Democracy and Security in Latin America: State Capacity and Governance under Stress [1 ed.] 0367260522, 9780367260521

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A timely and valuable contribution to the scholarly production on security in Latin America. At a moment when there are more questions than answers to the challenges of violence, transnational organized crime, and cyber threats, this book sheds light to the usually dark corridors of public policy-making in one of this Hemisphere’s most complex agendas. Unwilling to deprive insecurity of its complexity, this collection of articles provides fresh approaches to issues that will prevail in this region for the foreseeable future. Luis G. Solis, President of Costa Rica (2014–2018) This powerful, timely, and compelling volume analyzes the capacity of the democratic state in Latin America to effectively provide public security and national defense. Regional experts focus on four key institutional structures (police, prison system, judiciary, and armed forces), applied to eight countries: Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Cuba, Mexico, Peru, and Venezuela. The interdisciplinary analysis, policy implications, and recommendations make this a must-read for those seeking to understand the growing challenges of state capacity and governance in Latin America. Lieutenant General (ret) Frederick S. Rudesheim, Director, William J. Perry Center for Hemispheric Defense Studies. This timely look at one of the most vexing issues of hemispheric democracy—state capacity in security affairs—is long overdue and fills an important niche in our understanding of regional issues. More to the point, this volume provides policymakers with some of the tools they will need to address existing and emerging challenges across the region within a democratic construct, just at a point when the democratic construct itself is under intensifying pressure. It should be widely read and referenced. Eric Farnsworth, Vice President of the Council of the Americas and Americas Society. In this book, we are finally presented with a comprehensive and much needed interdisciplinary approach to a vexing problem that has plagued academics and policymakers for years – building state capacity to address Latin America’s complex security challenges. The editors could not have brought together a more impressive list of contributors to offer analysis and recommendations to the problem of building state capacity in the region. Frank O. Mora, PhD., Professor of Politics and International Relations at Florida International University (FIU) and former Director of the Kimberly Green Latin American and Caribbean Center.

DEMOCRACY AND SECURITY IN LATIN AMERICA

The COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted the need for governments to generate the necessary capacity to address important security and institutional challenges; this volume deepens our understanding of the nature and extent of state governance in Latin America. State capacity is multidimensional, with all elements interacting to produce stable governance and security. As such, a collection of scholars and practitioners use an explicit interdisciplinary approach, drawing on the contributions of history, political science, economics, public policy, military studies, and other fields to gain a rounded understanding of the link between security and democracy. Democracy and Security in Latin America is divided into two sections: • •

Part 1 focuses on the challenges to governance and key institutions such as police, courts, armed forces, and the prison system. Part 2 features country case studies that illustrate particularly important security challenges and various means by which the state has confronted them.

Democracy and Security in Latin America should appeal not only to those seeking to learn more about the capacity of the democratic state in Latin America to effectively provide public security in times of stress, but to all those curious about the reality that a democracy must have security to function. Gabriel Marcella is Distinguished Fellow and former Director of the Americas Studies at the U.S. Army War College. He served as International Affairs Advisor to the Commander-in-Chief at the U.S. Southern Command, and consultant to the Departments of State and Defense on Latin American security. He has written extensively on Latin American security and U.S. policy, teaching strategy, and the Washington interagency process. Orlando J. Pérez is Dean of the School of Liberal Arts and Sciences and Professor of Political Science at the University of North Texas at Dallas. His teaching and research interests include comparative politics, Latin American politics, U.S.-Latin American relations, civil-military relations, public opinion, and empirical democratic theory. As a consultant, he has worked on public opinion surveys, democratization, civil-military relations, and anti-corruption issues for the U. S. Agency for International Development (USAID) and the UN Development Program. He is the author of

