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Making Peace: The Contribution of International Institutions
edited by Guillaume Devin, translated by Roger Leverdier
 Making Peace
The Contribution of
International Institutions

Edited by
Guillaume Devin

Translated by
Roger Leverdier
MAKING PEACE
Copyright © Guillaume Devin, 2011.
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2011
All rights reserved.
First published in French in 2009 as Faire la paix. La part des institutions
internationales by Presses de Sciences Po, Paris, France.
First published in English in 2011 by
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN®
in the United States— a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills,
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Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies
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the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries.
ISBN 978-1-349-29716-0 ISBN 978-1-137-00212-9 (eBook)
DOI 10.1007/978-1-137-00212-9
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Faire la paix. English
Making peace : the contribution of international institutions / edited by
Guillaume Devin ; translated by Roger Leverdier.
p. cm.—(Sciences PO series in international relations and political
economy)
“First published in French as Faire la paix”—T.p. verso.

1. Peace-building—International cooperation. 2. International

agencies. I. Devin, Guillaume. II. Title.
JZ5538.F3713 2011
327.1⬘72—dc23 2011021693
A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library.
Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India.
First edition: December 2011
 CON T E N T S

List of Graph and Figure vii

List of Tables ix

Introduction: Who Makes the Peacemaking Institutions? 1

Guillaume Devin

Part I Controlling Negative Peace

One What Remains of Collective Security? 15
Alain Dejammet
Two The Fight against Chemical and Biological
Weapons: The Role and Performance of
Competent Institutions 31
Henri Léval
Three Preventing Nuclear Proliferation:
The Role of the IAEA 49
Abraham Behar
Four Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 67
Charles Tenenbaum

Part II Promoting Positive Peace

Five The United Nations Peacebuilding Commission:
An Initial Assessment 93
Rosalie Azar
vi Contents

Six UNHCR and Human Security 103

Louise Aubin
Seven Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia 119
Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh
Eight Reducing Poverty and Inequality? What Is the
Purpose of UNDP? 137
Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner
Nine Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation: The
Scope of International Criminal Justice 165
Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau
Conclusion: Peace between Multilateralism and Power 185
Bertrand Badie

Notes on Contributors 189

Index 191
 GR A PH A N D F IGU R E

Graph

2.1 Increase in the number of states parties to the CWC 37

Figure
9.1 The “Impunity Gap” 170
 TA BL E S

2.1 OPCW “cooperation” and “compliance” 43

2.2 The ability of the OPCW to add real value or
initiate intervention in crises, conf licts, or specific
multilateral processes 44
7.1 IFI assessments of the links between the opening
up of political systems and economic choices 125
7.2 Evolution of Human Development Index values 130
7.3 Annual increase in GDP (%) 130
7.4 Poverty 131
7.5 Expenditure 131
8.1 Evolution of UNDP funding 2000–2007
(US$ millions) 159
 Introduction: Who Makes the
Peacemaking Institutions?
G u i l l au m e D e v i n

This book deals with the contribution to peace made by interna-

tional institutions. The theme may seem to lack originality, but on
closer examination it is not as conventional as one would expect.
The issues surrounding the legitimacy of international institutions—
their autonomy, their capacity for action, the effectiveness of their
decisions— are all extremely tricky to resolve because they are hard
to evaluate, measure, and interpret. Given the complexity of their
arrangements, the increasing number of actors in the field, and the
strategies pursued at multiple levels, international institutions present
a serious challenge to empirical investigation. This may be one rea-
son why case studies are relatively rare (especially in French)1 and are
often produced by authors with close connections, either as actors
or occasional collaborators, to the institutions in question. Anyone
seeking to understand how the International Atomic Energy Agency
(IAEA) functions, how the United Nations High Commissioner for
Refugees (UNHCR) defines policy, or how the United Nations
Development Programme (UNDP) reaches its decisions, will find
that “access” is not easy. Moreover, it is widely believed that the pur-
suit of such goals will tell us little about international relations. The
inf luence of realist conceptions of internationalism (and of certain
holistic approaches that accompany them) tends to discourage anyone
who ventures beyond the “Hobbesian triangle” of state, power, and
2 Guillaume Devin

national interest. Thus scepticism increases: the apparatus, although

fragile, sometimes has its uses, but it is never indispensable.
At times the situation may seem rather favorable, but enthusi-
asm quickly wanes. The tide of criticism is relentless: international
institutions are insufficiently representative; they lack legitimacy;
their multilateralism is unbalanced; their work is never satisfactory;
the entire system needs a thorough overhaul. Periodically, major
malfunctions induce a “crisis of confidence,” which is, in truth, a
constant threat, the product of excessive politicization or bureau-
cratization, or a combination of both. Inefficiency, systemic break-
downs, submission to the interests of the most powerful (factors that
are not necessarily linked)—the accusations are not always subtle.
Defenders of the system, conscious of operating in a minefield,
maintain a prudent reserve for fear of being likened to the propo-
nents of an “eschatological” view.2
Should we therefore simply “forget about international institu-
tions”? The contributors to this book do not think so. Most of them
have worked for such bodies; they are astute judges of the ways in
which they function and tend to avoid a facile resort to idealism or
scepticism. No one is blind to the weaknesses of the institutional
arrangements that states make in order to settle matters of mutual
interest, but that they always hope to exploit to the fullest advan-
tage. All the contributors are aware that “solidarity” is not a magic
word, that the behavior of states is still largely dictated by “security
dilemmas,”3 and that cooperation is also— and perhaps primarily— a
way of exercising reciprocal control, a means of ensuring that every-
one plays by the rules. But this expectation of predictable behavior is
precisely where international institutions play a central role: they are
meeting places, arenas for the formulation of common rules; they
restrict antagonism and help to change international perceptions as
well as the realities on which they are based.
When it comes to idealist objectives, dissatisfaction is understand-
able, but it cannot be a substitute for the fundamental argument.
Despite their many weaknesses, international institutions are part
of our collective history. They constitute a major feature of con-
temporary international relations, not so much through prolifera-
tion (whose significance should not be overestimated)4 but through
legitimate functions designed to further the construction of an
 Introduction 3

international order and strengthen its solidarity or, if one prefers, to

promote the emergence of an international community. Therefore
criticism, no matter how well-founded, has not obviated the need
for more research into international institutions. Like Inis L. Claude,
a pioneer of the sociopolitical approach to international institutions,
the contributors to this book maintain that “fallibility does not
equal futility.”5
A resistance to current tendencies may also account for the present
volume’s focus on international “institutions” rather than interna-
tional “organizations.” In truth, the literature is sometimes con-
fused over the choice of these terms, or regards them as being more
or less equivalent. Paul G. Taylor and John R. Groom’s distinc-
tion between an organization as a “system” and an institution as
a “structure” through which systemic functions are accomplished
leads authors to view international institutions as a very broad cate-
gory that includes almost any form of organized international action
(governmental or nongovernmental, public or private).6 However,
some studies criticize the notion of an international institution for
its restrictive and legalistic character (a functioning, legally accred-
ited organ of a larger organizational ensemble) and adopt a broader
category of international organizations, which includes any durable
“structure” or sustainable formal framework for international coop-
eration (governmental or nongovernmental, public or private).7 In
short, a “structure” is sometimes the institution and sometimes the
organization, unless the former is a “structure” of the “structure,”
or perhaps the opposite!
Semantic discrepancies would have little importance but for their
tendency to distract us from what is essential to an institution, at least
according to Weberian sociology: the existence of statutory regula-
tions that are “issued with relative success within a definable area of
action to those acting in a manner definable according to specific
criteria.”8 This point of departure reminds us that unlike simple
organizations, institutions are theoretically restrictive. Of course,
the distinction is relative. However, in the present instance it signi-
fies that institutions are more than “durable structures”; they are also
actors equipped with a power of constraint, however variable and
relative it may be.9 In terms of international relations, the constraints
that international institutions attempt to impose therefore take the
4 Guillaume Devin

form of regulations—which states generally accept and comply with

more or less honestly—that govern definable areas of action.
This book examines the specificity of international institutions,
using several examples of intergovernmental organizations whose
purposes are universal in scope. The exercise is necessarily incom-
plete and reductive, but it may stimulate consideration of three par-
ticular issues: the autonomy of international institutions (a topic
that often hinders debate rather than clarifies it); the contribution of
international institutions to the changing conception of peace; and
finally, the broader significance of such institutions.

An Epistemological Debate?

International institutions are intergovernmental by virtue of their

constitution; it is impossible to conceive of such bodies as separate
from the states that seek to draw the greatest advantage from them.
However, the tendency toward exploitation inherent in all states is
restricted by the framework that they have agreed to accept. It is,
therefore, no contradiction to emphasize the importance of states and
the insignificance of international institutions on the one hand, and
on the other to highlight the constraints affecting states and the inf lu-
ence of the institutions with which they have to come to terms. The
arguments over an international institution’s autonomy have barely
progressed beyond this fundamental ambivalence: the glass is either
half empty or half full; everything depends on perspective and inter-
pretation. In this respect, the disputes between different schools of
thought seem somewhat fruitless. There is no space for conceptualiz-
ing, once and for all, international institutions as variable dependents
(of states) or independent. They are both dependent and independent;
the relationship with states is interactive. States create institutions
because they want them to produce certain effects, but the outcomes
are not necessarily those that they had bargained for.
Some proponents of the “realist” view claim that states have little
interest in institutions. If that is the case, why should they go to the
trouble of creating them, investing in them and, on occasion, risking
severe confrontations with them?10 But the balance of power is still
a major factor, and it would be naive to overestimate the ability of
 Introduction 5

institutions to constrain the behavior of states, particularly the most

powerful.11
In point of fact, only an empirical approach can provide us with
answers— or more precisely certain isolated explanations—given
that on a more general interpretive level, “realist” and “institution-
alist” approaches are not necessarily mutually exclusive.12
However, even when we employ the empirical method, assessing
the impact of institutions is no simple task. At the outset, we are
obliged to assume that it is easier to record the failures than to count
the successes: how are we supposed to compile a register of the pre-
ventive work carried out by international institutions? The number
of conf licts that have been avoided through their efforts is elusive.
Then again, any attempt to give institutions credit—where credit is
due— could be regarded as highly “interpretive.”
Moreover, impact analysis is a more or less approximate exercise
that depends on how precisely the official objective is defined. The
more clearly the target is defined, the easier it is to measure perfor-
mance. In terms of economic changes—trade liberalization, mar-
ket unification, investment in new sectors, and so on—the impact
seems clear enough.13 When the goals are more specific and politi-
cally sensitive (separation of belligerents, reduction of the intensity
of certain conf licts, international justice), the contribution of inter-
national institutions is also significant, despite major setbacks and a
selective policy dictated by the interests of the most powerful and/
or the majority. Some control, inspection, and sanction arrange-
ments can work well, although states might deny this for reasons
of self-interest.14 However, the effect of international institutions is
much harder to isolate when it comes to broader political objectives
(world peace, development aid, poverty reduction). It is nonetheless
real, however, for it keeps these important issues on the interna-
tional agenda, while the array of permanent functions (information,
coordination, socialization)15 and steadily increasing arsenal of mon-
itoring mechanisms16 help to identify possible solutions (creation of
rules, diverse operations).
In fact, the effectiveness of international institutions is always sit-
uated somewhere between two extremes. In the negative view, they
are totally ineffective because states are totally undisciplined. In the
positive view, they can be supremely effective as long as states are
6 Guillaume Devin

fully involved. In the first instance, international institutions would

be deserted; in the second, they would be pointless. As they are
neither one nor the other, it is safe to assume that states credit them
with an effectiveness that, while certainly relative, is nonetheless
real. There is at least one perfectly “realist” reason for this position.
As amply demonstrated by the involvement of the United States in
Iraq, it is always possible to ignore the advice of international insti-
tutions and make war, but it is now practically impossible to bypass
them when attempting to make peace.17

Institutions and Peace

The fact that functions do not exclusively or necessarily explain the

existence of a social phenomenon is a lesson professed many years
ago by Émile Durkheim.18 By this we understand that knowledge
of how certain rules are imposed should not be confused with the
study of their functions and uses. Even so, that should not prevent
us from thinking in terms of functions. There are several orders of
research; to explain is also to seek out the functions of a social phe-
nomenon, if not to understand the reasons for its existence, then at
least to discover what maintains its existence.19
With regard to international institutions, peace is most certainly
their core function,20 and is as recent as the history of the insti-
tutions themselves. It dates back to the nineteenth century and,
aided by social action, has made peace a legitimate goal whose
institutionalization continues to this day. Although the first “tech-
nical” international institutions (telegraph, postal services, public
hygiene, etc.) were tasked with making certain services mutu-
ally profitable, their potential was quickly recognized and their
proliferation encouraged. From the League of Nations to the
United Nations, they were seen as enablers of rapprochement, as
the outline of a workable peace system. “Functional” coopera-
tion, although fragmented, has always been regarded as inseparable
from the goal of peace. 21 This holds true for purely political inter-
national institutions (or their central bodies), from the Concert
of Europe (1815) to the League of Nations to the UN, which
have always been explicitly oriented toward the search for peace.
 Introduction 7

However, continuity disguises wide variations in official concep-

tions of peace since 1815.
For the Congress of Vienna, peace was essentially a matter of
defending the politico-territorial status quo after the Napoleonic
wars. This conception was soon challenged by the rise of national-
ism, which Napoleon III made an active principle of foreign policy.
“The question of nationalities” would long be regarded as detrimen-
tal to the maintenance of peace, that is, to the defense of a conserva-
tive order overseen by the episodic functioning of the Concert of
Europe.22
The League of Nations institutionalized permanent, universal
consultation, and thus marked a turning point. Besides striving to
promote peace as a state of nonwar after the carnage of 1914–1918,
the League also established formal procedures to facilitate this mis-
sion: it strengthened “functional” cooperation through subsidiary
organizations and, above all, reinforced political mechanisms for
conf lict prevention and settlement, arguing that any threat of war
was a matter of concern for all member states.23 What we now refer
to as collective security was thus the modus operandi of peaceful
coexistence between states whose sovereignty and territorial integ-
rity had been solemnly enshrined— at least in law.
The same conception of peace governed the creation of the United
Nations Organization, but the coercive mechanism was stronger
(a Security Council and clauses in chapter VII of the UN Charter,
particularly those concerning the possible resort to joint military
action). The UN’s implementation of collective security, which had
proved impossible under the League of Nations, was virtually para-
lyzed by the Cold War, approached with great timidity thereafter,
and, for want of a better solution, was reduced to ad hoc substitution
measures such as “peacekeeping operations.”
An apparently more innovative element—although not immediately
perceived as such—was the reference to the defense of human rights as
the essential foundation on which peace could be built.24 In one sense,
it meant that human rights, the concrete situations of individuals (and
of the societies to which they belong), had finally entered the sphere
of “high politics.” There is little doubt that the horrors of the Second
World War and the resolute efforts of a few individuals were decisive
in this development. Nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) also
8 Guillaume Devin

played their part, as indeed they still do. Nevertheless, credit is due to
international institutions, whose ability to produce new ideas assisted
the birth of this new “paradigm.” The history of international institu-
tions is not one of a long series of failures, but of incremental changes
that have defined legitimate representations of peace.
In the gradual transition from negative peace (a state of non-
war) to positive peace (a state of protection and the well-being of
individuals),25 international institutions have been weaving an indi-
visible fabric, a global conception of peace, supported by a broader
conception of security, that no longer regards peaceful coexistence
as a matter of interstate security.
Significantly, it was a UN body, the UNDP, which first advanced
the concept of “human security.”26 There is no clash here with the
concept of collective security, or an attempt to replace it with some
other idea; human security expands the range of concerns and focuses
action on the individuals who make up populations and nations. This
conceptual breakthrough, which would be difficult to reverse, illus-
trates the “corrosive” effect the promotion of human rights has on
“high politics.” The state is no longer seen as an infallible guarantor
of such rights: if its capacity to persecute its own people is perceived as
a potential threat to peace, its sovereignty is no longer inviolable.27
The end of the Cold War facilitated a new approach, but the lessons
learned from that experience were also important. International insti-
tutions played their part, broadening perspectives, linking fields of
intervention (an indirect effect of the proliferation of functional coop-
eration), encouraging sustainable policies, and enhancing the “global
level of interconnection” between states.28 They also shaped legitimate
representations of “peace” and made the illegal resort to force a little
more difficult. Their accomplishments were fragile, their successes
relative, but as their focus shifted from the control of negative peace to
the promotion of positive peace, they constructed an image of durable
peace and, moreover, remain essential to its achievement.

A Shared Responsibility

International institutions are much more than a collection of nation

states. Although they are still plagued by power struggles, they can
 Introduction 9

no longer be seen as tools that the most powerful states manipu-

late in order to bolster their own legitimacy. They can be held in
check, but they can also hold in check. Their impact over the longer
term is undeniable: they have transformed the milieu of states and
international relations by offering solutions to external disorder and
by enhancing the meaning of shared responsibility. Despite numer-
ous vicissitudes and weaknesses, the construction of the European
Union is an outstanding example of an institutional political process
that has, within a regional framework, brought peace and demo-
cratic stability to its members.
Is there a more appropriate response to insecurity and violence?
The stability imposed by a hegemonic power necessarily seems both
ephemeral (hegemony is finite) and dangerous (it nurtures hostility).
International institutions, however, can offer constructive realism.29
They do not underestimate the risks of exploitation and disaffection,
but believe that shared responses are the most legitimate and there-
fore the most robust.30 An arrangement based on freely negotiated
regulations consolidates the institutional dynamic, which in turn
enhances the authority and scope of the regulations. International
institutions serve peace, which in turn serves institutions. The rela-
tionship is interactive and the circle potentially virtuous as long as
it is buttressed by joint action to ensure its effectiveness and demo-
cratic procedures to ensure its acceptance.31
From the perspective of the following chapters, consent is the key
element. While coercion has its uses— to ensure that decisions are
respected, for example, or to dissuade rogue elements—it would be
foolish to make it the basis of effective action. That would require
more than states are prepared to concede and is, moreover, politi-
cally undesirable. For all that, consent is not a given; its achievement
presupposes appropriate procedures to deal with tests of strength.
The multilateral construction of universalism requires an adapted and
adaptable institutional architecture. International institutions are not
carved in stone. They must be open to reform in order to deal with
the new challenges they have helped to define, and to accommo-
date new members. Balanced, efficient governance is of vital impor-
tance: if international institutions can achieve it, they can consolidate
their position as the linchpin in the process of civilizing international
relations.
10 Guillaume Devin

Notes

1. General studies are far more numerous. For two successful overviews, one in
French and the other in English, see Marie- Claude Smouts, Les Organisations
Internationales (Paris: Armand Colin, 1995); and Clive Archer, International
Organizations, 3rd ed. (London: Routledge, 2003).
2 . Pierre de Senarclens, Critique de la mondialisation (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po,
2003), p. 99.
3. According to the “security dilemma” (an idea developed by John Hertz) a state
which enhances its security measures will inevitably alarm other states, given the
anarchic and competitive structure of interstate relations. See John Hertz, Political
Realism and Political Idealism (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1951).
4. The number of intergovernmental organizations (IGOs) increased considerably
after the two World Wars but stabilized in the 1990s. In 2006, the authorita-
tive Union of International Associations counted 242 (“Intergovernmental
Conventional International Bodies,” according to the typology). There were
24 such bodies in 1900; Union of International Organizations (ed.), Yearbook of
International Organizations 2007–2008, vol. 5 (Munich: K. G. Saur, 2007), p. 3.
Historically, the trend has been much more pronounced in technical sectors
(including economic development and cooperation) than in political fields (peace
and security). The distinction is somewhat dubious given that many “technical”
bodies are also heavily politicized.
5. Inis L. Claude, Swords into Plowshares, 4th ed. (New York: Random House, 1971),
p. 446.
6. Paul G. Taylor and John R. Groom (eds.), Institutional Institutions at Work (London:
Pinter, 1988), p. 8.
7. Archer, International Organizations, op. cit., p. 33.
8. Max Weber, Economy and Society, 1922. [Internet translation. No sources given]
9. In practice, we agree with Nicholas Unuf that the distinction between interna-
tional institutions and “international regimes” is at best obscure. See Nicholas
Unuf, “Constructivism: A User’s Manual” in Vendulka Kubalkova, Nicholas
Unof, and Paul Kower (eds.), International Relations in a Constructed World (Armonk:
M. E. Sharpe, 1988), p. 70. On the concept of “regimes,” see the initial defini-
tion by Stephen Krasner, International Regimes (Ithaca: Cornell University Press,
1983).
10. For a presentation and critique of “realist” arguments, see Robert O. Keohane and
Lisa L. Martin, “The Promise of Institutionalist Theory,” International Security 20,
no. 3, 1995, pp. 39–51.
11. For a (neo)realist commentator like Waltz, “international institutions are created
by the more powerful states, and the institutions survive in their original form
as long as they serve the major interests of their creators.” Kenneth N. Waltz,
“Structural Realism after the Cold War,” International Security 25, no. 1, p. 26.
This sweeping statement presents two difficulties: how do we define “major
interests” (which is a variable concept) and how do we assess the durability of
institutions (which are never maintained precisely in their “original form”)?
Now the interests of states and the functions of international institutions are
 Introduction 11

not set in stone, but this is largely due to the reciprocal process that shapes such
factors.
12. The lifespan of international institutions, for example, is to some extent dependent
on variations in the distribution of power in international relations. See Richard
Cupitt, Rodney Whitlock, and Lynn Williams Whitlock, “The (Im)mortality
of International Governmental Organizations,” in Paul F. Diehl (ed.), Politics of
Global Governance, 2nd ed. (London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2001), pp. 44–61.
On a more general level, studies of the ways in which the activities of international
institutions affect interstate relations are relatively rare. See below, note 31.
13. For some countries, a positive impact may be short-lived, but evaluation should
not be confused with effects. See Craig N. Murphy, International Organization
and Industrial Change: Global Governance since 1850 (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press,
1994).
14. George A. Lopez and David Cortright, “Containing Iraq: Sanctions Worked,”
Foreign Affairs 83, no. 4, July–August 2004, pp. 90–103.
15. Archer, International Organizations, op. cit., pp. 92–108.
16. Hélène Ruiz Fabri, Linos-Alexandre Sicilianos, and Jean-Marc Sorel (eds.),
L’Effectivité des organisations internationales: mécanismes de suivi de contrôle (Athens:
Ant. N. Sakkouls, Paris, A. Pedone, 2000).
17. It may also be the case that some wars are contaminated by the readiness of inter-
national institutions to offer goods and services (food aid, protection of refu-
gees, etc.). The Bush administration made discreet approaches to certain United
Nations agencies—notably the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO)— so
that military operations in Iraq would be accompanied by “humanitarian” mis-
sions. The attempt at exploitation is patent. But we can also discern a kind of
obligatory resort to some of the services provided by international institutions
because it is no longer possible to conduct a “war” (or at the very least, certain
wars whose conditions would require clarification) entirely on a unilateral basis,
even after a total breakdown of relations with international decision-making
bodies. The negotiating ability of the agencies concerned, followed by their
withdrawal, also shows that while the UN is powerfully beholden to the United
States (Phyllis Bennis, Calling the Shots: How Washington Dominates Today’s UN
[3rd ed.] (Gloucestershire: Arris, Books, 2004)), its submission is neither total not
inescapable. See Steve Stecklow, “When Setting the Table for the Iraq War, US
Broke Bread with UN on Aid,” The Wall Street Journal Europe, September 26–28,
2003.
18. “Most sociologists believe they have accounted for phenomena once they have
demonstrated the purpose they serve and the role they play.” (Émile Durkheim,
The Rules of Sociological Method (New York: The Fee Press, 1982) [1895]).
19. Ibid., pp. 95–96.
20. The “nodal function to which the United Nations owes its existence,” according
to the clearly functionalist view of Jürgen Habermas, “La Statue et les révolution-
naires,” Le Monde, April 3, 2003.
21. The inf luence of a rich functionalist tradition continues to this day, often in the
guise of commitments to “interdependence.” On pioneering efforts in this field,
see David Mitrany, A Working Peace System, (Chicago, IL: Quadrangle Books,
1966 [1943]); Jaap de Wilde, Saved from the Oblivion: Interdependence Theory in the
12 Guillaume Devin

First Half of the 20th Century (Aldershot: Dartmouth, 1991). On the relevance of
the tradition, see Guillaume Devin, “Que reste-t-il du fonctionnalisme inter-
national? Relire David Mitrany (1888–1975),” Critique internationale 38, 2008,
pp. 137–152.
22 . Harold G. Nicolson, The Congress of Vienna (London: Constable, 1946).
23. This refers to the Covenant of the League of Nations’ celebrated Article 11 and
the clauses on conf lict resolution, which envisage commercial and financial sanc-
tions but exclude joint military action (Articles 12–16); The Covenant of the League
of Nations (full text available at http://f letcher.tufts.edu/multilaterals.html).
24. There are references to human rights in the Preamble and Articles 1, 3, and 55.3
of the UN Charter; the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948), and many
later international treaties and conventions.
25. The concepts of negative and positive peace were developed by Johan Galtung,
notably through his distinction between direct (personal) violence and indirect
(structural) violence. See Johan Galtung, “Violence, Peace and Peace Research,”
Journal of Peace Research, 3, 1969, pp. 167–191.
26. Keith Krause, “Une approche critique de la sécurité humaine,” in Jean- François
Roux (ed.), La Sécurité humaine: une nouvelle conception des relations internationales
(Paris: L’Harmattan, 2001), pp. 77–79.
27. Human Security Now, Report by the Commission on Human Security (available at
www.humansecurity- chs.org/finalreport/index.html).
28. Tom Nierop, Systems and Region in Global Politics: An Empirical Study of Diplomacy,
International Organization and Trade 1950–1991 (Chichester: Wiley, 1994), p. 40 et seq.
29. Supposedly realist approaches do not have a monopoly on “realism.” At times they
can be criticized for lacking it, notably when they neglect the role that interna-
tional institutions play in international relations. To be sure, we should temper
such criticism by taking into account the context in which the first “realist” views
were developed (the failure of the League of Nations, the rise of totalitarianism,
the Second World War, the Cold War). Contemporary (neo)realism is more atten-
tive to international institutions, but equally skeptical. See above, note 11.
30. Inis L. Claude stresses the importance of legitimation in international relations
and the relevance of international institutions in this respect; Inis L. Claude,
“Collective Legitimization as a Political Function of the United Nations,”
International Organization 20, no. 3, Summer 1966, pp. 367–379.
31. Empirical analysis shows that international institutions have a marked effect on the
conduct of their member states. In 1994, Tom Nierop concluded his study by not-
ing that the stronger the diplomatic and institutional links between states, the fewer
the conf licts between them; Nierop, Systems and Regions in Global Politics, p. 97. On
the role of international institutions in fostering interactive interstate relations and
building trust, see also Michael N. Barnett and Emanuel Adler, “Studying Security
Communities in Theory, Comparison and History,” in Michael N. Barnett and
Emanuel Adler (eds.), Security Communities (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1998), p. 418 et seq. On the interactive and peaceful nature of relations
between “international organizations,” democracy, and economic interdepen-
dence, see Bruce M. Russett and John R. Oneal, Triangulating Peace: Democracy,
Interdependence and International Organizations (New York: Norton, 2001).
 PA RT I

Controlling Negative Peace

 CH A P T E R ON E

What Remains of Collective Security?

A l a i n D eja m m e t

What remains of the very simple idea, codified only recently, that
security is not a strictly individual matter but depends on the agree-
ment of several parties, on a “collective” decision?

The Origins of Collective Security

The first ref lex of individuals, peoples, and states is to devise means
to ensure their own survival, their security. They acquire weapons,
exploit their dissuasive potential, and use them when attacked. This
is the “inherent” right of self-defence, as the English version of the
United Nations Charter describes it, that is, something that cannot
be separated from the human person. The French version translates
self-defence as légitime (legitimate) défense.
As soon as an entity spots weaknesses in its own defenses, it is
compelled to seek support from more robust entities. The quest for
an alliance consolidated by a treaty is therefore as old as human his-
tory itself. Ancient Greece, with its many rival and quarrelsome cit-
ies, was a theater for the constant formation of leagues, groups, and
coalitions, shifting alliances that suddenly found the will to act in
concert when confronted with a much greater danger from another
world, that of the Persians.
Thus for centuries humanity lived according to an immutable prin-
ciple that is now enshrined in Article 51 of the UN Charter: “The
16 Alain Dejammet

inherent right of individual or collective self-defense.” Given our

propensity for violence, alliances may constitute threats and lead to
aggression. But as alliances made by one group generally stand in
opposition to those made by others, the whole art, from treaty to
treaty, is to erect a shield around one’s own territory or to make defen-
sive arrangements with countries on the far side of a dangerous neigh-
bor’s border. Such endeavors were initially selfish and separate but the
existence of various coalitions—France, Sweden, and Poland; Turkey,
Spain, Austria, Hungary, and Prussia; the shifting alliances made by
England—eventually managed to stabilize the struggle for power;
bellicosity diminished given the prospect of a frontal clash between
equals, or perhaps even an attack from the rear, and the Westphalian
system, the European balance of power, came into being. On several
occasions since then, negotiators have calculated their respective assets,
formally agreed on the extent to which they should be restricted (the
renunciation of dynastic succession, as in the Treaty of Utrecht, for
example) and have breathed a sigh of relief, content that respect has
been maintained by virtue of their antagonistic alliances.
In the Westphalian system, the security of all participants (“col-
lective” security) was achieved by balancing threats and neutraliz-
ing contradictory ambitions. It did not proceed from an organizing
principle, or from the acceptance of a higher authority to regulate
and moderate interstate relations. Peace depended on the balance
between the parties; or rather on the way they perceived it, which in
fact accentuated its fragility. When Louis XV of France and Maria
Theresa of Austria, two sovereigns previously noted for their strained
relations, reversed their alliances in 1756, other countries became
fearful and war ensued. When the intentions of France, a country
in the throes of revolution, could not be deciphered, its neighbors
declared war. When cracks appeared in the balance of power, with
the English acting suspiciously and showing signs of imperial ambi-
tions, the Napoleonic wars ensued. Collective security gave way to
a peace overseen by a superpower, a great nation, an all- conquering
France whose prefects and gendarmes were installed in cities from
Rome to Hamburg. Order and tranquility demanded the erasure of
borders, the absorption of states, the supremacy of a single entity.
A balanced peace collapsed through lack of stability; the peace
imposed by a great power succumbed to excess and injustice.
 What Remains of Collective Security? 17

Surveying the ruins of this failed system, the sovereigns of 1815

finally envisaged a voluntary structure in which security could be
achieved not through the adjustment of compensating forces but
through an agreement between monarchs, a joint effort to ensure
that order was respected. The result, the Concert of Europe, was
tarnished from the outset by the tendency of idealists to endow the
project with a messianic resonance (the “Holy Alliance”). France
and England remained skeptical. Moreover, they knew perfectly
well that its spiritual veneer disguised the desires to protect regimes
and their distinctly material privileges, as well as to stif le popu-
lar movements. Despite claims that the Congress of Vienna would
ensure decades of peace and stability in Europe, revolutions broke
out, while the Crimea, Italy, Austria, France, and Prussia were rav-
aged by war.
By the beginning of the twentieth century, states had abandoned
a centralized security system and had placed even greater faith in
combinations of oppositional alliances such as the Triple Alliance,
the Entente- Cordiale, and the Franco-Russian Alliance. The con-
cept of collective security had no place in this convoluted skein
of promises and guarantees. France took great pride in its alliance
with the Tsar, which put it at odds with Germany and Austria.
When a revolver shot rang out in Sarajevo, the tangle of commit-
ments plunged Europe into blood and fire. The United States and
Japan were swept along by the shockwave, proof that a rupture of
the equilibrium, however circumscribed, can engender widespread
chaos. Once the First World War was over, U.S. president Woodrow
Wilson, a man of high moral principles, therefore proposed a return
to an organized, rational system that would unite states around the
simple idea of collective security: all for one and one for all. Wilson
believed that a few conferences would be enough to put an end to
the kind of peace guaranteed by alliances, in which the tranquility
of some coalitions depended on their ability to threaten others. The
empty rhetoric of monarchs would no longer dictate the conduct of
restive populations, as in the time of the Holy Alliance. A universal
body, the League of Nations, was set up to abolish the use of armed
force and organize, for the benefit of all concerned and by mutual
agreement, aid and assistance whenever peace was threatened or
breached.
18 Alain Dejammet

These ideas were not entirely new: projects for perpetual peace
and the redundancy of war had long been in circulation. Moreover,
the League maintained a hierarchy of powers through the institution
of the Security Council with a restricted membership. But it was
banking on something quite new, an approach that would endure
as it would be embodied in democratic leaders who would never
dream of using armed force against their populations.
As before, Britain and France regarded the new principles with
some skepticism. Even if alliances and the guarantees they provided
were replaced with the promise of widespread mutual assistance,
would it not be necessary, as Clemenceau argued, to take solidarity
to its furthest extent and endow the League of Nations with its own
army, a force powerful enough to subdue recalcitrant elements? On
a visit to London in 2003, U.S. president George W. Bush indulged
in a little history, commenting ironically on France’s attachment
to international institutions by contrasting Clemenceau’s views
with those of the idealistic Wilson. Bush was mistaken, for France,
unlike America, had wanted to give the League of Nations the
means to operate effectively. Moreover, Wilson, not as much of a
dreamer as he seemed, had defied logic by calling for a reference to
the Monroe doctrine in the Covenant, an inclusion that would have
maintained Washington’s exclusive right to meddle in the affairs of
Latin America.
The Covenant of the League of Nations signaled a shift from a
system of alliances and domination to a universal system of collec-
tive security. Its attraction lay in its simplicity. The new order would
work if states put sufficient trust in it, beginning with the United
States. The U.S. Senate thought otherwise and would not sanction
membership. The League, a rickety edifice, gained and lost mem-
bers as diplomats conferred and bickered. The old tropes soon reap-
peared: the quest for an ally, the intoxication of revenge and power.
The gulf between the Geneva-based body and the rest of the world
widened as some states resorted to intimidation and blackmail while
others multiplied their gestures of appeasement and hastily knitted
a tissue of alliances based on unrealistic terms. The result was the
Second World War.
As in 1814 and 1918, the victorious allies endeavored to base their
struggles on law, to exalt their war aims and their coalition, and to
 What Remains of Collective Security? 19

propose it as a model for future stability and peace. The Atlantic

Charter, the UN Declaration, and the conferences in Dumbarton
Oaks and San Francisco confirmed the desire (enthusiastically pro-
moted by the United States, for once) to reestablish the 30-year-old
principle of collective security and ensure its survival.

Theory: The Legitimacy of the Use of Force

More than half a century later, we are still discussing principles. But
in practice, what remains of collective security? The concept is based
on a few very simple ideas. The first idea is vital and, if properly
implemented, nothing else would count. This is the obligation to
refrain from the use of force. As the UN Charter states, “All mem-
bers shall refrain in their international relations from the threat or
use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence
of any state, or in any other manner inconsistent with the Purposes
of the United Nations” (Article 2, paragraph 4). This is not a purely
formal statement or a pious vow. The Charter is a treaty that has
been signed and ratified. The principle of refraining from the use of
force is expressed as an obligation: “All members shall refrain . . . ”
Article 2 (paragraph 2) also specifies that “all members . . . shall fulfil
in good faith the obligations assumed by them in accordance with
the present Charter.”
So the obligation to refrain from the use of force is clearly the
cornerstone of collective security. The demand may seem imperi-
ous, but it is not unrealistic. It is tempered by additional details,
dictated by realism, to the effect that the use or threat of force,
prohibited against the political independence or territorial integ-
rity of any state, are also forbidden if applied “in any other manner
inconsistent with the Purposes of the United Nations” (Article 2,
paragraph 4), which, on the contrary, indicates that force is autho-
rized to achieve the “Purposes of the United Nations.” What are
these purposes? Assuredly not those of developing friendly relations
or achieving “international cooperation” (Article 1, paragraphs 2
and 3), for such goals are usually reached by peaceful means. But
the primary purpose of the UN (Article 1, paragraph 1) is the main-
tenance of international peace and security, and if it cannot settle
20 Alain Dejammet

differences by peaceful means it can “take effective collective mea-

sures for the prevention and removal of threats to the peace, and the
suppression of acts of aggression or other breaches of the peace.”

The “Collective” Nature of the Decision to Use Force

“Effective collective measures”: these three words tell us a great deal;

they lie at the very heart of the collective security system and con-
stitute its second simple idea. Measures should be “effective,” thus
implying either coercion (economic sanctions) or force. But effec-
tive measures should also be “collective”— a key adjective. Here too
is another simple idea: “collective” adoption and implementation of
such measures can occur only after several parties have discussed them
and reached agreement. The solitary gesture, the will of a single party,
has been abolished. Proceedings are governed by a collective principle
that guarantees a balanced, rational approach and enables discussion
between diverse participants. Clearly, dialogue between 50 partici-
pants (as in 1946) or between 200 members (the current total) is prac-
tically impossible to conduct. Therefore a mandate must be given to a
much smaller group: “In order to ensure prompt and effective action
by the United Nations, its Members confer on the Security Council
primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and
security, and agree that in carrying out its duties under this responsi-
bility the Security Council acts on their behalf ” (Article 24). The del-
egation of responsibility to the 15 members of the Security Council
is the basis of its legitimacy. Delegation does not provide for any divi-
sion or expansion of the Council’s membership. When the member
states signed and ratified the Charter they agreed, as sovereign states,
that collective action would be assumed on their behalf by the five
permanent members specially designated in the Charter, and by the
ten nonpermanent members. There have been calls for the Council’s
expansion, but in terms of positive law it is difficult to challenge the
principle of delegation enshrined in the Charter.
As measures are collective by nature, being the result of a deci-
sion taken by an authorized group of states, they can and should
be “effective.” In accordance with the Charter, they can extend to
the use of force and can be utilized not only for the “suppression of
 What Remains of Collective Security? 21

acts of aggression or other breaches of the peace” but also for “the
prevention and removal of threats to the peace” (Article 1). There is
a widespread belief— sometimes fostered by America’s references to
the “pre-emptive” use of force—that the Charter prohibits the use
of military force for preventive purposes, but this is not the case. As
mentioned above, it is permitted after due consideration and agree-
ment on a proper “collective” basis.
The UN Charter, an ever-realistic document, also lists legitimate
exceptions to the prohibition of force principle. While an act of
aggression or breach of the peace should normally be suppressed by
“effective collective measures,” experience shows that in cases of
sudden armed attack, the speed with which the injured party reacts
is the decisive factor between survival and annihilation. Should
it wait for the Security Council, acting on behalf of all member
states, to convene and consider the issue so that an initial “effec-
tive” measure can be implemented? As this is clearly unrealistic,
the Charter unsurprisingly affirms a state’s inherent right to defend
itself against armed attack, either by acting alone or by appealing
to its allies (Article 51). However, the authors of the Charter were
determined to preserve the cardinal principle of collective security
as embodied in the Security Council, and decided that in theory
the inherent right of self-defense could be exercised only “until the
Security Council has taken measures necessary to maintain inter-
national peace and security.” Emphasizing the Council’s permanent
role, they stated that any “measures” taken by member states when
exercising the inherent right of self-defense “shall be immediately
reported to the Security Council and shall not in any way affect the
authority and responsibility . . . to take at any time such action as it
deems necessary in order to maintain or restore international peace
and security.” The Council can therefore decide whether the means
that a state employs in its defense are appropriate, and can recom-
mend other measures such as economic sanctions instead of armed
force. In practice, a state will usually resort to force as soon as it is
attacked, but the Council has often intervened to pronounce on the
suitability or proportionality of the military option, to condemn it
in some cases and to order a ceasefire. It has a long history of order-
ing ceasefires in the conf licts between Israel and its Arab neighbors
(1967, 1973, 2006, and 2009). Thus the concept of collective security
22 Alain Dejammet

implies that by virtue of a capacity for analysis and judgment that

extends beyond the tight circle of protagonists, the UN can con-
trol or modify as necessary the behavior of a state that is subject to
aggression. A fundamental issue arises at this point: by enshrining
the right of states to use armed force, whether alone or with allies,
the Charter has, despite the Security Council’s intervention mecha-
nisms, ensured the perpetuation of defensive alliances.
UN members have always maintained their own defense sys-
tems and continue to form alliances. The breach of solidarity that
resulted in the Second World War reopened soon after its end. By
1947, most western European countries had begun to assure each
other of mutual support and to make alliances with the United
States and Canada. These alliances were not always activated. When
Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands in 1982, Britain did not seek
help from its allies. The United States did not accept the assistance
offered by the Atlantic Alliance in the immediate aftermath of 9/11.
But in 1950, when the Korean War broke out, and in 1990, when
Iraq invaded Kuwait, the beleaguered states spontaneously counted
on immediate support from their partners, although the Security
Council had yet to endorse a military response.
These examples demonstrate the extent to which, in principle,
the inherent right of self-defense is embedded in the logic of collec-
tive security: its exercise triggers a ruling from the Council, which
necessarily involves multilateral deliberation. In effect, recognition
of the inherent right of self-defense requires an assessment of several
issues including the characteristics of the attack and the nature and
identity of the aggressor. Who started the conf lict? The advance of
Iraqi armored vehicles toward a border is one thing; repeated skir-
mishes in parts of Jordan or in the African bush are another. Hence
there is the need for an external body like the Security Council,
which has the means to assess a situation, act as an arbitrator, and
come up with solutions.

