkish government will embrace in the near future. Sooner or later, however, when the government decides on the village guard system, this decision will surely be a strategic one which directly affects the evolution of ongoing clashes.

Metin Gurcan is an Istanbul Policy Center Researcher specializing in security issues.

Jenny Nielsen and Marianne Hanson

The first week of the third Preparatory Committee (PrepCom) for the 2015 Review Conference (RevCon, held every five years) of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) has witnessed a heavy emphasis on issues relating to the disarmament pillar. In particular, the humanitarian impact of nuclear weapons, highlighted by a wide-ranging, cross-grouping, multi-aim initiative which continues to consolidate itself in the non-proliferation regime, has come to the fore. Frustrated with the lack of progress towards NPT Article VI commitments to complete nuclear disarmament, the initiative has invigorated attention to the urgency of nuclear disarmament and a need for a change in the status quo. NPT member states and civil society continue to engage actively in publicizing the humanitarian consequences of nuclear weapons as an impetus to progress towards nuclear disarmament.

The Humanitarian initiative

Austria has announced the dates of a Third International Conference on the Humanitarian Consequences of Nuclear Weapons, to be held on 8-9 December 2014 in Vienna. This conference will follow the March 2013 Oslo conference and the February 2014 Nayarit conference, which were both notably boycotted by the five NPT nuclear weapons states (NWS: the UN Security Council permanent members, or P5).  Whether any of the five NWS will participate in the Vienna conference, remains to be seen. Given the Chair’s summary of the Nayarit conference, which includes some of the Mexican chair’s personal perceptions on the humanitarian initiative’s aims, the Austrian Ministry of Foreign Affairs may find that appealing to the NWS to attend will be a challenging task.

UN General Assembly. Source: Wikipedia

At the PrepCom, the Mexican delegation explained that the Chair’s Summary of the Nayarit conference, ‘reflects the opinion of the overwhelming majority of delegates, in the sense that these discussions should lead to the commitment by States and civil society to achieve new standards and standards through a legally binding instrument prohibiting nuclear weapons in the same way, as in the past, the weapons that have been eliminated were first banned’. Furthermore, the Mexican delegation to the PrepCom stressed that ‘the time has come to initiate a diplomatic process, to define specific time lines and the most appropriate fora to achieve this work’.

Since the inclusion of the humanitarian consequences issue in the Final Document of the 2010 NPT RevCon and the reinvigoration of this initiative in the PrepComs since then, the NWS have been cautious of the initiative’s coordinated activities and continue to question the aims of the initiative.  In particular, the NWS will not readily engage in the initiative as long as they interpret or perceive it to be the pathway towards a delegitimization process and, ultimately, a ban on nuclear weapons’ possession and use. For this reason, controlling the initiative’s external communication of its aims and activities will need to be carefully managed in order to sustain its broad, cross-grouping support-base and participation. This, in turn, will enforce its credibility and longevity in the regime towards the goal of progress towards nuclear disarmament.

Suing for Nuclear Zero

Cactus Dome, Runit Island, Enewetak Atoll, Marshall Islands – a concrete-capped burial pit for radioactive waste from US nuclear tests. Source:  US Defense Special Weapons Agency (via Wikipedia)

On 24 April, a few days before the NPT delegations convened at the UN for the PrepCom, the Republic of the Marshall Islands filed cases in the International Court of Justice and the U.S. Federal District Court claiming that all nuclear-armed states—including the four non-NPT states: India, Israel, DPR Korea, Pakistan—‘have failed to comply with their obligations […] to pursue negotiations for the worldwide elimination of nuclear weapons’.  These cases, referred to as the Nuclear Zero lawsuits, are based on treaty law obligations (for the five NPT NWS) and customary international law (for the four non-NPT member states). The Labour Party of New Zealand (currently in opposition) has pledged support for the lawsuits. Civil society groups at the NPT PrepCom have heralded the motion.

As a testing ground for U.S. nuclear weapons (between 1946 and 1958), the Republic of the Marshall Islands bears firsthand experience of the effects of radiation. On the first day of the PrepCom, the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Marshall Islands, Tony de Brum, delivered a powerful statement including a personal account of his own childhood memories of U.S. nuclear testing. Given the close US-Marshall Islands economic and defence ties, including an agreement for use of the U.S. Army Kwajalein Atoll missile test range, it is an interesting bilateral development.

In her 29 April statement to the 2014 PrepCom, U.S. Under Secretary Rose Gottemoeller asserted that ‘it is the United States’ deep understanding of the consequences of nuclear weapons use—including the devastating health effects—that has guided and motivated our efforts to reduce and ultimately eliminate these most hazardous weapons’. Gottemoeller stressed that ‘it is imperative that we make sure people remember the human impact of nuclear weapons’. In a nod to the Nuclear Zero lawsuits she added that her ‘recent trips to the Marshall Islands and Hiroshima were potent reminders of the need to persevere in confronting this challenge’. The inclusion and attention to these issues in the U.S. statement is an indicator of the prominence and importance of the humanitarian dimension initiative. Notwithstanding universal formal engagement, the initiative is percolating through national statements and embedding itself in discourse widely.