Civil-Military Relations in Post-Conflict Societies:Transforming the Role of the Military in Central ­America (Routledge, 2017); Political Culture in Panama: Democracy after Invasion (2011), and Co-editor (with Richard Millett and Jennifer Holmes) of Latin American Democracy: Emerging Reality or ­Endangered Species? (Routledge, 2015). He received a BA in political science from Florida International University and an MA and PhD in political science from the University of Pittsburgh. Brian Fonseca is a Director of the Jack D. Gordon Institute for Public Policy at Florida International University’s (FIU) Steven J. Green School of International and Public Affairs and an Adjunct Professor in the Department of Politics and International Relations. Brian’s technical expertise is in U.S. National Security and Foreign Policy. He also serves as a Cybersecurity Policy Fellow at the D.C.-based think tank New America and Chair of the Americas Linkage Committee at the Greater Miami Chamber of Commerce. His recent publications include an edited volume with Eduardo A. Gamarra titled Culture and National Security in the Americas (2017) and is coauthor of The New US Security Agenda: Trends and Emerging Threats (2017). His analysis has been featured in local and national media and he serves as the on-air Political Analyst for South Florida’s WSVN-Fox News. From 1997 to 2004, he served in the U.S. Marine Corps and facilitated the training of foreign military forces in both hostile theaters and during peacetime operations.

DEMOCRACY AND SECURITY IN LATIN AMERICA State Capacity and Governance under Stress

Edited by Gabriel Marcella Orlando J. Pérez Brian Fonseca

First published 2022 by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2022 Taylor & Francis The right of Gabriel Marcella, Orlando J. Pérez and Brian Fonseca to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this title has been requested ISBN: 978-0-367-26052-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-26053-8 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-29125-8 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258 Typeset in Bembo by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

Gabriel Marcella dedicates the book to his parents Gilda and Filippo Marcella. Orlando J. Pérez wishes to dedicate the book to two friends and mentors, Mitchell A. Seligson and Richard L. Millett. Brian Fonseca dedicates this book to his mother, Elaine Fonseca, and his friend, John F. Stack.

CONTENTS

List of Figures xi List of Tables xii Contributor Bios xiii Acknowledgmentsxvi Introduction1 Gabriel Marcella, Orlando J. Pérez, and Brian Fonseca PART I

Institutions 1 The Crisis of Governance9 Phil Williams 2 Policing27 Lucía Dammert 3 Judicial System40 Mark Ungar 4 Prisons54 Jonathan D. Rosen 5 Ministry of Defense and The Armed Forces66 Gabriel Marcella

x  Contents

PART II

Country Studies 6 Colombia: Security Challenges and State Capacity81 Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila Amin Gutiérrez de Piñeres 7 Mexico: Dilemma between Democratic Recession and Internal Security96 Raúl Benítez Manaut 8 Brazil: The Evolution of Civil-Military Relations and Security110 Luis Bitencourt 9 Peru: Counterinsurgency and the Rule of Law during Re-democratization128 Maiah Jaskoski 10 Cuba: The Exceptional Case145 Brian Latell 11 Venezuela: The Erosion of Security Capacity157 John Polga-Hecimovich 12 Argentina: Legality or Disobedience?175 Rut Diamint 13 Chile: A Secure Democracy190 G. Alexander Crowther Conclusion Gabriel Marcella, Orlando J. Pérez, and Brian Fonseca

209

Index214

LIST OF FIGURES

2.1 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 6.1 6.2 6.3 11.1 11.2 11.3 11.4

Police corruption in Latin America, 201632 Prison population per 100,000 inhabitants55 Pretrial detainees as a percentage of the prison population (2017 or latest year)56 Maximum penalty for drug-related crime57 Prison population rate in El Salvador (per 100,000)58 Total prison population in Mexico60 Coca cultivation (hectares)85 Violence and coca cultivation86 Marginalized armed groups in Colombia89 Stateness and constituent components162 State authority over territory in Latin America (2000-2020)162 Trust in national police163 Rule of Law Index in Venezuela (1990-2020)165

LIST OF TABLES

2.1 2.2 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 6.7 6.8 6.9 6.10 7.1 7.2 7.3 9.1