Reality: The Persistence of Alliances

The numerous cases put before the Council should not lead to overly
legalist conclusions. The postwar period was not distinguished by
 What Remains of Collective Security? 23

a rigorous application of the principles and mechanisms of collec-

tive security. Above all, or at least until the fall of the Berlin Wall,
it was a time of vigorous alliances (the Atlantic Pact, the Warsaw
Treaty) based on mutual respect and military capacity rather than
law, despite the obligatory references to the UN Charter. Public
opinion remained skeptical: in the 1960s, the West was well aware
that its security depended more on NATO than on the activities of
the Security Council.
An even greater challenge to collective security emerged with a
doctrine that, while certainly based on the inherent right of self-
defense, was not applicable to the collective environment: nuclear
dissuasion. Mutually assured destruction undoubtedly reduces the
threat of aggression, but is concerned entirely with national interests;
the views of outsiders, members of the Security Council or other-
wise, carry no weight. Although the collective security mechanisms
established by the Charter have been functioning for 60 years, it
is clear that throughout this entire period security has rested more
on the doctrine of legitimate self-defense and to an even greater
extent on nuclear dissuasion, which is the antithesis of collective
consultation and decision making. Over the last few years dissua-
sion has taken the form of stockpiling ultrasophisticated weaponry,
but the nuclear option still poses a singular threat, as its more recent
advocates—India, Pakistan, North Korea, and perhaps Iran—have
demonstrated. Moreover, these countries take the view that regional
stability, particularly between India and Pakistan, is linked specifi-
cally to their possession of nuclear weapons. They argue that at a
time when a superpower is distinguished by the size of its military
arsenal, the equalizing power of the atom is even more vital to the
containment of territorial ambitions.
We have come a long way from the consideration of traditional
collective security mechanisms. But the evidence is still there. Some
conf licts have indeed been settled by negotiations and Charter provi-
sions, given the willingness of the parties in contention or interven-
tion by the Security Council, but the European Union, the United
States, Russia, India, Pakistan (and perhaps Israel) place great impor-
tance on solid alliances, whether tacit or enshrined in treaties, and
on dissuasion. We can take this point further: while there is general
agreement that it is in the EU’s interests to have its own armed forces
24 Alain Dejammet

so that it can deal with internal or peripheral conf licts, its members
are aware— although they seldom admit it—that the only protection
against a powerful aggressor is the threat of employing an equivalent
military potential. Unable to agree on the reliability of a French or
British military contribution, unable to fathom whether the defenses
policies of these countries would ever encompass an EU comprising
27 or more members, most Europeans still toy with words when
discussing defense issues, confusing response with peacekeeping
and ultimately taking refuge in routine allusions to the necessity of
NATO or, in other words, of the United States. After all, the Lisbon
Treaty on the EU reminds members that NATO remains the “foun-
dation of their collective defense and the forum of its implementa-
tion” (Article 42.7).
Instead of the solutions envisaged in 1945, evolution has favored
a return to the tried and tested models of alliances and the develop-
ment of new dissuasive methods. However, there have also been
other, more encouraging developments. The Russian and American
empires, whose hostility impeded the work of the Security Council
for so long, have grown closer. The five permanent Security Council
members are once more on speaking terms. The domain of collec-
tive security has expanded. Since the collapse of the Soviet bloc, the
UN has resumed attempts to impose effective collective measures,
conducting interventions in Iraq, Yugoslavia, Haiti, and Timor.
Much of its recent activity has been focused on Africa—in Liberia,
Sierra Leone, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Ivory Coast, and
Darfur. However, many of these crises have resulted in more trea-
ties, which in turn have made it more difficult to implement the
simple principles of collective security.

The Security Council and New Forms of Crisis

It has become obvious that many emerging crises are not distin-
guished by highly visible signs such as military mobilizations, armed
incidents, and border incursions. Issues are no longer territorial;
there is no clearly defined dispute. The problems are manifold: a
region begins to disintegrate, power crumbles; internal repression
is just as likely as an attack from outside. Crises are sometimes free
 What Remains of Collective Security? 25

of physical or governmental links—which removes the opportu-

nity to pinpoint individuals and attribute responsibility— and can
decompose into terrorist acts of uncertain origin and devastating
effect. Populations in various parts of the world are under threat.
The remaining borders are endangered. Insecurity has become a
collective phenomenon. What is to be done? Now that new types
of threat bear no resemblance to the patterns of 60 years ago, with
their military maneuvers and bellicose ultimatums, is it acceptable
to think once more in terms of collective security and appeal to the
UN and its Charter?
As we have learned, the answer is yes. When terrorists attacked the
United States, the Security Council immediately convened, asserted
America’s right to act in self-defense, and declared its solidarity.
When Washington blamed the Taliban regime and undertook to
destroy it, the Security Council, whose authorization had not been
sought, condoned the decision. However, 9/11 was an exceptional
case. The brutality of the attack, the visibility of its sponsors, and
their presence in Afghanistan all helped to determine the response
and the level of support. Crises provoked by the collapse of a state, by
the warring factions that tear it apart, or by the tyrannical resurgence
of a disputed power, are more difficult to assess and more complex
to resolve. Two questions arise: does the Security Council have the
power to take action, and what form of action should it take?

“Interference” and the “Responsibility to Protect”

Does the Council have the right to take action? It is a fair question,
for the UN Charter is based entirely on the dogma of national sov-
ereignty and does not authorize intervention “in matters which are
essentially within the domestic jurisdiction of any state” (Article 2,
paragraph 7). Most contemporary crises are not of the transborder
type; the danger comes from within. A regime will oppress a popu-
lation and claim it is acting in the best interests of all concerned.
This is insecurity, to be sure, but not of the kind the Charter deals
with, for it acknowledges only states and the quarrels between them.
This is one interpretation of the Charter. Fortunately, there are oth-
ers, and it is has never been applied in practice.
26 Alain Dejammet

Indeed, UN member states began to intervene in the affairs of oth-

ers at a very early stage, despite the apparent prohibition in Article 2,
paragraph 7. By 1946, they were investigating the Franco regime in
Spain. They also doggedly set about dismantling the policy of apart-
heid in South Africa and in all colonial systems. In reality, the UN
relied on the law of the majority rather than on the fine details of legal
documents, which was enough to intimidate Portugal and Pretoria
but less successful when faced with France’s determination to resolve
the Algerian crisis single-handedly. While the Council’s interventions
required a legal basis, it could resort to positive law when judging the
seriousness of an internal crisis: did it jeopardize regional stability,
and perhaps even international security? This was precisely the line of
reasoning adopted in the spring of 1991, when the Council authorized
international humanitarian action in Iraqi Kurdistan. Going further,
the 2005 Assembly General summit enshrined a principle that had
been debated for some years, the “responsibility to protect,” which
authorizes the Council’s intervention if a state commits or fails to pre-
vent crimes against humanity, war crimes, genocide, or ethnic cleans-
ing within its borders. This can certainly be classed as “interference,”
but it should be borne in mind that the UN, while refraining from
using the word, has a long history of “interfering” when the “collec-
tive” will for such action is apparent.
But what constitutes appropriate action? Should the Security
Council stick to the spirit and letter of the Charter when formu-
lating its response to an internal crisis, which involves consulta-
tion, deliberation, and a decision taken on a collective basis? Views
diverge on this point and, together with the disproportionate weight
of one of the five permanent members, they account for the prin-
cipal problem the UN currently faces: should it reject or approve
collective action?
A simple argument practically excludes the second option. It coin-
cided with the invasion of Iraq in 2003, and was presented so crudely
that it is almost impossible to caricature. In substance, Robert Kagan,
one of the most persuasive advocates of unilateral action, argued that
the respective states of American and European forces condemned
them to opposing choices. Shielded by the defense guarantees obtained
from the United States, Europeans can allow themselves the luxury
of debating causes and effects; they can refer matters to the Security
 What Remains of Collective Security? 27

Council, ponder the situation, negotiate, or do nothing. However,

having sacrificed certain material advantages to the acquisition of
power, the United States has no time to waste in digressions and will
attend to the most urgent problems first, using force. Kagan clearly
relished recalling that when Europeans (or at least France and Britain)
had power, they acted no differently and disregarded both law and
the UN Charter, as they demonstrated in the 1956 Suez crisis.1
Kagan’s historical recollections are correct. But while his reason-
ing, or rather the constant exaltation of America’s absolute power, was
elevated to the status of a doctrine, it ultimately stripped the concept
of security of any legal, not to mention moral, foundation. In Kagan’s
view, security derives from the goodwill of the most powerful states,
those that demonstrate their ability to repel threats and do not hesi-
tate to take “preventive” measures on the grounds that prevention
is better than cure. This is far removed from the spirit of the UN
Charter. Kagan’s argument, which Washington’s UN representative
John Bolton was still expounding in 2005 and 2006, was developed
in a climate of strict realism and nurtured by the conviction that the
survival of a necessarily adapted Western world justified the crushing
of all forms of fanaticism, including intellectual dissidence.
In case anyone was worried about the vast gulf between the
new dogma of force and the convoluted interpretations of the UN
Charter, American theorists close to the Bush administration came
up with a vaguely legal alibi. They argued that law is a living, mobile
structure; and that in any sound “Anglo-Saxon” society, common
law takes precedence over written rules, which soon become fos-
silized. They accepted that the renunciation of force, the keystone
of collective security, had been the overriding concern in 1945, but
pointed to the many occasions on which the newly established prin-
ciple had been f louted by its own advocates. Examples included the
Franco-British expedition against Egypt; Russian interventions in
Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and Poland; and American interventions
in the Dominican Republic, Grenada, and Panama. The cardinal
principle had been violated so many times (leaving aside the cases
that the Council had justified or authorized) that the use of force
had itself become the norm. The current challenge for respectable,
democratic states, they continued, is to make this norm acceptable
by twisting it to conform to various criteria centered on factors such
28 Alain Dejammet

as proportionality, moderation, and humanitarian ends. If bombing

is targeted, it is in the interests of human rights. The domain of law
shifts from jus ad bellum to jus in bello, an old practice that returns in
new guises once it is acknowledged that the Charter is out of date.
The success—or at least the notoriety—these desperately simplistic
arguments have enjoyed until relatively recently (2005–2006) is dis-
maying. However, care should be taken to avoid responding in terms
of morality, which would simply be described as hypocrisy, for their
advocates will always justify force by the need to oust dictators and
propagate “Western” values. It would be far better to acknowledge
the existence of two realities. The first concerns defensive alliances:
the need for them is undeniable, and they have a rightful place in a
security system. But the second reality concerns the acceptance that
one’s own judgment is fallible, that decisions on how to deal with
threats and insecurity should be arrived at collectively. In short, it
is a matter of ensuring that combined efforts and collective prefer-
ences replace the dominant ref lexive mechanism. This is precisely
why a representative deliberating and decision-making body like the
Security Council exists.
We have therefore returned to a more rational realm. A body has
been set up to ensure collective security. It is reputed to act on behalf
of all UN member states. It would be absolutely pointless to dispute
a decision on the grounds that the composition of the Council has
not kept pace with that of the General Assembly. Does the validity
of a law depend on the number of legislators present in the chamber?
The same can be said of the veto. A permanent member state uses the
mechanism to reject a resolution, and thus wields considerable power.
Its use implies that the state in question could dispute the proposal
in a number of ways, including the use of armed force. The attitude
may cause concern but it is a performance, a stage in a debate that is
usually allowed to continue despite the threats and blustering.
The Council’s task is to discuss a situation collectively and to
agree— collectively— on effective measures. There is little point in
dwelling on examples of the ways in which the procedure has been
respected and f louted. The Council debated the threat posed by
Libya for more than ten years before imposing harsh sanctions in
1992. But Libya’s leaders finally bowed to its demands and commit-
ted themselves to normalizing relations with the West. The West,
 What Remains of Collective Security? 29

with the United States and Great Britain in the lead, welcomed this
development. In the case of Iraq, enormous efforts were made to
convince Washington that the UN was capable of organizing sys-
tematic inspections, particularly of suspect facilities, and that the
country, like Libya, should be allowed to develop without fear of
further hostilities. As we know, these proposals were simply ignored.
The invasion of Iraq was an egregious affront to reason. The oppor-
tunity to debate the issues, the keystone of collective security, was
deliberately discarded. This is why remarks like “Iran has a bomb?
Then we’ll bomb Iran,” with all their implications of automatic air
strikes and lack of “collective agreement,” are worth reformulating
so that they stress the overriding importance of law and the exis-
tence of the Security Council. Perhaps the Obama administration
will be more open to this line of reasoning.
Everything is possible if we listen to others. If we yield to the
intimidation of the strongest, nothing will remain of the concept
of collective security but the inherent right of self- defense and its
instant application. That is the lesson the founders of the Charter,
who had experienced the most horrific manifestations of war, tried
to teach us 60 years ago.

Note

1. Robert Kagan, Paradise and Power: America and Europe in the New World Order (New
York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2003).

Select Bibliography

Badie, Bertrand. L’Impuissance de la puissance. Paris: Fayard, 2004.

David, Charles-Philippe and Jean-Jacques Roche. Théories de la sécurité. Paris:
Montchrestien, 2002.
Evans, Gareth J. The Responsibility to Protect: Ending Mass Atrocity Crimes Once and for
All. Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 2008.
Malone, David M. (ed.). The UN Security Council: From the Cold War to the 21st Century.
Boulder, CO: Lynne Reinner, 2004.
Vaïsse, Maurice. La Paix au XXe siècle. Paris: Belin, 2004.
Zorgbibe, Charles. “Mondialisation de la démocratie et sécurité collective.” Politique
internationale 100, Summer 2003, pp. 257–270.
 CH A P T E R T WO

The Fight against Chemical and Biological

Weapons: The Role and Performance
of Competent Institutions
H e n r i L é va l 1

The diplomat of disarmament, a kind of emergency doctor to inter-

national society, might be tempted to argue ad absurdio against the
pure moralist. To be sure, he shares with the philosopher the deep-
seated belief that “in truth, peace is more than the absence of war;
it is a virtue arising from the vigour of the soul.”2 But he must also
take into consideration something that is both a truism and a call
for action, action on his part: if the first shot has yet to be fired,
peace can be saved. Therefore, chemical disarmament and the fight
against chemical and biological proliferation are clearly of paramount
importance in preventing the use of such materials by belligerents and
terrorists, for terrorism is another form of warfare, conducted by a
nonstate actor.
The tools available to the disarmament practitioner vary accord-
ing to the times, and especially according to the willingness of
states to create more or less robust alliances through international
treaties. States are fully aware that in their usual form, treaties will
restrict their own room for manoeuvre just as much as that of their
potential enemies. The Biological Weapons Convention (BWC)
(1972) and the Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC) (1993) con-
stituted major advances in the field of traditional arms control. In
32 Henri Léval

terms of nonproliferation, export control regimes (the Australia

Group created in 1985 is particularly relevant to the present chap-
ter) adopt a more empirical approach that employs two lists: a public
list of sensitive “dual-use” goods3 and a f lexible list of “suspicious”
countries.4
Export control, the preferred nonproliferation tool, attracts far
more criticism than arms control. However, it is a norm by virtue
of its status as an international preventive arrangement, even if it has
not been enshrined in law. It therefore stands in stark contrast to a
situation in which “a state is the sole judge of its own cause, i.e. of
the conditions essential to its continued existence” or, to take the
Hobbesian view, “a situation bordering on a state of war.”5 Along
with disarmament in the proper sense of the term, export control is
a component of a multilateral project and view of the world, despite
the inadequacy of its legal basis.
This chapter examines the advances in and achievements of
chemical and biological disarmament and nonproliferation, and also
attempts to identify some of the obstacles encountered in each of
these fields.

The Basis of Chemical and Biological Disarmament

In Le Miroir des Limbes, André Malraux wrote some striking lines

before going on to describe the German gas attack at Bolgako on
the Vistula in 1916. He found the immanence of life so powerful
in that timeless central European landscape6 that absolute evil, that
is gas, like the acid used for etching, could only partially break
down the surrounding material: “With the first battle gases Satan
reappeared in the world; but the Scourge could not prevail over
the blind instinct to survive resurging in the only European forest
that still harboured the bison of the Quaternary . . . perhaps invested
by death, I take refuge in the story of one life’s most enigmatic
survivals.” 7
Life’s survival is indeed the appropriate term, not only in relation
to nature but also to values and ethics. Gases first appeared on the
western front on April 22, 1915, and were used abundantly thereaf-
ter, notably at Verdun. Their effects were so ghastly— causing huge
 Chemical and Biological Weapons 33

numbers of lingering deaths even after hostilities had ceased—and

their advantages in military terms were so uncertain that they were
banned after the war. The Treaty of Versailles contained a clause
relating to their prohibition, as did other peace treaties drafted in
1919. But it is the Geneva Protocol for the Prohibition of the Use in War of
Asphyxiating, Poisonous or Other Gases, and of Bacteriological Methods of
Warfare (signed June 17, 1925), a League of Nations initiative, which
still symbolizes the moral reprobation induced by the use of gas as
a weapon of war. The most striking aspect of this surprisingly brief
protocol is not the technicality of its measures or its definitions,
but the moral foundations of the prohibition: “ . . . whereas the use
in war of asphyxiating, poisonous or other gases . . . has been justly
condemned by the general opinion of the civilised world . . . to the
end that this prohibition shall be universally accepted as a part of
international law, binding alike the conscience and the practice of
Nations . . . ”
It is only reasonable, given what occurred in the decades between
the Protocol and the CWC (the CWC opened for signature in 1993
and entered into force in 1997), to regard the effectiveness of the
Geneva Protocol with some skepticism:

● Spanish forces used chemical weapons in 1925 during the Rif

War. Fascist Italy used them during its invasion of Ethiopia
in 1935–1936. Japan used them against China during the
Manchurian War until 1941. Japan was not a signatory to the
Protocol, but had accepted its principles at the Washington
Conference in 1922. It should be noted that Japanese operations
against China and the Italian attack on Ethiopia were not pre-
ceded by a formal declaration of war.
● The Nazis used gas in their extermination camps, but during
the Second World War the belligerents generally refrained from
resorting to gas, chemical, or similar weapons in combat situa-
tions, even though they had developed substances more power-
ful than those employed in the previous World War.8 However,
it is likely that the decision to forego their use was based on
strictly military reasons rather than ethical considerations. The
Second World War was a much more mobile affair, whereas gas
had been a factor of trench warfare. In addition, some members
34 Henri Léval

of the German high command, beginning with Hitler, had

experienced such weapons in the earlier conf lict and were con-
vinced that their use would provoke an equivalent response
from the Allies, whose arsenals also included recently developed
toxic substances.
● By using herbicides and defoliants in the Vietnam War (1961–1971),
the United States clearly contravened the spirit, if not the let-
ter and basic measures, of the Geneva Protocol.9 However, the
most blatant use of chemical weapons, in total violation of the
1925 Geneva Protocol, occurred during the war between Iraq
and Iran (1980–1988), 60 years after Ypres.10

Over the course of six decades the 1925 Protocol, with its lim-
ited but practical measures (prohibition of use in war) and highly
generic definition of prohibited substances (poisonous, bacterio-
logical or others, or in other words potentially all chemical and
biological substances), had some success in symbolizing the rel-
evance of a ban on the use of chemical and biological weapons
in conf licts, and still symbolizes the validity of that relevance. In
many respects, the Geneva Protocol is a seminal text, the origin
of the BWC and the CWC. To be sure, its universality, which has
tended to stagnate in recent years,11 does not compare well with
that of the two major conventions; in particular, the many reser-
vations expressed by the vast majority of states have not aided its
effectiveness. However, it remains an indispensable founding text,
and if proof were needed, one only has to look at the repeated calls
from certain countries to abandon objections to it and enhance its
power.

The Problems of Biological Disarmament

The unarguable relevance and urgency of biological disarmament,

which is clearly a technically complex issue, has in recent years
engendered a specific and often passionate body of literature.12 But
the technicalities should not be allowed to conceal a certain num-
ber of truths that can be approached in the form of two unsettling
questions:
 Chemical and Biological Weapons 35

● What occurred between November 25, 1969, when the

Republican administration under Richard Nixon announced
America’s unilateral decision to destroy its stocks of biologi-
cal weapons, and December 7, 2001, when George W. Bush’s
Republican administration caused outrage in the international
disarmament community by using the notorious “killer amend-
ment” to withdraw from the Geneva disarmament conference,13
which the Ad Hoc Group working on a “verification protocol”
to the 1972 BWC had long regarded as the only way of making
the Convention verifiable, and therefore effective and legally
binding?
● How do we explain the fact that despite extremely pessimistic
statements from renowned experts,14 there was still no evidence
of a deliberate and successful bacteriological attack in 2008, apart
from the postal anthrax attack in the United States in the autumn
of 2001, an incident that most conveniently exacerbated public
fears of biological terrorism and, consequently, the belief that the
war against Iraq was justified? Note that in 2008 the FBI attrib-
uted sole responsibility for the anthrax incident to Bruce Ivins,
an American military biologist who had committed suicide.

It would be more appropriate to begin by rephrasing the second ques-

tion: why aren’t terrorists using death-dealing viruses and pathogens
(there is no known remedy for some of them), which are surely ideal
weapons of mass destruction? The answer lies in a concept known as
“militarization.” It is relatively easy to detonate a kilogram of TNT,
but the manipulation of a pathogenic agent for terrorist purposes is
far more difficult and requires complex planning. Numerous fac-
tors have to be mastered: the choice of pathogen, the stabilization
of the agent, its resistance to the ambient environment, its interac-
tion with other agents, and so on. Nature slowly develops fearsome
“killers” that are not necessarily the most lethal agents per se, the f lu
virus being one example. But this requires a maturing process and
prior natural selection that involves an incalculable amount of sort-
ing and recombination. In other words, some bacteriological agents
are indeed potential weapons of mass destruction15 with regard to
their performance in vitro or effects on human beings. The concept
of a “weapon,” however, indicates a guaranteed result and a relative
36 Henri Léval

facility of usage. In reality, the effects of pathogens are far from

predictable when not subject to carefully controlled conditions and
inoculation.
For a better understanding of the difficulties involved in shaping
international legislation on the dual-use aspect of biology, we should
return to the first question: what caused the United States to reverse
its view on the feasibility of a strictly verifiable biological weapons
convention between 1969 and 2001? The answer lies close to hand,
in the form of some edifying figures: in the intervening 30 years, the
biology and biotechnology sector experienced rapid growth, partic-
ularly with regard to the commercial potential of prospective devel-
opments. For example, America’s biotechnology sector benefited
from $29 billion of investment in 2000 alone. In 2001, the sector
employed no less than 191,000 high-level scientists, while American
universities awarded 6,526 biology and agronomic sciences degrees.16
In such circumstances— and in the domain of biology, 95 percent of
discoveries, patents, and innovations were potentially “dual-use,” a
far higher percentage than in the chemical sector—how could the
world’s largest economy be persuaded to restrict the profits it hoped
to reap from the biological sector,17 which the intrusive mechanisms
of a verifiable international convention would force it to in one way
or another?
Now that the background is somewhat clearer, we can turn to the
issue of a convention that prohibited the development and stock-
piling of biological weapons (the definition needs to be put in per-
spective given that 95 percent of biological research was “dual-use,”
i.e., applicable to both military and civil purposes) but contained no
proper verification measures. Three remarks seem appropriate in
this context:

● Not all parties to the Convention18 have officially abandoned the

project to strengthen the BWC with a verification protocol.19
● Although in their present form commitments under the BWC
are strictly juridical and declarative, the states parties agreed,
after the 2001 Review Conference, to enhance negotiations by
implementing a multilateral monitoring process (confidence-
building measures that rely on information submitted annually
by the states parties).
 Chemical and Biological Weapons 37

● Some of the more serious states—those most heavily involved

in study and research—have made great progress in recent years
by introducing stricter laws on storage, monitoring, traceabil-
ity, exchanges of information between laboratories,20 stocks of
pathogens, and so on.

Despite the public perception that progress has stalled, the BWC
and the forums working to reinforce it are perhaps creating the basis
for a genuine understanding of the realities. This could bear fruit—
diplomatically in the form of a new convention or a revitalized pro-
cess, and finally in the operational sphere, following the example
of the chemical domain, where an effective convention has been in
place since 1997.

Achievements in the Chemical Domain

With 184 states parties ( June 2008 total), the CWC is currently the
most universal international disarmament convention and has many
other assets besides its wide membership.

200
180
182 183
160 178
167
161
140 151
143 145
120 132
121
100
107
80 99
87
60
40
20
0
1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008

Increase in the number of states parties to the CWC*

Graph 2.1 Increase in the number of states parties to the CWC.*

*Annual increase in membership since the CWC’s entry into force (April 29, 1997).
Source: OPCW, 2008.
38 Henri Léval

The strengths and attractions of the Convention may be summa-

rized as follows:

● The Convention deals not only with weapons and the items
necessary for their production (“precursors”), but also with the
vast domain of the chemical industry.21
● In both domains, relations between the Organization for the
Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (OPCW) and states party
are organized around a reliable, comprehensive declaration and
verification system. Any civil or military site that has declared
that it is producing or handling substances on one of the
Convention’s three lists can be inspected at any time.
● The Convention sets out a binding calendar for the destruction
of chemical weapons arsenals.22 All such arsenals should have
been eliminated by 2007. The current deadline is 2012.

The figures may seem impressive (3,373 inspections in ten years;

an average of 40 percent of declared category 1 arms stocks already
destroyed), but the Convention, like any text, has its weak points.23
However, while the pace at which the chemical weapons disarma-
ment it organizes and monitors is admittedly slow, the following
facts should be taken into consideration:

● The OPCW uses the initial declarations made by states to con-

struct a database. Consequently, and despite its apparent effective-
ness, the Convention relies primarily on the information that states
have agreed to provide; on their good faith, in other words;
● The Convention contains measures (in particular surprise
inspections) to verify or at least to try to ascertain whether cer-
tain states are lying or have lied in the past. However, the use of
such tools presupposes a strong political will, given the difficulties
that will inevitably arise.24

Good faith is a manifestation of a strong political will. These are pow-

erful moral demands; they demonstrate that a binding, comprehen-
sive international mechanism (such as the one established by the
CWC) is and will remain above all a permanent invitation to states
to play by the “rules of the game.”25
 Chemical and Biological Weapons 39

Export Control: A Matter of Self-Regulation or

Discrimination?

For a member of the European Union such as France, export controls

on chemical and biological substances are organized around positive
measures set out in European regulation 1334/2000 and modified by
regular updates. It also has the ability to enact national measures that
exceed the scope of European law, and annually adjusts its control lists
in accordance with those produced by the Australia Group. In 2008,
the Australia Group encompassed 41 states including all 27 EU mem-
bers, but the United States and its ideological allies, particularly Britain
and Australia itself, were not prepared to admit Russia and China.
In reality, there is a knock-on effect between the lists drawn up
by the Australia Group and the European regulation, for the latter’s
Article 11 provides for regular updates of lists of “dual-use” goods in
the light of new measures agreed by member states in the export con-
trol forums to which they belong. The Australia Group’s discussions
and consensual decisions are, therefore, contributing to the emergence
of concrete laws, even though the group’s existence is based on an
informal arrangement of the Anglo-Saxon type instead of a treaty.
It is important to understand that the Australia Group—whose
philosophy of preventing biological and chemical proliferation is by
and large admirable—perpetuates an arrangement that its founders
regarded as a provisional measure. In April 1984, when UN secre-
tary general Javier Perez de Cuéllar examined the conclusions of the
commission tasked with investigating Iraq’s use of chemical weap-
ons, it emerged that most of the materials used in the manufacture
of those weapons had been supplied by Western states.26 In the sum-
mer of 1985, 16 countries acted on Australia’s initiative and agreed
to set up an informal group of nations to ensure that their biological
and chemical exports were not used for military purposes. We are,
therefore, confronted with unilateral trade restrictions in the light
of conf lict situations or regional tensions. However, these measures
most certainly run counter to the free exchange of scientific and
technological expertise advocated in the CWC (Article X1) and the
BWC (Articles X.1 and X.2). The Australia Group’s original provi-
sional conception emerges clearly from the terms of the O’Sullivan
Declaration adopted in 1992,27 when members agreed to reconsider
40 Henri Léval

their restrictions on international trade in the medium term. The

Declaration, or at least its political aim, is no longer foregrounded
by the Group’s Australian presidency.
In June 2003, the Group published some interesting statistics on its
members’ refusals of export licenses. It emerged that very few licenses
had been refused, and represented a drop in the ocean considering
the total volume of exports of listed products. Nevertheless, the tar-
get countries were always the same: the United Arab Emirates—
given Dubai’s position as a hub—India, Iran, and Israel, with Syria
and Serbia added in 2002.
This restrictive policy should be modulated by two observations.
On the one hand, a refusal can be seen as a penalty imposed by the
exporter. It is, therefore, important to focus on the “right target”: the
policy should be based on serious doubts as to the eventual application
of the “dual-use” item. However, the ability of Third World countries
to process chemical and biological substances is steadily increasing. To
be sure, some highly exogenous chemical reactions and highly cor-
rosive products require equipment so sophisticated that only Western
countries know how to make. However, the comparative advantage
that Western countries enjoy in this field will diminish as time goes
on. Conversely, “dual-use” lists also include pathogens that are found
only in certain Western laboratories. In this domain, and in an age of
genetic engineering, the export of a pathogen or genetic sequence is
little different from the export of technological expertise, or perhaps
an irreplaceable cell culture for scientific experiments. In the biologi-
cal domain, the refusal to grant an export license is double-edged.
To deny an Iranian or Chinese laboratory the opportunity to develop
vaccines or conduct virological research is a delicate matter, for it
would equate to a kind of quarantine and could even hinder a coun-
try’s ability to establish a properly functioning public health sector:
the SARS epidemic that originated in Asia and appeared to present a
global threat in the summer of 2003 comes to mind here.
In summary, and to answer the question posed earlier (is the
Australia Group model of export control a matter of self-regulation
or discrimination?), three elements require emphasis:

● Export control regimes are based on an idea dear to the

Anglo-Saxon world, and particularly to the United States, that
 Chemical and Biological Weapons 41

technology plays a determinant role in conf licts and in a nation’s

desire for dominance. Indeed, the United States takes the view
that access to its level of technology requires some form of ideo-
logical allegiance or major concessions on strategic issues. The
extent to which technology is a power factor does not concern
us here, but we should bear in mind that for all its phosphorous
bombs, defoliants, and attacks on highly sophisticated cultures,
the world’s greatest power did not win its war in Vietnam. In
addition, there are other factors to consider, some objective,
like demographics, and some subjective, like the inf luence of
national identity, or the belief that one is fighting for a just
cause.
● The leading power in a technology market often uses its posi-
tion to dictate norms. Thus, the impact of the Australia Group’s
export control regime is similar to that of a norm: if a com-
pany wants to export materials, it has to notify the state and
await authorization. Consequently, a country with a vast inter-
nal market, the United States, for example, fares better under
this system than Europe, which has its own internal market,
although this is not recognized by the United States.28
● If it is true that strategic issues are primarily issues of common
sense, then it is surely common sense to reject controls that are
manifestly abusive and would also harm Western members of
the club who occupy a less-favored position in the domain of
technology under consideration. The high-performance com-
puters subject to controls by the Coordinating Committee
for Multilateral Export Controls (COCOM), and later by
the Wassenaar Arrangement, provide a perfect example. The
United States subtly circumvented the controls as soon as they
were implemented and continued to do so for many years, using
its annual Export Administration Regulation review to target
measures that benefited its own computer industry and trading
ability.

While some states argue that export control regimes reflect the need
for restrictive policies to prevent conflicts or moderate their intensity—
and in the process contradict the measures set out in conventions such
as the CWC and BWC—their effects, like embargo policies, are in
42 Henri Léval

reality highly complex. Indeed, it is significant that among the coun-

tries that devised them and attempt to exploit them, we find trading
nations and former maritime powers experts at controlling the flow
of goods and guaranteeing supplies of something or other in return
for a specific allegiance or a commitment to non-retransfer provisions,
neutrality, and so on. Continental powers, however, seem to partici-
pate in these regimes more or less passively; they prefer the intellec-
tual mechanism of the written treaty, with its more precisely defined
contours, as long as it is acknowledged that it reflects a more academic
view of the world and cannot cover every situation.

Some Unresolved Problems

As we have seen, arms control mechanisms and those designed to

control sensitive materials operate according to different types of
diplomatic logic. At certain times they can be seen as complemen-
tary, but when taken separately and guided by their own logic they
tend to invest as much space as possible in their life spans because of
the diverse effects they claim to produce. Given this claim to self-
sufficiency, it seems appropriate to highlight some of the shortcom-
ings, or more precisely the limits, of the exercises in question. A few
examples may tell us something about the logic of the institutions
examined in this book.
Silent cheating: the first example is taken from a presentation given
by an American conference speaker from Sanda National Laboratory
(a U.S. government research institute) in the spring of 2002, a year
before the coalition invaded Iraq. In effect, the presentation posited
two characteristics, or two possible approaches to the requirements
of a multilateral disarmament treaty such as the CWC. A “coop-
erative” state should be understood as a state that maintains relaxed
relations with the Hague-based OPCW and its technical secretariat
(a team of inspectors and experts tasked with the concrete imple-
mentation of the Convention’s mechanisms). A “compliant” state
should be understood as a state that is a member of the Convention
and complies with its basic measures.29
In reality, these suggestions ref lected the thinking of certain
experts in the Bush administration and the “Boltonian”30 approach
 Chemical and Biological Weapons 43

to treaties: treaties could not guarantee the security of the United

States, for it was possible to be a party to one and still avoid compli-
ance with its measure. Moreover, the threat to arms control came
not from states that had not signed up to the process, but from par-
ticipants who merely feigned compliance (a grey area). While the
examples given here are simply elements of a broader view, the con-
ceptual framework is rather banal: it has always been known that
one can cheat with treaties. Its novelty stems from the readiness of
a country as respectable as the United States— and whose inf luence
on the international stage is so decisive—to systemize defiance of
multilateral disarmament. Another response to the Boltonian argu-
ment would be to say: various mechanisms have been devised to
verify compliance— surprise inspections of chemical facilities, for
example31—let’s use them, and tell us why you have never used
them.
The inertia of states: another critical observation vis-à-vis mul-
tilateral treaties and their institutional mechanisms concerns the
inclination of state parties to focus on routine procedures and
the bureaucratic microrequirements of the organization (meeting
deadlines for paperwork, etc.), and thus neglect the importance
of the purpose that justified the organization’s creation. Leaving
aside the more well-known examples of such inertia, it appears that
some institutions prefer to function in a purely bureaucratic man-
ner. At the OPCW, an organization with a substantial technical
secretariat (more than 350 staff ), this attitude is induced largely
by the standard mode of discussion. States routinely deal with the
secretariat, while Executive Council discussions are chaired by the
Council’s president. In accordance with the Convention, states can
ultimately bypass the technical secretariat and hold bilateral consul-
tations (Article IX.1), but very few of them take advantage of this

Table 2.1 OPCW “cooperation” and “compliance”

Compliant Noncompliant

Cooperative Possible example: Iran

France
Noncooperative United States All states not party
to the Convention
44 Henri Léval

procedure, which is often reserved for contentious issues. Discussion

of the more sensitive issues is, therefore, subject to the inf luence of
the lowest common denominator, or is postponed until the next
meeting of the Executive Council. Besides its internal bureaucracy,
the OPCW has done little to develop relations with other bodies. 32
Although formally attached to the UN system, it is seldom called
upon to provide expertise on the UN’s behalf. Its ability to react
to events as they unfold, or more precisely to become technically
and diplomatically involved, is therefore weakened. The voice of
Mohamed ElBaradei, director general of the International Atomic
Energy Agency (IAEA), commands attention, but the voice of his
counterpart at the OPCW is unknown. When taken together, these
elements account for the OPCW’s unusually low profile.
Table 2.2 shows OPCW involvement in some recent political or
diplomatic events. In the first case, it did the bare minimum to main-
tain its credibility. In the second and third cases, it could not take
action because the target states were not parties to the Convention.
Finally, the G8 Global Partnership against the Spread of Weapons
and Materials of Mass Destruction is a diplomatic process that the
OPCW ignores with as much aplomb as the G8 ignored the CWC
and its measures before launching its ten-year project.
We could extend the analysis and attempt to pinpoint the causes
of the inertia that aff licts institutions such as the OPCW. But for
the purposes of this brief study, it is enough to suggest that in the
Table 2.2 The ability of the OPCW to add real value or initiate intervention in crises,
confl icts, or specific multilateral processes

Moscow theatre Verification of US-UK initiative Launch of “global

hostage crisis
(October 2002)
OPCW Purely formal and
involvement post- crisis
(request for
information from
director general)
the presence of converts Libya partnership” for
WMDs in Iraq from “rogue state” chemical, biological, and
before and after to CWC state nuclear disarmament
March 2003 party (February at the G8 summit in
2004) Kananaskis, Russia
(2002)
None. Situation Involvement None/on the margins
covered by after the event of the donors
UNMOVIC/ conference
ISG*

*United Nations Monitoring, Verification and Inspection/Iraq Survey Group

 Chemical and Biological Weapons 45

absence of a UN-type veto, the reluctance to become involved is much

stronger than we have been led to believe. For example, Russian
security forces used an unidentified and certainly new chemical sub-
stance during the 2002 Moscow theatre hostage crisis, but the fact
that more than 100 people died instantly prompted no demands for
“clarification” from states parties, even though the CWC contains
such a mechanism and “encourages” its use.33
Is export control a useful tool in the fight against terrorism? We have seen
how export control has been used to prevent the spread of terror-
ism. Now the events of 9/11 expanded the range of internal threats
that a state faces. In this new political context, states are tempted to
respond to such acts by imposing export controls. In addition, it is
politically difficult for supply regimes to adopt a disinterested atti-
tude to threats that have affected the central measures of their most
important ally. However, the claim that such measures are effective
in combating terrorism requires close scrutiny. On the one hand,
most terrorist acts (and their preparation) take place inside the target
state. Therefore, the most appropriate countermeasures are surely
border checks, preventive intelligence, and infiltration and surveil-
lance of terrorist cells. However, export controls are concerned with
the movement of important goods34 rather than the traffic in minor
items, which can easily slip through the net. Finally, it seems absurd
to include every product that could be used to violent ends in a list
of sensitive “dual-use” goods.
The immediate lesson of the three shortcomings we have just
examined is that institutional mechanisms—international con-
ventions, supply regimes— designed to promote disarmament and
prevent the spread of chemical and biological weapons originated
in specific historical circumstances that defined their operational
sphere and restricted their capacity for action. Like the biological
organisms responsible for the host body’s immunity, they are char-
acterized by both strengths and weaknesses. Thus they can be duped
from within, clog up, react disproportionally, or fail to adapt to the
current threat. By virtue of this rather Darwinian analysis, their
ability to adapt to new threats while addressing core issues such as
disarmament is therefore crucial. At the same time, states should not
demand action from every institution whenever a crisis arises, given
the risk of provoking reactions that defy interpretation.
46 Henri Léval

Like those operating in other domains, institutions concerned with

disarmament and preventing the spread of chemical and biological
weapons are firmly attached to the international landscape. States
created them, periodically demand their accountability, direct them,
and sometimes manipulate them, but even so, they constitute agorae
in which the performers— states— cannot predict with any accuracy
the effects of the measures that they have agreed upon.

Notes

1. The opinions and views in this chapter are the author’s own.
2 . Baruch de Spinoza, A Theological-Political Treatise (Charleston: Forgotten Books,
2008).
3. “Dual-use” goods and equipment can be used for both military and civil
purposes.
4. The United States once referred to “rogue states” or “pariah states” but has now
formalized the concept of “states of concern.” France has traditionally balked at
publishing lists of “problem countries.”
5. See Stéphane Rials and Philippe Raynaud, Dictionnaire de philosophie politique
(Paris: PUF, 1996), p. 256.
6. Between Poland and Ukraine today.
7. André Malraux, Oeuvres complètes, vol. 3 (Paris: Gallimard, ‘La Bibliothèque de la
Pléiade’, 1989–1996), p. 859.
8. Sarin, for example, was synthesized in German laboratories in 1936 and was a
basic component of allies’ arsenals until the CWC entered into force.
9. Laborious negotiations between the two superpowers resulted in a specific inter-
national text, the ENMOD Convention— Convention on the Prohibition of
Military or Any Other Hostile Use of Environmental Modification Techniques.
This somewhat obscure agreement entered into force on October 5, 1978, after
Laos, the twentieth state party, had deposited its instrument of ratification.
The Convention currently prohibits a range of activities such as deforestation,
use of herbicides, destruction of crops, manipulation of ozone levels, provoca-
tion of f loods, El Niño, and La Niña. On the origins of ENMOD, see Monique
Chemillier- Gendreau, “Le statut international des armes chimiques. Progrès et
limites,” in Droit du pouvoir, pouvoir du droit. Mélanges offerts à Jean Salmon (Brussels:
Bruylant, 2007), pp. 875–887.
10. Resolution 687 of April 3, 1991, calls on Iraq to “reaffirm unconditionally its
obligations under the Geneva Protocol,” which Iraq signed in 1931. See Serge
Sur, “Le Protocole de Genève à l’épreuve des deux guerres du Golfe,” Cahiers du
GRIP, 164, December 1991, pp. 16–33.
11. One hundred and thirty- six states are party to the Geneva Protocol, the last to
join being Slovenia in 2008.
12 . See the select bibliography at the end of this chapter.
 Chemical and Biological Weapons 47

13. On this episode, see Milton Leitenberg, “Biological Weapons and Bioterrorism in
the First Years of the Twenty-First Century,” Politics and the Life Sciences 21, no. 2,
September 2002, pp. 3–27.
14. See, for example, Henri H. Mollaret, L’Arme biologique (Paris: Plon, 2002), p. 10:
“ . . . the resort to microbiology, to the use of pathogenic bacteria or viruses, indis-
putably constitutes the major innovation in the history of early twenty-first cen-
tury terrorism . . . paradoxically, leading politicians are still not giving this threat
[of a biological attack] the attention it deserves . . . ” [author’s emphasis].
15. As emphasized by UN secretary general Kofi Annan at the AIDS summit in
London on November 23, 2003, the AIDS virus combines many of the char-
acteristics of a “weapon of mass destruction,” although its diffusion is silent and
particularly insidious.
16. Gerald R. Fink, Ronald Atlas, and David Franz, National Research Council of the
National Academies, Research in an Age of Terrorism: Confronting the Dual Use Dilemma
(Washington, D.C.: The National Academies Press, 2003), p. 17.
17. “Biopharmaceutical drugs, which barely existed 15 years ago, are estimated to
have had sales of more than $30bn last year, with gross margins of 80% and annual
growth of about 15%— double that for conventional drugs,” in “Genesis of a
Copycat Generation,” Financial Times, May 19, 2004.
18. On August 31, 2008, there were 162 state parties.
19. Britain’s House of Commons has repeatedly called for progress on this issue.
20. The archetype of this restrictive legislation is the French decree on tracing stocks
of pathogens and toxins (l’arrêté Kouchner, September 22, 2001).
21. In the chemical domain, the civil-military crossover is 65 percent, as opposed to
95 percent in the biological domain.
22 . Six states—Russia, the United States, India, Korea, Albania, and Libya— declared
that they possessed chemical weapons when they signed the CWC, and were
therefore consigned to a specific regime covering “possessor” states.
23. On the tenth anniversary of the Convention’s entry into force, Richard Guthrie
wrote an article on the celebrated Article 1.5 (which sets out the prohibition on
the use of antiriot agents in war). See Guthrie, Richard, “Tackling Ambiguities:
Lessons for the Review Conference from the Chemical Weapons Convention
Negotiations,” Chemical Disarmament Quarterly, March 2008, p. 10 (also available
at www.opcw.org).
24. No surprise inspection has been requested in the CCW’s ten-year existence. If we
accept that the mechanism is applicable to all state parties, which remains to be
seen given the measures in Article IX, clauses 9 and 17, then the reluctance of the
Convention’s leading members to call for surprise inspections can only be due to
their fear of being inspected themselves.
25. See the Introduction by Guillaume Devin.
26. See www.australiagroup.net/en/origins.html, “Origins of the Australia Group.”
27. The 22 signatories to Australian ambassador Paul O’Sullivan’s declaration at the
629th plenary session of the Disarmament Conference undertook to “review in
the light of the implementation of the Convention, the measures that they take to
prevent the spread of chemical substances and equipment for purposes contrary to
the objectives of the Convention, with the aim of removing such measures for the
48 Henri Léval

benefit of States Parties to the Convention acting in full compliance with their
obligations under the Convention.”
28. U.S. law recognizes individual European Union markets, but not the single
European market.
29. A state demonstrates its compliance by abiding by its initial, precise declarations
and refraining from clandestine research for the purpose of refining chemical
weapons, and so on.
30. From John Bolton, then undersecretary of State for Arms Control.
31. See note 23.
32 . Typically, NGOs have little access to these discussions.
33. CWC, Article 9, paragraph 2.
34. Raphael Prenat (one of the few French arms control specialists) discusses this
aspect in “Conf lits et contrôles des transferts de technologies sensibles,” in Pascal
Lorot (ed.), Guerre et Économie (Paris: Ellipses, 2003), pp. 201–211.