Article VI commitments

Strategically timed for impact during the PrepCom and in furtherance of commitments to transparency, on 29 April, the U.S. State Department released newly classified information on the U.S. nuclear weapons stockpile. As noted by the Federation of American Scientists, the new figures revealed by the Obama administration boil down to only 309 warheads fewer than the 5,113 reported in 2010. While underwhelming for some in civil society given high expectations on deliverables under Article VI, the U.S. reporting on stockpile figures should be welcomed and acknowledged as a positive move by one of the five NWS.

The New Agenda Coalition (NAC, comprising Brazil, Egypt, Ireland, Mexico, New Zealand and South Africa) submitted a meaty working paper on Article VI to the PrepCom. As highlighted by the Irish delegation, this suggests four options for the way forward, outlining ‘prospects for a Nuclear Weapons Convention, a Nuclear Weapons Ban Treaty, a looser framework arrangement of mutually reinforcing instruments, or a hybrid of any or all of the above’. The NAC offers these options for discussion without prescription for one outcome. Ireland argues that discussions must begin immediately in order to identify what is needed and how to frame this. Warning that ‘we will not, under any circumstances, countenance a simple roll-over of the 2010 Action Plan’ at the 2015 RevCon, Ireland stressed that ‘to do so would inflict even further damage on the NPT as a credible driver of disarmament and non-proliferation efforts’.

Mushroom cloud and water column on Bikini Atoll, Marshall Islands, Operation Crossroads Baker, 25 July 1946. Source: US Department of Defense (via Wikipedia)

With 128 states supporting the joint statement on the humanitarian consequences of nuclear weapons at the UN General Assembly First Committee in October 2013, the second week at the PrepCom is likely to witness growing support for the initiative’s statement, but only if its wording can balance the political and strategic needs of all of the wide-ranging states. Notably, at the 2013 PrepCom, Japan opted not to pledge formal support to the statement due to trepidation about a clause in the initiative’s statement which was interpreted as having implications for its strategic alliance and coverage under the US nuclear umbrella. Alienating key states – especially US allies – by expressing views too categorically will not serve the humanitarian initiative well. At the same time, it is hard to deny the frustration felt by most states at the lack of progress towards nuclear disarmament.

Civil society engagement

Akin to the wide range of support and engagement for the humanitarian dimension initiative shown by states parties, civil society groups have made many broad-ranging contributions to highlight the initiative’s aims. Chatham House published a thorough report on the risks of inadvertent, accidental or deliberate detonation of nuclear weapons based on an assessment of historical cases of near nuclear use, offering recommendations for mitigating these risks. The European Leadership Network (ELN) released a group statement (supported by 52 high-level signatories) with a list of broad ranging recommendations for necessary steps for a successful 2015 NPT Review Conference. Warning that the humanitarian dimension initiative ‘has become a deeply divided issue among NPT states-parties’ and arguing that ‘this division is damaging the diplomatic atmosphere’, the ELN calls on the P5 to participate in the initiative’s third conference in Vienna in December.

Across the Atlantic, a coalition of US-based civil society organizations published an open letter to President Obama calling for action on nuclear disarmament, including amongst several suggestions, participation in the Vienna conference. The coalition highlights the deterioration in US-Russia relations, given continuing and foreseeable NATO expansion and in light of the crisis in Ukraine, noting concern for prospects for future bilateral arms reduction negotiations.

Other disarmament advocacy groups including Reaching Critical Will and ICAN are steadfastly calling for a process of negotiations for a new legal instrument prohibiting nuclear weapons. Demanding a nuclear ban, the Geneva Nuclear Disarmament Initiative, aka Wildfire, continues to head-on challenge and mock the status quo of the NPT review process, exposing inconsistencies in nuclear policies by NPT states, with a focus also on NNWS relying on extended nuclear deterrence, particularly Australiaand those NNWS hosting NATO theater nuclear weapons, such as the Netherlands.

A major challenge faced by the PrepCom’s Chair, Peruvian Ambassador Roman Morey, will thus be to reconcile these disparate approaches and views while preserving the essential aims of the humanitarian initiative. There is a clear need to engage the NWS and seek their attendance at the Vienna conference in December and to steer diplomacy as well as civil society activism towards an achievable path for the elimination of nuclear weapons. If the PrepCom concludes with recriminations and division, it will bode ill for next year’s NPT Review Conference.

Jenny Nielsen is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow in the School of Political Science and International Studies at the University of Queensland. Previously, she was a Research Analyst with the Non-proliferation and Disarmament Programme at the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), a Programme Manager for the Defence & Security Programme at Wilton Park, and a Research Assistant for the Mountbatten Centre for International Studies (MCIS) at the University of Southampton, where she co-edited the 2004-2012 editions of the NPT Briefing Book.

Marianne Hanson is Associate Professor of International Relations at the University Of Queensland and Director of the University’s Rotary Centre for International Studies in peace and conflict resolution. She has published widely in the field of international security, with a focus on weapons control, and is currently engaged in a book project examining the emergence of the humanitarian initiative in nuclear weapons debates.