Diversity of policing actions Police forces in Latin America Active duty military personnel in 2019 Military budgets as percent of GDP in 2017 Select indicators of state performance Indicators of effective state governance Colombian leftist guerrilla violence statistics Military troops and public forces in action U.S. aid to Colombia (US$) Access to drinking water and sanitation: percentage of population covered Education and poverty indicators State and paramilitary violence Institutional ITN ratings of security agencies Institutional ITN ratings of other agencies Mexican armed forces personnel, July 19, 2020 Missions of the three military branches and assigned personnel, July 2020 Operational deployments of the armed forces, July 19, 2020 Officers’ explanations for the Peruvian army’s limited, cautious, and/or ineffective counterinsurgency work, 2005-2006 (in no. of mentions) 9.2 Officers’ opinions about the Peruvian army’s responsibility for 1980-2000 human rights abuses (in no. of opinions) 11.1 Estimated Venezuelan migrant stock (2015-2019) 12.1 Military budget - percentage of GDP 12.2 Personnel of the armed forces, 2016 12.3 Members of the security forces Appendix 12.1 Argentine participation in UN peacekeeping missions Appendix 12.2 Armed forces personnel

30 31 72 73 82 83 84 87 88 89 90 90 92 93 102 102 103 136 137 169 178 179 180 185 186

CONTRIBUTOR BIOS

Luis Bitencourt is Professor of International Security at the William J. Perry Center for Hemispheric Defense Studies at National Defense University. Prior to rejoining the Perry Center in August 2020, he was a consultant professor for the Global Defense Reform Programsponsored Defense Education Cooperation Program between the Perry Center and Brazil’s Escola Superior de Guerra. He was also a visiting professor at the Brazilian Navy War College and a visiting professor, for over 25 years, at Georgetown University. From June 2005 to November 2017, he was Professor, Dean of Academic Affairs, and Deputy Director at the Perry Center. He has served as Senior Fellow at the Atlantic Council and the Director of the Brazil Institute at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. G. Alexander Crowther is a visiting research professor with a dual appointment in both the Jack D. Gordon Institute for Public Policy and the Department of Criminology and Criminal Justice, both within the Steven J. Green School of International and Public Affairs at FIU. Dr. Crowther is also an integral part of FIU’s Emerging Preeminent Program Cybersecurity@FIU. He has extensive experience at the local, regional, and global levels with the U.S. government and international organizations and has worked in Latin America, Asia, the Middle East, and Europe. Prior to coming to FIU, Dr. Crowther worked on cyber and European issues at the National Defense University (NDU) in Washington, DC and continues to lecture on cybersecurity at the Organization of American States (OAS) as well cyber law/crime/terror at NDU’s College of Information and Cyberspace (CIC). He has also worked with cyber issues at NATO. Dr. Crowther has professional fluency in Spanish and a working capability in Portuguese. Lucía Dammert is Professor of political science at the Universidad de Santiago de Chile. In the past 20 years she has worked with national and local governments, research organizations, and international cooperation agencies in issues of urban violence in Latin America. She has an extensive list of publications in international journals. Among her most recent books published in English are Maras (2011) edited with Thomas Bruneau and Fear of Crime in Latin America (Routledge, 2012). She has been appointed a member of the Advisory Board on Disarmament Issues of the General Secretary of the United Nations (2017–2021). Also, she is a Global Fellow of the Woodrow Wilson Center for Scholars in Washington, DC.