Select Bibliography

Chemillier- Gendreau, Monique. “Le statut international des armes chimiques.

Progrès et limites.” In Droit du pouvoir, pouvoir du Droit. Mélanges offerts à Jean
Salmon. Brussels: Bruylant, 2007, pp. 875–887.
Goldblat, Josef. Arms Control: The New Guide to Negotiations and Agreements. London:
Sage, 2002. In particular, Chapter VII, “Chemical and Biological Weapons,”
pp. 135–157.
Léval, Henri. “Faust parmi nous: quell combat contre l’arme chimique?” Annuaire
français de relations internationales (AFRI) Brussels: Bruylant, 2003, pp. 680–691.
Meyer, Claude. L’Arme chimique. Paris: Fondation pour la recherche stratégique
(FRS)-Ellipses, 2001.
Miller, Judith, Stephen Engleberg, and William J. Broad. Germs: Biological Weapons
and America’s Secret War. New York: Simon and Schuster, 2001.
Preston, Richard. The Demon in the Freezer: A True Story. New York: Random House,
2002.
 CH A P T E R T H R E E

Preventing Nuclear Proliferation:

The Role of the IAEA
A br a h a m B e h a r

To describe the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) as the

“spearhead of the fight against the proliferation of nuclear weapons,”
as most commentators do, is inaccurate. In reality, the institution’s
principal mission is to “promote civil nuclear activity.” Why were
military nuclear activities added to this mission? Why was the IAEA
and its cohort of experts, which is closely supervised by member
states, given the task of checking nuclear facilities and, ultimately,
of activities that could lead to the production of an atomic bomb in
contravention of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT). This
chapter attempts to provide some partial answers.
The core issue concerns the very nature of nuclear programs,
however they are classified (peaceful research, protection of the
ozone layer, electricity generation, etc.). In effect, the stages of all
such programs, with the exception of the final product (the pressur-
ized water reactor or the bomb), are scientifically and technologi-
cally identical. This is what David Fletcher (1997, p. 15), the IAEA’s
official historiographer, calls “the dual challenge of nuclear energy,”
that is, the ambivalence of all civil nuclear programs, given the pos-
sibility of changes to military use. The crucial issue is therefore: is it
possible to promote civil atomic energy and at the same time prevent
its military application?
50 Abraham Behar

The historical approach seems the most appropriate way to intro-

duce the IAEA. Its destiny was forged with the emergence of an
institution, even before its official birth in 1957. This chapter also
examines the Agency’s renaissance in 1970 with the introduction of
the NPT, its functions, competences and roles, its field of interven-
tion (placing due emphasis on its twofold mission), and, finally, the
issue of its autonomy.

History

Antecedents and Beginnings

The Manhattan Project was launched on December 6, 1941, the
day before the attack on Pearl Harbor. At the request of President
Franklin D. Roosevelt and with the agreement of European physi-
cists (Einstein, Fermi, Teller, and Oppenheimer), its sole purpose
was the creation of an atomic bomb. From the outset and until the
bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki (August 6 and 9, 1945), the
U.S. government’s major concern was to ensure its total— or at least
hegemonic— control over the new technology. But how could it
prevent other powers, including its allies, from gaining access to
nuclear energy?
Discussions continued, with input from the scientists involved,
throughout the realization of the Manhattan Project. It seemed that
the goal could be achieved in two ways. The first involved the
possibility of a partnership with the USSR in order to oversee the
development of nuclear technology. This was the view shared by
Robert Oppenheimer and Harry Stimson, U.S. secretary of state
for War. The second consisted in maintaining America’s absolute
hegemony and ensuring that every stage of the nuclear program
was conducted in total secrecy. The United States chose the second
option despite protests from many of the atomic scientists working
on the project.
The selected option quickly proved untenable due to the composi-
tion of the scientific team, which included experts from many differ-
ent countries. On November 15, 1945, after the power of the atomic
bomb had twice been demonstrated but before the acceleration of
 Preventing Nuclear Proliferation 51

the Soviet program assumed the proportions of a threat, the United

States, Canada, and Great Britain invented a new concept: “the
development of atomic energy for peaceful purposes.” The idea
was to promote exchanges of fundamental scientific information in
order to foster peaceful relations between nations, but forbid its use
for destructive purposes. The three countries thus believed that they
had found a compromise between the original options. With the
agreement of the USSR, and under the authority of the Security
Council of the recently established United Nations Organization,
the United Nations Atomic Energy Commission (UNAEC), the
prototype of the IAEA, was created in January 1946.
It should be noted that given the dual nature of nuclear technol-
ogy, international control had been a pressing issue from the outset.
U.S. secretary of state James Byrne immediately recommended a
“system of inspection superimposed on an otherwise uncontrollable
exploitation of atomic energy by national governments” (Fischer,
1997, p.19). The IAEA would inherit a dilemma that had arisen long
before its creation: while tasked with promoting atomic energy, it
might also have to condemn it.
Bernard Baruch, the U.S. representative to UNAEC, took the
logic of international oversight a step further by proposing the
creation of an international atomic development authority with
the power to control global sources of uranium and thorium and
impose harsh sanctions on states that misused them. The Baruch
Plan, rejected by the Soviets, was highly controversial and led to
UNAEC’s demise in 1949.
The United States was forced to stand on the sidelines as the first
round of nuclear proliferation got under way. The USSR detonated
a bomb in September 1949, far sooner than American experts had
predicted. Britain followed suit in 1952 (it is a matter of record that
Britain received considerable scientific assistance from the United
States). Fears increased as nuclear proliferation seemed unstoppable:
more than 50 countries, including France, would become “thresh-
old states,” that is, theoretically capable of developing a fully f ledged
nuclear weapons program. The impasse seemed total. America’s
attempt to maintain its hegemony over nuclear technology had
ended in complete failure.
52 Abraham Behar

Eisenhower’s Speech to the UN, December 8, 1953

The election of Dwight D. Eisenhower as U.S. president in November
1952 signaled a break with the policy of total secrecy and the doc-
trine of American nuclear hegemony. As the USSR already possessed
a major strategic atomic weapons capacity, it seemed vital to contain
the dangers of nuclear proliferation by concluding an agreement with
the Soviets. All the UN member states had to be persuaded. Taking
advantage of the debate on privatizing nuclear-generated electricity
in the United States, Eisenhower argued that other states would agree
to nuclear disarmament only if it was accompanied by a new proposal
concerning civil nuclear applications. This idea was formalized by
the UN General Assembly on December 8, 1953, with a proposal for
a single body, the IAEA: “It is not enough to take this weapon out of
the hands of the soldiers. It must be put into the hands of those who
will know how to strip it of its military casing and adapt it to the
arts of peace.”1 The IAEA would promote the peaceful use of atomic
power and supervise the management of fissile materials in the man-
ner of a bank (as opposed to an army of inspectors), a project that
required transparency and international cooperation. Negotiations
between East and West would not be part of its mandate.
In the light of these conditions, the UN General Assembly unani-
mously voted in favor of the project on December 4, 1954. But nego-
tiations over the IAEA’s status had only just begun. On the one hand,
the Suez crisis and the first oil crisis in 1956 relaunched the project
as a response to the demand for an energy source other than oil.
However, experts from the two superpowers (the USSR had initially
opposed control of nuclear stockpiles) clashed over a crucial dilemma:
“promotion versus control.”2 By way of a compromise, the future
agency was divested of responsibility for nuclear security, while the
task of assessing the effects of exposure to ionizing radiation was
handed to the United Nations Scientific Committee on the Effects of
Atomic Radiation (UNSCEAR). However, it would retain control
of the safety of installations and materials and would establish a special
relationship with the World Health Organization (WHO).
The IAEA’s objectives may be summarized as follows:
● To take any action to promote, research on, development of, and
practical applications of nuclear energy for peaceful purposes.
 Preventing Nuclear Proliferation 53

● Provide materials, services, facilities and technology for all

research and practical applications of atomic energy.
● Sponsor exchanges of scientific and technical information.
● Establish and apply safeguards to ensure that its promotion of
nuclear activities is not diverted to military ends.
● Establish and adopt nuclear safety standards.

The issue of the Agency’s inspection function first emerged in

relation to the final point, for there had to be some way of verifying
whether member states were applying safeguards and safety orders
appropriately. A compromise between the agency’s total autonomy
and its submission to the Security Council was negotiated: the IAEA
would provide the UN General Assembly with an annual report on
its work; peacekeeping and international security issues would be
referred to the Security Council.
Nevertheless, a late amendment cast a long shadow over the
Agency’s future: inspections to ensure safety and the correct appli-
cation of safeguards would not take place unless requested by states,
and would be confined to the activity they had agreed to place
under the Agency’s control. The situation had come full circle: not
only would the IAEA act as the nuclear industry’s promoter, but its
control function also would henceforth depend on the goodwill of
its member states. It was at the price of this initial weakening that
the Agency’s existence was formalized by the UN General Assembly
on July 29, 1957.

July 1957–July 1968: The Golden Age of Nuclear Proliferation

Sustained by a series of technological innovations, the IAEA enjoyed
great success while unwittingly favoring nuclear proliferation.
Every state with a clandestine nuclear program played the “peace-
ful” transparency card. In terms of acquiring the necessary technol-
ogy, the advantage in doing so was considerable. For example, the
plutonium production “research” reactors under the IAEA’s control
were globally successful. Many countries contrived to enhance the
power of these reactors and patiently accumulated stocks of pluto-
nium 239. The first nuclear power stations fuelled by natural ura-
nium, such as the French graphite/gas-moderated plants and heavy
54 Abraham Behar

water-moderated CANDU (Canada deuterium uranium) reactors,

exacerbated the dual nature of the race for the “peaceful” atom.
In 1956, Israel and France went a step further by openly intensi-
fying their cooperation on a nuclear weapons program, a move that
attracted no criticism from the IAEA. Countries such as India and
Pakistan transferred their entire military program to the civil sphere,
claiming that the CANDU power stations supplied by Canada were
essential to electricity generation. The IAEA attempted to restrict
plutonium production by promoting the use of enriched uranium
in research reactors, and later supported the extension of pressurized
water reactors fuelled by enriched uranium, which made the simple
extraction of plutonium 239 almost impossible. This prompted a
race to produce enriched uranium through gaseous diffusion (ura-
nium enriched to less than 5 percent is consistent with fuel for a
civil nuclear facility; a higher percentage implies a military pur-
pose). Faced with these disastrous developments, the two super-
powers intensified their efforts to finalize the NPT.

The NPT and the Renaissance of the IAEA

An initiative taken by the United States and the Soviet Union
finally bore fruit: the nuclear arms race lost its momentum and
in consequence the Vienna-based agency underwent a profound
transformation. The NPT was opened for signatures on July 1,
1968, and entered into force on March 5, 1970. It has been ratified
by 188 countries (North Korea withdrew at the end of 2008). The
United States and the USSR immediately approved it, and most
of the industrialized countries followed suit. France and China
waited until 1992, and three countries known to possess nuclear
weapons (India, Israel, and Pakistan) had still not signed in 2008. It
should be noted that North Korea stated its intention to withdraw
from the NPT in April 2002, as a prelude to its first nuclear test
on October 9, 2006.
The NPT rests on three pillars: nonproliferation, disarmament,
and the inalienable right of all countries to use nuclear technol-
ogy for peaceful ends. Their stability depends on the fulfillment
of three conditions: the production of concrete proof of disarma-
ment by the five recognized nuclear powers (the United States, the
 Preventing Nuclear Proliferation 55

USSR/Russia, China, France, and Great Britain); development of

the “peaceful atom”; and, above all, specific commitments, con-
trolled and verified as being exempt from military diversion, from
the signatory states. Consequently, controls and sanctions are of par-
amount importance.
The first pillar, therefore, aims at nonproliferation under the control
of the IAEA, which has the power to verify whether states are com-
plying with the terms of the treaty. In accordance with Article III,
the IAEA seeks to ensure that nonnuclear-weapon states parties are
not diverting nuclear energy from “peaceful uses to nuclear weapons
or other nuclear explosive devices.” Every state is obliged to sign
an agreement that allows the IAEA to verify compliance with its
obligations under the treaty; the measure covers both source materi-
als and special fissionable materials. This arrangement has enabled
the IAEA to achieve a better balance between its historical mis-
sion—to promote nuclear energy— and its new mission—to control
and verify that such energy is not being used for military purposes.
Public opinion would increasingly regard the Agency as an army of
inspectors that minutely controlled every nuclear facility that could
be diverted to military use. Its principal task, the global expansion
of civil nuclear energy, was largely forgotten. The foundation of the
second pillar is Article VI, which requires the five countries that
make up the “nuclear club” to “pursue effective measures” relating
to nuclear disarmament, although such measures are not subject to
controls. The third pillar bolsters the IAEA’s traditional mission, the
promotion of civil nuclear energy. However, the relation between
its control and promotional functions would become increas-
ingly contradictory. How would it reconcile such contradictions?
Reprocessing (in particular dual-use reprocessing technology) and
the production of enriched uranium were issues of major concern.

1970–2001: A Period of Calm

When the first signatures were added to the NPT, and given the
apparent good faith demonstrated by states, the leaders of the
two superpowers were understandably delighted. It was a time of
great optimism: in 1972, for example, Sweden officially termi-
nated its nuclear weapons program, although it had a considerable
56 Abraham Behar

technological advantage in the race for the bomb. But the alarm
bells soon began ringing. India conducted its first nuclear test in
1974, and Pakistan was quick to follow. This constituted a severe
challenge, for the NPT’s architecture was based on the existence
of a “Nuclear Club” composed of five countries rather than eight
(including Israel). Moreover, the activities in India and Pakistan had
eluded IAEA control. Both countries were Agency members but
had not signed the NPT; they had developed their nuclear weapons
capacity in the civil sector, under the authority of the industry min-
ister rather than that of the defense minister. This was a development
that the Agency had not foreseen.
With the Swedish diplomat Hans Blix at the helm (1981–1997),
the Agency enhanced the quality of its work and its reliability. Its
recovery was also assisted by the end of the Cold War, which acted
as another brake on nuclear proliferation. As military programs
reverted to secrecy, the consequent loss of technological advantages
often resulted in their suspension or cessation. Moreover, the two
superpowers committed themselves to a major, rigorous disarma-
ment program; the reduction of nuclear warheads from 40,000 to
10,000 that began in 1990 was achieved in record time. In this new
and entirely favorable climate, the 1995 NPT review conference
unanimously approved the treaty’s indefinite extension and the principle
of a five-yearly review. French foreign minister Alain Juppé, address-
ing the UN General Assembly on behalf of the European Union,
asserted that the NPT’s ultimate aim was “the total elimination of
nuclear weapons.”
The momentum appeared to be accelerating. South Africa, fol-
lowed by Brazil and Argentina, officially terminated their military
programs and dismantled their facilities. Vast nuclear-free zones
guaranteed by treaties were created in Latin America, the South
Pacific, and Africa. Despite the occasional setback, nuclear testing
had effectively stopped long before the ratification of a comprehen-
sive treaty.3 The IAEA proved to be highly efficient at resolving the
problem of the surplus fissile material resulting from disarmament.
The Agency suggested setting up a program to convert “weapons
grade” uranium into uranium enriched at 3.7 percent for use as fuel.
Its sponsorship of a massive plutonium 239 vitrification program
was also highly successful. The UN Security Council supported the
 Preventing Nuclear Proliferation 57

Agency by establishing a special system of obligations and controls

and endowing it with intrusive powers.
The IAEA thus seemed to be a much stronger institution. It was
able to monitor the complete dismantling of Iraq’s nuclear program
until 1998, and rule out the possibility of clandestine activities. As
the twenty-first century dawned, the end of nuclear proliferation
appeared to be in sight.

2001–2008: The Return of the Repressed

Hopes were dashed as the situation began to deteriorate after the
election of George W. Bush in November 2000. As soon as the new
administration took over the White House, it announced its inten-
tion to withdraw from the Anti-Ballistic Missile treaty with Russia,
thus immediately opening the road to rearmament.4 The attacks of
9/11 provoked a further degradation. In the name of the war on
terror, America’s nuclear doctrine underwent a radical change. The
old strategy of dissuasion, the “balance of terror,” gave way to two
new strategic orientations. On the one hand, nuclear weapons lost
their pariah status and were subordinated to U.S. military strategy,
which did not rule out their use on the battlefield. However, pre-
ventive war was conceived as a legitimate response to threats, par-
ticularly if they emanated from what America called “rogue states”
and, even more important, if these states aspired to a nuclear weapons
program.
The new doctrine had immediate consequences for the IAEA.
America took the view that its methods and techniques were
worthless because they depended on the compliance of states. Thus
the remarkable inspections of Iraqi facilities conducted under the
Agency’s director general, Mohamed ElBaradei, as well as the cour-
age displayed by his teams as they set about confirming the absence
of weapons of mass destruction, had no effect on America’s deter-
mination to wage another war against Iraq. Worse was to come: the
eight nuclear powers restarted the arms race, using “modernization”
as a pretext, while countries that had stopped or suspended nuclear
weapons programs decided to resume them.
The award of the Nobel Peace Prize to the IAEA and its director
general in 2005 had a bitter taste. The NPT review conference that
58 Abraham Behar

year was a total failure. “Horizontal” proliferation (the increase in

the number of countries having reached the technological threshold
necessary for the manufacture of a bomb) doubled. When North
Korea tested a nuclear device, Iran accelerated its program—which
triggered attempts to emulate it on the part of the United Arab
Emirates and Saudi Arabia— and Egypt decided to reactivate its own
program. At present, the proliferation of nuclear weapons is devel-
oping in two directions:

● the refinement of new vectors, especially with regard to inter-

continental ballistic missiles such as the French M51. This con-
stitutes a considerable advance on the activities of the recognized
de jure and de facto nuclear powers;
● the activation of military programs with an emphasis on ura-
nium as the fissile part of the bomb.

In conclusion, this historical overview suggests that attempts to

prevent proliferation are closely tied to U.S. policy. The world has
been— and continues to be— dependent on the successive directions
taken by the U.S. government, hence the spectacular progress and
disastrous setbacks.

Functions, Competences and Role of the IAEA

If any structure can be said to conform exactly to the paradigm of an

institution rather than an organization, it is surely the IAEA. Although
linked to the UN, the Agency is an independent entity; it functions
autonomously, has a particular type of state membership, and is endowed
with specific powers of constraint. In 2008, the Vienna-based agency
comprised 145 member states. There are three main bodies:

● The Board of Governors makes policy, publishes IAEA stan-

dards set by the General Conference, and sets the budget. The
Board consists of 35 member states. Some members are nomi-
nated by outgoing members, while others are elected according
to two criteria: a high level of atomic energy technology and
regional distribution.
 Preventing Nuclear Proliferation 59

● The General Conference, in principle the supreme decision-

making body, is made up of representatives of all member states.
It meets once a year to approve the actions and budgets passed
on from the Board and also approves the nominee for direc-
tor general. Using reports submitted by the Board, it exam-
ines unresolved technical issues. Suspension of a member state
requires a two-thirds majority vote.
● The Secretariat, which had 2,000 staff in 2007, is made up of
experts and technicians. The Egyptian diplomat Mohamed
ElBaradei was appointed director general in 1997 and remained
in post until 2009, serving three terms. The Secretariat has six
departments: nuclear energy, nuclear security and safety, nuclear
science and applications, safeguards, technical cooperation, and
management.

The budget for 2007 was 280 million euros, supplemented by 50

million euros from voluntary contributions.
As noted earlier, the IAEA’s competences and effectiveness depend
mainly on the willingness of sovereign states to comply with regula-
tions that restrict their activities. Cooperation is achieved by means
of “safeguards agreements,” of which there are three types:

● Item-specific safeguards agreements, null and void since the NPT,

remain in force for nonsignatory treaty members (Israel, India,
and Pakistan). They cover only the materials and facilities speci-
fied in the agreement.
● Comprehensive safeguards agreements cover all nuclear materials
and facilities declared by the state, in accordance with the NPT,
and presuppose on-site controls by the secretariat’s inspectors.
A state is required to notify the Agency six months before it
introduces a new facility.
● The Additional Protocol enables the Agency to verify the absence of
undeclared nuclear materials or nuclear activities. It represents a signifi-
cant extension of the IAEA’s competences (although it requires
the prior signature of a state) and was responsible for the high
standard of the inspections conducted in Iraq. However, Iran did
not sign the Protocol until 2004, which explains the complexity
60 Abraham Behar

of inspections in that country and justifies suspicions concerning

its military programs.

Although these arrangements are nonnegotiable, they underline the

limits of the Agency’s role. The good faith evinced by states tends
to wax and wane, while some important issues fall outside the scope
of the IAEA. One crucial issue concerns the smuggling of fissile
material and its subsequent use in “dirty bombs,” which will not
generate a nuclear explosion but may cause widespread radioactive
fallout. In 2005, the traffic in fissile materials involved more than
74 kilos of plutonium and highly enriched uranium (two or three
kilograms are enough to make a bomb). Similarly, the export of
radioactive waste and spent fuel for reprocessing is not covered by
international controls. The European Atomic Energy Community
(EURATOM) monitors such shipments, but only within the EU.
Therefore much still needs to be done to enhance the IAEA’s effec-
tiveness and credibility.

Two Spheres of Action Inspired by Two Different Visions:

The Problem of Coherence

The IAEA’s approach to the civil nuclear sector is in keeping with

its original mission. Since it has also been given the responsibility for
ensuring that materials are not diverted to military use, it is appro-
priate to examine the Agency’s overall coherence.

Promoting Atomic Energy

Despite Eisenhower’s belief that nuclear energy could be used for
industrial as well as military purposes, the IAEA was still faced
with a question: was it possible to devise nuclear fuel cycle tech-
nology that had no military application whatsoever? The quest for
this Holy Grail summarizes the history of “peaceful” atom promo-
tion and illustrates the specific nature of institutions with regard to
peace. Agency experts have always been suspicious of the political
discourse of peace, and have based their hopes on “clean” atomic
technology.
 Preventing Nuclear Proliferation 61

At the beginning of the 1970s, experts initially placed their faith in

a new generation of research reactors that avoided plutonium produc-
tion by using slightly enriched uranium. The Agency expanded its
technical assistance program and began publishing an annual report.
In 1970, it received 3,600 requests for expert assistance and equipment,
36.8 percent of which generated a favorable response. Nevertheless,
it soon became apparent that the new technology could be used to
produce plutonium 239. The power of research reactors was then
restricted to five megawatts, but some states secretly exceeded the
limit, and the Agency resigned itself to the routine management of
technical assistance and on-site controls. Hope was restored with the
introduction of first-generation nuclear power plants, for it seemed
beyond doubt that this method of producing electricity was entirely
peaceful. However, the two types of natural uranium-fuelled reac-
tor, whether moderated by graphite-gas or heavy water, were shown
to produce even more plutonium than the research reactors. Finally
a third opportunity arose with the development of the pressurized
water reactor (PWR), which used enriched uranium fuel that was
less conducive to plutonium 239 production and discharged spent
fuel less frequently than the first-generation model.
The promotion of peaceful nuclear energy intensified, supported
by a body responsible for fuel distribution: the International Nuclear
Fuel Authority (INFA). All NPT states parties were entitled to apply
to the Authority and benefit from the regional distribution of fuel.
But by 1977, enthusiasm had waned for two reasons. First, the repro-
cessing of waste from which plutonium could be extracted was not
subject to regulation. As France steadfastly refused to countenance
regulation in this area, the Agency was unable to exercise any con-
trol over it. Second, the type of fuel was controversial: in order to
conform to the nonproliferation requirement— and also to respond
to intense pressure from the United States—experts were forced to
focus on a slightly enriched uranium production cycle that could not
possibly be diverted to military use. That meant restricting the use
of highly enriched uranium by civil reactors that made medical iso-
topes, for it could easily be used to manufacture a nuclear weapon.
In short, if fuel in the commercial sector was not subject to strict
regulation, it could be stolen and sold to states that were bent on
manufacturing nuclear weapons or even to terrorist networks.
62 Abraham Behar

While attempts to restrict plutonium production were undeniably

successful, they also prompted “threshold countries” to return to
uranium enrichment. The offer of ultracentrifuges to replace the old
gaseous diffusion process and the availability of materials not subject
to IAEA control were increasingly exploited. The regulatory system
exemplified by the INFA and its fuel bank clashed with a state’s
“inalienable right” to all aspects of nuclear technology.
Second-generation nuclear power stations are unarguably “non-
proliferating,” but the complete fuel-reactor-waste cycle is dual and
may, therefore, lead to another round of nuclear proliferation. The
case of Iran highlights the IAEA’s dilemma over enriched uranium:
while it encourages its production on the grounds that it reduces
the amount of plutonium 239, it cannot prevent natural uranium
enrichment by means of ultracentrifuge technology, which exceeds
the 4 percent enrichment consistent with fuel for civil applications.
As it seeks to promote peaceful nuclear energy, the IAEA plays
an important role in setting technical standards for the industry. It
studies and proposes standards for the simulation of atomic processes
in 85 countries, and is the global reference for the security and safety
standards applicable to all nuclear programs. Since 2004, the Agency
has also defined universal radiotherapy standards. However, its
approach to the protection of people exposed to the effects of radia-
tion is less than open and has attracted criticism from the WHO.5

IAEA Action to Prevent Nuclear Proliferation

The Iranian case has exposed the Agency’s strengths and weaknesses.
Iran’s interest in nuclear technology dates back to 1967, when the Shah
decided that in order to achieve total independence and self-sufficiency,
his country should possess the ability to manufacture nuclear weapons
and generate electricity from nuclear power. The program contin-
ued until 1979, when it was suspended by Ayatollah Khomeini on
the grounds that nuclear weapons were “the devil’s machinery.” In
1981, following Israel’s destruction of the “Osiraq” reactor in neigh-
boring Iraq, Iran’s leaders decided to reactivate the program, present
it as a civil project, and construct a nuclear power station at Bushehr,
on the shores of the Arabian Gulf. The aims had not changed: the
process would be completely independent and internally controlled
 Preventing Nuclear Proliferation 63

at every stage except when international technical assistance became

indispensable. Iran eventually signed a contract with Russia for the
construction of a power station.
Iran has ratified the NPT and is a member of the IAEA, although
it did not sign the Additional Protocol until 2004. The country
benefits from comprehensive safeguards agreements. It has a right to
legal technical assistance as long as it allows inspections of the mate-
rials and facilities it has willingly submitted to controls. The Agency
inspected the Bushehr power plant in September 2002, ruled that
its construction was legal, and strongly supported the delivery of
fuel by Russia, as set out in the contract. However, two develop-
ments pointed to the dual nature of Iran’s nuclear program. First,
it emerged that it was building gas centrifuge facilities to enrich
natural uranium (extracted from its own mines) in Natanz, and pos-
sibly on four other sites. This ran counter to the advice given by
the Agency’s Council of Governors. Second, evidence suggested the
construction of a heavy water production complex and heavy water
reactor at Arak. In other words, Iran was moving toward the pro-
duction of plutonium 239, which was incompatible with the stated
aim of producing electricity from plants fuelled solely by slightly
enriched uranium.
While the move to plutonium production clearly indicates the
existence of a nuclear weapons program, the issue of uranium enrich-
ment requires some explanation. In effect, the Board considered such
enrichment doubly pointless. On the one hand, Russia had agreed to
provide all the fuel for the Bushehr plant. However, the global mar-
ket was glutted with slightly enriched uranium given the dilution
of highly enriched uranium that accompanied the disarmament of
nuclear warheads, especially those in American and Russian hands
(over 25,000 warheads have been dismantled). In this unprecedented
context, the IAEA’s director general visited Iran and subsequently
devised a new strategy: the country would receive the assistance it
had requested only after it had signed the Additional Protocol. The
Agency recorded its first success in December 2003: Iran signed the
Protocol and agreed to on-site inspections. Fortified by this ini-
tial result, the IAEA then attempted to persuade Iran to abandon
the heavy water reactor project voluntarily. The Board of Governors
adopted a resolution to this effect in June 2004, but by 2008 there
64 Abraham Behar

was still no sign of Iranian compliance. The Agency’s powers had

been stretched to their limits.
The Agency opened a second front, demanding the voluntary
suspension of uranium enrichment and other concessions, both
technical and commercial. But it cannot refer matters to the UN
Assembly General if it lacks proof that uranium enrichment exceeds
the 4 percent that is consistent with civilian use (which would be
a very strong argument for conducting a challenge inspection at
Natanz). Without formal evidence, neither the clauses in the NPT
nor the agreements with the IAEA enable preventive action. In
2008, Iran had still not accepted the Agency’s “advice” (resolution
of February 4, 2006, calling for greater cooperation from Iran),
but it had not violated the NPT. The IAEA’s attempt to prevent
nuclear proliferation has thus been checked. Diplomatic efforts
continue, accompanied by threats to destroy the facilities (there
are more than 24 installations scattered across the country) by air
strikes. The confrontation with Iran not only demonstrates the
importance of the IAEA’s role in preventing the proliferation of
nuclear weapons, but it also highlights its weaknesses: the Agency
can inspect facilities, offer expertise, and issue warnings, but it
cannot shut down suspect programs.

A Fragile Autonomy

The IAEA and its member states form an inseparable couple. The
members may attempt to dictate their priorities and their own
rules of conduct, but the Agency defines the principles and rules
that states are obliged to follow. The relationship is interactive by
nature. In terms of technical power, the autonomy of the gover-
nors is undeniable. The great advantage of this situation is that it
enables bold steps such as the inspections in Iraq—before its inva-
sion by the United States—which found no evidence of weapons
of mass destruction. But its autonomy is not enough to produce a
durable global vision for nuclear power. The system cannot func-
tion without input from outside bodies. The UN is useful here
(the Agency reports annually to the General Assembly, and can
refer cases to the Security Council), as are political instruments
 Preventing Nuclear Proliferation 65

such as treaties (for e.g., the NPT and CTBT) and, more gener-
ally, developments in international law. However, the IAEA has
always been heavily dependent on U.S. strategies for managing the
nuclear threat and, for better or for worse, remains so, despite signs
that we may be entering a multipolar era in terms of nuclear power
and its applications.

Notes

1. Dwight D. Eisenhower, The Atom for Progress and Peace: An Address to the General
Assembly of the United Nations (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing
Office, 1954), p. 1.
2 . David Fischer, History of the IAEA, the First Forty Years (Vienna: IAEA Editions,
1997), p. 33.
3. The Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), opened for signature in 1996, had
still not entered into force in 2008.
4. The formal U.S. withdrawal from the ABM treaty (signed in 1972 and completed
in 1974) took effect on June 13, 2002.
5. The WHO-IAEA agreement, which came into effect on May 28, 1959, contains
measures to safeguard the confidentiality of exchanges of information. A legal
dispute concerns the nonpublication of the proceedings of the WHO conference
on Chernobyl, which took place on November 27, 1995. According to Dr Hiroshi
Nakajima, a former WHO director general, the IAEA used the agreement to
suppress the conference report.

Select Bibliography

Bechhoffer, Bernard G. Postwar Negotiations for Arms Control. Washington, D.C.:

Brookings Institution, 1962.
Behar, Abraham. “La proliferation nucléaire autour de la Méditerranée.” Médecine et
guerre nucléaire 17, no. 3, 2002, pp. 9–12; also available at www.amfpgn.org
———. “Qu’est- ce qu’une centrale plutonigéne?” Médecine et guerre nucléaire 17, no. 3,
2002, pp. 6–8; also available at www.amfpgn.org
Eisenhower, Dwight D. The Atom for Progress and Peace: An Address before the General
Assembly of the United Nations. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing
Office, 1954.
Fischer, David. History of the IAEA, the First Forty Years. Vienna: IAEA Editions, 1997,
extracts available at www.iaea.org.
Hewlett, Richard G., and Oscar E. Anderson. The New World: A History of the United
States Atomic Energy Commission. Washington, D.C.: New World Paperback,
1962.
Hewlett, Richard G., and Jack M. Holl. “Atoms for Peace and War.” Science, 246,
1989, pp. 826–847.
66 Abraham Behar

Rhodes, Richard. The Making of the Atomic Bomb. New York: Simon and Schuster,
1986.
Rhodes, Richard and Sun Derk. The Making of the Hydrogen Bomb. New York: Simon
and Schuster, 1995.
Stimson, Henry L., and McGeorge Bundy. On Active Service in Peace and War.
New York: Harper and Brothers, 1948.
Simpson, John, and Darryl Howlett. The Baruch Plan, vol. 2. New York: Briefing
Book, 1993.
 CH A P T E R FOU R

Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations

C h a r l e s T e n e n bau m

Given the sudden resurgence of armed conf licts since 2005,1 a review
of the major characteristics of the contours of post–Cold War inter-
national conf lictuality seems essential. The marked decline in inter-
state and intrastate wars after 19902 was accompanied by a veritable
surge in the contribution of intergovernmental organizations (IGOs)
to conf lict management and resolution. The 1945 United Nations
Charter associated the practice of mediation with peacekeeping and
international security, but IGOs have also been systematically devel-
oping dispute settlement mechanisms based, among other practices,
on mediation. A constituent of founding charters, IGO mediation
has undergone institutional and political renewal since the collapse
of the Soviet Union. With the foregrounding of the “responsibility
to protect,”3 intergovernmental organizations are becoming increas-
ingly involved in the settlement of the internal conf licts, both civil
and ethnic, that aff lict their member states. Although it contra-
venes the strict principle of sovereignty and noninterference, the
trend represents a major transformation in the work of IGOs, for it
exceeds the boundaries of the missions established by their respec-
tive charters and treaties.
Mediation, an “alternative” method of conf lict resolution,4 is
eminently political, nonjudicial, and relatively free of constraints. As
it proceeds, the parties to the dispute agree to the intervention of a
third party. A product of interstate consensus and often conducted
68 Charles Tenenbaum

by representatives or special envoys, it ref lects the evolution of the

structure of the international system in terms of the integration and
complementarity of private and public actors. The diplomats and
leading politicians central to institutional mediation, together with
religious groups and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), have
thus enhanced the diversity of actors for peace.
The proliferation of IGOs, associations of sovereign states, which
have voluntarily gathered around a founding act,5 has been matched
by a proliferation of missions and objectives. In its currently accepted
sense, the organization at the very least assumes the attributes of
a forum, an agora, a space reserved for the debates, negotiations,
agreements, and disagreements of its contracting parties. As such,
the organization and its institutional structures (a charter, a perma-
nent secretariat, an assembly of member states) constitute an essential
vector of mediation and its fundamental goal: restoration of dialogue
between parties in conf lict and the search for a common solution
through the intervention of a third party. Mediation is above all
facilitative.6 Characterized by suppleness, the absence of coercion,
and informal talks, the practice encourages the involvement of the
parties in dispute, especially in more difficult conf licts.7
In terms of international approaches to violent political conf licts,
IGO mediation chief ly concerns two types of organization: the uni-
versal, that is, the United Nations, and the regional8 or even sub-
regional. This chapter provides an overview of the principles and
mechanisms of dispute resolution and goes on to examine more
recent changes in the development and implementation of interna-
tional mediation by IGOs, thus highlighting the assets that make
IGOs effective mediators despite the constraints that still hinder their
activities. Their contribution to post–Cold War conf lict resolution
has also opened new perspectives on cooperation between states and
“new” actors on the international stage: between the monopoly of
historically “legitimate” public actors and the demands of the pri-
vate actors who are forging more links with international institu-
tions. The increasing involvement of IGOs, one manifestation of
the wholesale transformation of global politics, justifies an assess-
ment of their participation, whether simultaneous or consecutive,
complementary or indeed competitive, in a peacemaking effort that
proceeds on several levels and is now faced with the challenge of
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 69

integrating and professionalizing the many practitioners of interna-

tional mediation.

Definitions of mediation

[“( . . . ) any action taken by an actor that is not a direct party to the crisis,
that is designed to reduce or remove one or more of the problems of the
bargaining relationship and, therefore, to facilitate the termination of
the crisis itself.”]
Oran, R. Young, The Intermediaries: Third Parties in International Crisis,
Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1967, p.34.
[“( . . . ) intermediary activity ( . . . ) undertaken by a third party with the
primary intention of achieving some compromise settlement of the issue
at stake between the parties, or at least ending disruptive behaviour.”]
Christopher, R. Mitchell, The Structure of International Conflict, Basingstoke,
Macmillan, 1981, p. 287.

Principles and Mechanisms of IGO Mediation

The institutionalization of mediation as a means of settling dis-

putes between states dates back to the turn of the twentieth cen-
tury. Following the 1899 and 1907 Hague peace conferences, the
practice was included in the Convention for the Pacific Settlement
of International Disputes.9 The 1945 UN Charter was certainly the
first such document to contain an explicit reference to mediation
by an international organization as a means of resolving interna-
tional conf licts, but the 1919 Covenant of the League of Nations had
implicitly called for its use as a complement to the establishment of
international arbitration bodies.10

The United Nations

The UN Charter formally recognizes mediation as a way of set-
tling disputes (Chapter VI, Article 33).11 One of several instruments
designed for conf lict resolution, it is neither defined nor provided
with a procedural framework. Although brief and imprecise, the
reference acknowledges the essence and principal quality of the tool:
its suppleness, the mediator’s rejection of coercion, and so on.
70 Charles Tenenbaum

Besides advocating mediation as a means of settling disputes

between member states, the UN Charter also encourages its use
by regional organizations (“regional arrangements”). Chapter VIII
(Articles 52, 53, and 54) requires members to make every effort to
resolve their disputes at local and regional level before referring them
to the Security Council. This principle of subsidiarity12 between
the UN and regional organizations places all coercive action by the
latter under the authority of the Security Council. In effect, the
Security Council should be informed of initiatives to settle disputes
between UN member states and reserves the right to utilize IGOs
when applying its own decisions. In theory, this establishes a strict
hierarchy, with the UN firmly ensconced at the top. In practice,
it has encouraged coordination and indeed cooperation between
intergovernmental organizations, especially since the end of the
Cold War.
Thus the UN is central to the conduct of mediation at interna-
tional level. Between 1945 and 1995, UN mediations accounted for
around 23 percent (341 efforts) of all international initiatives (1,485
efforts). In comparison, states conducted 47 percent (697), regional
organizations 11 percent, NGOs 6 percent, and private mediators
4 percent (9 percent for “mixed” mediations).13 One major statisti-
cal study14 has revealed the scale of IGO mediation in international
crises15 between 1918 and 2001. There were 124 such operations,
with the League of Nations and the UN conducting 24 percent and
regional organizations 18 percent, a combined total of 42 percent,
or 53 initiatives.
The decision to engage in mediation is taken when one or both
of the parties in contention refer the matter to the UN Security
Council, General Assembly, or secretary general, or when these
three entities spontaneously offer their services. The UN has used
the procedure in several ways since 1945: mediators have intervened
in the early stages of a dispute in order to prevent conf lict, and at
a later stage in order to further postconf lict recovery. The use of
mediation has thus gradually extended to every stage of the conf lict,
from peacekeeping to observation missions to peacebuilding.
UN mediation is essentially conducted by the secretary general
and his representatives. In 1948, Count Folke Bernadotte’s mis-
sion in the Palestine mandate, continued after his assassination by
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 71

Ralph J. Bunche, inaugurated mediation by “special envoys.” The

envoys intervene on the secretary general’s behalf and initiate the
process of dialogue to enhance his inf luence when he personally
intervenes at a later stage. It is important to note that UN secre-
tary generals took part in more than 103 mediations (17 percent
of all UN efforts) between 1945 and 1995.16 Special envoys were
involved in 206 interventions over the same period.17 The work of
Alvaro de Soto, Javier Pérez de Cuéllar’s personal representative in
El Salvador between 1990 and 1991, illustrates the efficacy of the
arrangement. When mediation by the Organization of American
States (OAS) failed, de Soto took charge of negotiations between
Alfredo Cristiani’s government and the Farabundo Marti National
Liberation Front (FMLN). After more than ten years of civil war
and 80,000 deaths, peace accords were signed at Chapultepec Castle
in Mexico on January 16, 1992. In November 2005, Kofi Annan
appointed Marti Ahtisaari, a former diplomat and president of
Finland, to oversee talks on the final status of Kosovo.18 By selecting
individuals recognized for their personal qualities as facilitators, the
secretary general acquires a political resource that, when reinforced
by the support of the Security Council, offers greater visibility on
the international stage.
In 2007, the creation within the Department of Political Affairs
of a Mediation Support Unit for the secretary general and his rep-
resentatives demonstrated the increasing institutionalization and
professionalization of delegated facilitation. Successful mediation no
longer depends on an envoy’s legitimacy. The Unit, developed with
the support of private bodies, provides top-level politicians with the
expertise, specific competences, and logistic support essential to the
conduct of the most complex mediations.