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Sheila Amin Gutiérrez de Piñeres is Dean of the Burnett Honors College and Professor of public administration at the University of Central Florida. Piñeres received her PhD in economics from Duke University, MA from the University of Chicago, and BA from Texas A&M University. She is a founding member of the University of Texas System Academy of Distinguished Teachers. She is also a Jacob Javits Fellow and Fulbright Research Scholar. She is the author of two books, many refereed articles, and book chapters focused on economic development and political stability in developing countries. Rut Diamint is a Professor of political science at the University Torcuato Di Tella. She is a principal researcher at the National Council for Scientific and Technologic Research, CONICET. She is a former advisor to the Argentine Ministry of Defense (2003–2005) and former General Coordinator of the Advisory Units, Senate Sub Presidency Argentine House of Senate 2006–2009. She is a member of the Advisory Committee of Club de Madrid and was a member of the Advisory Board of the UN Secretary-General on Disarmament Matters. Her research focuses on international and regional security, civil-military relations, defense issues, and peace and democracy. Jennifer S. Holmes is a Professor of political economy and political science and Dean of the School of Economic, Political and Policy Sciences at the University of Texas at Dallas. She received her A.B. from the University of Chicago and her PhD from the University of Minnesota. In addition to numerous journal articles, she is the author or editor of seven books, including Guns, Drugs and Development in Colombia (2008), Terrorism and Democratic Stability Revisited (2008), Latin American Democracy: Emerging Reality or Endangered Species? (Routledge, 2008, 2015), and Immigration Judges and U.S. Asylum Policy (2015). Maiah Jaskoski is an Associate Professor of Political Science at Northern Arizona University. She specializes in environmental and indigenous politics, military roles, and borders, in Latin America. She is author of Military Politics and Democracy in the Andes (2013), The Politics of Extraction: Territorial Rights, Participatory Institutions, and Conflict in Latin America (forthcoming 2022), and numerous academic journal articles. She coauthored and co-edited American Crossings: Border Politics in the Western Hemisphere (2015). She holds an MA and a PhD in Political Science from the University of California, Berkeley, and a BA in Political Science from Swarthmore College. Brian Latell has been a Latin American and Caribbean specialist since the 1960s. During his 35 years of service in the CIA and the National Intelligence Council, he informed White House and other ranking American officials and members of Congress. He teaches, lectures, consults, and writes, especially on Cuba, Mexico and foreign intelligence matters. Dr. Latell (history) taught at Georgetown University’s School of Foreign Service for more than two decades, and later at the University of Miami. He is currently a senior researcher at Florida International University’s Jack Gordon Institute. He is the author of After Fidel: Raúl Castro and the Future of Cuba’s Revolution (2005); Castro’s Secrets (2012); and History Will Absolve Me: Fidel Castro, Life and Legacy (2016). He is co-editor of Eye in the Sky, A History of the Corona Reconnaissance Satellite Program (1998). Raúl Benítez Manaut has been a Professor and Researcher at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM) since 1983. He started out as a teaching assistant in the Latin America Area of the School of Political and Social Sciences; he worked as a Researcher at the Center for Interdisciplinary Research in the Sciences and Humanities (CEIICH) from 1987 to 2000.

Contributor Bios xv

Since 2000 he has worked in the CISAN. He received his bachelor’s in sociology from the UNAM; his master’s in economics and international politics from the Center for Economic Research and Teaching (CIDE); and he received his doctorate in Latin American Studies at the UNAM. Among his publications, some of the most outstanding are the books La teoría militar y la guerra civil en El Salvador (Military Theory and Civil War in El Salvador) (1989) and Mexico and the New Challenges of Hemispheric Security (2004). John Polga-Hecimovich is an Associate Professor of Political Science at the U. S. Naval Academy. He holds a PhD in political science from the University of Pittsburgh, a master’s degree in Latin American Studies from the Universidad Andina Simón Bolívar (Ecuador), and a BA in Government and Spanish from Dartmouth College. He has taught political science at Wake Forest University, the College of William and Mary, and FLACSO-Ecuador and has conducted academic fieldwork in Venezuela, Brazil, Ecuador, and Colombia. His research is broadly focused on the effects of political institutions on democratic stability, policymaking, and governance, especially in Latin America. He has published peer-reviewed articles in top academic journals in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Latin America, and book chapters in both English and Spanish. Jonathan D. Rosen is Assistant Professor in the Professional Security Studies Department at New Jersey City University. Dr. Rosen earned his Master’s in political science from Columbia University and received his PhD in international studies from the University of Miami. He has served as an expert witness in more than 120 cases in immigration court involving people fleeing from gangs, organized crime, and violence. He has published 20 books with Routledge, Lexington Books, Palgrave Macmillan, the University of Florida, and the State University Press of New York. He has published journal articles in Trends in Organized Crime, the Journal of Criminal Justice, Deviant Behavior, International Journal of Offender Therapy and Comparative Criminology, and Contexto Internacional, Revista CS, among other journals. Mark Ungar is a Professor of Political Science and Criminal Justice, Brooklyn College and Graduate Center, City University of New York. His publications include five books and about 40 articles on police reform, citizen security, human rights, and violence. He serves as a security reform advisor with the United Nations and Inter-American Development Bank; has worked with six governments in Latin America on police reform; and is a commissioner at the International Network for Environmental Compliance and Enforcement (INECE). He was a scholar at the Woodrow Wilson International Center and at Michigan State University and has received grants from the Ford, Tinker, Henkel, and Tow Foundations. Phil Williams served as the Wesley W. Posvar Chair in International Security Studies at the Graduate School of Public and International Affairs (GSPIA) at the University of Pittsburgh from 2009 to 2020. His teaching and research areas include security studies, foreign policy analysis, transnational organized crime, and terrorism. Williams was previously director of the Matthew B. Ridgway Center for International Security Studies.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To paraphrase the title of a famous book, “it takes a village…” to edit a book! Editing a volume such as this one incurs enormous debts. Often these debts are too numerous to name, but the editors feel a deep sense of gratitude and obligation to acknowledge the assistance of a number of individuals and institutions that made this book possible. Brian and Orlando owe a debt to our co-editor, Gabriel Marcella, for proposing the volume in the first place, and for inviting us on this incredible journey with him. Gabriel’s experience, wisdom, patience, and thoughtfulness have guided us each step of the way. We would literally not have a book without him! Next, edited volumes are nothing without excellent contributors. We believe we have assembled one of the finest groups of contributors working on Latin America, democracy, state institutions, and security. Our contributors have decades of experience as academics, policymakers, and practitioners. We thank each one for their intellectual contribution, diligence, and patience as we have developed the manuscript. Each editor wishes to acknowledge the assistance and support of key individuals and institutions. Gabriel Marcella wishes to thank General (r) Frederick Woerner, former Commanderin-Chief, U.S. Southern Command for sharing his wisdom and experience with Latin America for so many years. Orlando J. Pérez thanks Millersville University where he served for 5 years as associate dean of the College of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences for support during the early stages of the manuscript. More recently, Dr. Pérez wishes to thank the University of North Texas at Dallas where he serves as dean of the School of Liberal Arts and Sciences and Professor of political science. Brian Fonseca wishes to thank the Jack D. Gordon Institute for Public Policy at Florida International University’s Steven J. Green School of International and Public Affairs – Hector Cadavid, Patricia Cepero, Katherine Dagand, Aldo Fonseca, Randy Pestana, Cristina Rodríguez, and Bruce Vitor – for their steadfast commitment to unfettered intellectual inquiry. The editors wish to extend a special thank you to Rhonda Shore for brilliant work copy-editing the manuscript as well, Adriana Garcia, Ariana Ramsundar, and Daniela Sardinas for support throughout the process of putting the book together. Finally, we must thank our Editor at Routledge, Natalja Mortensen, Senior Acquisitions Editor, Political Science Research, and Charlie Baker, Editorial Assistant, for their unwavering support and patience as we worked to bring the volume to conclusion.