Regional Intergovernmental Organizations

During the Cold War, international mediation was conducted
mainly by the UN. With the end of the bipolar conf lict, it became
apparent that regional organizations could make a significant
contribution to conf lict resolution and especially to mediation.
As Boutros Boutros-Ghali emphasized in Agenda for Peace (1992),
“Regional arrangements or agencies can render great service if their
72 Charles Tenenbaum

activities are undertaken in a manner consistent with the Purposes

and Principles of the Charter, and if their relationship with the
United Nations, and particularly the Security Council, is governed
by Chapter VIII.” Like the UN, regional organizations reject the use
of force to settle disputes and attempt to promote alternative meth-
ods. Among the most prominent regional bodies are the African
Union (AU, formerly the Organization of African Unity, OAU),
the Economic Community of West African States (CEDEAO), the
League of Arab States and the Intergovernmental Authority for
Development (IGAD), The Association of Southeast Asian Nations
(ASEAN), the OAS, the Organization for Security and Cooperation
in Europe (OSCE), and the European Union (EU). These bod-
ies have progressively— and particularly since the end of the Cold
War— devised conf lict resolution mechanisms and adopted media-
tion to settle disputes both between, and more recently within, their
member states. Intergovernmental organizations with a focus on a
colonial or cultural heritage have also created instruments to foster
mediation and good offices.19

The Work of the OSCE

Founded in 1994, the OSCE is without doubt the most significant
example of a regional intergovernmental organization’s involve-
ment with mediation. The successor to the Conference for Security
and Cooperation in Europe created by the 1975 Helsinki Final
Act, it is organized around three “themes,” 20 and has four principle
missions:

1. To respond to new issues emerging from the Cold War.

2. To strengthen pluralist democracy and human rights.
3. To settle conf licts between member states by peaceful means.
4. To promote European security through arms control.21

In order to combat threats to human rights and the rights of national

minorities, and also to facilitate the political management of cri-
ses, particularly in the former republics of the USSR, the High
Commissioner on National Minorities was created at the Helsinki
Summit meeting on July 8, 1992.22 The policy of “quiet diplomacy”23
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 73

is currently steered by Knut Volleback (Norway), who took over Rolf

Ekeus (Sweden). The first OSCE High Commissioner, Max van
der Stoel (Netherlands, 1993–2001), preferred to be known as the
Commissioner for National Minorities, insisted on the impartiality
of mediation conducted with OSCE participants and their minority
groups. The signing of a treaty of friendship between Hungary and
Romania on September 16, 1996, the brokering of conditions for the
autonomy of Crimea, and the reduction of tensions between ethnic
groups in the Baltic states were all notable successes.24 However,
acute political tensions and military clashes in Abkhazia, Ossetia,
Georgia and Trans-Dniester demonstrated the limits of the organi-
zation’s strength as a mediator, especially when faced with the logic
of power and the desire for independence expressed by members of
the Community of Independent States (CIS) once the Cold War had
ended.
The High Commissioner’s task is “to provide ‘early warning’
and, as appropriate, ‘early action’ . . . in regard to tensions involv-
ing national minority issues which . . . have the potential to develop
into a conf lict . . . affecting peace, stability or relations between par-
ticipating States.”25 His mediation efforts are aimed at preventing
potential conf licts and settling existing disputes. Max van der Stoel
stressed four innovative points in relation to OSCE mediation:

● The third party (the mediator) can take part in conf lict resolu-
tion as soon as the first signs of friction appear in order to avoid
a potential loss of control.
● The mediator alone decides when to begin a mediation process
(the Council of Ministers’ approval is not a precondition).
● The mediator has expanded competences: he can visit member
states without prior official agreement.
● In addition, the mediator is an independent, non- state actor.26

Supported by early action (information-gathering, investigative

missions, making recommendations to the governments con-
cerned), and early warning (alerting OSCE member states through
the intermediary of the Permanent Council in Vienna), the High
Commissioner attempts to restore dialogue between the parties and
achieve conciliation (facilitative mediation).27 Based on cooperation
74 Charles Tenenbaum

between the parties and “problem- solving” strategies, this type

of mediation encourages the participation of representatives of
civil society: politicians, soldiers, business leaders, opinion form-
ers, and so on. The problem-solving approach, developed by John
W. Burton, Herbert C. Kelman, and Roger Fischer, focuses on
improving communication and bringing the parties together on an
informal basis.28
This strategy, which is characteristic of the “track two” model
of parallel diplomacy, seeks to involve a much broader range of
actors than those usually found around the negotiating table. In
this instance, the emphasis is on sensitizing the leading repre-
sentatives of civil society on both sides of the divide; on ana-
lyzing their respective claims and identifying problems that are
amenable to resolution. Medium- or long-term discussions take
place in informal workshops, which enable the parties to envis-
age the settlement of major issues; obstacles to peace are gradually
removed as their perceptions begin to alter. The problem- solving
strategy is opposed to bargaining processes in which the mediator,
formulator— or even manipulator—must negotiate with each par-
ty.29 Ideally, the third party intervenes when the conf lict is “ripe”
for resolution. This is a specific point in the conf lict, described by
Richard N. Haass and I. William Zartman as the “mutually hurt-
ing stalemate” (MHS) or “ripeness moment,” when the parties,
either through political will or sheer exhaustion, accept that their
interests may converge. 30
By concentrating on “quiet diplomacy,” with its emphasis on
facilitation and the rapprochement of populations, the OSCE has
opted for a medium- and long-term strategy of conf lict preven-
tion and management. Its reputation for impartiality endows it with
legitimacy in the eyes of governments and does much to assure the
High Commissioner’s credibility. However, the eruption of the
Russo–Georgian crisis in the summer of 2008 demonstrated that an
institution could not prevent conf licts between its members or their
resort to military action, no matter how long it had been working
in the region. Russia’s initial refusal to accept the deployment of 200
observers to monitor the ceasefire indicates the difficulties confront-
ing the OSCE, chaired at the time by Finnish foreign affairs min-
ister Alexander Stubb, as it attempted to persuade the belligerents
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 75

to pursue a negotiated settlement in accordance with international

norms31.

African Union Mediation

The OAU established a Protocol for Mediation, Conciliation and
Arbitration at its first summit in Cairo in July 1964, long before
the creation of the OSCE. Articles 19–21 of the Protocol provided
for a Mediation, Conciliation and Arbitration Commission,32 but
as no members were appointed, the body never functioned. The
Assembly of Heads of State and Government, responsible under
the Charter for resolving disputes and conf licts that presented a
threat to regional peace and security, did little more than appoint
ad hoc mediation commissions. Although established under the
OAU Charter, the mediation mechanism lacked arrangements for
its implementation and remained a dead letter until the creation
of a conf lict prevention, management, and resolution mechanism
in 1993. This was entrusted to the Central Organ, a kind of OAU
Security Council, which was replaced by the African Union Peace
and Security Council in 2002.33 The Council appoints special
envoys, sets up commissions of enquiry, and conducts mediations,
either alone or in cooperation with the UN, other organizations, or
NGOs.34 The African Union’s participation in conf lict mediation
and resolution is now a matter of record. Its efforts have extended
to Angola, Burundi, Liberia, Sierra Leone, the dispute between
Chad and Libya, 35 and the conf lict in Darfur. However, in Ivory
Coast as in Zimbabwe, the efforts of South African president Thabo
Mbeki have revealed the limits of a negotiation process that, while
its regional legitimacy remains uncontested, suffers from a lack of
political will. While the African Union did send a panel of five
mediators composed of African heads of States, its effort to try to
solve the Ivory Cost conf lict and post- electoral violent confronta-
tions that unfolded between December and April 2011 remained
unsuccessful. So did the efforts of another panel of five African
heads of States trying to find a diplomatic solution to the Lybian
war in spring 2011.
Complementary to a series of high-level mediation initiatives and
following a 2006 UN-AU Declaration of cooperation,36 the African
76 Charles Tenenbaum

Union mediation effort also included a training of diplomats strat-

egy that has been developed in close cooperation with international
NGOs. NGOs like the Swiss Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue
(HD Centre), the Finnish Crisis Management Initiative (CMI),
or the South African Centre for the Constructive Resolution of
Disputes (ACCORD) have been directly solicited to enhance the
mediation capacity of the AU diplomats.
The Cold War hindered the introduction of genuine conf lict
mediation and resolution mechanisms for many years. Bipolarity
and the bloc mentality ensured that regional organizations played
very little part in conf lict management. But given the authority and
competences they now possess, they are well- equipped to prevent
or manage the disputes that arise between their members, although
their efforts are still impaired by the lack of political commitment,
logistical resources, and targeted funds. The effectiveness of the
process remains overly dependent on the interests of the member
states and the amount of political support they are prepared to offer,
for its success depends largely on the mediator’s ability to mobilize
the political community. Following the African Union’s example,
the CEDEAO and the South African Development Community
(SADC) have also developed conf lict mediation and management
tools, the former through ECOwatch and the latter through the
Organ on Politics, Defence and Security.

From Economics to Politics: ASEAN

One recent and symptomatic aspect of the transformations occur-
ring on the international stage is the adoption of the principles and
mechanisms of conf lict resolution by intergovernmental organiza-
tions that were originally set up to deal exclusively with economic
relations. The ASEAN is one example. In 1967, its constitutive
declaration exhorted its members to pursue economic, social, and
cultural objectives through “active collaboration and mutual assis-
tance.” There was no reference to cooperation or the mutual man-
agement of “political” conf licts between member states at the time.
This dimension was introduced at the 27th session of the ASEAN
ministerial council in 1994, with the creation of the Asian Regional
Forum (ARF).37 The Forum has two aims: to foster constructive
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 77

dialogue and consultation on political and security issues of mutual

interest and concern; and to contribute significantly to confidence
building and preventive diplomacy in the Asia-Pacific region.
The declarations that accompanied the Forum’s creation highlight
the need to establish a link between economic and cultural coopera-
tion and conf lict resolution. Regional security no longer depends
solely on military defense organizations, but concerns all sectors of
society. The tendency of regional organizations to concentrate on
conf lict mediation and prevention can be seen as an application of
the concept of “human security” developed by the United Nations
Development Programme (UNDP),38 which regards security as a
multidimensional, globalized factor that necessarily encompasses the
social and economic well-being of societies and individuals.

The League of Arab States

The League of Arab States, founded in Cairo in 1945, brings together
the Arabic-speaking states of Africa and the Middle East. According
to the Pact of the League of Arab States, members are in principle
required to refer their most serious disputes to the Council for medi-
ation or arbitration.39 However, no special mechanism has been pro-
vided for such an approach. It should also be noted that the history
of the Arab League contains a significant example of the sanctions
that international organizations may impose when “ruptures of soli-
darity” occur.40 After Anwar el Sadat and Menachem Begin signed
the Camp David Accords, the League suspended Egypt’s member-
ship (until 1989), and shifted its headquarters from Cairo to Tunis.
Like Cuba’s expulsion from the OAS in 1960, the example demon-
strates that IGOs need to uphold the principle of internal coherence,
although preserving the interests of the majority may not be condu-
cive to peace and the resolution of violent conf licts, as in 1979.

The Organization of American States

Created in 1948, the OAS currently comprises all that continent’s
states, Canada, Belize, and Guyana having joined in 1990 and 1991.
The OAS Charter calls upon member states to resolve their “interna-
tional disputes” by peaceful means including mediation (Chapter V,
78 Charles Tenenbaum

Articles 24 and 25). In accordance with Article 23, a specific treaty,

the “Pact of Bogota,” clarifies the methods available to the signa-
tories. The “Procedures of Good Offices and Mediation” set out
in chapter 2 describe “good offices” as a simple attempt to bring
contending parties together and enable them to find an adequate
solution; the procedure ends once direct negotiations are resumed.
Mediation, however, entails a mutual agreement to refer the “con-
troversy” to one or more member governments.41 In this case, medi-
ation is seen as an optional, subsidiary procedure. Like the OAU’s
mediation protocol, the Pact of Bogota mechanism has remained
almost inert: by 1968, only ten states had signed it, which means it
has little value in practical terms.42 Moreover, OAS mediation also
takes the form of ad hoc missions. The Organization’s secretary gen-
eral mediated in the dispute between Honduras and Salvador (1969),
accompanied Jimmy Carter and Sam Nunn to Haiti (1991), and has
more recently sent a mediator to Bolivia (May 2008). As privileged
practitioners of informal mediation, international organizations are
faced with the twofold task of rendering coherent the positions of
their member states and establishing their credibility with the parties
to the dispute.

The Birth of a European Mediating Capacity

Supported by the normative framework43 of the Common Foreign
and Security Policy (CFSP) and the Security and Defence Policy
(CSDP), the EU has also enhanced its capacity for international
mediation. This development in the EU’s approach to foreign affairs
was inspired by a UN schema. Javier Solana, high representative for
the CFSP/CSDP, is responsible for the EU’s prevention and facili-
tation policy. Like the UN secretary general, the high representa-
tive dispatches special representatives to act on his behalf. In 2008,
11 special representatives were engaged in conf lict prevention and
management missions.44 In Ukraine, the EU mediated in the dis-
pute between Viktor Yanukovych and Viktor Yushchenko over the
November 2004 election. In an attempt to overcome the distrust of
regional powers and establish the legitimacy of his mission, Solana45
enlisted the aid of representatives from Poland, Lithuania, and
Russia. Three round table meetings (November 26; December 1
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 79

and 6) were enough to secure a second ballot. The EU had con-

ducted a successful mediation and proved itself capable of managing
disputes in neighboring countries.
During the siege of Sarajevo in 1995, the 15 EU members entrusted
Carl Bildt with a facilitation “initiative” aimed at raising the siege
and opening a new route into the Bosnian capital.46 At the time, the
EU’s inability to prevent the bombing and massacres of civilians did
lasting damage to its credibility, convincing many that it lacked the
power to prevent outbreaks of violence on its borders. In the sum-
mer of 2008, Nicolas Sarkozy, serving president of the Council of
the EU, mediated in the Russo- Georgian clash in South Ossetia.
The rapidly obtained ceasefire, supported by a Security Council
resolution, enhanced the legitimacy of an effort coordinated by the
EU and the OSCE. However, its delayed implementation, and the
impossibility of circumventing the Russian Security Council veto
raised serious doubts as to the current and future effectiveness of
European intervention. In respect to the EU mediation strategy, the
dialogue initiative set up as the “Geneva Discussions” remains one
of the most significative step toward an enhanced conf lict-resolution
capacity. Since October 2008, all parties to the conf lict meet every
two months under auspices of the UN, the EU, and the OSCE fol-
lowing a set of common agreed rules and referring incidents on the
ground to a “Joint Incident Prevention and Response Mechanisms”
inaugurated in 2009. Put under the coordination of Pierre Morel, a
senior French diplomat, also EU’s special representative for Central
Asia, this dialogue process shows how IGOs might coordinate their
mediation effort to resolve violent political crisis event when they
involved nonmember states. Here, again, it is noteworthy to observe
how reports and field expertise from conf lict resolution NGOs
(International Alert, Conciliation Resources) have served to help
build the initiative.
Finally, while nothing in the newly established European Union
External Action seems to indicate any serious involvement in
developing a coherent and professionalized diplomatic mediation
capacity, a series of financial instruments (Stability Instrument,
African Peace Facility) and political declarations have allowed for
an enhanced conf lict-resolution activity. Adopted in 2009, the
Joint Concept on Strengthening EU Mediation and Dialogue Capacities,
80 Charles Tenenbaum

openly encouraged the creation of a permanent mediation diplo-

matic service to replace the habit of ad hoc high-level mediation
operations.

Assets and Constraints:

The Specificities of IGO Mediation

The diverse arrangements and mechanisms for international

mediation adopted by IGOs constitute an ensemble whose recent
evolutions have been inf luenced by geography and the nature of
conf lict. Moreover, attempts by IGOs to resolve interstate and
intrastate disputes are subject to many constraints. As a voluntary
association of sovereign states, an IGO depends primarily on the
interests of each of its members; the principle of consensus and
unanimity often relegates an organization’s decisions to the rank of
a political statement. I. William Zartman argues forcefully that the
action taken by an IGO is wholly reliant on authorization from the
individual sovereign states that compose its membership.47 This
restrictive view seems to suggest that attempts by IGOs to settle
disputes between their members are doomed to failure. However,
their use of mediation and certain institutional developments invite
a reassessment of this approach, and perhaps justify a more opti-
mistic view of their future.

Incentives and Legitimacy

Intergovernmental organizations, whether universal or more lim-
ited in scope, possess political and economic resources that they can
use to incentivize their members. Mediation by the OSCE High
Commissioner on National Minorities demonstrates the degree to
which incentives such as the prospect of joining the EU and ben-
efiting from its economic aid have inf luenced the Baltic states and
some eastern European countries. As Max van der Stoel observed,
emerging countries require two elements: resources (both political
and economic) and international legitimacy.48 Economic aid, the
possibility of expert assistance when replacing a decaying industrial
infrastructure, and other benefits offered by the OSCE and EU
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 81

all inf luence the way governments treat their national minorities.
Respect for human rights and attempts to settle internal and exter-
nal disputes by peaceful means enable them to acquire legitimacy
on the international stage, initially by joining a regional orga-
nization and then by membership of other international circles,
“clubs” such as NATO, the World Bank, and the IMF. The High
Commissioner on National Minorities may thus be seen as a kind
of “gatekeeper” to international institutions; he allows applicants
to join the ranks of legitimate international relations actors as long
as they are prepared to comply with international humanitarian
law and the norms governing the protection of minorities.
The ability of intergovernmental organizations to offer incentives
is a factor of informal mediation. Positive or negative incentives thus
exert pressure on existing members and on those who wish to join.
The creation of institutions and mechanisms for conf lict resolution
within such organizations allows them to speak more freely and
insist that member states abide by the principles expressed in the
founding charters they have signed.

Coordination and Cooperation

The ability to exert inf luence and confer legitimacy varies from one
organization to another in accordance with its objectives, resources,
and weight on the international stage. A de facto hierarchy exists
among intergovernmental organizations, especially with regard to
the UN and other IGOs. However, the hierarchy (which has its
roots in the UN Charter) shows signs of increasing modification
through processes to further coordination and cooperation between
IGOs. This relates to secretary general Boutros Boutros- Ghali’s
insistence on placing the highest priority on international coopera-
tion between IGOs. In An Agenda for Peace, presented to the UN
on January 31, 1992, Boutros- Ghali urged regional organizations
to become outposts of the UN in their respective areas and serve as
emitters of “early warnings.”49 He called for a “division of labor”
and “complementary efforts” between IGOs. He also pointed out
that efforts to resolve or mediate in several international conf licts
had borne fruit only because the UN had cooperated with regional
organizations (see box).
82 Charles Tenenbaum

An Agenda for Peace

“In this regard, the United Nations has recently encouraged a rich vari-
ety of complementary efforts. Just as no two regions or situations are
the same, so the designs of cooperative work and its division of labour
must adapt to the realities of each case with f lexibility and creativity.
In Africa, three different regional groups— the Organization of African
Unity, the League of Arab States and the Organization of the Islamic
Conference—joined efforts with the United Nations regarding Somalia.
In the Asian context, the Association of South-East Asian Nations and
individual States from several regions were brought together with
the parties to the Cambodian conf lict at an international conference
in Paris to work with the United Nations. For El Salvador, a unique
arrangement—‘The Friends of the Secretary- General’— contributed to
agreements reached through the mediation of the Secretary- General.
The end of the war in Nicaragua involved a highly complex effort
which was initiated by leaders of the region and conducted by indi-
vidual States, groups of States and the Organization of American States.
Efforts undertaken by the European Community and its member States,
with the support of States participating in the Conference on Security
and Cooperation in Europe, have been of central importance in dealing
with the crisis in the Balkans and neighbouring areas.”
Boutros Boutros- Ghali, An Agenda for Peace, Chapter VII, Article 62,
1992.

In 2000, the Brahimi report on peacekeeping operations noted,

“Peacemaking addresses conf licts in progress, attempting to bring
them to a halt, using the tools of diplomacy and mediation” (Article
11). Conf lict resolution involves mediators from the UN or from
regional organizations in a context of cooperation that has under-
gone renewal since the end of the Cold War. All conciliation initia-
tives are now characterized by a wide variety of actors.
The structure of cooperation is primarily vertical, a line that
extends from the UN to regional organizations. But regional orga-
nizations are closer to the conf licts between their members and may
be better at devising ways to initiate a peaceful settlement. Moreover,
some parties in contention do not accept the UN as a valid inter-
locutor and do not regard the Security Council as an impartial body.
Horizontal cooperation between IGOs is more limited and focuses
on the specialized functions of organizations such as the World Bank,
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 83

the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development, and the

UN High Commissioner for Refugees. This could be interpreted
as a vindication of the functionalist theses that claim that peace can
be achieved through cooperation between organizations structured
around specialized technical functions.50
Whether IGOs act alone or in partnership when attempting to
resolve conf licts, the fragmentation of actors and processes is still
striking. Prolonged, violent conf licts tend to involve states, individ-
uals, IGOs, religious groups, NGOs, and many other actors. They
often lead to “multi-level” mediations and multiparty resolution pro-
cesses.51 The overall coherence of these efforts, whether conducted
consecutively or simultaneously, is not always apparent. Mediation
is most effective when it involves dialogue stimulated by private
actors (NGOs, individuals), whose relatively small scale ensures
greater discretion and effectiveness (the Community of Sant’Egidio,
the Mennonite Church, the Geneva-based Centre for Humanitarian
Dialogue, Jimmy Carter and the Carter Center, Nelson Mandela,
etc.), and the positive/negative incentives only international institu-
tions can offer.

From Resolution to Prevention

While the action of international institutions is restricted by the

interests of their member states, they have generally achieved
greater autonomy through their creation of permanent conf lict
resolution mechanisms. If they cannot apply pressure, they can
at the very least inf luence their members and the disputes that
place them in contention. This undeniably positive evolution has
not, in most cases, equipped IGOs with the resources that they
need to tackle intrastate conf licts. As the founding charters of all
such organizations stress the importance of sovereignty, an institu-
tion may find it difficult to intervene. In such cases, an attempt
to resolve a conf lict through informal mediation has numerous
advantages, although its limits soon become apparent. When this
stage is reached, pressure on the state in question or the parties in
contention can be achieved only by appealing to other interna-
tional bodies. By resorting to the levers of power, the third party
84 Charles Tenenbaum

does not lose its status as a mediator; but its role as a facilitator
diminishes as it becomes enmeshed in the more traditional con-
figuration of negotiation and well-understood interests.
Consequently, IGO mediation is particularly suited to the follow-
ing: the prevention of conflicts and the management of postconflict
situations; the least violent conflicts; interstate conflicts; and intrastate
conflicts that do not involve the organization’s most powerful mem-
bers. In the latter case, mediation is still relevant and legitimate, but it
rests on a relationship of force, which exceeds the practice’s conceptual
framework. The IGO, a factor of stability and a forum for discussion,
is equally limited in its ability to resolve conf licts between its mem-
bers. Its capacity for reaction and stabilization, swiftly overwhelmed
by the most violent conflicts, illustrates the relative effectiveness of its
efforts to settle major international crises. Moreover, when the level of
violence is intense or when massacres occur, mediation cannot replace
the use of force.
On April 24, 2004, a UN plan designed to end the dispute in
Cyprus and launch a reunification process (the island had been
divided since 1974) was rejected. Despite the personal efforts of
UN secretary general Kofi Annan and his special envoy, Alvaro de
Soto— and input from the EU— only one party, the Turkish Cypriots
occupying the northern part of the island, voted for the plan. Yet
widespread support for the peace plan had led many to believe that
the prospect of a “United Republic of Cyprus” and its admittance to
the EU would encourage its adoption. Should this be interpreted as
a failure on the part of intergovernmental organizations to mediate
successfully and resolve conf licts effectively?
Like Marcel Merle, we may regard IGOs as “reducers of tension”52
between their member states, but the constraints upon them damage
their ability to conduct successful mediations. From the standpoint
of legal experts, an organization is simply the sum of its sovereign
members and cannot lay claim to a form of autonomy. However,
by means of measures set out in charters and the implementation
of conf lict resolution mechanisms, IGOs have become exceptional
actors in the field of international mediation. Bolstered by their
credibility, their arsenal of positive and negative incentives, and the
possibility of legitimacy they afford, the UN and regional institu-
tions have been central to the process since 1945. The dynamics of
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 85

cooperation between regional bodies and the UN, between IGOs

and nonstate mediators, are increasingly enhancing their comple-
mentarity, their powers, and their options. Thus international
institutions may adopt the “problem-solving” approach (efforts by
the OSCE High Commissioner for National Minorities, the UN-
EU-OSCE Geneva Process) or the “bargaining” model (the OAS
in Haiti). The discretion, informality, and absence of coercion that
characterize the first approach are particularly suited to the intrastate
disputes inherited from the Cold War. These efforts are increasingly
entrusted to a skilled person selected by an IGO’s member states,
and highlight the growing importance of the individual in conf lict
management. As a nonstate actor, he benefits from the symbolic and
material power of the IGO, which provides him with his mandate.
From this perspective, IGO mediation seems to have fostered the
participation of nonstate actors in alternative approaches to conf lict
resolution and has thus contributed to the liberalization of the inter-
national arena. These new forms of governance, occupying the cen-
ter ground between sovereignty and globalism,53 could help to preserve
the role of the state actor by offering him the opportunity, through
the filter of institutions, to actively participate in the management
of global conf licts.

Notes

1. J. Joseph Hewitt, Jonathan Wilkenfeld, and Ted Robert Gurr (eds.), Peace and
Conflict 2008 (Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publishers, 2008).
2 . Monty G. Marshall and Ted Robert Gurr (eds.), Peace and Conflict 2005: A Global
Survey of Armed Conflicts, Self-Determination Movements and Democracy (College
Park, MD: Center for International Development and Conf lict Management,
2005).
3. International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty, The Responsibility
to Protect: Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty
(Ottawa: International Development Research Centre, 2001).
4. It is “alternative” in the sense that, like arbitration and conciliation, it eschews the
use of force to resolve conf licts.
5. Marie- Claude Smouts, Les Organisations internationales (Paris: Armand Colin,
1995).
6. According to Graham Evans and Jeffrey Newnham, The Penguin Dictionary of
International Relations (London: Penguin Books, 1998), the mediator’s role as a
facilitator of communication is key element of the process. Mediation is “a form
86 Charles Tenenbaum

of accommodation which is directed at settlement and possible resolution. The

would-be mediator is primarily a facilitator who seeks to establish or restore com-
munication between the parties.”
7. Chester A. Crocker, Fen Osler Hampson, and Pamela Aall (eds.), Taming Intractable
Conflicts: Mediation in the Hardest Cases (Washington, D.C.: United States Institute
of Peace Press, 2004).
8. Some “regional” organizations are exceptional. The OSCE, for example, has 56
members, including the United States and Canada, and extends from “Vancouver
to Vladivostok.”
9. Title II, Article 2: “In case of serious disagreement or conf lict, before an appeal to
arms, the Signatory Powers agree to have recourse, as far as circumstances allow,
to the good offices or mediation of one or more friendly powers.”
10. According to Article 15 of the Covenant, members agree to submit “any dis-
pute likely to lead to a rupture . . . which is not submitted to arbitration . . . ” to the
Council and its secretary general.
11. Chapter VI, Article 33.1: “The parties to any dispute, the continuance of which is
likely to endanger the maintenance of international peace and security, shall, first
of all, seek a solution by negotiation, enquiry, mediation, conciliation, arbitration,
judicial settlement, resort to regional agencies or arrangements, or other peaceful
means of their own choice.”
12 . See Connie Peck, “The Role of Regional Organizations in Preventing and
Resolving Conf licts” in Chester A. Crocker, Fen Osler Hampson, and Pamela Aall
(eds.), Turbulent Peace, the Challenges of Managing International Conflict (Washington,
D.C.: United States Institute of Peace Press, 2001), p. 562.
13. Figures compiled by Judith Fretter, “International Organizations and Conf lict
Management: The United Nations and the Mediation of International Conf licts,”
in Jacob Bercovitch (ed.), Studies in International Mediation (Basingstoke:
Macmillan, 2002), p. 101 et seq.
14. International Crisis Behaviour Project, a research program focusing on crises since
1975 conducted by the Center for International Development and Conf lict
Management (CIDCM, University of Maryland). See Jonathan Wilkenfeld and
Kathleen J. Young (eds.), Mediating International Crises (London: Routledge, 2005).
15. The criteria for a diplomatic crisis include an abrupt degradation of the external
and/or internal environments of states. With regard to international crises, the
sole criterion is the degradation of interaction between states.
16. Fretter, “International Organizations and Conflict Management,” art. quoted, p. 110.
17. Ibid., p. 113.
18. For a complete list of the secretary general’s special envoys, see www.un.org
/News/ossg/srsg/table.htm (Accessed on July 2008).
19. The Francophone community and the British Commonwealth also advocate the
use of mediation as a method of settling disputes.
20. Themes: (1) security issues affecting Europe; (2) economic and scientific coop-
eration (which encompasses environmental matters; (3) humanitarian issues and
respect for human rights (particularly freedom of movement).
21. See Josepha Laroche, Politique internationale, 2nd ed. (Paris: LGDJ, 2000), p. 547.
22 . The protection of national minorities had already featured in the Charter of Paris
for a New Europe (signed in November 1990).
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 87

23. See Walter A. Kempf (ed.), Quiet Diplomacy in Action: The High Commissioner on
National Minorities (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 2001).
24. The possibility of interethnic conf licts in the Baltic states arose essentially from
the presence of Russian- speaking minorities which had become stateless after the
collapse of the Soviet Union. See Max van der Stoel, “The Role of the OSCE
High Commissioner in Conf lict Prevention,” in Chester A. Crocker, Fen Osler
Hampson, and Pamela Aall (eds.). Multiparty Mediation in a Complex World, 3rd ed.
(Washington, D.C.: United States Institute of Peace, 2003), pp. 65–83.
25. Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, Helsinki Summit, July 9–10,
1992, The Challenges of Change, Section II: “The CSCE High Commissioner on
National Minorities.”
26. See van der Stoel, “The Role of the OSCE High Commissioner in Conf lict
Prevention,” art. quoted, p. 68.
27. Ibid., p. 72.
28. John W. Burton, Conflict and Communication: The Use of Controlled Communication
in International Relations (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1969); Herbert C. Kelman (ed.),
International Behaviour: A Social-Psychological Analysis (New York: Holt, Rhinehart,
and Winston, 1965); Roger Fischer, William Ury, and Bruce Patton, Getting to Yes
(New York: Penguin Books, 1982).
29. Saadia Touval, The Peace Brokers: Mediators in the Arab-Israeli Conflict, 1948–1979
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982).
30. Richard N. Haass, Conflicts Unending: The United States and Regional Disputes (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1990); I. William Zartman, Ripe for Resolution:
Conflict and Intervention in Africa (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989).
31. Following the 2008 military crisis in Georgia, the OSCE, the UN, and the EU
sent 300 monitoring personals on the ground amounting to nearly a 1,000 troops.
However, both the OSCE and the UN withdrew their forces in December 2008
leaving only 300 nonarmed EU observers.
32 . Protocol of Mediation, Conciliation, and Arbitration:
Article 19, “In case of litigation between member states, the Parties may agree
to resort to one of these settlement processes: mediation, conciliation and
arbitration.”
Article 21: (1) “The role of the mediator shall be confined to conciliating the
points of view and claims of the Parties. (2) The mediator will present written
propositions to the Parties as soon as possible. (3) If the terms of reconciliation
proposed by the mediator are accepted, they will be subjected to a Protocol
arranged between the Parties.”
33. A Protocol signed in Durban on July 9, 2002 transformed the Central Organ into
the African Union Peace and Security Council, which is affiliated to the Centre
for Conf lict Management. The Centre is jointly funded from the AU’s ordinary
budget and its Peace Fund, which receives 6 percent of the financial contribution
from member states.
34. Peck, “The Role of Regional Organizations in Preventing and Resolving
Conf licts,” art. quoted, p. 574.
35. See I. William Zartman, “Mediation by Regional Organizations: The OAU in
Chad and Congo,” in Jacob Bercovitch (ed.), Studies in International Mediation,
op. cit.,pp. 80–97.
88 Charles Tenenbaum

36. General Assembly, Cooperation between the United Nations and regional and
other organizations: cooperation between the United Nations and the African
Union. Letter dated December 11, 2006, from the secretary general addressed to
the president of the General Assembly, December 12, 2006, A/61/630
37. The founding principles of this mechanism had already featured in the 1976
Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation in Southeast Asia.
38. Human Security Now, Report of the Commission on Human Security, United Nations,
2003.
39. Pact of the League of Arab States, Article 5.
40. Marcel Merle, Sociologie des relations internationales, 1st ed. 1974 (Paris: Dalloz,
1988), p. 377.
41. See the OAS Charter, Chapter II, Articles 9, 10, and 11.
42 . A.H. Robertson, Revision of the Charter of the Organization of American States
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press–British Institute of International and
Comparative Law, 1968), p. 349.
43. The institutions of the CFSP/CSDP are supported by a range of instruments: the
Political and Security Committee (PSC), the Military Committee, the Military
Staff, the High Representative, the Satellite Centre, the Institute for Security
Studies and the Defence Agency. See Elvire Fabry and Colomban Lebas, “Trois
scenarios pour une PESD,” Politique étrangère 2, 2005, p. 287.
44. Missions were underway in Afghanistan, the Great Lakes region of Africa, the
African Union, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Central Asia, Kosovo, Macedonia, the
Middle East, Moldavia, the South Caucasus, and Sudan.
45. Confirmed as mediator by the Political and Security Committee on November 24,
2004.
46. “The task of the European Union’s new mediator, Carl Bildt (Sweden), is to obtain
the lifting of the siege of Sarajevo and restart talks between all parties on the basis
of the peace plan drafted by the great powers.” (Claire Tréan, Le Monde, June 28,
1995).
47. See Zartman, “Mediation by Regional Organizations,” p. 81.
48. See Kemp, Quiet Diplomacy in Action, p. xvi
49. Boutros Boutros- Ghali, An Agenda for Peace, 1992, Chapter III, Article 27.
50. David Mitrany, A Working Peace System: An Argument for the Functional Development
of International Organization (London: The Royal Institute of International Affairs,
Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1943).
51. See Crocker, Hampson, and Aall (eds.), Multiparty Mediation in a Complex, op. cit.,
pp. 65–83.
52 . Merle, Sociologie des relations internationales, op. cit., p. 377.
53. Bertrand Badie, “De la souveraineté à la capacité de l’État” in Marie- Claude
Smouts (ed.), Les Nouvelles Relations internationales (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po,
1998), p. 52.

Select Bibliography

Bercovitch, Jacob (ed.). Studies in International Mediation. Basingstoke: Palgrave

Macmillan, 2002.
 Mediation by Intergovernmental Organizations 89

Crocker, Chester A., Fen Osler Hampson, and Pamela Aall (eds.). Turbulent Peace:
The Challenges of Managing International Conflict. Washington, D.C.: United States
Institute of Peace Press, 2001.
———. Herding Cats: Multiparty Mediation in a Complex World, 3rd ed. Washington,
D.C.: United States Institute of Peace, 2003.
Darby, John and Roger MacGinty. Contemporary Peacemaking: Conflict, Peace Processes
and Post-War Reconstruction. Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2008.
Faget, Jacques, “Les Métamorphoses du travail de paix. État des travaux sur la media-
tion dans les conf lits politiques violents.” Revue Française de science politique 58,
no. 2, 2008, pp. 309–333.
Kemp, Walter A. (ed.). Quiet Diplomacy in Action. The OSCE High Commissioner on
National Minorities. The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 2001.
Hugh, Miall, Oliver Rambsbotham, and Tom Woodhouse. Contemporary Conflict
Resolution. The Prevention, Management and Transformation of Deadly Conflicts.
Cambridge: Polity Press, 2004.
Smouts, Marie- Claude, Les Organisations internationales. Paris: Armand Colin, 1995.
 PA RT I I

Promoting Positive Peace

 CH A P T E R F I V E

The United Nations Peacebuilding Commission:

An Initial Assessment
Ros a l i e A z a r1

In December 2005, the United Nations Security Council and General

Assembly jointly adopted a resolution to create the Peacebuilding
Commission (PBC).2 The establishment of a new body within the
United Nations system is a rare occurrence that merits close exami-
nation. The Commission came into being after several conf licts had
highlighted the need for action to complement peacekeeping and
stabilization operations. Institutionalizing the PBC was a laborious
process, the effects of which are still apparent in the way the young
Commission functions. However, given its original structure, it
remains an innovative creation, a bearer of hope for the UN system
and for societies emerging from conf lict. The present chapter reviews
the gaps in the UN’s peacebuilding architecture, the ways in which
the Commission responds to them, the advantages it can offer, and
the challenges it faces.

The Gaps in the UN’s Peacebuilding Architecture

The UN’s ability to maintain peace and international security has

often misled to skepticism. In 2005, a report severely concluded that
UN peacekeeping missions had no impact on the likelihood of a
return to conf lict.3 In many cases, peace agreements signed under
94 Rosalie Azar

UN auspices do not entirely match peoples’ expectations or prevent

the resumption of hostilities. Yet the UN system does not lack the
resources to put an end to violence. What are, therefore, the struc-
tural, financial, and political obstacles that prevent the system from
doing so effectively?

An Overloaded System
Since the end of the Cold War, the UN has been responding to new
forms of violence. No longer aff licted by the Cold War paralysis,
the Security Council began taking a greater interest in intrastate
conf licts in the late 1980s, authorizing a large number of peace-
keeping operations (PKOs). Subsequently, the system, in particular
the Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPKO), got increas-
ingly subjected to logistical pressure. Never before had so many
peacekeepers been deployed: in 2008, around 90,000 blue helmets
were serving in 20 operations with mandates ranging from peace-
keeping and peace enforcement to stabilization and observation.
There were also as many political missions.4 The military opera-
tions budget, $7.4 billion (a 10 percent increase in 2007), had tripled
since 2003.5
The surge in peacekeeping activities and their uneven outcome cre-
ated a feeling of anxiety. The demands were heavy, exerting pressure
not only on the countries that contributed troops but also on the entire
UN system. In reality, peacekeeping operations require enormous
logistical efforts, and the mobilization of a vast array of resources. At
the same time, the needs of the host country remain immense, espe-
cially during the delicate period following the signing of a peace agree-
ment. The situation called for a new mechanism that would reduce the
frequency and duration of troop deployments while improving opera-
tional performance. This was the context in which the Commission
was created. It was designed to relieve a system that could no longer
cope with the increasing demand for peacekeeping interventions.

The Mixed Results of the Pre-PBC Architecture

The pre-PBC system was blighted by major political and struc-
tural deficiencies. The financial, technical, and human pressures
 The United Nations Peacebuilding Commission 95

of peacekeeping were so great that postconf lict situations received

too little attention. Eventually, priority was given to defining an
exit strategy so that missions could withdraw from the area as soon
as the level of violence began to fall. This new conception, partly
inspired by the Brahimi Report,6 tended to marginalize postconf lict
intervention. As the focus was now on emergencies, attention was
diverted from other situations that gave equal cause for concern. In
addition, the belief that stabilizing the international environment
was solely a matter for the UN gradually relegated regional, national,
and local initiatives to the sidelines. Therefore, a form of involuntary
UN imperialism had set in, where peacebuilding actually requires
local efforts to ensure its durability.

The PBC: The Missing Link

The PBC was created to fill a gap in the UN’s institutional struc-
ture. It is not simply “another organ,” but it is specifically designed
to respond to the changes and complexities that currently affect
peace and security.

Background
The PBC emerged in the broader context of UN reform. In 1992,
Secretary General Boutros Boutros- Ghali laid the foundations for
new paradigms in the fields for UN conf lict prevention, peacekeep-
ing, and peacebuilding.7 Five years later, his successor, Kofi Annan,
handed over responsibility for coordinating peacebuilding issues to
the Department of Political Affairs.8 The initiative was relatively
low key but highly significant: henceforth, the UN would acknowl-
edge not only the importance of postconf lict situations, but also the
need for their mainstreaming into all UN activities. In 2000, the
Brahimi Report went a step further, suggesting that the UN should
coordinate donors’ strategies and recommending the creation of an
integrated institutional body.9 Finally, the 2005 World Summit10
called for the establishment of a Peacebuilding Commission,11 which
received the approval of the Security Council and General Assembly
in December 2005.12
96 Rosalie Azar

Organization
The PBC comprises three main elements: (1) the Organizational
Committee brings together 31 member states and is responsible for
developing the Commission’s program and strategies;13 (2) Country-
Specific Configurations bring together participants to examine
strategies for specific countries; (3) the Working Group on Lessons
Learned (WGLL) accumulates and disseminates peacebuilding exper-
tise. This simplified structure is complemented by two important
organs: the Peacebuilding Fund, which is maintained by voluntary
contributions and funds-specific emergency projects in postconf lict
situations that may or may not feature on Security Council and PBC
agendas (in April 2009, total funding stood at around $122 million);14
and the Peacebuilding Support Office (PBSO), which is the organic
link to the UN Secretariat.15 This formal simplicity was regarded
as an asset. It enabled the Commission to act swiftly and f lexibly so
that it can adapt its strategies to any given national environment.

Functional Methods
The Commission’s goal is to unite the capacities of the UN and dis-
seminate experience acquired in the domains of conflict prevention,
mediation, peacekeeping, humanitarian assistance, reconstruction, pro-
motion of human rights and the rule of law, and long-term develop-
ment aid. Instead of devising new peacebuilding strategies, it promotes
existing strategies at local, regional, and international levels. The over-
riding concern is to supplement and optimize technical and financial
resources in order to enhance national capacities. In concrete terms, this
is achieved through integrated peacebuilding strategies (IPBs), which
define priority spheres of actions. In Sierra Leone, for example, the
priorities are youth unemployment, justice and security-sector reform,
democracy building, good governance, and capacity building.16 The
priorities are more or less the same from one country to another, with
slight variations according to local social and political contexts. Strategies
are reviewed several times a year at country-specific meetings.
The Organizational Committee, in consultation with the Security
Council and General Assembly, sets the Commission’s agenda. The
four countries currently under review (Burundi, Sierra Leone,
 The United Nations Peacebuilding Commission 97

Guinea-Bissau, and the Central African Republic) were added to the

program by the Security Council at the specific request of their gov-
ernments. Great emphasis is placed on the idea that national authori-
ties should adopt a proactive approach and take control of every
aspect of the process. Action has so far been confined to four African
countries . The inclusion of countries with different social, political,
and cultural experiences will be crucial to the Commission’s devel-
opment. For instance, the inclusion of Haiti has been discussed and
challenged on several occasions.
The Commission has no operational capacity or power to impose
its peacebuilding strategies. It is an advisory body that offers a range
of expertise through the mobilization of many actors from various
fields. The responsibility for acting on the Commission’s recom-
mendations lies with the Security Council and other relevant actors,
primarily national governments but also financial institutions and
civil society organizations.

Added Value

Peace Is Everyone’s Business: Mainstreaming the PBC’S Activities

The establishment of the Commission was a call for the mobilization
of the UN system. The resolutions that led to its creation empha-
sized the need for a “coordinated, coherent and integrated approach”
and reaffirmed the “respective responsibilities and functions of the
organs of the United Nations . . . and the need to enhance coordina-
tion among them.”17 Coherence and coordination are key, for the
resources deployed by the UN are not always managed to the best
possible extent. The PBC’s success rests on a redefinition of roles and
a strategic redeployment of the available capabilities. Integrated strate-
gies should enable it to consolidate existing programs and structures
(strategic poverty reduction documents, truth and reconciliation com-
missions, etc.) by coordinating action in terms of responsibilities and
time frames. In this sense, the Commission functions as a forum for
restoring the often highly fragile links between governments, inter-
governmental institutions, and civil society.
It should be noted that the PBC stresses the importance of regional
organizations in an attempt to revitalize Chapter VIII of the UN
98 Rosalie Azar

Charter. Given the regional dimension of most conf licts, their par-
ticipation is in fact critical. It is hoped that they will make a proac-
tive contribution to national strategies by virtue of the proximity.
This would improve the management of crossborder concerns such
as the inf lux of refugees, the reintegration of former combatants into
society, and the dissemination of small arms. Moreover, regional
organizations would benefit from their links to the Commission in
a number of ways: visibility, expertise, political support, and possi-
bly financial support through the Peacebuilding Fund, although this
aspect has yet to be developed.

Enhancing Focus and Coherence for Financing Peace

In the conception that presided over the PBC’s creation it seemed
essential to monitor a country or region emerging from crisis as
closely as possible. Peace agreements—if they exist—are often frag-
ile at such a time. Moreover, prevention is less expensive than other
activities. It is also advisable to consolidate the achievements of
peacekeeping missions. Therefore, one of the PBC’s responsibilities
is to restore coherence to the funding of peacebuilding programs. It
operates in the “grey area” between the signing of a peace agree-
ment and the implementation of development programs. Among
other things, it has to persuade and mobilize donors, especially when
funding is linked to political and security reforms. It has to boost
financial contributions, secure commitments, and ensure long-term
funding. If it succeeds, national authorities can then devise coherent,
sustainable programs without having to deal with the often conf lict-
ing priorities of donors. An adjusted relationship between donors
and recipients also makes it easier to balance programs and ratio-
nalize fund allocation (as well as reduce the political pressure that
accompanies it). National governments and civil society are thus
invited to own the peacebuilding process.

National Governments’ Ownership of Peacebuilding

The UN system has for too long— and sometimes to its detriment—
monopolized the business of peace and peacebuilding. The creation
of the Commission should help to decentralize responsibilities by
 The United Nations Peacebuilding Commission 99

improving coordination and coherence: a state can reoccupy the

centre ground through the integration of “national” strategies. But
(re)building peace “from below” is also in keeping with the spirit
of the PBC, for it involves representatives of civil society at interna-
tional level (at country-specific meetings) and above all at national
level. There is a strong belief that by restoring the social connection
essential to the construction of a durable peace, communities can
once again feel that they own their future.

The Limitations of the PBC and Remaining Challenges

Like all the other constituent organs of the broad UN system, the
Commission is constrained by its mandate, by the system itself,
and by the political dynamics inherent in its field of action. After
two year’s work, the PBC has already been confronted with major
challenges.

The Problem of Definitions

The Commission’s chief difficulty arises from its very name. In real-
ity, there is no institutional definition of “peace,” and “peacebuild-
ing” is an even more elusive concept. Both terms are subject to a
variety of political interpretations; the resolutions that created the
PBC envisaged peacebuilding as no more than a series of activities
to assist “post-conf lict recovery.”18 However, these semantic debates
remain a fundamental issue for the Commission and occur at every
stage of its work. To begin with, and in relation to the choice of
countries on its agenda, at what point does a “crisis” become a “con-
f lict”? The issue is shrouded in uncertainty, as the case of Haiti has
shown. Second, the concept of “peacebuilding” is difficult to apply
in practice, especially in countries that have no previous experience
of UN field missions. At what point should a peacebuilding strat-
egy be introduced, and for how long should it continue? These are
still delicate issues, for there are no precise indicators to determine
whether peace has been consolidated. Finally, how is it possible to
evaluate the strategies that have been implemented if there is no
clear, consensual idea of what is being measured?
100 Rosalie Azar

The Commission as an Advisory Body

The PBC is an advisory body and its advice is adopted by consensus.
Its authority rests on its cohesion and the speed with which it reacts.
So far, the emphasis on members’ involvement and unanimity has
enabled the Commission to function quite effectively, but the situa-
tion may change. There is a danger that routine and regular changes
in the composition of the Organizational Commission will compli-
cate matters and prolong discussions. Therefore, the PBC must avoid
becoming bogged down in the quasiprofessional bureaucracy that
characterizes advisory bodies, if it is to fulfill its mandate.

Searching for an Identity

Despite the enthusiasm over the PBC’s creation, it is still regarded with
skepticism. The decision to provide the Commission with a “small”
Support Office in the General Secretariat indicates a desire to impose
strict technical and financial constraints on its ability to function. Such
caution is somewhat contradictory given the extensive field of inter-
vention in the Commission’s remit. In fact, the PBC is still struggling
to establish itself among the various actors involved in peacebuilding—
the Security Council, the General Assembly, ECOSOC, the DPKO,
the Department of Political Affairs, and so on. As it seeks to enhance
its integration into the system, it must avoid overlapping on other enti-
ties’ mandates.

Surreptitious Prevention
During the negotiations over the Commission’s creation, there was
much discussion over whether it should function as both a peacebuild-
ing and a conf lict prevention body. The decision was taken to restrict
its activities to peacebuilding. On the one hand, some member states
feared that prevention tools—particularly early warning systems—
would be used to categorize them as being in a preconf lict situation.
However, there is little doubt that the Security Council wanted to
restrict the PBC’s role to postconf lict situations in order to protect
its own peacekeeping and security prerogatives. The Commission,
therefore, has a very specific mandate and can intervene only after
a conf lict has ended. However, violence is cyclical, as Liberia and
 The United Nations Peacebuilding Commission 101

Sri Lanka have shown, and peacebuilding cannot be separated from

the work of conf lict prevention. This means that the PBC will have
to engage in disguised prevention activities that were not originally
spelled out in its mandate.
The Commission seems to have established a working rhythm.
Clear strategies have already been formulated for Burundi, Sierra
Leone, and Guinea-Bissau. The results so far are encouraging: the
implementation of several rapid impact projects has brought imme-
diate, tangible relief to populations.19 The priorities for the Central
African Republic (CAR), a more recent addition to the agenda,
have been determined, but the Commission’s contribution should
be positive given the lack of attention CAR has received in the past.
From an institutional perspective, the PBC appears to have found a
place in the UN system, although it has not as yet found “its” place.
It still has to demonstrate its utility and effectiveness, and prove that
it can command the support of the states and societies it exists to
serve. Only then will it be able to overcome the skepticism that still
surrounds its existence.

Notes

1. The views and opinions expressed in this chapter are the author’s own.
2 . General Assembly Resolution A/RES/60/180 and Security Council Resolution
S/2000/1645, December 20, 2005.
3. Charles T. Call, Institutionalizing Peace: A Review of Post-Conflict Peacebuilding
Concepts and Issues for DPA (New York: United Nations Department of Political
Affairs, January 31, 2005), p. 8.
4. UN political missions are the responsibility of the Department of Political Affairs
(DPA).
5. Harvey Morris, “90,000 Casques bleus, c’est trop,” Courrier international, 937,
May 29–June 4, 2008, p. 37.
6. Lakhdar Brahimi, Report of the Panel on United Nations Peacekeeping Operations,
United Nations document A/55/305- S/2000/809, August 21, 2000.
7. Boutros Boutros- Ghali, An Agenda for Peace, United Nations document
A/47/277- S/24111, June 17, 1992 and the PBC mandate. See www.un.org/peace
/peacebuilding/mandate.shtml.
8. Kofi Annan, Renewing the United Nations. A Programme for Reform, United Nations
document A/51/950, paragraph 66, July 14, 1997.
9. Brahimi, Report of the Panel on United Nations Peacekeeping Operations, op. cit.
10. Kofi Annan, In Larger Freedom: Towards Development, Security and Human Rights for
All, United Nations document A/59/2005, March 2005.
102 Rosalie Azar

11. Outcome Documents of the World Summit 2005, United Nations document A/60/
L.1, September 15, 2005.
12 . Resolutions A/RES/60/180 and S/2000/1645 cited above.
13. The 31 members of the Organizational Committee sit for a renewable two-year
period and are elected as follows: 7 are elected by Security Council members; 7 by
the UN Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC); 7 by the General Assembly; 5
are chosen for their status as top providers to UN budgets, and 5 as top providers
of military personnel and civilian police. For more details, see the PBC website:
www.un.org/peace/peacebuilding/membership.shtml
14. See the Peacebuilding Fund website: www.unpbf.org/index.shtml. See also the
Report of the Secretary General on the Peacebuilding Fund, United Nations document
A/63/218-5/2008/522, August 4, 2008.
15. For more details on the Commission’s organization, see the PBC website:
www.un.org/peace/peacebuilding/membership.shtml
16. Report of the Peacebuilding Commission on its First Session, United Nations document
A/62/137- S/2007/458, paragraph 21, July 25, 2007.
17. Resolutions A/RES/60/180 and S/2000/1645 cited above, Preamble.
18. Boutros- Ghali, An Agenda for Peace, op. cit.
19. For more details, see the www.un.org/peace/peacebuilding/pbcagenda.shtml,
which contains various reports by the secretary general on developments con-
cerning the countries on the Commission’s agenda.

Select Bibliography

Boutros- Ghali, Boutros, An Agenda for Peace, United Nations document A/47/277-
S/24111, June 17, 1992.
Center on International Cooperation (CIC) and International Peace Institute (IPI),
Taking Stock, Looking Forward. A Strategic Review of the PBC, April 2008 (available
at www.betterpeace.org).
Integrating for Peace: A Reflection on the Peacebuilding Commission’s Strategies for Integration,
Conference report, Paris, CERI Program for Peace and Human Security,
November 7, 2007 (available at www.betterpeace.org).
Putting Decisions into Practice: How Will the UN Peacebuilding Commission Fulfill its
Mandate? Report on Wilton Park Conference, February 9–10, 2006 (available at
www.betterpeace.org).
Report of the Secretary General on the Peacebuilding Fund, United Nations document
A/63/218- S/2008/522, August 4, 2008.
 CH A P T E R SI X

UNHCR and Human Security

L ou i s e A u bi n 1

The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees

(UNHCR) has not simply kept pace with the expanding interna-
tional conception of security. It has made a practical contribution
to the process by broadening its original mandate and developing
its framework for implementing solutions to the problems faced by
refugees.2 “Human security,” a new conception of security, is more
concerned with safeguarding and extending the range of the most
essential human rights than with traditional threats to state secu-
rity. Beyond the protection of state borders, we now find it easier
to acknowledge the very real dangers of environmental pollution,
the AIDS pandemic, massive population movements, and poverty—
even though we may not grasp the significance and the extent of
their effects.3 Security has acquired a human face, and obliges us
to review the scope and content of measures to protect individuals
who, from the twin perspectives of human rights and human devel-
opment, should be allowed full control over their own lives.4
The refugee phenomenon has always highlighted in dramatic
fashion the extent to which the source of insecurity for vast numbers
of people lies within the very state that is supposed to protect them.
UNHCR, whose “functions of international protection”5 apply to
any person with a “well-founded fear of persecution,”6 has been the
privileged witness of this situation for more than half a century. The
Agency began operating according to the logic of “human security”
104 Louise Aubin

well before the concept’s enshrinement, notably through the gradual

expansion of its mandate ratione personae.
A broader view of the categories encompassed by its mandate is
just one dimension of UNHCR’s contribution to human security.
Although public attention has focused on its substantially enhanced
provision of material assistance,7 it continues to develop and diver-
sify its forms of intervention. This chapter examines the conditions
necessary to human security and the action taken to establish them.

Protecting Human Security

By narrowing the “protection gap” between refugees and people

forcibly displaced by war, violence, or human rights violations,
UNHCR’s expanded mandate constitutes a major contribution to
human security. While it does not campaign for a legal framework
for the management of migrations and protection of migrants,8
UNHCR nonetheless attempts to protect and find solutions for peo-
ple who are not covered by existing legal instruments. Of course, it
cannot exceed the limits of its statutory mandate without a specific
request from the UN secretary general or a General Assembly reso-
lution. However, notable changes have occurred in regard to two
categories: “externally” and “internally” displaced persons.9
International protection of refugees is both a manifestation and
an important source of the concept of human security. Founded on
human rights principles, the ultimate aim of international protec-
tion is to “assure refugees the widest possible exercise of these fun-
damental rights and freedoms.”10 Although the traditional view of
state security ensured an inf lexible approach to the refugee problem
for much of the Cold War period, UNHCR has had to adopt more
supple measures given the millions of people now seeking protection
from various violations of their fundamental rights, a situation that
has been exacerbated by f light and exile. The Agency thus places
increasing importance on security and well-being when it sets the
goals of its interventions.11
The existence of more than 11 million refugees and 26 million
internally displaced persons12 is a tragic illustration of the inabil-
ity or refusal of certain governments to fulfill their responsibilities
 UNHCR and Human Security 105

with regard to human rights. If we start with the premise that the
absence or inadequacy of state protection triggers the involvement
of UNHCR (which “assumes the functions of international protec-
tion”), we are obliged to note that besides “refugees,” its mandate
covers an even larger category that lacks effective state protection:
“internally displaced persons.” When the term first appeared along-
side that of refugees,13 it was in the context of crossborder move-
ments by massive numbers of refugees; there was no obligation to
determine their individual status as the 1951 definition suggested.14
It was partly for this reason that “expanded” definitions of refugees15
were developed on a regional basis, although the legal gap such defi-
nitions claim to fill is debatable.
These groups were, therefore, recognized by means of a prima
facie determination. But recognition does not indicate a category
that is any different to that of refugees in the legal sense, for the
difference relates only to the collective way in which the “refugee”
character of the group’s members has been determined. In some
politically sensitive circumstances, a reference to the mechanism of
UNHCR “good offices” helps to avoid explicit mention of the per-
secution that the members of the group may fear. The reluctance
of some states to extend the range of the 1951 Convention to these
refugees, who tend to arrive in great numbers, is largely based on the
prospect of having to abide by the 1951 Convention, which appears
to impose obligations relating to the economic and social integra-
tion of refugees into the host country.16
Therefore, is there a category of externally displaced persons that
is distinct from that of refugees, but which nonetheless places them
in a “similar situation”?17 Officially, the definition of a refugee,
whether in the 1951 Convention or the UNHCR Statute, has not
been enlarged ratione personae. It might even have fallen victim to
a restrictive interpretation, to the detriment of people who were
covered by UNHCR’s mandate all along. However, to deny the
dynamic nature of the Statute and Convention would be to ignore
the dominant role played by UNHCR in its operations and that of
states in defining the content of international protection.
In fact, many people f lee “the indiscriminate effects of armed
conf lict and the accompanying disorder, including the destruction
of homes, harvests, food stocks and the means of subsistence, with
106 Louise Aubin

no specific element of persecution.”18 Although such people are not

included in the statutory definition of refugee, their legitimate need
for protection is equally pressing. They feature among the “others of
concern to UNHCR” who in certain cases, either through a specific
request from the international community or the de facto benefit of
UNHCR assistance, have expanded its mandate and enhanced the
alliance with regional protection measures, other instruments for
the protection of human rights, and even common law.
Given that liberation from the fear of persecution forms the cor-
nerstone of the definitions of refugee in UNHCR’s Statute and the
1951 Convention, it surely follows that UNHCR’s mandate extends
to any form of displacement that has been forced by the actions of
other human beings, although this interpretation may exceed the
formal obligations undertaken by states.19 This introduces a cru-
cial issue: the adequacy (or more precisely the inadequacy) of legal
instruments when faced with new refugee situations. 20
The successive resolutions adopted by the UN General Assembly
have proceeded pragmatically. They have extended UNHCR’s
competences to people f leeing armed conf lict, either by references
to “good offices”21 or by the use of formulations such as “refugees
UNHCR is fit to deal with,” “refugees and persons displaced by
man-made disasters,” “refugees and displaced persons of concern
to UNHCR,” “refugees and externally displaced persons,” and
“refugees and others for whom UNHCR is called upon to pro-
vide assistance and protection.”22 The concepts of “good offices”
and “displaced persons” may be seen as practical tools that enable
UNHCR to act for humanitarian reasons despite the statutory lim-
its of its mandate.23
Internally displaced persons are unambiguously outside the
scope of that mandate, although populations are often forcibly dis-
placed by the same factors— conf lict, persecution, human rights
violations—that drive refugees into exile. Does that mean that
internally displaced persons and refugees are subject to different
legal regimes simply because they find themselves on opposite sides
of the border?24 The situation is so shocking that the international
community is highly favorable to UNHCR intervention to protect
“displaced” nationals. For example, various instruments acknowl-
edge that UNHCR has a number of responsibilities with regard
 UNHCR and Human Security 107

to returnees,25 displaced persons, persons threatened with displace-

ment, and stateless persons.26
When discussing the need for protection, it is neither useful nor
desirable to establish distinctions between displaced populations and
those at risk of displacement: the latter might be in greater danger
than those who have partly or brief ly escaped the theater of violence.
It is worth repeating that in the absence of protection, forced inter-
nal or external displacement is itself a factor of extreme vulnerability
and provokes further violations of fundamental rights. Attempts to
construct different categories are irrelevant when populations are
suffering and denied effective protection by their governments.
Yet until quite recently it was generally accepted in international
circles that given the strictly humanitarian and apolitical nature of
UNHCR’s mandate, it was, therefore, obliged to restrict its activi-
ties to asylum countries and refugee movements, which involved
the crossing of an internationally recognized border. Attempts to
deal with problems of human insecurity and displacement within
the country of origin would inevitably exceed the limits of its
mandate.
These principles were severely tested when UNHCR intervened
in the former Yugoslavia. In effect, the high commissioner was
forced to defend human rights and well established norms, and at
the same time face up to political realities over which he had little
or no control. Some commentators argued that his interventions,
designed above all to prevent a greater conf lagration, took place
at the expense of the right to asylum.27 The accusation seems far-
fetched but it does highlight one of UNHCR’s essential fragilities:
its inability to control the political dimension of the obstacles to its
protection activities.28
It is reasonable to suggest that on the whole, UNHCR’s attempts in
recent years to provide people with protection have actually helped
to change prevailing international conceptions. The first debates
focused on responses to the needs of internally displaced persons as
a matter of urgency. The scale of UNHCR operations, its expertise
in the field of protection, its resources for providing endangered
populations with material assistance, and its efforts to reintegrate
people have emphasized the differences in approach and capability
of the various UN agencies. In reality, none of them are capable of
108 Louise Aubin

responding effectively, or alone, to the imperatives of forced internal

displacement.
Certain terms of engagement were formulated in 2001: the
Agency could intervene to protect internally displaced populations
as long as the high commissioner had the necessary resources and did
not neglect his responsibility toward refugees and others as set out in
his mandate.29 It was also recognized that in certain circumstances,
the presence and involvement of UNHCR in the country of origin
could help to modify the various factors that led to exile, and also
help to create conditions that favored the return of refugees.
Even so, UNHCR’s involvement with internally displaced persons
has long been within the province of the institution’s discretionary
powers.30 The absence of a specific legal framework or precise man-
date in this area largely explains the difficulties that the Agency
encounters when it attempts to deal with displaced persons. In addi-
tion, we cannot ignore the doctrinal and practical tensions between a
mission to protect people in their homeland and a mission to defend
their right to f lee and seek protection and asylum elsewhere.31
In 1996, 4.85 million displaced persons fell within the compe-
tences of UNHCR (a mere 25 percent of the estimated number of
internally displaced persons worldwide).32 The current total stands
at 13.7 million.33 The increase indicates both the growing impor-
tance of internal displacement and a profound change in the nature
of UNHCR involvement as a protection agency and as an advocate
of the collective approach, more commonly known as the “cluster
approach” (or modular approach). Since 2004, UN bodies have in
effect been invited to collaborate, when responding to the needs
of displaced persons.34 Responsibilities have been defined accord-
ing to agencies’ competences and expertise, and UNHCR has been
entrusted with the management of “cluster” protection.35 Whether
the “collaborative” approach provides internally displaced popula-
tions with more operational protection and assistance remains to be
seen.36 For UNHCR, one of the main consequences of the modular
approach has been to establish it as a global agency with primary
responsibility for the protection of displaced persons.37
In the name of humanitarian imperatives, UNHCR has become
officially involved in the protection of displaced persons.38 By pro-
moting and implementing the “Guiding principles on Internal
 UNHCR and Human Security 109

Displacement,”39 its response to the needs of displaced persons is

both doctrinal and practical. Moreover, it enriches the concept of
human security by its tacit recognition of the extension of the right
to asylum so that it includes the right to remain in one’s homeland
and not suffer the effects of forced displacement. Turning from the
operational to the legal approach, the African Union is currently
drafting its first convention on internally displaced persons, tak-
ing as its inspiration the Guiding Principles.40 In terms of doctrine,
UNHCR has made a significant contribution.

Promoting the Right Conditions for Human Security

Insecurity in the country of origin is a major obstacle to the imple-

mentation of solutions, notably those that involve voluntary repa-
triation, and forces UNHCR to pursue two goals simultaneously: it
must promote conditions that make return possible, and also prevent
forced displacement. While it is important to distinguish between
the creation of favorable conditions for returnees—which is a strictly
political process and beyond UNHCR’s remit—and their promotion,
various UNHCR interventions have been designed to achieve what
should be the final stage in the life cycle of the refugee: the effec-
tive restoration of national protection.41 Repatriation is the preferred
solution for most refugees for a number of reasons ranging from the
most pragmatic (it is the most acceptable solution for donor countries,
countries of origin, and refugees themselves) to the strictly legal (of
the three sustainable solutions—repatriation, local integration into
the asylum country, and resettlement in another country—only the
right of return is enshrined as a fundamental right in the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights). UNHCR’s current practice of atten-
tively monitoring the situation of returnees (with the full agree-
ment of the states concerned)42 is often accompanied by support for
reconstruction, rehabilitation, and reintegration programs. In most
countries where repatriation occurs, UNHCR works closely with
the government, leaders of refugee communities, and local groups to
restore or enhance effective national protection and confidence.
In this particular case, voluntary repatriation that has been con-
ducted in the right circumstances, that is, in a climate of security
110 Louise Aubin

and in a way that preserves the dignity of the refugees,43 corresponds

to three important dimensions of human security.44 The first, which
requires no elaboration here, involves enabling returnees and local
communities to live in peace. The second involves establishing a sta-
ble environment for these populations, and is a reminder that at pres-
ent the biggest challenge is to ensure that there is no substantial gap
between emergency humanitarian assistance and long-term devel-
opment programs, for returnees are particularly vulnerable when
the resources devoted to restoring peace are insufficient. The third
dimension of repatriation—enabling communities to live togeth-
er—is concerned with preventing a refugee crisis from developing
into a returnee crisis. Kosovo is certainly the most poignant recent
example of a postconf lict situation characterized by deeply divided
communities. If voluntary repatriation is to be a genuinely durable
solution, it must meet important needs in terms of physical, legal,
and material security.45 This requires a robust network of financial,
political, and humanitarian resources, which should be in place long
before a repatriation operation is even considered. Repatriation is
both a contribution to and a result of the restoration of peace, as well
as recovery and reconciliation, in the country of origin. It is also
demonstrably effective as a counterweight to the increasing inse-
curity in camps and the growing tendency of asylum countries to
regard refugees as people who have overstayed their welcome.
The number of protracted refugee situations is therefore of major
concern.46 According to UNHCR, their percentage in relation to
the total number of refugee crises has risen from 45 percent to 90
percent in the last ten years. In Africa alone,47 the situation of exiled
or internally displaced Somalis, of Burundians and Congolese, high-
lights the inability to resolve a fundamental problem by treating as
best one can— and as time passes the treatment becomes increasingly
inadequate—the symptoms of a crisis with political, economic, and
social components. While the lives of such refugees may not be at
risk, in some cases their fundamental rights and essential economic,
social, and psychological needs have yet to be addressed, although
they may have endured many years of exile and repeated displace-
ment. A forced dependency on material assistance sets in, largely
because no thought has been given to the possibility of economic
integration.48
 UNHCR and Human Security 111

While repatriation will always be seen as the best solution for

refugees, resettlement in countries that accept full integration (usu-
ally by recognizing a right of permanent residence and, eventually,
naturalization) can ease the burden of people trapped in protracted
refugee situations. It is also a way of demonstrating a shared inter-
national responsibility (certainly unequally shared) and of promot-
ing dialogue to ensure that people who have no prospect of return
receive more protection.49
Convention Plus and the High Commissioner’s Forum50 represent
attempts to find solutions to chronic refugee situations that are more
durable and of greater scope than traditional variants. These initia-
tives are also designed to foster a better understanding of the links
between diverse migratory phenomena and forced displacements.
We should not overestimate the inf luence of “human security” on
the current analysis of asylum in relation to larger migratory move-
ments; but such initiatives can reconcile— or at least induce some
convergence of—interests and concerns that have been sidelined
until now for want of a verifiable means of linking them together.
There is a need for a more global approach to the multifaceted prob-
lem of forced population displacement, and for better cooperation
between political, humanitarian, and financial actors, an under-
taking that would welcome input from the civil communities con-
cerned. A clear vision of available and achievable solutions, one that
avoids legal technicalities over entitlement to international protec-
tion, would at the very least enhance efforts to restore the human
security of a far greater number of people.51
UNHCR distinguishes between refugees and migrants in general
but recognizes that forced displacements and migratory movements
have much in common. Discussions between several UNHCR
partners now tend to focus on refugee protection in the context of
“mixed” migratory movements, and on the economic and social
potential of migrants in general. By taking into account the con-
text in which refugees are displaced, the Agency achieves a better
understanding of the risks associated with irregular displacements
but does not jeopardize the specifics of the legal framework for refu-
gee protection. Eschewing a political stance on migration control, it
contributes to the debate as an adviser and protection expert rather
than as a migration agency.52
112 Louise Aubin

The causes of refugee displacement are by nature political. Several

current conf licts, although fuelled by the political oppression typical
of nondemocratic states, have their roots in profound social injustice
and inequality. Moreover, violent conf lict is almost inevitable when
the levers of this injustice are manipulated in ethnic or sectarian
interests.53 Human security is not precisely defined (and is even less
a juridical concept), but it involves several absolutely concrete fac-
tors: a place to live; health; an adequate supply of food; a job. When
people are forced to f lee, they lose all these elements. Defending the
right to and quality of asylum; assisting refugees to return home;
facilitating their resettlement in another country; these are all con-
crete actions designed to transport human beings from a situation of
insecurity to one of security or, in other words, to free them from
fear and want.54
No observer of the international scene can deny that states have
at one time or another exploited UNHCR’s doctrine and practice
in order to further their own interests. However, states have often
preferred to work through UNHCR, thus endowing their actions
on the national or international stage with a degree of legitimacy.
Moreover, when considering the nature of UNHCR involvement
and the people it assists, it is clear that not only has the institution
managed to take advantage of certain political situations, but it has
also managed to conduct its interventions with some independence,
or at least without the full consent of states in some cases.55 What
was once an agency with no operational capacity is now an institu-
tion with extensive programs and representation in more than 120
countries, not to mention the considerable inf luence it wields in the
domain of refugee protection in its broadest sense. An active and
vital participant in the great political debates on the protection of
displaced populations, UNHCR provides further proof that interna-
tional institutions are a force to be reckoned with in global politics.

Notes

1. The views and opinions expressed in this chapter are the author’s own.
2 . A High Commissioner’s Office for Refugees, operational from January 1, 1951,
was founded by UN General Assembly Resolution 319 (IV) of December 3,
1949. The Statute setting out UNHCR’s functions was adopted by the General
 UNHCR and Human Security 113

Assembly on December 14, 1950 as Annex to Resolution 428 (V). According to

the mandate, UNHCR “shall assume the functions of providing international
protection . . . to refugees who fall within the scope of the present Statute and of
seeking permanent solutions for the problems of refugees . . . ”
3. For an analysis of the shift from a statist view of security to a human perspective,
see Commission on Human Security, Human Security Now (New York: United Nations
Publications, 2003), pp. 2–6, (information available at www.humansecurity- chs
.org/finalreport/FinalReport.pdf ).
4. For an interesting overview of the “capacity building” element of human secu-
rity (the focus on “empowerment,” that is, on developing people’s capacity to
resist adversity and realize their potential), see Ogata Sadako, Empowering People
for Human Security (Payne Lecture, Stanford: Stanford University, May 28,
2003).
5. UNHCR Statute, Article 1.
6. Ibid., Article 6; 1951 Refugee Convention, United Nations Treaty Collection,
vol. 189, p. 137, Article JA2.
7. The material assistance provided by UNHCR often attracts caustic criticism. Some
see it as the main reason for a weakening of its legal duty to provide protection.
See, for example, The Lawyers’ Committee for Human Rights, African Exodus:
Refugee Crisis, Human Rights and the 1969 OAU Convention, available on the website
of the Leadership Council for Human Rights (LCHR)—now known as Human
Rights First (www.humanrightsfirst.org). However, material assistance, which is
often vital to refugees’ survival, can also be the condition sine qua non of interna-
tional protection. See Note on International Protection—1994 presented by the High
Commissioner to the UN General Assembly, A/AC.96/830, September 7, 1994,
p. 10. For a similar point of view, see Nicholas Morris, “Protection Dilemmas
and UNHCR’s Response: A Personal View from within UNHCR,” International
Journal of Refugee Law 9, no. 3, July 1997. Finally, the material assistance distrib-
uted by UNHCR has considerably enhanced the organization’s ability to persuade
and negotiate. See Gil Loescher, The UNHCR and World Politics: A Perilous Path
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), p. 6.
8. Erika Feller, “Refugees are not Migrants,” Refugee Survey Quarterly 24, no. 4,
2005, pp. 27–35.
9. For more information on the “protection gaps” arising from the differing and
indeed restrictive definitions of “refugee” advanced by states, see Interpreting
Article 1 of the 1951 Convention, Geneva, UNHCR, May 2000 and Protection of
Persons of Concern to UNHCR who Fall Outside the 1951 Convention: A Discussion
Note, Geneva, UNHCR, EC/1992/SCP/CRP.5 (www.unhcr.ch).
10. Preamble to the 1951 Convention.
11. For example, in Note on International Protection—1994, op. cit., p. 9.
12 . According to UNHCR, there were 11.4 million refugees and 647,200 asylum
seekers at the end of 2007. Of the 51 million internally displaced persons, 26
million had been displaced by conf licts (as opposed to those displaced by natural
disasters); more than half of this number benefited from UNHCR assistance and/
or protection. See 2007 Global Trends, available at www.unhcr.org
13. Resolution 2956 (XXVII) of December 12, 1972, was clearly aimed at inter-
nally displaced persons, whereas General Assembly Resolution 3454 (XXX)
114 Louise Aubin

of December 9, 1975 referred, more generally, to displaced persons other than

refugees.
14. Ivor C. Jackson’s historical and empirical approach produces a contrasting view: the
determination of refugee character on an “individual” basis would apply to a group
by adopting a more general approach. Instead of a detailed examination of the vari-
ous subjective and objective elements required to establish whether the fear of per-
secution is well-founded, determination on a group basis would focus on whether
its members, given the objective situation of the country of origin, are exposed to a
danger for one of the reasons falling within the province of the definition of refugee
with regard to returning to the home country. See Ivor C. Jackson, The Refugee
Concept in Group Situations (The Hague: Martinus, Nijhoff Publishers, 1999).
15. The 1969 OAU Convention, for example, which addresses specific aspects of ref-
ugee problems in Africa. See also the 1984 Cartagena Declaration.
16. While the 1951 Convention calls on contracting states to “facilitate” the natural-
ization of refugees (Article 34), the most appropriate solution to a massive inf lux
of refugees is seldom local integration, even though it was foregrounded when the
Convention was drafted. Thus its list of the economic and social rights that should
be respected does not amount to an obligation to facilitate the long- term or per-
manent settlement of refugees. See also Note on International Protection—1994,
paragraph 50.
17. Jackson, The Refugee Concept in Group Situations, Part III.
18. Note on International Protection—1994, paragraph 30.
19. Volker Turk, “UNHCR’s Supervisory Responsibility,” New Issues in Refugee
Research, working paper, 67, October 2002, p. 5.
20. Volker Turk’s approach is worth mentioning here: the functional link between
Article 35 of the 1951 Convention and the Statute enables the Convention’s
measures to be adapted in the light of new refugee situations. Thus the coop-
eration between states and UNHCR should be on a par with the Agency’s com-
petences ratione personae and ratione materiae. See Turk, “UNHCR’s Supervisory
Responsibility,” p. 5.
21. Resolution 3143 (XXVIII), December 14, 1973; Resolution 1673 (XVI),
December 18, 1961.
22 . See above, footnote 17, Note on International Protection —1994.
23. The evolution of UNHCR’s sphere of action with regard to internally displaced
persons has recently been reprised by David Lanz: “Subversion or Reinvention?
Dilemmas and Debates in the Context of UNHCR’s Increasing Involvement with
IDPs,” Journal of Refugee Studies 21, no. 2, 2008, pp. 192–209.
24. The UN secretary general expressed the pathetic reality of the situation in the
following words: “It is inadmissible that persons who are able to cross a border
benefit from the rules of international law while those who have not been able
to leave their country and may be just a few hundred meters away should remain
without protection.” (Boutros Boutros- Ghali, January 9, 1996, as cited in Roberta
Cohen and Francis Deng, Masses in Flight: The Global Crisis of Internal Displacement
(Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 1998), p. 126.
25. A nonlegal but equally persuasive source: Conclusion No. 40 (XXXVI) of the
Executive Committee of the High Commissioner’s Programme (1985).
 UNHCR and Human Security 115

26. The most recent Conclusion of the UNHCR Executive Committee of the High
Commissioner’s Programme is no. 106 (LVII), 2006.
27. See, in particular, Michael Barutciski, “A Critical View on UNHCR’s Mandate
Dilemmas,” International Journal of Refugee Law 14, nos. 2–3, 2002, pp. 365–381.
For an opposing view, or rather one which suggests a context for UNHCR
action in this respect, see Nicholas Morris, “Protection Dilemmas and
UNHCR’s Response: A Personal View from within UNHCR,” art. quoted,
pp. 492–499.
28. A striking example concerns the aftermath of the operation in the Great Lakes
Region, when governments urged UNHCR to take firmer steps in future to sep-
arate armed elements from civilian populations in refugee camps, although it had
been clearly established that such measures were not the Agency’s responsibility.
29. The principle of UNHCR’s engagement was recognized by the General Assembly
in 1993 (see Resolution 48/116, December 20, 1993). Details can be found in
Operational Guidelines for UNHCR’s Involvement with IDPs, Geneva, UNHCR,
September 2001. UNHCR’s increasing willingness to address the protection of
IDPs is clarifying positions as to the organization’s role in strengthening coordi-
nation between agencies and the affirmation of more open rules of engagement.
30. Its assertive role in the former Yugoslavia and Tajikistan contrasts with the timidity
of its actions in the former Zaire (DRC), Peru and, more recently, in Colombia.
31. These tensions triggered a heated debate during UNHCR’s involvement in the
former Yugoslavia. See in particular Bill Frelich, “Preventive Protection and the
Right to Seek Asylum: A Preliminary Look at Bosnia and Croatia,” International
Journal of Refugee Law 4, no. 4, 1992, pp. 439–453. The ICRC believed that
UNHCR’s “conf lict of interests” was exacerbated by countries unwilling to take
in refugees (cited in Cohen and Deng, Masses in Flight, op. cit., p. 130).
32 . UNHCR, Refugees and Others of Concern to UNHCR: 1996 Statistical Overview
(Geneva: UNHCR, 1997).
33. See above, note 11.
34. General Assembly Resolution 58/177, 2004.
35. For a full description of this approach and the functioning and responsibilities of
each cluster, see www.humanitarianreform.org.
36. See the evaluation suggested by the Agency in UNHCR’s Expanded Role in Support
of the Inter-Agency Response to Situations of Internal Displacement: Report of a Lesson
Learned and Effective Practice Workshop, Geneva, UNHCR, Policy Development
and Evaluation Service and Division of Operational Services, November 2006.
37. IDMC, Internal Displacement: Global Overview of Trends and Developments in 2007,
April 2008, p. 20.
38. For a recent official position, see UNHCR, The Protection of Internally Displaced
Persons and the Role of UNHCR , Geneva, UNHCR, February 27, 2001.
39. The guiding principles have been translated into several languages. See
www.brookings.org
40. “Convention for the Protection and Assistance of Internally Displaced Persons in
Africa,” text under discussion, personal documentation.
41. For a relatively detailed description of UNHCR’s activities in this sphere, see Note
on International Protection—2000, paragraphs 44–56.
116 Louise Aubin

42 . UNHCR’s effective access to returnees is covered by basic clauses in every tripar-

tite agreement governing the return of refugees. It is supported by Conclusion No.
40 (xxxvi) of the Executive Committee (1985), paragraph 1. UNHCR recently
signed several accords with Liberia and West African states for the organized repa-
triation of Liberian refugees, an operation launched on October 1, 2004.
43. In recent years, the far from ideal circumstances in which many return opera-
tions are carried out have attracted considerable criticism. For an insight into the
difficulties, see Note on International Protection—2000, paragraph 46. For a deeper
analysis of the reasons which underlie—but do not justify—“involuntary” repa-
triation or its exercise in circumstances that cannot guarantee security and dignity,
see B. S. Chimni, “From Resettlement to Involuntary Repatriation: Towards a
Critical History of Durable Solutions to Refugee Problems,” New Issues in Refugee
Research, working paper 2, May 1999.
44. High Commissioner Sadako Ogata described these three themes as the challenges
to be met in order to achieve human security. For the purposes of this chapter,
they are particularly relevant to the context of repatriation. See Sadako Ogata,
“Enabling People to Live in Security,” Keynote Speech at the International Symposium
on Human Security, Tokyo, July 28, 2000.
45. UNHCR, Voluntary Repatriation, Global Consultation on International Protection,
EC/GC/02/5, April 25, 2002.
46. For a succinct analysis of this phenomenon, see Executive Committee of the High
Commissioner’s Programme, Protracted Refugee Situations, Standing Committee,
30th meeting, EC/54/SC/CRP.14, June 10, 2004.
47. In quantitative terms, the greatest number of refugees caught in the stranglehold
of protracted situations is to be found in the regions of Central and Southwest
Asia, North Africa, and the Middle East— around 2.7 million refugees. See
Executive Committee of the High Commissioner’s Programme, Protracted Refugee
Situations.
48. A great deal could be said with regard to the impact of protracted situations on the
security of refugees, whether it is a matter of the manipulation of refugee popula-
tions for geopolitical interests or the nature of the camps themselves (overpopu-
lated supervillages whose inhabitants are, in most cases, deprived of educational,
agricultural, and income-generating opportunities). See Executive Committee
of the High Commissioner’s Programme, The Security, Civilian and Humanitarian
Character of Refugee Camps and Settlements: Operationalizing the “Ladder of Options,”
Standing Committee, 18th meeting, EC/50/SC/INF.4, June 27, 2000. For an
analysis of the issue that ref lects the statist conception of security, see Gil Loescher
and James Milner, “Protracted Refugee Situations and State and Regional
Insecurity,” Conflict, Security and Development 4, no. 1, April 2004.
49. A more comprehensive presentation of the strategic aspects of resettlement can be
found in Working Group on Resettlement: The Strategic Use of Resettlement, June 2003
(www.unhcr.org).
50. See www.unhcr.org for a range of documents concerning these initiatives.
51. On the concept of development assistance in the context of the Convention Plus
and Forum discussions, see Convention Plus: Targeting of Development Assistance
for Durable Solutions to Forced Displacement, High Commissioner’s Forum, Joint
Statement by the Co- Chairs, FORUM/2005/8, February 10, 2006.
 UNHCR and Human Security 117

52 . The links between migratory issues and refugee protection have been approached
in numerous UNHCR documents. The principal frame of action is UNHCR’s
10-Point Plan of Action (see www.unhcr.org).
53. Sadako Ogata developed this argument in several speeches, including “Security
and Humanitarian Action,” The Alistair Buchan Memorial Lecture at the International
Institute for Strategic Studies, London, April 3, 1997.
54. Inspired by Franklin D. Roosevelt’s four freedoms and reprised by the Millennium
summit, freeing human beings from fear and want is thus the foundation of human
security as defined by the Commission on Human Security.
55. In the aftermath of the 1956 Hungarian crisis, UNHCR demonstrated its inde-
pendence by acting as a mediator, a crucial role that resulted in the repatriation of
almost 10 percent of refugees. At the time, such a solution was unthinkable, and
indeed would have been unacceptable, for Western countries. The provision of
assistance to Algerian refugees also marked a turning point in the institution’s his-
tory, for it overcame enormous resistance from powerful states, principally France,
and thus gained credibility with many developing countries. See Loescher, The
UNHCR and World Politics, chapter 4.