INTRODUCTION Gabriel Marcella, Orlando J. Pérez, and Brian Fonseca

The international system depends upon sovereign states to uphold their responsibilities for order and security. However, state capacity among countries ranges from relatively effective to failed, with a middle ground occupied by a spectrum of possibilities. Because of the weakness of the state, a number of states lack the monopoly of force and sovereign control over their national territories. Thus, there is an inversion of the security dilemma that underlies the international system, where state weakness (or failure) resulting from the inability of states to control their national territories threatens international order. Technology and globalization multiply the nefarious impact of weakness by increasing the reach and power of states and illegal non-state actors across permeable borders. This volume analyzes the capacity of the democratic state in Latin America to effectively provide public security and national defense. Scholars and former practitioners from Latin America and the United States examine factors that define state capacity in the security realm. Establishing adequate state capacity is one of the most compelling challenges for state officials in the twenty-first century. The ravages of the COVID-19 pandemic make clear that “it takes a state” to deal with the problem.1 In 2020, the pandemic exposed the vulnerabilities of the Latin American states and added an immense burden to already stretched administrative capacities.2 As a result, the region faced a long-term economic setback, in addition to the enormous tragedy of the high loss of human lives. The global pandemic also called into question the traditional notion that national security depends upon economic and military power. That concept is yielding to the reality that human security is the strategic imperative because borders provide little defense against the catastrophic spread of viruses. Scholars are debating whether the severity of the pandemic heralded a paradigm shift in international relations.

The State in Latin America and Democratic Security State capacity is multidimensional, with all elements interacting to produce governance. Similarly, democracy and state capacity are intimately related. The former is not possible without the coercive, extractive, and administrative capacity of the state. Moreover, both must have legitimacy to be effective and sustained for the long term. Much of the academic discourse on Latin American democracy focuses on the quality of procedural and substantive governance, often neglecting that governance must include security. The challenge lies in establishing cooperative, DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-1

2  Gabriel Marcella et al.

democratic civil-military relations in the form of defense and public security infrastructures by making civilians and the military co-responsible and accountable for providing public security and national defense. This is a tall order, given the contentious nature of civil-military relations in the various countries and the concern that overreliance on the military for public security threatens the democratic community. As the pandemic appeared on the horizon, Latin America was already under assault by high-intensity crime. With 8 percent of the world’s population, Latin America incurred 33 percent of the homicides.3 A witch’s brew of illicit activities with international reach – drug trafficking, money laundering, common crime, human and wildlife trafficking, illegal logging, terrorism, and environmental damage – added to the woes. Vast ungoverned spaces (ausencia del estado) where illicit groups operate challenge public security and national defense in most of the countries. Urban spaces were also beyond the reach of the state. Moreover, corruption diluted the credibility and capacity of governmental institutions. The internal conflict and implementation of the peace process in Colombia and the “softened sovereignty” of countries in the Northern Triangle of Central America demonstrated the need for effective state response.4 States facing internal conflicts or high levels of crime most often resort to the only institution perceived as capable of establishing the necessary security and monopoly on the legitimate use of force, namely, the armed forces. In most countries, the armed forces, for good reasons, are reluctant to perform police duties. While expedient, the use of the military in public security might actually reduce the ability or willingness of the state and civil society to build the necessary law enforcement capacity to deal effectively with crime and violence. Overreliance on the military poses serious questions of institutional roles and capabilities in a modern nation-state. This policy dilemma reflects the paradox of security and democracy: Does the use of coercive capacity to confront the crime wave have a negative effect on building state capacity? If so, is the negative impact temporary and what might be the remedies? The solution should be an interministerial whole of government approach, which begs the question of how this is achieved by weak states with poorly resourced ministries of government, often lacking leadership and professional personnel. It remains to be seen whether the crisis imposed by the pandemic catalyzes the kind of institutional development that creates more effective state capacity among the various countries. The following chapters will provide some answers by studying specific government institutions and country cases.