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heading).

Internet

UNHCR: www.unhcr.org
Forced Migration Online (FMO): www.forcedmigration.org
Relief Web: www.reliefweb.org
 CH A P T E R SE V E N

Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia

S h a h r ba nou T a dj ba k h s h

Can liberalism guarantee positive peace? If so, can or should interna-

tional institutions impose it as a conditionality? These are the kinds
of questions that arise when we look at the involvement of such
institutions in Central Asia during the decade of “transition” that
began in 1991 when five Soviet republics—Uzbekistan, Tajikistan,
Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan— gained full indepen-
dence, and consider their more recent inf luence.
Once free of the Soviet yoke, with its centralized planned econ-
omy and closed political system, these countries were attracted by
the liberal “open society” model, and opened their doors to the
United Nations system, international financial institutions (IFIs),
intergovernmental bodies, and international nongovernmental orga-
nizations. Their involvement took the form of technical assistance,
political recommendations, and direct investment through a system
of loans and subsidies.
Four arguments will be developed in this chapter. First, the impo-
sition of a neoliberal norm was agreed by all the actors working in
the region, whether they were political bodies such as the OSCE
and the European Union, development agencies such as UNDP and
other UN agencies, or financial institutions such as the World Bank,
Asian Development Bank, and International Monetary Fund. In the
early 1990s, the international system began operating in Central Asia
as an integrated ensemble; the context for its work was the triumph
120 Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh

of liberalism over socialism. Second, “consensus” was based on two

elements: the need to ensure that reforms could not be reversed and
the belief, widely held at the time, that a liberal system would foster
durable development and avoid the risk of conf lict, thus guarantee-
ing a “liberal peace.” Third, the means of putting this consensus into
practice was a regular f low of consistent political recommendations
on the best way to open up the economy and political system. These
recommendations, together with “knowledge transfer,” turned out
to be more effective than all the material aid provided by interna-
tional organizations. The final argument highlights the dangers that
arise when the liberal model fails. While the political and economic
systems in Central Asia are more open than they were ten years ago,
living standards have collapsed and the region is aff licted by increas-
ing poverty and inequality.
It would be rash to claim a direct correlation between the policies
advocated by international organizations and the negative effects
noted above, but it is reasonable to suggest that current levels of
inequality could destabilize the system, restrict economic growth,
and even lead to conf licts. In effect, despite the difficulty of estab-
lishing causality— does the fault lie with the political guidelines,
institutional weaknesses, the speed of reform, the adaptability of the
model or the model itself?—the case of Central Asia demystifies and
calls into question the model of liberal peace.

The Liberal Peace Consensus:

Linking Security and Development

The breakup of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War
marked the suspension of all alternative criticism of the liberal eco-
nomic system. With the triumph of liberalism, politicians realized
that development aimed at boosting economic growth was a poten-
tial de facto security strategy to the extent that it reduced the risk of
armed conf lict.1 Identifying war as a “de-development” phenome-
non, this interpretation based peace on concepts of interdependence
and the intensification of economic links between states. Thus the
end of the Cold War was a golden opportunity to reconceptualize
development as a transformation of the entire social body, based on
 Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia 121

new hegemonic norms. In addition, while security had previously

been a matter of the balance of power between states, the prolif-
eration of civil and infrastate wars in the early 1990s suggested a
redefinition, which incorporated the issue of dysfunctional marginal
development.
By merging development and security, the liberal peace model
redefined liberal economic instruments and the democratic prac-
tices of “open” societies and presented them as peacekeeping tools.
By the mid-1990s, international organizations ranging from the
UN to international financial institutions had reached a consensus
that echoed the Kantian call for the simultaneous, interdependent
opening up of economic and political systems.2 Within the UN
system, democracy was accepted as the norm of governance in the
belief that it would combat poverty, foster development, and guar-
antee peace and stability (in the sense that democracies do not go
to war against each other).3

The Evolution of the Development Paradigm

Central Asian development aid programs were, therefore, under-

taken in a context of changing norms and global paradigms. In
order to assess the role of international organizations in the tran-
sition experiment, we need to look further than simple technical
issues—was the aid sufficient, was its distribution and management
effective? There are more fundamental questions concerning the
conception, aim, and effects of the treatment prescribed for Central
Asia. Ultimately it is a matter of understanding the impact of the
recommended reforms, their long-term effects on social policy, eco-
nomic growth, and the establishment of democratic cultures. The
core issues here are the ideological basis of international assistance,
strategic orientations, and the role played by international organiza-
tions in the definition of norms.
The Marshall Plan for Central Asia envisaged at the beginning of
the transition period did not materialize, and bilateral and multilat-
eral aid agencies were content to drip feed assistance to various insti-
tutions.4 However, in the mid-1990s multilateral institutions and
many Western bilateral institutions simultaneously introduced two
122 Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh

development “models” designed to promote both marketization and

democracy. Marketization was based on neoliberal or monetization
models, which assumed that macroeconomic stabilization, privatiza-
tion, and financial liberalization would facilitate a rapid transition
from a centrally planned economy to a market economy; the social
cost of reforms could be addressed by corrective measures at a later
stage. The concepts central to the democracy-building project—
free elections, a multiparty system, civil society, and freedom of the
press—were eventually supplemented by decentralization and the
delegation of power.
Central Asia has witnessed several representations of develop-
ment: the state planning of the 1980s gave way to its extreme oppo-
site in the early 1990s, while the minimalist state and free market
model that followed has itself been replaced by the current quest
for complementarity between state and market and a correlation
between economic models and systems of governance. Finally, poli-
cies were focused on a general reduction of the role of the state,
with economic activity boosted through the privatization of state
enterprises and an increasing role for the private sector. But these
major structural adjustments to the economy depended more on the
financial support of international institutions than on the initiative
of governments.

The Evolution of Conditionality

With the decline in official development assistance (ODA), donors

were obliged to work with governments that had adopted “good
policies,” and unanimously voiced their disapproval of countries that
did not conform to this requirement. Turkmenistan is a case in point:
in January 2003, a report by the International Crisis Group (ICG)
highlighted the Turkmen government’s abuse of human rights and
urged donors to link development assistance and aid distribution to
political and economic conditions.
Donors were advised to do the following:

1) “Follow the lead of the European Bank for Reconstruction and

Development (EBRD) and refuse any assistance to government
 Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia 123

and state institutions, instead targeting the private sector and

NGOs for aid and assistance”;
2) “Address the regime’s political, social and economic abuses in
all appropriate international forums,” including the IMF. The
report also recommended that the U.S. government “make it
clear to the [Turkmen] government that any assistance (e.g.
from the Asian Development Bank) for the Trans-Afghan
pipeline will be dependent on substantial internal reforms . . . ”5
Economic reform was also considered a prerequisite for the
success of the overall aid program for Central Asia. A report
on a €20 million assistance package to Turkmenistan, part
of the European Commission’s 1996–2000 TACIS program,
concluded that it lacked relevance and practical impact given
the absence of a structure for progressing toward democracy, a
credible agenda for economic reform, adequate resources, and
coordination with other donors.

Uzbekistan found itself in the same situation as its neighbor, having

refused to follow IMF recommendations and open up its economy.
In October 2001, however, it agreed to the deployment of American
troops on its territory as part of the “war on terror” in Afghanistan.
Formerly a “non-reforming” state, Uzbekistan had become an essen-
tial ally of the United States. It signed a strategic partnership agree-
ment with the U.S. government in March 2002, followed by an IMF
Staff Monitored Program based on major reforms of the agricultural
and banking sectors, trade liberalization, and full currency convert-
ibility. In July 2002, these two agreements were presented as an
open door to economic and political reforms in a state-run system.
However, Uzbekistan’s lack of good faith provoked the departure of
IMF experts and another barrage of criticism from the international
press. The ICG, which had gradually assumed the role of the guard-
ian of liberal economics and politics in the region, accused the Uzbek
government of ignoring the status quo, blocking the registration of
human rights organizations, failing to implement proper electoral
reforms, and, finally, of manipulating the parliamentary electoral
process. The ICG urged the international community to make all
its loans conditional on macroeconomic change in accordance with
the IMF’s new reform programs, and to refuse any further loans to
124 Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh

the agricultural sector. Moreover, it advised the EU to adopt com-

mon positions with the United States on democracy, human rights,
and economic matters, and also advocated donor pressure on central
government and local institutions. These developments illustrate the
degree to which the confusion between politics and economic con-
ditionality had become institutionally embedded.
At the beginning of the 2000s, organizations with a “governance”
mandate were expected to align their recommendations with those
of the IMF. This trend could be observed, for example, through the
use of the Freedom House “Freedom in the World” index, which
evaluates the extent to which countries have opened up in terms
of their willingness and structural capacity to introduce economic
reforms. Starting from the premise that the political system inf lu-
ences the choice of economic reforms, the World Bank classified the
political systems of transition countries by relating the state of eco-
nomic reforms (according to ERDB transition indicators) to politi-
cal and civil liberties as assessed by Freedom House (see Table 7.1).
Confusing development and security, and by extension political
systems and economic choices, international organizations sought
to broaden their mandates. The Organization for Security and
Cooperation in Europe (OSCE)—a political body that had made
considerable progress in engaging the region’s governments in dia-
logue on human rights and civil society— attempted to extend dia-
logue to the economic and environmental sectors. Although some
commentators believed that the OSCE had exceeded its remit, it
initiated a much-needed rationalization of the conditionalities sys-
tem in order to enhance its effectiveness, particularly with regard
to economic reform. From the standpoint of the OSCE, economic
expansion was linked to political aspects of development, including
the rule of law, good governance, and anticorruption measures. The
ICG studied the OSCE’s impact in Central Asia and concluded that
the organization should (1) enhance its inf luence on host govern-
ments and at the same time (2) “Create additional leverage by coop-
erating with the institutions that possessed the greatest resources,
in particular the EBRD, World Bank, Asian Development Bank
(ADB) and European Union.”6
Following the events of 9/11, existing political and economic con-
ditionalities were supplemented by military conditionalities. U.S.
Table 7.1 IFI assessments of the links between the opening up of political systems and
economic choices

Category Country Political System Economic Choices

Concentrated Kyrgyzstan Multiparty elections Partial structural reforms that
political with limited political protect existing companies
regimes competition through and create barriers to markets.
constraints on civil Combination of liberalization
liberties. and “marketization”; few
budgetary constraints; weak
rule of law. Encourage new
business to focus on rent seeking
rather than productivity.
Corruption. System maintained
by an oligarchy and insiders.
War-torn regimes Tajikistan External conf licts Weak state and erratic reform
or extreme internal structure; unfavorable
contestability investment environment.
resulting in political War and violence damage the
disorder, loss of credibility of reforms.
control, and serious
weaknesses in the
provision of basic
public goods.
Noncompetitive Kazakhstan, Constrains entry Reject key elements of
political regimes Uzbekistan, of potential transition to a market economy;
Turkmenistan opposition parties persistence of rent seeking and
into the electoral tunneling. Protection of state
process, hence few enterprises with entry denied
institutionalized to new businesses. Absence of
limitations to check liberalization and privatization
the executive. prevented development of
rent seeking and tunneling
(pronounced in concentrated
political regimes). Status quo
and relative economic stability.
Political control and economic
stability; pursuit of arbitrary
reforms with no real support
from leaders. Link between
authoritarian political power
and government’s dissuasive
methods. Power and position
of authoritarian leaders based
on the survival of old structures.

Source: Adapted from World Bank, Transition: The First Ten Years: Analysis and Lessons for Eastern Europe and
the Former Soviet Union, Washington, D.C., World Bank, 2002.
126 Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh

government aid increasingly depended on the willingness of Central

Asian countries to join the “war on terror” and support military and
humanitarian interventions in Afghanistan. For example, USAID’s
website classified each country according to its involvement as an ally
in the war on terror. Ironically, two of the least cooperative coun-
tries in terms of IMF reforms turned out to be the most cooperative
when it came to combating terrorism. Some of the aid destined
for Afghanistan (30 percent) was channeled through Turkmenistan,
while Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan authorized the deployment of U.S.
troops on their territory, notably at Karshi-Khanabad airbase. In the
latter case, substantial aid was promised as compensation, not only
by the United States ($1.6 million), but also by Turkey ($1.5 million
in military support), NATO (aid for restructuring the Uzbek armed
forces), and countries such as China ($600,000), which sought to
enhance their inf luence in a region that was becoming increasingly
valued by foreign powers. Such generosity overturned the order of
countries in receipt of American aid, putting Uzbekistan ahead of
Kazakhstan. As development aid and humanitarian assistance were
linked to political, economic, and military conditionalities rather
than the needs identified in each country, Central Asian govern-
ments (and gradually the wider public) became convinced that aid
was serving the interests of donors, namely those of institutions
(UNDP, for example, was seeking to enhance its image), transna-
tionals (IFIs promoted the interests of banks and accountancy firms),
and corporations (British and Canadian companies were looking for
gold; other countries for oil and gas). In more recent years, political
interests have been added to the list (the U.S. government’s search
for political allies in regional wars).

A Liberal Economic Model as an Alternative

Ten years ago, Central Asian economies were trapped between pro-
ponents of a “shock therapy” based on rapid reforms and changes—
the model for the “success stories” in Eastern Europe and the Baltic
states— and advocates of the Chinese model, which was based on
high growth rates and a gradualist approach designed to reduce
the risk of recession.7 With the support of independent financial
 Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia 127

institutions, shock therapy (a slightly modified structural adjustment

plan) was adopted as the framework for economic transition, first
in Russia and then to varying degrees in the countries of Central
Asia.
In 1996, the World Bank produced a report on global development—
From Planning to the Market—that claimed that variations in economic
performance were linked to good and bad policies and, in particular,
to the progress of liberalization and macroeconomic stabilization;
market reforms were more likely to restrict the decline of productiv-
ity and the effects of change. Thus the package of economic reforms
that was considered appropriate for transition countries was com-
posed of IMF-prescribed macroeconomic conditionalities (budget
deficit reduction, devaluation, reduction of domestic credits) and the
structural conditions required by the World Bank (liberalization of
price controls and interest rates, privatization of state-owned busi-
nesses, promotion of investment through guaranteed property rights
and contracts). In fact, the initial reforms focused on stabilization at
the macro level, price liberalization, and the dismantling of institu-
tions in the community system. This strategy emphasized restric-
tive monetary and fiscal policies, wage restraint, and a fixed rate
of exchange, whereas microstrategies advocated price liberalization,
for the state still controlled prices in key areas such as energy, hous-
ing, and essential goods. Macrostrategies and microstrategies were
accompanied by institutional reforms involving the development
and strengthening of the laws, regulations, and institutions that were
supposed to ensure the smooth running of a free market economy.
Finally, the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance (CMEA), the
body responsible for regulating the Soviet market economy, allowed
its members to negotiate international trade treaties, thus rapidly
exposing them to global market prices.
At the same time, the future of the public sector, formerly main-
tained by substantial direct or indirect transfers of funds from the
USSR and reliant on state enterprises for service delivery, was con-
sidered unviable. Policy recommendations insisted on the ratio-
nalization of public expenditure, a redefinition of priorities, and a
concentration of social assistance on the poor. The state was urged
to transfer social services provision—housing, basic services, clin-
ics, nursery schools, and so on—to local government bodies, which
128 Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh

lacked the necessary resources and expertise. In order to facilitate

the restructuring of enterprises, Commonwealth of Independent
States (CIS) countries were advised to adopt social cover programs
that froze benefits for the poorest and oldest citizens while simulta-
neously reducing government grants—by redefining them accord-
ing to geographical localities and communities— and launching
public works projects. Expenditure on education and health would
be confined to satisfying the most basic needs.

Toward An Open Society:

Reforms to Promote Democracy

The second pillar of liberal peace, founded on democratic peace,

focuses on a concept of “good governance” that imposes a democra-
tization agenda on donors involved in the reconstruction of institu-
tions, and a “good business governance” agenda on those concerned
with economic development.
At the beginning of the 2000s, bilateral and multilateral donors
intensified their advocacy of political reform through cooperation in
development, arguing that effective long-term economic develop-
ment could not be achieved without reforms to the system of gover-
nance. “Good governance” was chief ly a matter of the state assuming
democratic responsibilities—multiparty elections, freedom of the
press, expansion of civil society, respect for human rights, and the
rule of law. “Good business governance,” however, required pub-
lic service reforms, decentralization, and anticorruption measures.
USAID earmarked close to $75 million (from a total budget of $202
million) for democratic reconstruction programs. For IFIs, “good
governance and healthy institutions” meant that an appropriate
degree of decentralization, property regulation, and an institutional
and legal framework were essential for encouraging private invest-
ment and investment in human capital, the only real guarantees of
growth. The private sector was seen as the “engine of growth,” while
it was the task of governments to provide a “healthy” legal frame-
work as well as physical and social infrastructure (education, health);
social cohesion was less a goal in itself than a tool of the consensus
required by market reforms. “Good governance” thus involved the
 Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia 129

creation of a robust legal framework for markets, for stability was

regarded as crucial to the success of all economic reforms.
As donors realized that multiparty elections provided no guar-
antee that a regime had undergone positive change, they gradually
began to promote “civil society” as a means of stimulating a more
open political system. If governments were not capable of reform,
they should be forced to compete with “popular” movements. In
principle, a powerful civil society can demand greater transparency
and social responsibility from the state, thus opening the road to
“good governance.” Central Asia was not the Baltic states, however;
independence had not been won through political struggle, but had
been granted by Moscow. Former state organizations such as the
Women’s Association and the Youth League attempted to transform
themselves into nongovernmental organizations, but their lack of
credibility deterred the newly active population, and they were not
f lexible enough to incorporate new issues. Thus when international
organizations intervened in Central Asia in the mid-1990s, they
were frustrated in their quest for a genuine, effective partnership
with “civil society.”
It was therefore necessary to create a civil society strong enough
to play a decisive part in the country’s economic and political man-
agement. As large amounts of aid were directed toward nongovern-
mental partners, whether working to strengthen new “democracies”
or simply engaged in charitable work, more and more organizations
began to register in order to attract funds. During this period the
Soros Foundation changed the name of its local branches to “Open
Society Institutes” and became a powerful laboratory for civil soci-
ety as well as an important source of funding. In addition, the inf lux
of international aid encouraged the creation of numerous NGOs
that acted as partners in the rolling out of local aid programs. Now
the tasks undertaken by these organizations often ref lected the pri-
orities of donors. In addition, in many cases grants were made on a
short-term basis, forcing NGOs to spend much of their time final-
izing projects and grant applications within the deadlines imposed
by their “clients.”
During the first years of transition, local organizations were
eager to secure funding and tended to conform to the image for-
eign donors had of them. At the same time, concerns arose over
130 Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh

the democratization agenda, for it appeared that most “governance”

initiatives were conducted entirely by means of loans from the prin-
cipal donors, resulting in a dependency on foreign funding and
attempts to compete with the state in this domain. But states them-
selves did not shun the benefits of partnership as they made the
transition to democracy. Their commitments, which ranged from
signing international agreements to creating state Human Rights
Commissions (present in most Central Asian countries) led to some
truly ironic situations. High functionaries who were also leaders of
NGOs could be found working with international organizations in
a private capacity. Practices such as these led skeptics to denounce
the “state capture” of civil society initiatives.

A Liberal But Unequal Peace: The Wrong Paradigm?

Why has poverty and inequality increased in Central Asia over the
last ten years, especially in the countries that presented themselves as
good pupils of the IFI-recommended reform program?
The causes of the increasing insecurity, poverty, and inequality
in Central Asia have long been debated in the political circles of

Table 7.2 Evolution of Human Development Index values

1990 1995 2000 2005

Kazakhstan 0.802 0.695 0.750 0.794
Kyrgyzstan 0.689 0.633 0.712 0.696
Tajikistan 0.657 0.575 0.667 0.673
Turkmenistan 0.746 0.660 0.741 0.713
Uzbekistan 0.695 0.659 0.722 0.702

Source: UNPD, World Human Development Reports 1993, 1998, 2000, and 2007–2008.

Table 7.3 Annual increase in GDP (%)

1990 1991 1995 2000 2005

Kazakhstan – ⫺11 ⫺8 10 0
Kyrgyzstan 6 ⫺8 ⫺5 5 ⫺0
Tajikistan ⫺1 ⫺7 ⫺12 8 7
Turkmenistan 2 ⫺0 ⫺1 4 7
Uzbekistan 1 ⫺5 ⫺7 19 –

Source: World Bank, World Development Indicators 2007.

 Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia 131

Table 7.4 Poverty

Population living on Population below the national

less than $1 a day (%) poverty threshold (%)

1993 2003 1996 2000 2003–2004 2006–2007

Kazakhstan 2.0 2.0 34.6 17.6 – 13.8

Kyrgyzstan 8.0 2.0 44 47.6 41 43.1
Tajikistan – 7.4 – 74.9 – 60
Turkmenistan 20.7 – – – 30 –
Uzbekistan 3.3 2.0 23 27.5 33 –

Source: ESCAP, Statistical Yearbook for Asia and the Pacific 2007; World Bank, World Development Indicators
2007; CIA, The World Factbook; UNDP, World Human Development Report 2007–2008.

Table 7.5 Expenditure

Public expenditure on Public expenditure

education (GDP %) on health (GDP %)

1991 2000–2005 1991 2004

Kazakhstan 3.9 2.3 4.4 2.3

Kyrgyzstan 6.0 4.4 5.0 2.3
Tajikistan 9.1 – 6.0 1.0
Turkmenistan 3.9 – 5.0 3.3
Uzbekistan 9.4 – 5.9 2.4

Source: UNDP, World Human Development Report 1995 and 2007–2008.

transition countries and in international institutions. The World

Bank attributes higher levels of poverty and the concomitant rise
in inequality (affecting both populations and incomes) to the social
and economic dislocation induced by transition and a consequent
collapse of productivity. However, the Bank believes that falling
incomes and rising inequality are related to the slow pace of reform,
macroeconomic distortions, and archaic economic structures; ulti-
mately, the responsibility for failure rests with legal institutions.8 In
other words, the fundamental causes of inequality are the lack of
market competition, the scale of the structural reforms undertaken
by the state, and corruption. According to another interpretation,
the very scale of the structural reforms, higher costs in the health
and education sectors and the retreat of the state are more appro-
priate explanatory factors.9 After a decade of transition, it seems
that restructuring policies have had a negative impact on the role
132 Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh

of the state and have resulted in the collapse of institutions, the

bankruptcy of governments, an increasing reliance on humanitar-
ian aid, isolation, and the steady decline of cooperation at national
and regional level.
The debate on the causes of insecurity, whether defined as the
product of transitional economic and social policies or as the situation
that formed the basis for the construction of reform models, is part
of the ideological battle between neoliberal development models and
those that focus on social and human factors. Looking beyond this
opposition, the analysis shows that the steady increase in inequality
and poverty is potentially dangerous. Not only does it foster resent-
ment and tension between social groups (horizontal inequality), it
also calls into question the effectiveness of the system as a whole. For
example, Giovanni Andrea Cornia and Julius Court argue that as the
level of inequality rises, the efficacy of economic growth in terms
of reducing poverty diminishes, no matter how strong the growth
rate. Besides its effect on growth, inequality also has a political and
social impact on criminality and political stability.10 The authors
also argue that when attempting to explain inequality, “traditional
causes” such as restricted land ownership, urban segregation, and an
unequal education system are of less relevance than the “new causes”
linked to excessively liberal economic policies and the way in which
economic reforms have been implemented. Thus rising inequality is
not inevitable. It could be halted by policies designed to combat both
its traditional causes (a different approach to education, land owner-
ship, regional policy, etc.), and new causes (developing new technolo-
gies and exchanges of information). Offsetting the severe recessions
induced by stabilization and adjustment policies is also important.
International recommendations should therefore incorporate issues
such as redistribution, a higher level of foreign support for budgets,
and the development of policies to reduce the volatility of output.11
The approaches adopted by international institutions in Central
Asia were probably unrealistic and overestimated the speed with
which a state can make the transition from a centrally planned econ-
omy to a liberal economic model. During the first phase (1991–
1995) international institutions—in particular, the IMF— attempted
to introduce an irreversible reform agenda and dismantle the cen-
tralized institutions responsible for economic policy, thus ruling out
 Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia 133

any possibility of a return to a controlled economy. The policy rec-

ommendations that accompanied transition utilized preestablished
models and instruments that had already seen service in other post-
socialist countries, although every Central Asian country had cho-
sen to follow a different path to transition. Tajikistan was bogged
down in civil war; Kazakhstan’s economy was built on raw materi-
als and relied on Russia, although it was self-sufficient in energy.
Turkmenistan declared its “neutrality” and refused to follow IMF
recommendations. The “healthy” policies advocated by donors
were not always healthy for the governments in question. During
the first phase of transition, these governments progressively opted
for reactive rather than proactive policies as output and living stan-
dards collapsed. But they did attempt to avoid a further decline in
human development, protect the most vulnerable trapped by f lawed
structural adjustment policies, prevent social unrest, and consoli-
date their sovereignty. Their reactive approach also prevented them
from initiating reforms that would have encouraged the develop-
ment of new technologies, investment in human capital, and so on.
The development aid earmarked for the region was accompanied
by a dense package of conditionalities. Aid was well below needs
and linked to a series of conditions initially designed to destroy the
central planning system (ensuring the irreversibility of the reforms)
and, post–9/11, to suit the politics of the war on terror. However,
the impact of transition policies in material, emotional, social, and
human terms was largely ignored. It seems that the political condi-
tionality imposed by the Bretton Woods institutions was concerned
more with the establishment of democracy than with the legitimacy
of governments, while economic and social conditionalities targeted
growth, efficiency, and poverty reduction, but not the reduction of
horizontal inequalities.
International institutions were able to impose their model because
they could offer the loans, financing capacity, and assistance that
the resource-poor countries of Central Asia needed. They gradu-
ally assumed the role of guarantors of irreversible reforms. Ten years
later, they are still a major presence in Central Asia, but are now
being forced to adjust their policies in order to remedy the social
and human failures of their interventions and prevent the possibility
of future conf licts.
134 Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh

Notes

1. See Mark Duffield, Global Governance and the New Wars: The Merging of Development
and Security (London: Zed Books, 2001).
2 . Emmanuel Kant, Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch (1795) (London: Filiquarian
Publishing, 2007).
3. See the concept of “democratic peace” in Michael W. Doyle, Ways of War and
Peace: Realism, Liberalism and Socialism (New York: Norton, 1997).
4. In 2002, the largest donor in Central Asia was USAID ($668 million), followed
by Japan, Germany, France, Switzerland, the Netherlands, and Great Britain. The
largest multilateral donor was the Social Development Bank, whose funds were
earmarked for the eradication of poverty and major transport infrastructure. The
World Bank, IMF, and European Bank for Reconstruction and Development
(EBRD) concentrated on debt reduction and public sector reform. In 2000,
World Bank expenditure amounted to $408 million, while the debt to the IMF
had increased to $2.4 million. EBRD investment (debts and shares) stood at $3.4
million at the end of 2001. According to the OECD, each country received an
average of $246 million in bilateral aid in 2000, as opposed to an average of $66.5
million in 1993.
5. International Crisis Group, Cracks in the Marble: Turkmenistan’s Failing Dictatorship ,
Asia Report, 44, January 2003.
6. International Crisis Group, The OSCE in Central Asia: A New Strategy, Asia Report
38, September 2002.
7. Vladimir Popov, “Lessons from Transition Economies: Strong Institutions are
more Important than the Speed of Reforms,” study presented to the UNRISD
congress, The Need to Rethink Development Economies, South Africa, December 7–8,
2001.
8. World Bank, Making Transition Work for Everyone: Poverty and Inequality in Europe
and Central Asia (Washington, D.C.: World Bank, August 2000).
9. UNDP, Transition 99: Human Development Report for Central and Eastern Europe and
the CIS (New York: United Nations, 1999).
10. Giovanni Andrea Cornia and Julius Court, “Inequality, Growth and Poverty in the
Era of Liberalization and Globalization,” Poverty Brief 4, Geneva, UNU-WIDER,
2001.
11. See Stewart Francis, “Horizontal Inequalities: A Neglected Dimension of
Development,” Queen Elizabeth House Working Paper (Oxford: University of
Oxford, February 2002).

Select Bibliography

Collier, Paul and Anke Hoeff ler. Greed and Grievance in Civil War. Washington, D.C.:
World Bank, 2001.
Cornia, Giovanni Andrea and Julius Court. “Inequality, Growth and Poverty in the
Era of Liberalization and Globalization.” Policy Brief 4, Geneva, UNU-WIDER,
2001.
 Liberal Peace and Assistance in Central Asia 135

Doyle, Michael. Ways of War and Peace: Realism, Liberalism and Socialism. New York:
Norton, 1997.
Duffield, Mark. Global Governance and the New Wars: The Merging of Development and
Security. London: Zed Books, 2001.
Kant, Emmanuel. Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch (1795). London: Filiquarian
Publishing, 2007.
McKinley, Terry (ed.). The Macroeconomics of Transition: The Comparative Experience of
Seven Transition Economies. New York: UNDP, 2004.
Popov, Vladimir. “Lessons from Transition Economies: Strong Institutions are more
Important than the Speed of Reform.” Paper for the UNRISD meeting on The
Need to Rethink Development Economics, South Africa, September 7–8, 2001.
Richmond, Oliver. Transformation of Peace. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007.
Stewart, Frances. Horizontal Inequalities and Conflict: Understanding Group Violence in
Multiethnic Societies. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008.
Svejnar, Jan. “Assistance to the Transition Economies: Were there Alternatives?”
Prague, The William Davidson Institute at the University of Michigan Business
School, Department of Economics at the University of Michigan and CERGE-EL,
June, 2002.
World Bank. Making Transition Work for Everyone: Poverty and Inequality in Europe and
Central Asia. Washington, D.C.: World Bank, 2000.
World Bank. Transition: The First Ten Years: Analysis and Lessons for Eastern Europe and
the Former Soviet Union. Washington, D.C.: World Bank, 2002.
 CH A P T E R EIGH T

Reducing Poverty and Inequality? What Is the

Purpose of UNDP?
J e a n - M a rc B e l l o t a n d
J e a n - M a rc C h âta ign e r

The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) is one of

the UN system’s more obscure components, unfamiliar to most
people and indeed to some development specialists. Its public pro-
file is extremely low compared to those of development banks
like the World Bank, economic institutions like the World Trade
Organization (WTO), and other UN funding bodies and agencies
such as the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) and the
World Health Organization (WHO).
Yet ever since its creation by the UN Assembly General in 1966,
UNDP has been making a unique contribution to the analysis of
official development assistance (ODA) and the ways in which it is
implemented. It has actively participated in the creation of new con-
cepts including human development, poverty reduction (long before
it was taken up by the World Bank under James Wolfensohn), and
human security. It is an operational partner in recipient countries
and promotes innovative measures for the systematic enhancement
of national capacities (its national execution policy and approach
to programs largely prefigured the recommendations for increasing
aid effectiveness that emerged from the 2005 Paris and 2008 Accra
conferences). Finally, UNPD takes an active part in the UN reform
138 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

process initiated by the secretary general in 1997. Following the

recommendations of the high-level panel appointed by Kofi Annan
after the 2005 UN summit, UNDP has forcefully reaffirmed its
role as a pillar of the UN’s coordination system in member coun-
tries, linking up other funds and programs1 as well as specialized
institutions.2
However, the effectiveness of UNDP’s work in the field has not
escaped criticism:

● With the increase in official development assistance, UNDP’s

grant aid capacity is now considerable ($2 billion in 2000; $5.1
billion in 2007) and compares well with that of international
financial institutions and major regional development banks,
but its interventions are characterized by fragmentation (despite
efforts to refocus them) and convey the impression that it spreads
its finances too thinly;
● The Programme’s stated neutrality has been called into question
when it becomes involved in countries noted for their lack of
democracy or nepotism (collusion, turning a blind eye, etc.).
● Despite substantial efforts to simplify administrative and
financial procedures, UNDP still bears the scars of an admin-
istration that was once paralyzed by bureaucracy and risk
aversion;
● Although it tries to define itself as an advisory body to gov-
ernments rather than a funding or policy execution agency,
the concrete impact of its interventions is often difficult to
assess.

It should therefore be stressed that UNDP’s operational effective-

ness, like that of the UN itself, does not bear direct comparison
with other multilateral, bilateral, and nongovernmental donors: its
goals are not identical, although they are by nature complementary.
UNDP and the UN system work on several levels:

1) As “assemblers,” they encourage national, regional, and inter-

national forums in which the various parties can work together
to analyze a range of pressing issues and resolve problems;
2) They act as development advisers to developing countries;
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 139

3) They act as aid “coordinators” when decisions taken at inter-

national level, notably the Millennium Development Goals
(MDGs) and the financial commitments contracted at the
2002 Monterrey Conference on Development Finance, are
implemented;
4) They support, monitor, and evaluate pilot projects and
programs;
5) They play a specific role in crisis prevention and the manage-
ment of postcrisis situations, especially through efforts to ensure
the continuity of the peacekeeping, recovery, and development
phases;
6) They assist the international community to enact and diffuse
norms and practices designed to resolve global problems, and
also formulate and popularize new development paradigms.

The combinations and diversity of the roles undertaken by a body

such as UNDP (and more broadly by the UN) are unique in the
field of development aid, although donors are often clearly reluctant
to acknowledge these qualities when they allocate resources.

Origins and Transformations

The origins of UNDP, which have been well described by Ruben

Mendez,3 date back to the early 1950s, when the UN General Assembly
created the Expanded Programme for Technical Assistance (EPTA).
December 1958 saw the creation of another body, the United Nations
Special Fund (UNSF) under Paul Hoffman, a former Marshall Plan
administrator and president of the Ford Foundation. As the two orga-
nizations worked relatively closely together and had complementary
objectives (provision of technical assistance and mobilization of capital
to help developing countries), the decision to merge them was taken at
the General Assembly’s 20th session. The Assembly passed Resolution
1029, and UNPD came into being on January 1, 1966.

From Development Utopia to the Washington Consensus 4

Hoffman, ably supported by the French administrator Paul-Marc
Henry, a future president of the OECD’s Development Centre,
140 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

swiftly established UNDP’s originality in the development field.

In 1971, following the publication of Robert Jackson’s “Capacity
Study,” the Programme underwent an initial period of reform
endorsed by General Assembly Resolution 2688 (xxv). Changes
to its organizational structure included the setting up of regional
bureaus at its New York headquarters. Each bureau, responsible for
monitoring operational activities, would be run by a national of a
developing country, in contrast to the practice of the World Bank
at that time. In addition, resources would be allocated on the basis
of the development programs submitted by recipient countries (the
original five-year period was shortened to three years in 1995).
Hoffman was also behind another important decision: the setting
up of the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA). This body,
originally a trust fund created in 1967, was tasked with formulating
policy on populations. Rafael Salas of the Philippines was appointed
executive director in 1969. In 1972, General Assembly Resolution
3019 (xxvii) recognized its functional independence under the
governance of UNDP’s Governing Council. UNFPA has repeat-
edly reaffirmed the autonomy of its programs, particularly at the
Cairo International Conference on Population and Development
in 1994.
From the outset, the characteristics of UNDP interventions dif-
fered radically from those of the Bretton Woods institutions and
their conditionality system. They also did not have much in com-
mon with the approaches of bilateral donors, whose allocation cri-
teria were based on forms of political alignment or the prospect of
economic and commercial advantages. In the 1970s, UNDP was
noted not only for its funding of projects run by specialized UN
agencies such as UNESCO and Food and Agriculture Organization
(FAO), but also for its willingness to let recipient countries run the
programs themselves, a form of intervention seldom adopted by
other donors.
After Paul Hoffman’s departure, the organization was led by a
more or less congenial succession of American administrators, all of
whom were appointed by the UN secretary general at the suggestion
of the United States (the organization’s leading financial contribu-
tor). They were selected not for their skills in the development field
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 141

but for their sophisticated grasp of the American political system.

The banker Rudolf Peterson (1972–1976), the former Republican
congressman for Massachusetts Frank B. Morse (1976–1986) and
Republican Party financier William Draper III (1986–1993) made
few changes, and the Programme continued to operate as a nonspe-
cialized structure that closely monitored the interests of developing
countries and, above all, responded to their funding requests for a
vast range of projects.
In the 1980s, UNDP was confronted with the increasing power
of IMF and World Bank structural adjustment policies. At first,
the Programme found it difficult to criticize such policies for their
adverse social consequences,5 although they came under fire from
the Economic Commission for Africa (ECA) in 1986, and were
vehemently denounced by UNICEF executive director James Grant
in 1988. At the same time, the legitimacy of its action in the field
began to suffer as the old planning bodies were dismantled; while
useful to command economies, they had no place in liberal econo-
mies. As a result of the debt crisis and adjustment policies, most
partner countries began systematically promoting finance ministers
(traditional partners of the Bretton Woods institutions) and reduc-
ing the powers of planning ministers (UNDP’s traditional partners)
or dispensing with them entirely. No longer able to define its com-
parative advantage clearly (William Draper wanted to make support
for private sector development a central pillar of the Programme’s
involvement),6 donors and recipient countries gradually began to
perceive UNDP as an actor whose ability to inf luence development
policy was at best marginal.
In this delicate context of transition, the efforts of certain donor
countries (particularly the Nordic states and France) to concentrate
programs geographically, thus favoring the sub-Saharan region and
less advanced countries, clashed with the universalist view of aid
maintained by other states. When the Berlin Wall came down, the
organization opened bureaus in Eastern European countries and the
former Soviet republics, including Russia, a move that subjected its
limited financial and human resources to even greater strain. By
1999, UNDP was operating in 136 countries and funding approxi-
mately 7,000 projects.
142 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

The Limits of Structural Adjustment and the

Search for a New Paradigm
In the early 1990s, having lost inf luence in development circles and
faced with a decline in voluntary contributions, UNDP undertook
further reforms. Bowing to pressure from the south, it stopped fund-
ing projects run by specialized UN organizations and increasingly
resorted to national execution and new forms of aid programs. In addi-
tion, Western countries succumbed to intense lobbying from Nordic
delegations and obtained a thorough revision of the Programme’s
political governance (UN General Assembly Resolution 48/162,
1993). The resolution established a Governing Council restricted to
36 members (the Nordic states had initially envisaged 18), 24 from
the north and 12 from the south. The council would henceforth
hold four rather than two sessions a year, and would introduce more
operational working methods (adopting “decisions” instead of reso-
lutions and restricting the role of observers). The functional dynamic
of the governing councils that administer the New York funds and
programs, particularly that of UNPD, is now markedly different
from the pomp and ceremony that characterizes General Assembly
or Economic and Social Council (ESC) debates. Finally, in 1995 the
Governing Council approved a new system of resource allocation,7
which partially took into account a country’s performance and, above
all, allowed the administrator more room for maneuver when fund-
ing regional programs and assisting countries faced with crisis.
In July 1993, the secretary general acted on the recommendation
of U.S. president Bill Clinton and appointed James Gustave (Gus)
Speth as UNDP administrator. Speth, a former economic adviser to
Clinton during the 1992 presidential campaign, was the first mem-
ber of the Democrat Party to assume the post. Seeking to define
the terms of UNDP’s mandate more precisely, the new administra-
tor presented a significant paper—Building a New UNDP: Agenda for
Change — at the Governing Council’s first 1994 session. Change, he
argued, was needed for a number of reasons: the Programme’s mis-
sion and goals were no longer clearly defined; financial resources
were dwindling; ODA had been reduced while the needs of emer-
gency humanitarian aid operations and peacekeeping missions were
increasing.
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 143

Determined to respond to the demand from donor countries for

thematic focus and to halt the decline in voluntary contributions,
Speth embraced the concept of sustainable human development,
the integration of economic, environmental, and social goals that
had emerged from the Rio Conference on the Environment and
Development in June 1992. He also situated UNDP within the oper-
ational framework of poverty eradication, a goal that had become
the alpha and omega of donor intervention by the mid-1990s, nota-
bly with the Copenhagen World Summit for Social Development
(1995). An academic, convinced environmentalist, and close friend
of Vice President Al Gore, Speth consolidated UNPD’s work in
the environmental field, ensuring that it became an active part-
ner, along with the World Bank and bilateral donors, of the Global
Environmental Fund, (GEF). Finally, he reorganized UNPD’s tra-
ditional support mechanisms, placing an emphasis on the concept of
good governance that attracted donors and made the concept more
acceptable to recipient countries.
The UNDP’s repositioning seemed even more opportune
given that the structural adjustment plans (SAPs) inspired by the
Washington consensus, despite some success in terms of stabilizing
prices and encouraging growth, had not resulted in socially balanced,
sustainable growth, especially in the poorest countries. In fact, the
implementation of blanket neoliberal solutions in countries faced
with very different circumstances delivered highly questionable eco-
nomic results (the removal of restrictions on foreign investment did
not necessarily enhance a country’s ability to compete), social out-
comes (poverty increased and social services were restricted to the
poorest), and indeed political outcomes (instability was exacerbated
as SAPs undermined traditional models of wealth distribution but
offered no alternatives).
Although the context seemed conducive to the restoration of
UNDP’s inf luence, most of the reforms undertaken by Speth had
little impact and did not succeed in stabilizing the institution’s gen-
eral level of resources. Several factors account for the difficulties that
the administrator encountered: (1) his distinct lack of “charisma”;
(2) his feeble grasp of European and Third World political sys-
tems; (3) his irresolute management style (the constant discrepancy
144 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

between statements and actions was raised on numerous occasions

by France, Switzerland, and Germany); (4) the persistence of several
serious management problems;8 (5) his inability to take a decision
when faced with several possibilities;9 (6) the vagueness and slow
pace of UNDP reform compared to the more dynamic refocusing
of UNICEF, UNFPA, and, after the arrival of Kofi Annan, the
United Nations Secretariat; (7) UNDP’s struggle to maintain its
distinctive image after the Bretton Woods institutions, with barely
a nod to UN leadership in this field, appropriated the discourse of
poverty eradication and promoted poverty reduction strategy papers
(PRSPs) in the least developed countries.
In July 1999 Kofi Annan, clearly determined to revitalize UNDP,
appointed a British administrator, Mark Malloch Brown. Brown, the
first European to hold the post, was a former World Bank vice president
for external affairs (1996–1999), a position that included responsibility
for relations with the UN. The aim was to refocus the Programme
as an influential player in the management of official development
assistance, enhance its status with the Bretton Woods institutions
and bilateral donors, and firmly establish it as the pivotal structure of
the United Nations Development Group (UNDG). This body, cre-
ated in 1997 in the context of UN reform, brought together UNDP,
UNICEF, UNPFA, and the World Food Programme (WFP).
In 2005 Annan appointed Brown as his chef de cabinet, a move
designed to counter constant attacks from neoconservative elements
in the U.S. Republican administration.10 Kemal Dervis, his successor
at UNDP before serving brief ly as UN under-secretary general, had
served as Turkey’s finance minister and had also held a vice presi-
dency at the World Bank. In January 2006, a few months after his
appointment, Dervis addressed the Governing Council, affirming
his commitment to his mandate as UNDP administrator and UNDG
chairman. Dervis believed that UNDP was ideally positioned to act
as the UN system’s engine of reform. The consolidation of UNDP’s
centrality was immediately accepted as a crucial element in the
reform of UN operational development activities; it was added to the
international agenda at the World Summit in September 2005, and
the secretary general set up a high-level panel.11 However, Dervis’s
ambitious plans for the Programme drew fire from two directions.
On the one hand, some members of the 77 Group12 interpreted UN
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 145

reform as an attempt by the north to gain greater control of the global

organization rather than an opportunity to improve collective effi-
ciency. On the other, neoconservative critics with close links to the
U.S. government unsuccessfully attempted to use a minor instance of
embezzlement in North Korea to discredit UNDP.13

The Millennium Goals: The Core of UNDP’S New Strategy

Addressing the 2000 Millennium summit, the secretary general
delivered a pessimistic assessment of the cycle of major confer-
ences that had taken place in the 1990s14 and proposed the adoption
by member states of a concise but detailed declaration endorsing
concrete goals to reduce poverty between 2000 and 2015. Despite
several shortcomings (in terms of economic development and the
promotion of democratic governance), the declaration became nol-
ens volens the main reference framework for multilateral and bilat-
eral donor intervention.
International financial institutions were encouraged to concen-
trate on the MDGs as they analyzed, advised, and financed develop-
ing countries, and were criticized when they failed to do so.15 The
Monterrey Conference on Development Financing (March 2002)
and Johannesburg World Summit on Sustainable Development
(September 2002) recognized the need to increase ODA in this new
context, and consolidated the principles of a partnership in which
rich countries would base their support for poor countries on their
performance rather than their debt burden (with, for e.g., a com-
mitment to debt relief for countries that took active steps to improve
their governance).
As UNDP administrator, Mark Malloch Brown logically put the
MDGs at the heart of the Programme’s new strategy, for it seemed
the most effective way of contributing to human development and
eradicating poverty.

UNDP and the Millennium Development Goals

At the Millennium Summit organized by the UN in New York

in September 2000, heads of state and government affirmed an
146 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

unprecedented declaration of solidarity with the most deprived popu-

lations, notably by announcing concrete goals and figures to promote
sustainable development. The Millennium Declaration sets out eight
goals, subdivided into eighteen targets and accompanied by 48 indica-
tors. The first seven goals constitute the bedrock of all debate on human
development. The eighth provides the final touch by calling for a global
partnership for development. The goals are:

1. Eradicate extreme poverty and hunger.

2. Achieve universal primary education.
3. Promote gender equality and empower women.
4. Reduce child mortality.
5. Improve maternal health.
6. Combat HIV/AIDS, malaria and other diseases.
7. Ensure environmental sustainability
8. Develop a global partnership for development.

For the implementation of the goals, the Human Development Report 2003
divides countries into two categories. The first essentially concerns
Africa, and contains 59 countries distinguished by the lack of human
development and progress towards achieving the MDGs. The second
contains countries which are making progress but are still aff licted by
substantial pockets of poverty.
Achievement of the MDGs has been UNDP’s chief concern since the
Millennium Declaration. Its own goals in this respect are to: 1) mea-
sure results at country level; 2) involve all UN agency staff worldwide
in the assessment process; 3) develop capacities to monitor and analyse
results obtained through the pursuit of the MDGs; 4) promote national
responsibility; 5) cooperate with the World Bank and regional develop-
ment banks; 6) align policies and programmes to focus on achieving
the MDGs.

Brown was personally involved in the conception and launch of

the Millennium Project, a network of more than 300 economists and
development specialists. Headed by the American economist Jeffrey
Sachs, director of Columbia University’s Earth Institute, it was designed
to “identify the operational priorities, organizational means of imple-
mentation, and financing structures necessary to achieve the MDGs.”16
The Millennium Project restores the prominence of UNDP, and more
broadly of the UN, in the international development debate.
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 147

From an operational standpoint, UNDP’s methods were com-

pletely revised with, on the one hand, the establishment, approved
by the Governing Council in 1999, of a Multi-Year Funding
Framework (MYFF),17 which integrated performance and results
(requiring the administrator to present an annual report on results)
and, on the other, the implementation of the administrator’s 2000–
2003 business plan (presented at the Governing Council’s first
ordinary session in 2000).18 The business plan enabled UNDP to
articulate its strategy around five elements (policy, partnership, per-
sonnel, performance, and resources). Having previously supported a
broad range of themes and development sectors, UNDP drew up a
list of five focal points: democratic governance, pro-poor policies,
crisis prevention and recovery, energy and environment policy, and
HIV/AIDS. These five priorities became UNDP’s “practice areas”
and facilitated efforts to enhance its internal culture. Each area was
endowed with a special fund. The thematic field may still seem
rather extensive, especially as it encompasses the environment and
AIDS prevention, but the emphasis on focus clearly marks a break
with past practices.
Moreover, since 2000 UNDP has pursued numerous initiatives
designed to (1) enhance policy- definition capacity, (2) extend part-
nerships with other UN bodies and external actors, (3) enhance the
skills of its managers and, (4) strengthen its donor base in order to
build up its resources. Assessing the pace of change is accomplished
by means of the business plan’s “scorecard,” a set of goals that was
distributed throughout the external network in 2001. Significantly,
and in contrast to the World Bank, nearly 80 percent of UNDP’s
work is achieved through national structures supported by experts
(often on-site) rather than through specific project modules.
While the Programme’s immediate visibility suffers as a result, the
approach certainly guarantees a greater degree of control by national
governments.

UNDP’s Position in the UN Operational System

UNDP began playing a central role in the UN’s operational devel-

opment activities shortly after its creation. And it also became
148 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

apparent at a very early stage that reforms to improve the effec-

tiveness of the operational system’s interventions always involved
a redefinition of its own role, thus highlighting its centrality.
Throughout its brief history, UNDP’s precise role has always been
recognized through the decisions taken by UN bodies. But with
regard to the intervention system itself, it has never benefited from
an operational consensus, and the extent of its role as a coordinator
is the result of contradictory inf luences. The strengthening of the
resident coordinator’s powers aroused fears among the more con-
servative G77 members that they were witnessing the emergence
of a UN “ambassador,” while other agencies forcefully opposed
it on technocratic grounds.19 In a speech to resident coordinators
at Tarrytown on October 6, 2003, Mark Malloch Brown argued
that if the UN were to be recreated in today’s world, its opera-
tional activities would need a much more rational and organized
structure.

Coordinating and Enhancing the Effectiveness of UN Interventions

Set up as we have seen in the early 1950s, the EPTA, the first mul-
tilateral development program funded by voluntary contributions,
was designed to coordinate the technical assistance provided by all
UN specialized agencies except the World Bank and the IMF. EPTA
had established a network of representatives in recipient countries.
These “Resident Representatives” were also responsible for coordi-
nating the activities of specialized agencies (in particular the FAO
and WHO), which implemented technical assistance programs. In
1958, the UN responded to requests from developing countries and
created the UNSF. Conceived to finance “pre-investment” projects
and attract both public and private investors, national management
of the fund was confided to EPTA’s Resident Representative and
implemented by the same specialized agencies.20 In other words,
one person represented two separate structures at national level; he
had authority over the specialized agencies and provided funds for
technical assistance and field programs.
In January 1964, a report by the secretary general21 suggested
merging EPTA and UNSF to create UNDP. The report was also
quite clear on the role of the UNDP resident representatives.
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 149

Finally, UNDP was expected to consolidate the involvement

of UN operational agencies, a role that it tried to combine with
its function as a funding agency but which drew increasing criti-
cism from specialized agencies. UNDP’s relations with the UN
Secretariat’s economic and social departments were often ambigu-
ous, especially when both departments (before their merger into
a single unit as part of the 1997 reforms) made several attempts to
exceed their mandates and conduct operational activities themselves.
The UNDP administrator’s enhanced profile as the secretary gen-
eral’s right-hand man and delegate in matters concerning the coor-
dination of field activities had adverse effects on the UN Secretariat
hierarchy. The contrast between UNDP’s financial health (main-
tained by voluntary contributions), and the budgetary constraints
on the Secretariat during the 1990s (the United States was heavily
in arrears and Congress had decreed zero budgetary growth) also
aroused ill-feeling and jealousy.

Periodic Challenges to UNDP’s Role in the UN System

UNDP’s function as the UN system’s central funding agency (some
commentators have claimed that it acts as a “financial regulator”)
was rapidly undermined. In 1968, 75 percent of the system’s opera-
tional activities had been funded by UNDP credits, but by 1983
the figure had fallen to 33 percent.22 Over the same period, funds,
programs, and specialized agencies demonstrated their increasing
ability to finance their own programs from “non-UNDP” funds,
especially nonbudgetary resources: alternative resources for the
entire operational system increased from $48 million in 1968 to
$376 million in 1982.23 In developing countries, specialized agen-
cies established local branches, thus increasing competition. While
UNDP remained the only operational structure with a global net-
work, agencies were quick to imitate it and formed close ties with
governments. Most assiduous in this respect were FAO, UNICEF,
and WHO, which had always resented the power of the Resident
Representatives installed in the 1950s.
In 1988, Victor-Yves Ghebali noted that “while it is the real or
official pivot of the multilateral development aid system, UNDP
also suffers from the lack of a coherent, long-term conception of its
150 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

functions.” The global context, notably the international communi-

ty’s acceptance of the MDGs, seems conducive to a unified approach
to funds, programs, and specialized agencies when combating pov-
erty, and may also put an end to wildly dispersed interventions,
many of which are characterized by the kind of competition for
resources usually associated with the commercial sector.
The UN has made several attempts to reorganize its opera-
tional system. On every occasion, the role of UNDP has been cen-
tral to the debate. Significantly, in the 1990s the UN Secretariat’s
Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPO) reinforced a prac-
tice that, although not codified by member states, had a decisive
effect on UNDP’s legitimacy: in countries emerging from conf lict,
the UNDP resident coordinator also acts as a deputy to the secretary
general’s special representative, thus ensuring continuity between
peacekeeping and recovery operations.
Kofi Annan gave the process a further boost when UN reforms
were implemented in 1997. The initial proposal from his special
advisor on reform, the Canadian entrepreneur Maurice Strong,
was radical: UNICEF, UNFPA, and WFP should be merged with
UNDP in order to create a single development program (under one
Governing Council and one leader) that would act as a counter-
weight to the Bretton Woods institutions. The proposal attracted
a triple barrage of criticism: (1) bureaucrats, particularly within
UNICEF, UNFPA, and WFP, would not countenance any weak-
ening of their autonomy; (2) many southern countries felt that ratio-
nalization did not serve their interests and could even dilute some
of their social priorities (specific actions directed at children and
reproductive health); (3) some northern countries were uneasy about
the risk to the UNICEF “brand” (more than a third of its funding
came from private sources). The resulting compromise maintained
the independence of the various programs and created the UNDG.
Chaired by the UNDP administrator, the Group directly addresses
all the problems arising from common programming and the setting
up of common services and premises; its goal is harmonization to
enhance the effectiveness of UN aid.
Unlike previously established coordination bodies, UNDG has the
advantage of a permanent secretariat24 (staffed by the various mem-
ber organizations), which functions on two levels. The Executive
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 151

Committee, which meets every two months, consists of the four

founding organizations—UNDP, UNFPA, UNICEF, and WFP—
and the Office of the High Commissioner on Human Rights, an
ex-officio member. The full group (25 members and five observers)
meets three times a year to decide on issues such as resident coordi-
nators, harmonization, and so on.
One important aspect of the progress noted so far concerns the
increasing participation of resident coordinators who came not from
UNDP but from other funds, programs, or specialized institutions;
their involvement has done much to enhance the system’s legiti-
macy. The introduction of common seminars for country teams,
coordinated on-site evaluations and program development, and the
systematic diffusion of best practice models has also strengthened
the coherence of the UN system’s overall development work and
reduced the risk of duplication. However, these slow but positive
changes could not continue without a fresh vision.

Enhancing UNDP’s Role: The Recommendations of

the High-Level Panel
The high-level panel set up by the secretary general in January 2006
submitted its report on reform of the UN operational system at the
end of that year.25 Its recommendations privileged a results-based
culture in the context of a simplified organization and a more cen-
tralized financing mechanism. The panel was particularly alert to
issues surrounding UNDP’s central role as a policymaker, coordina-
tor, and manager of development activities, and as the leading UN
body in terms of helping countries to emerge from crisis.
The proposals systematically emphasized the “one UN” concept:
“one UN for development at headquarters level” and “one UN for
development at country level.” The panel recommended the estab-
lishment of a Sustainable Development Board at central level to over-
see country programs. The French proposal for a unified governing
council covering all funds and programs was rejected. The United
States found it unacceptable, claiming that it would create a single
governance structure for activities it supported (those of UNICEF,
for example) and those it regarded as illegitimate (such as UNFPA’s
China program, which the Bush administration stopped funding).
152 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

The Board would also administer a multiyear funding mechanism for

country programs, financed by voluntary contributions from donors
and subjected to UNDP administrator oversight. At the country
level, the panel recommended one country team leader (the resident
coordinator), one program encompassing the activities of all agen-
cies, one budgetary framework, and, where possible, one office. The
resident coordinator, dawn from the best talent within and outside
the UN system, would assume responsibility for the program, with
oversight provided by UNDP.
In the light of these new responsibilities, the panel suggested that
UNDP:

1) Should strengthen the coherence and positioning of UN coun-

try teams by limiting its programmatic work, thus avoiding
competition with other UN agency projects;
2) Should establish a firewall between management of its pro-
grammatic role and management of the resident coordinator
system; and between its own budget and the resident coordina-
tor budget;
3) Should be repositioned to become the UN leader and coordi-
nator for early recovery.

In order to strengthen coordination in the field, the panel also rec-

ommended the UNDP administrator’s nomination as UN devel-
opment coordinator. A coordinator of this stature would act as a
kind of alter ego of the World Bank’s president, representing the
UN group and reducing the impression that UN activities were too
widely dispersed.

The Present and the Future

UNDP’s role has therefore undergone a radical transformation over

the last ten years, a kind of “rebranding.” The Programme aspires to
be the nerve centre for all UN organizations and to participate fully
in the pursuit of the broader goals defined in the preamble to the
UN Charter. When presenting his annual report to the Governing
Council (Geneva, June 14–23, 2004), the administrator stressed
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 153

the scale of the changes that had taken place. In effect, UNDP had
changed from a project-funding structure to one that specialized in
defining policy; from a procedure-based structure to one based on
results; from a risk-averse structure to one that celebrated innova-
tion; from a largely unspecialized structure to one with a high skills
level; and from an introverted structure to one that valued partner-
ships, transparency, and communication. The scale of these changes
may be open to question, but the concrete results that they pro-
duced enabled UNDP to regain the trust of its donors. Nevertheless,
UNDP would in future be judged on its ability to enhance the
global effectiveness of the UN system—indeed of all development
structures— and to demonstrate genuine comparative advantages.
Therefore, it still had to overcome certain obstacles.

Major Structural Adjustments at Headquarters and Country Level

By focusing on decentralization (2000–2004) and appointing its
most experienced cadres as country directors and resident coordina-
tors (from 2005), UNDP transformed itself into a grassroots net-
work with an emphasis on service delivery. Eighty posts at the New
York–based Bureau for Development Policy were transferred to
nine Sub-Regional Resource Facilities (SURFs)—in Addis-Ababa,
Bangkok, Beirut, Bratislava, Dakar, Pretoria, Kathmandu, Panama,
and Port of Spain—in order to expedite support for the country
offices. The combination of thematic knowledge networks and the
nine SURFs gives UNDP staff easier and faster access to informa-
tion so that they can offer much more advice on development poli-
cies, take part in discussion forums, and share their experience with
other offices. The transformation has created a new line of work
for UNDP. Besides funding country programs, it can now provide
timely, high-quality advice on the basis of its knowledge capital.
Internally, UNDP thoroughly overhauled its staffing policy. The
average age of its staff fell; between 45 and 51 percent of its manag-
ers (according to their level) are recent recruits. External offices,
functions, and posts were subject to intense restructuring. In terms
of skills renewal, great efforts were made to attract macroeconomists
and sectoral analysts as well as the most competent and effective
managers. Skills were aligned with needs at all levels. In particular,
154 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

an independent evaluation centre was set up to assess all UN system

candidates (including current managers) for resident coordinator
posts and responsible positions within UNDP. The quality of the
recruitment process even attracted praise from the Financial Times.26
Another innovation was the creation of a “Virtual Development
Academy” (VDA) in May 2001. This was a key element of the busi-
ness plan, a means of facilitating change. Besides giving professionals
the opportunity to consolidate their skills and competences through
permanent distance learning, the Academy enhances UNDP’s
standing as a disseminator of knowledge. It enables a permanent
alignment of staff skills and the needs of the structure. Finally, the
Programme introduced more systematic management assessment
measures, which encompassed the hierarchy and used both top-
down and bottom-up approaches.
The “UNDP group” still harbors several separate entities that,
while constituting a skills base for certain highly specialized areas of
intervention, can also lead to dispersion and additional management
costs. These specific programs and associated funds are usually cre-
ated by a General Assembly resolution; their directors are appointed
by and accountable to the administrator, and they report to the
UNDP-UNFPA Governing Council. However, their resources and
projects are managed independently of national intervention frame-
works, and are not subject to the same approval procedures.
Prominent among UNDP’s affiliates are the United Nations
Development Fund for Women (UNIFEM), UN Volunteers
(UNV), UN Office for Project Services (UNOPS), and the UN
Office to Combat Desertification and Drought (UNSO). Following
a major financial crisis in the 1990s, UNIFEM, actively supported
by the Nordic countries, was able to develop a comparative advan-
tage through a series of pilot projects to promote women’s rights.27
The mandate of the UN Capital Development Fund (UNCDF),
created like the UNDP in 1966, has undergone profound changes
over the years. Originally set up to provide small-scale investment
that the World Bank and regional development banks would not
consider, it now concentrates on microfinance and local develop-
ment programs in the least developed countries (LDCs).28 Despite
its innovative attempts to enlist the poorest people in the con-
ception and execution of its projects, and the acknowledgement
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 155

of its technical and participatory qualities by the World Bank

and bilateral donors, UNCDF has faced serious funding difficul-
ties in recent years and has been forced to integrate more fully
into UNDP. UNOPS, a project management agency, got off to
a good start in 1995, but later experienced serious financial prob-
lems linked to a top-heavy management structure and the steady
decline of UNDP funding. The decision to merge UNOPS with
the Inter-Agency Procurement Service Organization (IAPSO) and
relocate it to Copenhagen stemmed the financial hemorrhage and
rationalized procurement procedures for operational activities.
Besides its involvement with these funds and structured programs,
UNDP has also had to cope with resolutions, decisions taken by
the various intergovernmental bodies to which it reports (General
Assembly, Economic and Social Council, Governing Council, etc.)
and demands from certain donors who want their resources ear-
marked for specifically determined areas or sectors of interven-
tion. In consequence, it has established trust funds for a very broad
range of subjects. These funds do not always help to clarify UNDP’s
interventions and in most cases enhance the impression of disper-
sal. Although the Governing Council has attempted to improve the
framework of certain practices, there is certainly scope for UNDP
to offer more structured services (perhaps modeled on the World
Bank’s recent trust fund reform, which established thresholds and
systemized the complete decoupling of available resources), orga-
nized around its mandate’s target themes. A reform of this nature
would certainly require greater discipline on the part of UNDP staff
(who often look to specific funds to justify their competences), and
above all greater rigor from member states when making demands
on the Programme.

UNDP and the Bretton Woods Institutions: Critical Mass

Relations between UN development activities and the Bretton
Woods institutions are the subject of debate within the UN sys-
tem, notably within ECOSOC. ECOSOC’s annual Spring Meeting
(established following the 2002 Monterrey summit), allows the two
structures to confront points of view. From the operational stand-
point, however, the nonspecialized mandate given to UNDP at the
156 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

time of its creation increasingly clashes with World Bank operational

spheres, for the Bank has long been exceeding its reconstruction
mandate by dealing with development issues such as poverty reduc-
tion. Progress has been made in recent years: the World Bank and
the IMF have agreed to involve UNDG in an observer capacity. In
May 2003, UNDP and the World Bank signed a framework agree-
ment designed to strengthen cooperation in the countries where
both institutions operated.
However, the difference in financial muscle between the World
Bank and UNDP is a sensitive topic, especially since the thirteenth
replenishment of International Development Agency (IDA) funds,
when it was decided that 20 percent of resources (increased to 30 per-
cent at the fourteenth replenishment) would take the form of develop-
ment credits. As a result, the Bank had a financial package that put it in
direct competition with UNDP. The steady augmentation of UNDP’s
nonbudgetary resources has alleviated the problem to a certain extent.
In 2002, for example, disbursement of IDA funds in the form of dona-
tions increased to $5 billion, while resources for UNDP’s operational
activities were set at $2.1 billion. In 2006, IDA payments amounted
to $4.3 billion, while resources for UNDP operational activities
approached $4.5 billion. Finally and with regard to the fight against
poverty, although UNDP had initiated the debate (Human Development
Report 1990),29 it subsequently found that it was often marginalized
during the preparation of strategic frameworks for poverty reduction,
a priority theme for both institutions.30 Surprisingly, given their dis-
proportionate resources (there is also a marked difference in staffing
levels at their respective headquarters), UNDP has often turned out to
be more innovative than the World Bank in developing new concepts.
Its originality is also apparent from its Human Development Reports
(which focus on a different theme each year),31 its groundbreaking
research into new sources of funding in the mid-1990s, and its attempt
to launch an analysis of global public wealth (a project it was forced to
abandon after pressure from the United States).
When considering relations between UNDP and the World Bank
and their respective inf luence on international decisions concerning
ODA, the problem of the coherence of positions adopted by mem-
ber states in the various administrative councils cannot be entirely
avoided. Apart from the formal disagreements that arise during the
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 157

decision-making process (the Bank’s shareholders primarily rep-

resent the interests of donor countries, while UNDP’s universalist
approach tends to privilege the views of the South and accords a
Pacific microstate as much importance as the United States),32 what
is striking is that a donor state will not necessarily defend the same
positions in New York as it does in Washington, a practice that is
detrimental to the complementarity of interventions.

What Future for UNDP?

For all its restructuring, refocusing of activities, and attempts at stra-
tegic repositioning within the UN system, UNDP still faces prob-
lems over its future in the medium term. Several fundamental issues
require elucidation before it can properly establish its role. Will the
recommendations of the secretary general’s high-level panel help to
clarify the Programme’s future?

Positioning UNDP as a Development Actor: A Dilemma

UNDP wants to position itself as a development policy advisory
body in domains as varied as budgetary policy and sectoral policy;
its purpose is to assist the governments of developing countries,
helping to define appropriate poverty reduction policies so that they
can achieve the MDGs. However, despite the radical revision of its
operational portfolio, UNDP was still running some 4,500 projects
and programs in 136 countries at the end of 2002 (reduced to around
2,300 by the end of 2003). At the end of 2005, the number of proj-
ects bordered on 7,000 and the stated aim of conducting no more
than three or four large-scale targeted operations per country had
still not been achieved.
Financial statements reveal the importance of the operational
function. In 2003, UNDP’s total funding exceeded the $3 billion
mark for the first time. But $1.1 billion came from World Bank and
Inter-American Development Bank (IDB) loans to Latin American
countries, loans implemented by UNDP. Moreover, donors directed
$740 million toward specific programs. Finally, UNDP conducted
programs approved and financed by the GEF, which accounted for a
further $269 million. In short, over two thirds of the money handled
158 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

by UNDP was devoted to programs it simply implemented; they were

conceived and approved by other bodies rather than developed through
partnership between UNDP technical teams and local governments.

The Funding Dilemma

The Programme’s restructuring efforts failed to resolve the prob-
lem of contributions from its principal donors (“regular resources”).
After falling to their lowest level ($634.1million) in 2000 (as opposed
to $1,073.8 million in 1992), regular resources rose to $769 million
in 2003, $900 million in 2005, and $1billion in 2007 (the initial
2004 and 2005 targets were $900m and $1.1billion respectively).
The increase in budgetary resources was helped considerably by the
depreciation of the dollar against the euro.
The UNDP’s financial structure rests on three pillars: the first
represents budgetary resources (roughly a quarter of resources),
more than two thirds of which come from seven OECD countries;
the second represents funding for country programs, which in 2008
accounted for approximately one-third of the Programme’s total
resources (about $1.3bn in the form of “cost sharing” projects); the
third and most important pillar represents nonbudgetary resources
(earmarked resources) for donor-defined programs. This can be bro-
ken down into two subgroups: bilateral trust funds and multilateral
trust funds (World Bank, European Commission).
In other words, budgetary resources—the only category discussed
by the Governing Council—represent a quarter of all resources.
Moreover, seven donors (in descending order: the United States,
Norway, Japan, the Netherlands, Sweden, the United Kingdom,
and Denmark) provide more than 71 percent of UNDP’s budgetary
resources (2003 figures).33 In 2007, nothing had changed apart from
the ranking within this group (the Netherlands, Sweden, Norway,
the United States, the United Kingdom, Japan, and Denmark). In
1983, contributions from 113 countries in which UNDP operated
amounted to 7 percent of its budget. Twenty years later, only 34 of
the countries benefiting from UNDP programs made a contribu-
tion, accounting for barely 2 percent of the budget.34
Given the financial context, the political acceptability of UNDP as
the coordinator of UN operational activities is problematic. Moreover,
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 159

Table 8.1 Evolution of UNDP funding 2000–2007 (US$ millions)

2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007

Ordinary resources
Governments (gross) 634.13 651.75 670.38 767.13 915 916 1,108
Others 15.6 13.1 29.6 61.4 23 23 71
Subtotal 649.73 664.85 699.98 828.53 938 939 1,179

Other resources
Country programs 940.8 1,007 984 1,066.6 1,270 1,360 1,203
Countries 712.1 781.3 1,100 1,200 2,340 2,230 2,435
Nonprograms
Subtotal 1,652.9 1,788.3 2,084 2,266.6 3,610 3,590 3,683
Total 2,302.63 2,453.15 2,783.98 3,095.13 4,584 4,529 4,817

Source: Compiled by the authors from annual UNDP activity reports.

the countries that prioritize support for UNDP do not necessarily

support the UN’s Rome-based institutions (FAO, IFAD) or those in
Geneva (especially WHO and ILO). However, solving the problem
of UNDP’s financial stability, notably the predictability of its bud-
getary resources as suggested by the panel, would firmly anchor the
Programme in the operational system, leave it free to pursue activities
for which it can demonstrate a comparative advantage (democratic
governance, emergence from crisis, poverty reduction policies), and
legitimize its role as a coordinator of operational activities. It would
also put an end to the frustrating tendency of donor countries to link
their aid to activities conducted by funds and programs.
Since the early 1990s, proposals for reforming the voluntary con-
tributions system for UN fund and program activities have been sys-
tematically blocked (a donor country’s contribution constitutes an
adjustment variable when it considers budget cuts, for it involves no
legal or multiyear commitment). The United States still supports
the status quo; it has always preferred to contribute voluntarily to
funds and programs rather than make obligatory payments into the
UN Secretariat’s budget. For various reasons, the Nordic countries
(currently the major contributors)35 and other donor countries are
not inclined to change the system either. Developing countries, for
their part, fear the introduction of an obligatory contribution system
or a negotiated long-term scheme that would demand their com-
mitment in the name of universality. Nevertheless, debate on this
matter cannot be postponed indefinitely: the sums involved do not
160 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

seem disproportionate (especially when compared with the resources

authorized in recent years for the tenth replenishment of the European
Development Fund, or the effort to set up the Global Fund to Fight
AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria), but they foreground the issue of
the UN’s credibility in terms of its involvement in development.

The Distribution of Functions in the Multilateral System:

Another Dilemma
Functions are of major concern in attempts to maximize the effective-
ness of the UN system, for the division of tasks between the World
Bank and the UN is not always clear. To be sure, UNDP exists to
promote well-managed development policies and to enhance national
capacity, just as the World Bank’s mission is to promote and support
sectoral policies and structural investment. According to this logic,
strengthening the coherence of UN teams in developing countries
is crucial to national capacity building. Will the international com-
munity eventually take steps to clarify the roles of its own actors and
define their complementarity, and thus enhance their efficiency?
For the first time in the brief history of development we have
something greater to aim for, something that was ratified at the
2000 Millennium Summit and reiterated at the 2005 Development
Summit: the achievement of the MDGs by 2015. The 2002 Monterrey
Conference defined the financial resources that would be required.
But the arrangements are clearly incomplete: the technical means by
which to achieve the goals have not yet been determined. In other
words, what is really required is the definition— or redefinition—
of the roles and functions of the bodies that were created after the
Second World War and given the task of implementing international
decisions. This reform necessarily extends beyond UNDP and raises
broader questions concerning the organization of the multilateral
development system, the relation between normative and operational
organizations, and the radical overhaul of global governance.36

Notes

1. Including UNICEF, the United Nations Population Fund (UNPF), and the World
Food Programme (WFP).
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 161

2 . WHO, UNESCO, the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), the

International Labour Organization (ILO), and so on.
3. Ruben Mendez, “Research Activities: United Nations Development Programme”
(available at www.yale.edu/unsy/UNDPhist.htm).
4. The Washington consensus, which emerged after the 1988 Latin American
debt crisis, is a loose term for a set of recommendations devised to increase
the eff iciency of South American economies. The “consensus”— elucidated
among others by John Williamson in Latin America: How Much Has Happened?
(Washington, D.C.: Institute for International Economics, 1990)— served as
the basis for the structural readjustment policies advocated by the Bretton
Woods institutions (removal of protectionist systems, trade liberalization,
deregulation and privatization of businesses, reduction of public expenditure)
and appeared to mark a retreat from the ideas that UNDP had traditionally
upheld.
5. Somewhat paradoxically, UNDP sometimes supported the World Bank’s adjust-
ment policies, as in Chad (1986) and Mozambique (1988).
6. Moreover, Draper believed that in the interests of efficiency UNDP should dis-
tance itself from an overly politicized UN system and adopt an independent, more
technical approach to development. Symbolically, UNDP publications dispensed
with the UN color—blue— and used green instead.
7. Governing Council decision 95/23. See www.undp.org for the main documents
presented to the Governing Council and the decisions it takes.
8. Notably the 1995 crisis over the allocation of resources to UNIFEM (a UNDP
affiliate dedicated to advancing women’s rights and achieving gender equality)
and the discovery in 1997 that sizeable funds for the construction of UNDP
offices in Africa had been misappropriated.
9. During Speth’s period of office, UNDP was torn between reaffirming its com-
mitment to Africa and social objectives, and its systematic use as a subcontractor
by the World Bank in Latin America, at a time when the Bank was introduc-
ing unbridled neoliberal policies in Peru (under Alberto Fujimori) and Argentina
(under Carlos Menem).
10. Including the ineffable John Bolton, U.S. permanent representative at the UN
(March 2005–December 2006). Bolton’s name was put forward by President
Bush, but the Senate had serious doubts concerning his character and competence
and did not confirm his nomination.
11. For a description and analysis of the panel’s ambitions, see Jean-Marc Châtaigner,
“Réformer l’ONU: Mission Impossible?” Revue française d’administration publique 2,
no. 126, 2008, pp. 359–372.
12 . The Group of 77 at the United Nations was created in 1964. It promotes the eco-
nomic interests of 130 developing countries, which vary considerably in size and
economic situation. The Group defends the positions of the “South.”
13. Some analysts interpreted these maneuvers as an attempt to destabilize UNDP’s
associate administrator, Melkert Ad, a former leader of the Dutch Labour Party.
Ad, appointed by the secretary general on March 1, 2006, had been a member of
the World Bank Administrative Council, and was accused by American neocon-
servatives of playing a leading role in forcing the resignation of Paul Wolfowitz,
the Bank’s president.
162 Jean-Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc Châtaigner

14. Most of these conferences were characterized by a plethora of statements of prin-

ciple and promises to boost development that came to nothing, and by the failure to
monitor operational objectives. Notable in this respect were the World Summit for
Children (New York, 1990), the Conference on Environment and Development
(Rio, 1992), the Conference on Population and Development (Cairo, 1994), the
World Summit for Social Development (Copenhagen, 1995), the World Conference
on Women (Beijing, 1996), and the Conference on Human Settlements (Istanbul,
1996). See Charles Tenenbaum, “Une diplomatie globale: conférences et som-
mets mondiaux” in Bertrand Badie and Guillaume Devin (eds), Le Multilatéralisme.
Nouvelles formes de l’action internationale (Paris: La Découverte, 2007), pp. 75–94.
15. The Human Development Report 2003 noted that never at any time did IMF and
World Bank guidelines for developing PRSPs stress that budgetary and technical
obstacles can and should be reduced (by increasing donor contributions to help
countries realize the MDGs, for example).
16. On this point, see www.unmillenniumproject.org
17. DP/1999/30, approved by Governing Council decisions 99/1 and 99/23.
18. DP/2000/8, December 15, 1999.
19. For a more detailed analysis of these positions, see Jean- Marc Bellot and Jean-Marc
Châtaigner, “Les enjeux d’une réforme de l’architecture internationale en matière
d’aide publique au développement,” Rapport moral sur l’argent dans le monde, Paris,
Association d’économie financière, 2006, pp. 261–281.
20. In 1964, EPTA’s specialized participants included FAO, WHO, UNESCO, the
International Labour Organization (ILO), the International Telecommunications
Union (ITU), the World Meteorological Organization (WMO), the International
Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), and the Universal Postal Union (UPU).
21. Report E/3850, January 1964.
22 . Victor-Yves Ghebali, La Crise du système des Nations Unies (Paris: La Documentation
française, “Notes et études documentaires” series, 4854, 1988), p. 81.
23. Ibid.
24. See www.undg.org
25. Delivering as One—Report of the Secretary-General’s High-level Panel on UN System-wide
Coherence, A/61/583, New York, United Nations, November 2007 (www.un.org).
26. Financial Times, August 4, 2003.
27. Regrettably, and despite the UN’s attempts to rationalize its operational system,
member states are ready to finalize UNIFEM’s autonomy so that it has its own
management structure, governance, and budget, thereby adding another piece to
the existing jigsaw. The reservations expressed by some members were countered
by pressure from feminist groups, and the panel’s recommendations paradoxically
fell into line.
28. A geographical composite that dates back to 1973. At present, UNCDF is involved
in about 30 LDCs, mainly in sub- Saharan Africa.
29. “The central message of this Human Development Report is that while growth in
national production (GDP) is absolutely necessary to meet all essential human
objectives, what is important is to study how this growth translates— or fails to
translate—into human development in various countries,” foreword to the Human
Development Report 1990 (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1990).
 Reducing Poverty and Inequality? 163

30. In 1999, the World Bank made access to preferential funds conditional upon the
drafting of poverty reduction strategy papers. In most cases, UNDP could only pro-
vide $300–500,000 for the preparation of these papers, but the Bank could contrib-
ute $6–10 million as well as a team of experts to assist governments in the exercise.
31. The most “revolutionary” reports have focused on “human security” (1994), “glo-
balization with a human face” (1999), “human rights and human development”
(2000), the “Millennium Development Goals” (2003), and “cultural diversity”
(2004).
32 . The inf luence of donor countries within UNDP should not be underestimated.
Donor countries have one third of the seats, while the largest countries (including
the United States and Japan) have near-permanent seats. Their expertise and skills
base enables them to monitor UNDP activities almost constantly, which is beyond
the capabilities of most southern countries. They are behind 70–80 percent of
Governing Council decisions (especially when it comes to important matters such
as budget approval).
33. Status of Regular Funding Commitments to UNDP and its Associated Funds and
Programmes for 2004 and Onward, DP/2004/20, May 2004.
34. Ibid.
35. The major donors do not necessarily gain more inf luence. Tony Addison, Mark
McGillivray, and Matthew Odedokun have developed a perceptive economic anal-
ysis of this point in an article published by the United Nations University (“Donor
Funding of Multilateral Aid Agencies: Determining Factors and Revealed Burden
Sharing,” Discussion Paper, 2003/17, United Nations University, February 2003).
36. Châtaigner, “Réformer l’ONU: Mission Impossible?” art. quoted, pp. 359–372.

Select Bibliography

Addison, Tony, Mark McGillivray, and Mattew Odedokun. “Donor Funding of

Multilateral Aid Agencies: Determining Factors and Revealed Burden Sharing.”
Discussion Paper, 2003/17, United Nations University, February 2003.
Ghebali, Victor-Yves. La Crise du système des Nations unies. Paris: La Documentation
française, “Notes et études documentaires” series, 4854, 1998.
Mendez, Ruben. “Research Activities: United Nations Development Program.”
(Available at www.yale.edu/unsy/UNDPhist.htm).
UNDP. Human Development Report 2004. Cultural Liberty in Today’s Diverse World.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Internet

UNDP: www.undp.org (for main documents presented to the Governing Council

and its decisions).
UN Millennium Project: www.unmillenniumproject.org
UNDG: www.undg.org
 CH A P T E R N I N E

Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation: The Scope

of International Criminal Justice
A n t oi n e B e r na r d a n d K a r i n e B on n e au

On July 29, 1988, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights ren-

dered a major decision in the Velasquez Rodriguez case. Its judgment
included a statement of the state’s five main duties with regard to human
rights violations: to investigate such violations and impose appropri-
ate punishment; to determine the truth about the victims; to identify
those responsible for the violations; to ensure adequate compensation
for the victims; and to enact reforms to prevent further violations.1
Like the Inter-American Court, other regional and international
human rights bodies have enshrined the fundamental right of vic-
tims to truth, justice, and reparation. The right of victims to effec-
tive recourse before an independent court is both the condition sine
qua non and the principal means of its implementation. During the
last two decades states have created a range of mechanisms to combat
impunity at national and international level. At present the mecha-
nisms themselves seem adequate, but the political will and/or ability
required to implement them is another matter.

Peace through Justice

The Preamble to the Rome Statute on the creation of an International

Criminal Court (ICC), entered into law on July 1, 2002, sets out the
166 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

founding principles and objectives of the first permanent interna-

tional criminal jurisdiction. The resonance of the language employed
reaches beyond the boundaries of the Court’s domain:

Mindful that during this century millions of children, women

and men have been victims of unimaginable atrocities that
deeply shocked the conscience of humanity,
Recognizing that such grave crimes threaten the peace, secu-
rity and well-being of the world,
Affirming that the most serious crimes of concern to the
international community as a whole must not go unpunished
and that their effective prosecution must be ensured by tak-
ing measures at national level and by enhancing international
cooperation,
Determined to put an end to impunity for the perpetrators
of these crimes and thus to contribute to the prevention of such
crimes,
Recalling that it is the duty of every State to exercise crimi-
nal jurisdiction over those responsible for international crimes.
Determined to these ends and for the sake of present and
future generations, to establish an independent permanent
International Criminal Court in relationship with the United
Nations system, with jurisdiction over the most serious crimes
of concern to the international community as a whole,
Emphasizing that the International Criminal Court estab-
lished under this Statute shall be complementary to national
criminal jurisdiction.2

Peace through justice: many “realists” regard the project as futile at

worst and utopian at best. Is peace by definition the exclusive prov-
ince of politics, the product of a relationship of force, and the con-
tribution of a mediator at a later stage? Does the difficult and belated
emergence of international criminal justice highlight its marginal or
at least subsidiary nature?
This widely held view disregards the acceleration of a process that
in the space of 15 years has seen international criminal justice occupy
an increasingly large part of the political sphere, in response to pres-
sure from public opinion confronted with the perpetration of crimes
 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 167

and the impunity of killers, or from those who have recently gained
the freedom to demand justice. But an international court is not a
recent idea; it is rather the fruit of a debate that began more than a
century ago. Ten years after the adoption of the Rome Statute, six
years after it entered into law, and five years after the installation
of the Court, what provisional assessment can we make of interna-
tional criminal justice?

The Origins of International Criminal Justice

In 1872 Gustave Moynier, one of the founders of the Red Cross,
came up with the idea of a universal jurisdiction after witnessing the
brutal crimes committed during the Franco-Prussian War. After the
First World War, the Treaty of Versailles contemplated setting up a
jurisdiction to prosecute Kaiser Wilhelm II for a “supreme offence
against international morality and the sanctity of treaties.” However,
the Netherlands, where the Kaiser had taken refuge, refused to sur-
render him to the allies.
In 1945, the revelation that the Nazi regime had exterminated
millions of people led to the creation of an international military
tribunal at Nuremberg, the first attempt by the Allies to establish a
criminal court with an international jurisdiction. A complementary
structure, the Tokyo Tribunal, was set up in 1946 and given similar
powers.
But the idea of creating an international criminal court would
remain dormant for almost 50 years, suppressed among other things
by the Cold War and the inability of states to finalize a criminal
code or reach agreement on a definition of aggression. The atrocities
that took place in the former Yugoslavia and in Rwanda, the end
of the Cold War, and a powerful mobilization of civil society and
nongovernmental organizations were among the main factors for
the acceleration of efforts to create an international criminal court
in the mid-1990s.
In 1993 and 1994 the Security Council approved the creation of
International Criminal Tribunals (ICTs) for the former Yugoslavia
(ICTY) and Rwanda (ICTR). While the scope of these ad hoc
tribunals was subject to temporal and territorial restrictions, their
activities were crucial to the formulation and development of the
168 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

fundamental rules of procedure of international criminal law. Above

all, the creation of the ICTs was decisive in relaunching the idea of
a permanent international criminal court. Thus in 19953 the UN
General Assembly began a process that ended on July 17, 1998,
when 120 states adopted the Rome Statute on ICC. As stated in the
Preamble, the Statute enshrines the link between justice and peace.
In effect, it affirms that impunity for the perpetrators of the most
heinous crimes constitutes an obstacle to the establishment of dura-
ble peace, and ratifies the postulate that the fight against impunity
helps to prevent the commission of further crimes. In this respect,
the Rome Statute’s entry into force on July 1, 2002 pushed back the
boundaries of injustice by codifying certain fundamental principles
of international criminal law.

Establishing the Fundamental Principles of International Criminal Law

The ICC Statute is based on a set of fundamental principles that
erode the primacy of state interests; or at the very least the ability of
states to dispense arbitrary justice. By foregrounding the principle
of individual criminal responsibility, it builds on the progress made
by ad hoc criminal tribunals: any person who commits a crime
as defined by the Rome Statute, who orders, solicits, or induces
the commission of such a crime, whether it actually occurs or is
attempted, or facilitates, aids, or abets its commission or attempted
commission, or in any other way contributes to the commission
or attempted commission of such a crime, can be held criminally
responsible. However, it should be noted that the call by some NGOs
to extend criminal responsibility to legal entities was ignored. With
regard to the removal of immunity for all official capacities, no
matter how important, the ICC Statute took a giant step forward.
According to Article 27, when crimes are considered in the name of
the international community, being a head of state or government,
a member of a government, or an elected representative shall in no
case exempt a person from criminal responsibility or constitute a
ground for reduction of sentence. Thus immunities or special pro-
cedural rules that may attach themselves to the official capacity of
a person, whether under national or international law, do not bar
the Court from exercising its jurisdiction over such a person. With
 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 169

regard to the nonapplicability of statutory limitations for war crimes

and crimes against humanity, the Statute conforms to the principle
enshrined in the 1968 UN Convention. Finally, the ICC can impose
terms of imprisonment but not the death penalty. It can also order
the confiscation of proceeds, property, and assets derived directly or
indirectly from the crime.
The intense involvement of NGOs in negotiations over the ICC
seems to have had an extremely positive effect on all these matters.
Civil society has also contributed to advances in international law
in other areas such as sex crimes, in particular those against women,
which the ICC Statute clarified and established for the first time.
Similarly, recognition has been gained for the status of victims, their
participation in court proceedings, and their right to reparation.4
These principles were for the most part incorporated into later stat-
utes for the establishment of mixed tribunals. But the egregious
example of the Iraqi tribunal (lack of international legitimacy, iniq-
uitous proceedings, death penalty) and resistance to the universality
of international justice calls for caution, given the tendency of bel-
ligerents to manipulate judges.

The Subsidiary Principle: Pressure on

National Justices Systems

The ICTs had “primacy” over national criminal jurisdictions, but

the ICC “complements” national justice systems. The Rome Statute
was not limited to the creation of a supranational jurisdiction; it
integrated it into an interactive system of international justice that
includes states. The affirmation that “justice must be done and be
seen to be done” suggests that it is most effective when it works
directly with victims and tormented societies. This is a salutary
evolution.

The Challenge of Complementarity

The Rome Statute emphasizes the principle of “complementarity”
(Preamble and Article 1). In effect, states bear the principal respon-
sibility for prosecuting perpetrators of genocide, crimes against
170 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

humanity, and war crimes. Thus the Preamble affirms that all states
should themselves prosecute crimes that fall within the jurisdiction
of the ICC. Therefore the ICC takes up a case only when “nor-
mally competent” national jurisdictions are “unwilling” or “unable
genuinely” to investigate and prosecute (Article 17). The Court
can also conduct an enquiry if a national system delays proceed-
ings, if proceedings have begun but are in reality designed to shield
a suspect from criminal responsibility, or, finally, if an investiga-
tion has not been conducted independently or impartially. In other
words, the ICC’s competence is “subsidiary.” If a state has ratified
the Statute, it has a duty to prosecute and judge the crimes defined
therein at national level. In order to fulfill this responsibility, states
should ensure that their domestic legislation includes the definition
of crimes listed in the Statute as well as several more general prin-
ciples of international criminal law.
The complementarity principle reflects the pragmatic view that the
ICC cannot be aware of all the crimes that have taken place and which
fall within its jurisdiction as set out in Articles 5–8 of the Statute. To
begin with, its competence is restricted: it cannot step in if the crimes
in question have not occurred on a state party’s territory, or have
not been perpetrated by state party nationals, unless they are referred

Highest responsibility Competence of the ICC,

maximum of 2–3
situations a year.
Budget 2007: approx.
€88 million

Example: Competence of the

International Tribunal for the
Former Yugoslavia.
Budget: approx. €120 million

Impunity
gap

Situation brought
to the attention
of the ICC

Figure 9.1 The “Impunity Gap.”

 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 171

to it by the Security Council. States are supposed to deal with such

crimes by creating the conditions that enable national jurisdictions to
undertake their own prosecutions. Second, the experiment with ICTs
revealed that international jurisdictions are prone to congestion. The
ICC is no exception. It therefore deals with major criminal cases and
concentrates on top officials rather than those lower down the chain.
In other words, low-ranking perpetrators may escape justice.
The way in which this “impunity gap” will be managed in the
future is of great importance, and the ICC’s shift to the opera-
tional phase should trigger a significant increase in the prosecution
of international crimes at national level. If this fails to happen, the
ICC’s isolated position may damage its credibility and reduce the
dissuasive effect in which so much hope has been placed.
The impunity gap can be reduced if states, which now possess a
range of tools to combat impunity and/or promote memory and rec-
onciliation projects, are prepared to take action. But the complemen-
tarity principle enables the ICC to participate in the evaluation of
action at national level. In fact it will determine both the existence
and validity of any such action. Evaluating a state’s capacity and will-
ingness to take responsibility for such issues is crucial to the success of
the international justice system that emerged from the Rome Statute.

The Problem of Universal Competence

National jurisdictions have a duty to investigate and prosecute the
most serious violations of human rights and international humani-
tarian law. This duty, established well before the emergence of
the ICC, is clearly set out in international law. The 1949 Geneva
Conventions and the 1984 Convention against Torture oblige state
parties to prosecute or extradite all perpetrators of war crimes and
acts of torture. This principle of “universal competence” enables a
state to use its own criminal justice apparatus to deal with crimes that
fall outside its normal competences. In other words, it can prosecute
crimes that have been committed beyond its territorial boundaries
that have not involved its own nationals either as perpetrators or as
victims, and that have not damaged its fundamental interests.
Universal competence is “universal” only in the sense that it is
always applied to certain types of crime. As it happens, there are
172 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

many reasons for instituting full universal competence, particularly

in the light of the Rome Statute’s complementarity system, which
is aimed at removing impunity for crimes within the ICC’s juris-
diction. Now this can best be achieved by adopting measures at
national level and enhancing cooperation between states that have
already done so. While the Statute has not created a formal obliga-
tion to institute universal competence, its objectives are in line with
those that usually justify its inclusion in international criminal law.
Before victims and NGOs began to exploit its potential, universal
competence had long been regarded as a vague theory confined to
academic circles. Thus hopes soared as the Pinochet case unfolded.
For the first time—and on the initiative of his victims—a former head
of state was placed under investigation without state interests forming
an obstacle from the outset. After Pinochet’s repatriation on “humani-
tarian” grounds, the Belgian experiment with a law of universal juris-
diction illustrated the concept’s political sensitivity once again, not
to mention the practical and financial difficulties involved (the quest
for evidence in another country; the high costs of investigating mass
crimes). But the real difficulties arose largely from the political and
diplomatic discomfort that a state might suffer if its courts dealt with
cases that cast an embarrassing light on the criminal responsibility of
other governments. In 2009, the French National Assembly debated
a draft law designed to avoid such embarrassment: in practice, it pre-
vents French courts from prosecuting international crimes.
Other states, however, have shown more respect for the principle
of universal jurisdiction and have worked toward its implementa-
tion. Specialized investigative and prosecution centers and the coop-
eration of immigration services are now vital to the success of the
many prosecutions initiated in Belgium, the Netherlands, Norway,
and Sweden.5 Moreover, trials of this type are not confined to the
countries of the North. Senegal recently amended its constitution
and legislation in order to prosecute Hissène Habré, the former dic-
tator of Chad. Similarly, Chile’s Supreme Court agreed to extradite
Peru’s former president, Alberto Fujimori, so that he could stand
trial in his own country.
A number of NGOs, including the International Federation for
Human Rights (FIDH), have fought hard for the effective imple-
mentation of universal jurisdiction, believing that in many cases it
 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 173

is the only way that victims can exercise their right of proper legal
recourse. However, there are other ways of establishing the truth
besides purely judicial measures. Some countries undergoing transi-
tion have also set up temporary specialized institutions to shed light
on past crimes.

The Problems of Transitional Justice

Emerging democracies often inherit an unworkable criminal justice
system. Moreover, new regimes are all too frequently partly composed
of people who governed during the period of terror. A paradox arises
when judges corrupted by the old regime and police officers guilty
of torture are made responsible for the functioning of the criminal
justice system. In a context of this sort, truth commissions can help to
fill the void and initiate a process through which the rights of victims
to truth, justice, and reparation are taken into account.
Truth commissions are nonjudicial investigative bodies. They are
designed to shed light on a period of conf lict or internal violence,
help societies to confront their past in a critical manner, and draft
recommendations for the prevention of further crimes. In some cases
they are employed as an alternative to the judicial process; in others
they complement it. The advantage of such institutions is that they
can deal with a very large number of cases over a relatively short
period of time, and can fill the void created by a weak criminal
justice system.
There are marked differences between truth commissions, espe-
cially as their working methods must integrate and ref lect the sin-
gularities of their respective countries.6 They have often worked in
opposition to judicial mechanisms, chief ly because they have based
themselves on South Africa’s celebrated Truth and Reconciliation
Commission (TRC), which offered amnesties when witnesses were
prepared to acknowledge their crimes and levels of responsibility. The
relationship between judicial mechanisms and truth commissions is
undeniably controversial, and even more so when the latter possess
quasijudicial powers or has no means of removing impunity.
To begin with, and bearing in mind their nonjudicial character,
should truth commissions divulge the names of persons responsible
for human rights violations? If they did so, there would be a greater
174 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

chance of elucidating the origins and circumstances of such viola-

tions. But given the nonjudicial status of these commissions, suspects
cannot defend themselves according to the rules of a fair trial. Louis
Joinet, a former UN expert on impunity, suggests that the names of
those implicated should be revealed only after they have been given
a hearing, or at least only after they have been summoned to appear.
The right to a written reply, which would be added to the case file,
is also an option.7
Second, the issue of amnesties repeatedly arises in relation to truth
commissions. International law stipulates that genocide, crimes
against humanity, serious breaches of the 1949 Geneva Conventions,
torture, and forced disappearances should be prosecuted: amnesties
cannot be granted in such cases. International jurisprudence is also
very clear that states which promulgate and maintain an amnesty
law violate their obligation to guarantee respect for human rights.8
Nevertheless, the decision to grant an amnesty for other crimes in
exchange for peace or a global truth has become an increasingly
political matter of a compromise between transition authorities and
suspects facing investigation.
Third, the creation of a truth commission raises four sets of prob-
lems: (1) How should the commissioners conduct proceedings? (2)
What is the commission’s approach to victims? (3) What is its proper
relationship to civil society? (4) How will the authorities deal with
its recommendations?
Therefore there are questions concerning the ICC’s approach to
truth commissions in the countries in which it will operate in future,
and its ability to adapt its mandate to these transitional mechanisms.
In particular, the Court will have to determine whether, or under
what conditions, the complementarity principle extends to nonju-
dicial bodies.

Toward an Independent and Effective ICC:

A Few Ideas

As for the ICC itself, many obstacles have still to be overcome before
it justifies the hope of the International Coalition of NGOs for an
“independent and effective” Court.
 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 175

The ICC and States Parties: Founders, Controllers, Or Partners?

The permanence of the ICC seems to owe more to the ad hoc inter-
national tribunals created by the Security Council than to con-
temporary political uncertainties. But the Court is still the product
of a compromise developed by its founding states. The “political”
aspect9 of the relationship between the ICC and its founders is set
out in Part 11 of the Rome Statute, which details the competences
and prerogatives of the Assembly of States Parties (ASP), and in Part
12, which deals with financing.
The role of the ASP assumes a particular dimension in relation to
the ICC, for in this instance political debate within a political insti-
tution has given way to the assumption of political functions within
a judicial institution. But the credibility of a judicial body depends on
its resistance to political f luctuations.
The ASP provides the organs of the ICC with “management over-
sight” and approves its budget (Article 112.2). It can also establish
“such subsidiary bodies as may be necessary, including an indepen-
dent oversight mechanism for inspections, evaluations and investiga-
tions of the Court in order to enhance its efficiency and economy”
(Article 112.4).
Effective management of the ICC is an entirely laudable aim, but
it is somewhat paradoxical to expect states—which may be involved
in ongoing criminal proceedings—to finance and monitor the
operation of the Court while at the same time respecting its inde-
pendence. Hence argument over the size of the budget that states
allocate to the Court is a regular feature of the annual ASP budget
sessions, for it has a direct effect on the ICC’s resources and therefore
on its strategies and policies. For example, allocating resources for
immediate legal assistance to victims enhances the implementation
of their right to participate in proceedings.
More generally, states are in a position to apply political pressure if
the Court asserts its independence. This would constitute a moment
of truth, an opportunity for judges to show whether they can escape
the oversight of their founders and controllers yet still retain the
political bases necessary to the ICC’s permanence and development.
Once again, the role of NGOs and public opinion will be instru-
mental in preventing the possibility of such regression.
176 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

The ICC and the Security Council: Inaction,

Exploitation, and Suspension
The ICC is subject to external as well as internal political uncer-
tainty, especially when international peace and security is threat-
ened. In effect, the Rome Statute gives the Security Council two
powers. The first is positive: by virtue of Chapter VII of the United
Nations Charter, the Council can refer “a situation in which one or
more of such crimes [under the ICC’s jurisdiction] appear to have
been committed” (Article 13b) to the Prosecutor. The second is
negative: again by virtue of Chapter VII, the Council can ask the
Court to refrain from commencing or proceeding with an investiga-
tion or prosecution for a renewable 12-month period (Article 16).
With regard to referrals, there are three options: inaction, political
exploitation, and integration into a peacekeeping strategy. Inaction
is no longer a genuine option. The United States, Russia, and China
are not parties to the Rome Statute, but they raised no objections
when the Security Council referred the situation in Darfur to the
Prosecutor in March 2005. Paradoxically, the U.S. government’s
virulent campaign against the ICC can be seen as a tribute to the
Court’s potential effectiveness.10 Indeed there are hopes that the
Security Council’s indifference to the ICC system will not last much
longer. In response to pressure from public opinion and the media,
it has addressed the issue of impunity by devising measures to com-
bat it in accordance with Chapter VII. From now on, it should pay
closer attention to the classification of crimes committed in conf lict
situations and promote judicial mechanisms to deal with postcrisis
situations.
The debates on the nature of the crimes committed in Darfur in
the summer of 2004 illustrated this new perspective: despite their
reservations, states found it politically expedient to acknowledge that
mass crimes were taking place. Moreover, when the United States,
along with other governments, went as far as denouncing “genocide”
in Darfur, it surely weakened its ability to oppose the prosecution
of génocidaires in the future. In reality, the Security Council’s resort
to the ICC system was a plausible option even before March 2005,
given the increasing emphasis on the role of justice as an essential
political component of peacebuilding. It is all the more relevant to
 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 177

a situation as difficult as Darfur, where the possibility of indepen-

dent international judgment can offset shortcomings or enhance the
legitimacy of political and economic incentives.
Political interests could also prevent the triggering of the suspen-
sion mechanism, for its use would send out a strong signal that the
Security Council regards killers’ freedom of action as a necessary
element of the peace process or, in a gross distortion of the concept
of justice, that crimes are the price of peace. The principles of “peace
through dialogue” and “peace through justice” are broad enough
for the Council’s purposes; the resort to “peace through crime” is
entirely unnecessary. Of paramount importance here is the adverse
reaction Security Council member states could provoke among
their own citizens if they considered voting for the measure. Indeed,
any government that submitted such a proposal for the Council’s
approval could be seen as seeking to protect criminals instead of
human rights. Moreover, it would be exposed to the negative votes
of other states, and indeed to a veto.
Sudan, supported by several members of the Arab League as well
as the African Union (even though most African states have ratified
the Rome Statute) and the Organization of the Islamic Conference,
has been campaigning for the suspension of the Darfur enquiry since
the summer of 1998. Opinions on this issue are highly sensitive,
having been exploited or inf lamed by the deaths of hundreds of
thousands of Iraqi civilians in a war the Bush administration waged
with impunity, or by the scandalous passivity of the international
community with regard to Palestine. The vanity of “peacemaking”
diplomats is another threat; such figures do not welcome the inter-
ference of judges, international and independent or otherwise, in
their schemes. What is more, states such as France and Britain might
be inclined to regard commitments from Khartoum as sufficient
grounds for suspension in the name of peacebuilding. The suspen-
sion mechanism set out in Article 16 has a legitimate basis and binds
the ICC to the collective security system, but it should be reserved
for specific and exceptional circumstances, for example, the immi-
nent signing of a peace agreement that guarantees victims’ rights
to truth, justice, and reparation. The possibility of getting the bel-
ligerents to sit together around a table, vague promises of political
negotiations or a national process: these are not sufficient grounds. If
178 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

despite everything the Council went ahead and requested a suspen-

sion, a debate could be opened on its scope in regard to the Court.
As stated in Article 16, it is a “request,” and judges can surely inter-
pret it as they see fit, as either an injunction or a proposal submitted
for their approval.

A More Offensive Prosecutorial Strategy

The ICC Prosecutor possesses three key assets to ensure the cred-
ibility of his intervention. They also constitute the three major
attributes of his apparent and effective independence, and are espe-
cially relevant in periods of armed conf lict or during the restoration
of peace. First, he can “initiate investigations proprio motu on the
basis of information on cases within the jurisdiction of the Court”
(Article 15.1); this also enables NGOs to refer situations to his office.
Second, he can reject official capacity as grounds for exemption
from criminal responsibility, as Article 27 establishes the equality
of all criminals before international justice. Third, the visibility of
his assessments and preliminary investigations constitutes a vector of
dissuasion and incentivization.
During the first years of his mandate, the Prosecutor declined
to use his power to initiate investigations and instead urged states
parties to refer situations directly to his office (the third and final
mode of referral, Article 14). His concern to protect the f ledgling
institution from the political interference of its founders, and also
to encourage their cooperation, is certainly understandable. But it
would have been a major strategic error to retain referral as his
main policy driver. On the one hand, he would have sacrificed
a key element—the legal power of dissuasion, the very element
that enables the Court to rein in the armed wings of international
criminals and to inf luence, albeit virtually, peace negotiations. On
the other, leaving referrals to states parties would have ensured the
politicization and exploitation of the judicial process. To be sure,
justice always operates as part of a given political field, and the
involvement of a judge sometimes constitutes the continuation of
politics by other means. But the kind of justice under consider-
ation here is designed to prosecute the most serious crimes, and thus
requires the participation of the entire international community.
 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 179

Its independence, from referral to investigation, from prosecution

to judgment, is the basis of its effectiveness. It is also a condition
sine qua non of the involvement of victims, their families, and the
societies concerned; experience has shown how crucial this is to the
sustainability of a peace process.
In these circumstances, it seems even more important for the
Prosecutor to show no hesitation in resorting, when necessary, to
Article 27, which rejects “any distinction based on official capacity”
(the Court can try anyone, including heads of state and government).
Now from this point of view, the arrest warrants issued so far do not
inspire confidence: the suspects brought to trial for mass crimes are
not those who were believed to bear the greatest responsibility. As
for an external communication policy on preliminary assessments
and investigations, it was long regarded as irrelevant by the Office
of the Prosecutor.
Some of these observations were taken into account when the
prosecutorial strategy was subjected to a thorough revision. A new
strategy was introduced in September 2006, and followed by sig-
nificant developments. On May 22, 2007, the Prosecutor held a
lengthy press conference and announced the opening of an investi-
gation into the situation in Central Africa. Around 12 months later,
he decided to prosecute the first “top official,” Jean-Pierre Bemba,
former vice president of the Democratic Republic of Congo.
Bemba was arrested and surrendered to the court several days later.
In May 2008, the Prosecutor paid his first visit to a country under
investigation.
Having already visited Colombia (whose situation was being
assessed by his office) in October 2007, he returned in 2008 to hold
talks with the judiciary, political authorities, and NGOs. The aim
was to examine the way in which Colombian justice functioned and
to enhance its ability to deal with the perpetrators of international
crimes. Finally, on July 14, 2008, the Prosecutor requested a warrant
for the arrest of Sudan’s serving president, Omar al-Bashir, the first
time proceedings against genocide had been initiated. The move was
not entirely unexpected, for since December 2007 the Prosecutor
had been publicly denouncing Khartoum’s lack of cooperation and
Omar al-Bashir’s attempts to protect two individuals (one a serving
minister) sought by the Court. Luis Moreno-Ocampo’s prosecutorial
180 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

strategy is evolving along positive lines. The Prosecutor’s indepen-

dence necessarily entails the assertion of his power to initiate inves-
tigations. But the credibility of this strategy also depends on a new
parameter: the opportunity for victims to express their views before
the Court.

Victims and Their Impact on Impunity

The Rome Statute marked a turning point in the recognition of vic-

tims’ rights. Unlike the ICT statutes, which were inf luenced chief ly
by Anglo-Saxon law, the ICC statute is the result of a compromise
between Romano-Germanic law and Common Law. It enshrines a
victim’s right to protection, to participation in the legal process, and
to reparation, whereas the ICT statutes established only the right to
protection.

Protection
All ICC organs have a duty to protect victims and witnesses. The
general principle is set out in Article 68.1 and clarified in rules 87
and 88 of the Rules of Procedure and Evidence. Thus, the ICC
must develop short- and long-term programs to provide effective
protection for these groups. It must guarantee their access to the
Court, facilitate their cooperation, and obviate, as far as is possible,
the risk of reprisals. Regrettably, the implementation of measures
to protect victims and Court intermediaries—who are often most
at risk—has been so far minimal. This shortcoming undermines
one of the Rome Statute’s major advances: the participation of
victims.

Participation
The ICC Statute enshrines the right of victims to participate in
proceedings and to voice their “views and concerns.” Victims are
free to choose their own legal representative, or can select one from
a list provided by the Registrar. Their legal representative guar-
antees their participation in the proceedings. In cases involving a
large number of victims, the Chamber may ask them to choose a
 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 181

shared legal representative. The effectiveness of their participation

depends on two conditions: whether they have been fully informed
of their rights, and whether they have fair representation. Victims
are often unaware of their right to participate, especially those
living in rural areas. Some may also fear a court appearance if the
specific conditions of their participation have not been explained
to them. Most will be unfamiliar with the languages used in court,
and may be unable to write. The body responsible for organizing
participation, the Victims’ Participation and Reparation Section,
is underresourced and has yet to devise an effective technique for
informing victims of their rights and related matters such as the
methods, consequences, and limits of participation, all of which
need to be explained in a way that avoids raising false hopes.
Moreover, the methods for providing victims with legal assistance
are defined by the Court and restrict the formation of shared legal
representation teams.

Reparation
The Trust Fund for Victims has two functions: it handles the repara-
tion orders, confiscation measures and fines decided by the Court,
and in certain circumstances also draws on its own resources (derived
from voluntary contributions) for victim assistance programs. For
example, it can disburse funds to bodies, including intergovernmen-
tal organizations, for activities and projects that benefit victims and
their families. Crimes within the Court’s jurisdiction are by defini-
tion massive and systematic, and inevitably create large numbers of
victims. The impact that the Trust Fund has made in its short exis-
tence is arguable, but it is an essential point of departure for enhanc-
ing the effectiveness of measures to assist victims and for ensuring
that the ICC fulfills its mandate correctly.
Several NGOs, including FIDH, have campaigned for a more
enterprising approach. Unfortunately, the Court’s strategic plan for
victims (under discussion in the autumn of 2008) still suffers from
a lack of vision and scope. Moreover, jurisprudence is unequal. Its
understanding of the communities involved is often nonexistent,
while the Prosecutor and defense teams are still in contention over
the expansion of victim participation.
182 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

Reconciling Peace and Responsibility

Hopes for a truly effective ICC have increased in reaction to the

post–9/11 climate, which has seen the sidelining of international
human rights norms. Many states have seized the opportunity to
adopt a more authoritarian stance in order to pursue a “war on
terror”—hence Guantanamo Bay, Abu Ghraib, and the doctrine of
preventive war. In these conditions, the consolidation of an interna-
tional criminal justice system offers a rare ray of hope for the con-
struction of peace through law and justice.
To be sure, peace is the domain par excellence of politics. But
with the emergence of the ICC system, we can begin to measure the
extent to which the prosecution of international criminals reduces
the propensity of executive powers to operate unjustly. The effective
or potential intervention of an independent judge in the process of
restoring or building peace is above all good news for victims, whose
interests and rights (to truth, justice, and reparation) were often the
first to be sacrificed to the (presumed) viability of peace agreements.
His intervention may also have a decisive impact on the behavior of
the authorities, groups, or individuals that his Court investigates.
Ugandan rebels, for example, agreed to a ceasefire as soon as war-
rants for their arrest were issued. The Colombian authorities have
also seemed perturbed and have stepped up cooperation with the
Prosecutor’s office.
Although states have a duty to abide by the Rome Statute, incor-
porate its measures into national law, respect the complementarity
principle, and cooperate with the Court, the beginning of ICC judi-
cial activity should enhance the Statute’s scope and the principles it
codifies. NGOs too, can play a substantial role by developing their
capacity to conduct campaigns, issue alerts, and provide support for
victims.
The rapid development of the international criminal justice sys-
tem is in large part due to the work of human rights organiza-
tions and the mobilization of civil society. Involved at the outset,
these actors are still campaigning, trying to ensure that the insti-
tutions that have emerged fulfill their mandates in strict accor-
dance with the law, with complete independence, and, above all,
with the utmost effectiveness. Apart from the variety, universality,
 Punishment, Dissuasion, Reparation 183

and quality of investigations, the trials conducted and sentences

imposed, it is chief ly the extent to which victims and populations
have taken possession of the mechanisms of international justice
that enables us to appreciate their powers of prevention, prosecu-
tion, and reparation.

Notes

1. Inter-American Court of Human Rights, Velasquez Rodriguez Case, Judgment

of July 29, 1988, Series C, no. 4, paragraphs 159 et seq.
2 . Preamble to the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court.
3. Resolution A/RES/50/46, December 18, 1995.
4. On the role of NGOs in drafting the ICC Statute, see Marie Törnquist-Chesnier,
Expertise et éthique: la contribution des ONG dans la fabrication du droit international
public (political science thesis, Sciences Po Paris, 2004).
5. See International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH) and REDRESS, Fostering
a European Approach to Accountability for Genocide, Crimes against Humanity, War
Crimes and Torture, final report, April 2007 (available at www.fidh.org).
6. See, in particular, FIDH, Les Commissions de vérité et de réconciliation: l’expérience
marocaine, FIDH report, July 2004 (available at www.fidh.org).
7. See Louis Joinet, Final Report on the Question of the Impunity of Perpetrators of Human
Rights Violations (Civil and Political), New York, United Nations, Sub-Commission
on Human Rights, E/CN.4/Sub.2/1997/20, paragraph 23.
8. Inter-American Court of Human Rights, case of Barrios Altos v. Peru,
March 14, 2001, Series C, no. 71, paragraphs 41–44 and Human Rights Sub-
Committee, Final Observations—Argentina, CCPR/C/79/Add. 46, April 5,
1995, paragraph 10.
9. The judicial aspect of this relationship is regulated by Part 9 (International
Cooperation and Judicial Assistance) and Part 10 (Enforcement).
10. The campaign to protect American nationals from the competences of the Court
was also aimed at reducing its scope through bilateral immunity agreements, the
threat of suspending military aid to many states, and immunity for peacekeeping
troops from states not party to the ICC. See the FIDH report Non à l’exception
americaine!, November 2002 (www.fidh.org).

Select Bibliography

Ascensio, Hervé, Emmanuel Decaux, and Alain Pellet. Droit international pénal (Paris:
Pédone, 2000).
Delmas-Marty, Mireille, and Antonio Cassesse (eds.). Juridictions nationales et crimes
internationaux (Paris: PUF, 2002).
FIDH. FIDH Recommendations to the Sixth Session of the Assembly of States Parties to the
ICC, position report 12, November 30–December 4, 2007.
184 Antoine Bernard and Karine Bonneau

FIDH. FIDH and the Situation in the Central African Republic before the International
Criminal Court. The Case of Jean-Pierre Bemba Gombo. Report of the Legal Action
Group (LAG) 502, July 2008.
FIDH. “The First Years of the International Criminal Court.” FIDH Note, 516,
March 2009.
Garapon, Antoine. Des crimes qu’on ne peut ni punir ni pardonner: pour une justice interna-
tionale (Paris: Odile Jacob, 2002).
Hazan, Pierre. Juger la guerre, juger l’histoire (Paris: PUF, 2007).
Henzelin, Marc. Le Principe de l’universalité en droit pénal international (Brussels: Bruylant,
2000).
 Conclusion: Peace between
Multilateralism and Power
B e r t r a n d Ba di e

As the new millennium begins to unfold, everything seems to sug-

gest that international institutions are in the throes of a severe crisis.
America’s Iraq policy announced the dramatic return of unilateral-
ism; after a brief surge in the early 1990s, peacekeeping operations
are marking time; the vigorous denunciation of the great corpora-
tions and financial institutions launched in Seattle has now become
routine. Multilateralism is sustaining a seemingly overwhelming
barrage of criticism: it is bridled by state sovereignty; it paves the
way for globalization and neoliberalism, its incompetence and inef-
fectiveness have been demonstrated in the Balkans, Africa’s Great
Lakes region, the Gulf of Guinea, the Near East, and the Middle
East.
The allegations are in all likelihood unjust. When subjected to
analysis, they appear above all superficial, inattentive to social reali-
ties, and prone to ignoring the pronounced trends that currently
affect the conduct of international affairs. The first point to note is
that international institutions have undeniably gained a social base,
and perhaps a legitimacy that sets them apart from states and enables
them to approach pathways to peace in different and more effective
ways. Indeed, the Iraqi crisis had an almost miraculous effect: never
before had the UN been so central to international debates; never
before had it achieved such high visibility. Never before had the
media devoted so much attention to Security Council discussions,
186 Bertrand Badie

relayed by television to homes throughout the world. Never before

had the members of the Security Council been courted so assidu-
ously; never before had there been so much speculation as to their
voting intentions. Never before had the veto aroused so much dis-
cussion. The Glass House, a veteran of 60 years of disputes, seems to
have been adopted by international public opinion at last. Judging
by the profusion of polls, the culture of multilateralism had become
deeply rooted in society at large: the public can clearly distinguish
between an American unilateral intervention and an action man-
dated by the UN.
From another angle, Seattle signaled the birth of a similar move-
ment: the WTO (World Trade Organization), formerly relegated by
public opinion to the technocratic margins of decision making, as
the General Agreement on Trade and Tariffs (GATT) had been, was
forced into the limelight. The demonstrations that rocked that great
city on the Pacific coast in December 1999 marked the beginning of
the institution’s appropriation by society, a phenomenon confirmed
by the inauguration of the World Social Forums in Porto Alegre in
January 2001. International institutions are no longer components
of a disembodied diplomatic game: open to NGOs, exposed to pub-
lic scrutiny opinion, inf luenced by transnational social movements,
they are slowly acquiring a social existence that distinguishes them
from interstatism and brings them closer to new challenges to peace
such as the growth of new centers of violence. Besides constitut-
ing institutions’ “revenge” on states, this “open multilateralism” also
favors a more humane approach to the business of peace.
It is unlikely that states, including those that place the greatest
value on sovereignty, will remain insensitive to these changes. They
are now reinvesting in multilateralism. Medium-sized powers such
as France are beginning to realize that it actually favors their sur-
vival, as if the excessive unilateralism of the strongest powers was
propelling second-rank states into the arms of the United Nations.
Germany and Japan see it as way of encouraging a diplomatic
renaissance; India, Brazil, and South Africa see it as an opportu-
nity to establish themselves on the world stage; Bangladesh, Ghana,
Pakistan, and Nigeria donate their blood to boost state revenues.
The attitude of the United States has itself undergone rapid change
as its disillusionment over Iraq has deepened. At first, it attempted
 Conclusion 187

to ignore or marginalize the Glass House by advocating a new doc-

trine of “assertive multilateralism,” which it then replaced with a
“selective multilateralism” that excluded “suspect” or uncooperative
nations, before its hesitant return to the UN fold in the autumn of
2003. The experience of failure swiftly weakened the proponents of
unilateralism, revived an old saying—“a burden shared is a burden
halved”—and raised the visible costs of going it alone.
Perhaps paradoxically, the least evident of humanity’s common
goods is breathing new life into the delicate problematic of global
public goods that emerged in the early 1970s. In effect, security had
long been and remained—particularly after 9/11—the most national
of public goods; it authorized, according to Washington, disregard
for international conventions and the entente between nations. The
f laws in this argument are now becoming clearer: new forms of vio-
lence, more widely disseminated and transnational than ever before,
lend credence to the argument that national security is increasingly
a matter of interdependence. At the same time, the growing impor-
tance of the concept of human security, especially since its revision
by the UN (or more specifically UNDP) in 1994, suggests that there
is more to peace than the balance of power, a view confirmed by
the demise of bipolarity. Now that it can be distinguished from a
necessarily national military shield, the idea of peace encompasses
the totality of nations and simultaneously acquires a human face.
It takes us back to international solidarity and collective promo-
tion, and therefore reestablishes the link with the 30-year-old idea
of common goods, which it revitalizes and enhances.
The UN has seized the opportunity to promote this new mission.
By welcoming the involvement of nonstate actors, by foregrounding
its new social missions, and by adopting a new rhetoric of humanism
and solidarity exemplified by the Millennium Declaration, it has
become central to the discourse of peace. As a result, international
conventions have acquired a new legitimacy, and the refusal to sign
up to them stands out more starkly. Here too, the costs of going it
alone are rising. International public opinion, international social
actors (notably NGOs), and many states, particularly the members
of the European Union, are increasingly unwilling to countenance
the once commonplace refusal to abide by universal norms. The
progress of multilateralism whether fostered by accelerated efforts
188 Bertrand Badie

or utilitarian approaches, is also transformative: the U.S.-dominated

“winners club” created in 1945 was once a forum for confrontations
and later for decolonization, but is now becoming the base for a
new and demanding conception of security, which is distinguished
by its global reach and concern for humanity. Thus it is wedded to
the evolution of the concept of peace: once a guarantee of the bal-
ance of power, it is becoming the obligatory vector of international
solidarity.
However, the issue of resources is becoming more urgent. Despite
great progress in defining the functions of peace, a product of mul-
tilateralism’s logical investment, little has been done to establish
proper conditions for a secular wing that can carry out the tasks that
peace requires.
Multilateralism is also weakened by its natural tendency to com-
promise, which is expressed by a compulsion to leave the sovereignty
of states intact and respect their power. Thus the “international
community” hands the task of achieving peace to the strongest
gladiators. It is hardly surprising when such warriors are prompt to
reformulate this noble function so that it becomes an outlet for their
own power, which they regard as threatened by globalization and
the rise of interdependence. Paradoxically, therefore, the pursuit of
peace becomes an opportunity for states to demonstrate and enhance
their power, to practice politics by other means, and serve their own
interests. Alas, this Clausewitzian approach can easily jeopardize or
betray peace, in Kosovo, in Afghanistan, in Darfur, and practically
everywhere else.
 CON T R I BU TOR S

Louise Aubin, former senior protection officer with the United

Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) in Ethiopia, is
now deputy director, Division of International Protection, UNHCR
(Geneva, Switzerland).
Rosalie Azar, PhD in political science, is a programme officer in the
United Nations Office of the Special Representative of the Secretary
General for Children and Armed Conf lict.
Bertrand Badie is professor of political science at Sciences Po Paris
and is an associate member of Science Po’s Centre for International
Studies and Research (CERI).
Abraham Behar, a biophysicist and past professor of nuclear medi-
cine, taught at the University Pierre and Marie Curie. He is a former
co-president of International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear
War (IPPNW, Nobel Prize 1985) and current president of AMFPGN,
the French affiliate of IPPNW.
Jean-Marc Bellot is head of the AFD Office to the European insti-
tutions and former deputy counsellor of Finance at the Permanent
Representation of France to the United Nations.
Antoine Bernard is executive director of the International Federation
for Human Rights (FIDH).
Karine Bonneau is head of the International Justice Desk of the
International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH).
Jean-Marc Châtaigner is French ambassador to Madagascar. He has
served as head of cabinet of the Secretary of State for Cooperation and
190 Contributors

Francophonie, and as director of the Strategic Planning Department at

the French Development Agency (AFD).
Alain Dejammet is a French ambassador and former permanent
French representative at the UN.
Guillaume Devin is professor of political science at Sciences Po Paris
and is an associate member of Science Po’s Centre for International
Studies and Research (CERI).
Henri Léval is a diplomat. In the last decade he has been posted to
Tokyo, Vienna (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe),
and Ashgabad. From 2001 to 2004 he was in charge of the Chemical
Weapons Convention (CWC) and Australia Group Desk at the French
Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh directs the Concentration on Human
Security at the Master’s of Public Affairs (MPA) at Sciences Po in Paris,
and she is also an associate researcher at the Peace Research Institute
Oslo (PRIO, Norway).
Charles Tenenbaum, codirector of Sciences Po Lille Master’s Degree
on Conf lict Analysis and Peacebuilding, is attached to Lille University
CERAPS research centre. He also teaches International Mediation at
the Sciences Po Paris School of International Affairs.
 I N DE X
African Union (ex-Organization of
African Union, OAU), 75–76, 177
Asian Development Bank (ADB),
119, 124
Association of Southeast Asian Nations
(ASEAN), 76–77
Biological Weapons Convention
(BWC), 31, 34–37, 39, 41
Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC),
31, 33, 37–39, 41–42 , 45
Commonwealth of Independent States
(CIS), 128
Concert of Europe, 6
Congress of Vienna, 7
Coordination Committee for
Multilateral Exports Controls
(COCOM), 41
Council for Mutual Economic assistance
(CMEA), 127
Department of Peacekeeping Operations
(DPKO), 94, 100, 150
Economic Community of West African
States (CEDEAO), 72 , 76
European Atomic Energy Community
(EURATOM), 60
European Bank for Reconstruction and
Development (EBRD), 83, 122, 124
European Union, 23–24, 60, 78–80, 84,
119, 124, 158
Expanded Programme for Technical
Assistance (EPTA), 139, 148, 162
Food and Agriculture Organization
(FAO), 140, 148–149, 159, 161–162
Global Environmental Fund (GEF),
143, 157
Inter-Agency Procurement Service
Organization (IAPSO), 155
Inter-American Development Bank
(IDB), 157
Intergovernmental Authority for
Development (IPAD), 72
Intergovernmental Organization (IGO),
10, 67, 80–85
International Atomic Energy Agency
(IAEA), 1, 44, 49–66, 162
International Criminal Justice (ICC),
165–188
International Criminal tribunals (ICT),
167–169
International Development Agency
(IDA), 156
International Financial Institutions
(IFI), 119, 126, 128, 150
International Fund for Agricultural
Development (IFAD), 159
192
International Labour Organization
(ILO), 159, 161–162
International Monetary Fund (IMF),
81, 119, 123–124, 126, 132–133,
148, 156
International Nuclear Fuel Authority
(INFA), 61–62
International Telecommunications
Union (ITU), 162
League of Arab States, 77, 177
League of Nations, 6–7, 12 , 17–18
Nongovernmental Organization
(NGO), 7, 79, 83, 122–123,
129–130, 168–169, 172 , 174–175,
178, 181, 186
Non-Proliferation Treaty, 49, 54–57, 59,
61, 63–65
North Atlantic Treaty Organization
(NATO), 23–24, 81, 126
Organization for Economic
Cooperation and Development
(OECD), 139, 158
Organization for Security and
Cooperation in Europe (OSCE),
72–75, 80, 85, 119, 124
Organization for the Prohibition of
Chemical Weapons (OPCW), 38,
42–44
Organization of American States (OAS),
77, 85
Organization of Islamic Conference
(OIS), 177
United Nations, 7, 11, 44, 52–53, 56,
64, 70–71, 81–82 , 95, 98, 100, 121,
137, 142 , 145–146, 155, 185–187
Charter, 7, 15, 19, 21–23, 25–29, 69, 152
Security Council, 20–22 , 24–29, 56,
64, 167
United Nations Atomic Energy
Commission (UNAEC), 51
Index
United Nations Capital Development
Fund (UNCDF), 154, 162
United Nations Children’s Fund
(UNICEF), 137, 144, 149–151, 160
United Nations Development Fund for
Women (UNIFEM), 154, 161
United Nations Development Group
(UNDG), 144, 150, 154
United Nations Development Program
(UNDP), 1, 119, 126, 137–163, 187
United Nations Educational, Scientific
and Cultural Organization
(UNESCO), 140, 161–162
United Nations High Commissioner
for Refugees (UNHCR), 1, 83,
103–118
United Nations Office for Project
Services (UNOPS), 154–155
United Nations Office to Combat
Desertification and Drought
(UNSO), 154
United Nations Peacebuilding
Commission (UNPBC), 95–102
United Nations Population Fund
(UNFPA), 140, 144, 150–151, 160
United Nations Scientific Committee
on the Effects of Atomic Radiation
(UNSCEAR), 52
United Nations Special Fund
(UNSF), 139
United Nations Volunteers (UNV), 154
Universal Postal Union (UPU), 162
World Bank, 81–82 , 119, 127, 131,
137, 143, 148, 156–158, 160–161
World Food Program (WFP), 144,
150–151, 160
World Health Organization (WHO),
52 , 62 , 65, 137, 148–149, 159,
161–162
World Meteorological Organization
(WMO), 162
World Trade Organization (WTO),
137, 186