Organization of the Book The book examines the nature and extent of state governance in Latin America by focusing on the ability of key institutions to generate the necessary capacity to address important security challenges. Each institution has a specific role but is affected by the capacity or failure of other state actors to handle their functions effectively. Indicators of defense and security capacity include leadership and decision-making processes; size, professional quality, reach, and effectiveness of public security forces (police and military); the judicial system; monopoly on the use of force; institutionalized government presence in national territory; border control, and the relationship between civil society and public security forces. The analysis of civilian control and participation in national defense and public security is essential. Therefore, the book uses an explicitly interdisciplinary approach, drawing on the contributions of history, political science, economics, public policy, and strategic studies. The first part examines the following institutions: policing, the judiciary, the armed forces, and the prison system. The second part consists of country case studies that illustrate notable security challenges and the various means by which the state has confronted them. The conclusion highlights the

Introduction 3

policy implications and recommends an agenda for future research. The findings have significant implications for governments and nongovernment organizations engaged in capacity-building activities in a democratic context. In Chapter 1, Phil Williams explores the crisis of governance facing most Latin American countries. Williams argues that Latin America suffers from “perennially weak states” unable to provide adequate public services, maintain the rule of law, and control illicit transnational criminal networks. The chapter focuses on five factors that, according to Williams, help shape the crisis of governance in the region: elite behavior, violence and crime, corruption, contested sovereignty, and the challenge of non-state armed groups. In Chapter 2, Lucía Dammert examines the nature and reform of police institutions focusing on the impact of policing on democratic governance by focusing on the twin pillars of accountability and the rule of law. The chapter uses a broadly comparative perspective to discuss how crime and insecurity undermine democratic governance and how some states have tackled the challenges of weak and corrupt police forces. Dammert concludes by offering policy recommendations for making the police more democratic, transparent, accountable, and effective. An independent, accountable, accessible, and effective judiciary is an essential component of a democratic and secure society. In Chapter 3, Mark Ungar discusses the strengths and weaknesses of Latin America’s courts by focusing on three interconnected factors that shape how the courts relate to democratic governance: independence, authority and effectiveness, and citizen access. The chapter then applies those factors to three policy arenas in which the courts play a significant role and in which many countries in the region still fall short: corruption, organized crime, and the environment. While advances in how courts tackle these issues have been made across the region, Ungar concludes that too often, the region’s judicial systems remain mired in processes that are inefficient, bureaucratic, lack transparency, are corrupt, and impose high costs of access to the vast majority of citizens. States rely on prison systems as key mechanisms for the punishment and rehabilitation of criminal activity. Transparency, accountability, and protection of fundamental rights are key elements of an effective prison system. However, prisons in Latin America are routinely plagued by high levels of overcrowding and significant human rights abuses. Too often, prisons serve to promote criminal behavior rather than deter it. Chapter 4, by Jonathan D. Rosen, examines some of the general trends in prisons in Latin America. The chapter focuses on El Salvador and Mexico, countries that suffer from high levels of crime with prison systems that are burdened with chronic overcrowding and pervasive human rights abuses. In Chapter 5, Gabriel Marcella discusses the role of the armed forces and ministries of defense to confront the security challenges facing the region’s countries in the context of democratic civil-military relations. Historically, Latin American states have struggled to define the role of the armed forces within democratic systems while developing civilian defense institutions capable of managing defense and security policy. The chapter defines the strategic environment within which the military and defense establishment operate and explores recent changes in the size, equipment, and capacity of the region’s armed forces. Marcella warns that the use of the armed forces in domestic security missions, while often necessary in the short term, nonetheless raises significant challenges to civil-military relations and the long-term stability of democratic governance. Part II of the book focuses on case studies that examine individual countries in Latin America. Cases were chosen to help readers understand important aspects of state capacity and relate to key historical events that shaped the region politically, socially, and internationally. Chapter 6, by Jennifer S.Holmes and Sheila Amin Gutiérrez de Piñeres, focuses on Colombia and the effects of violence on governance. The chapter provides an in-depth analysis of how important policy

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decisions in the last decade have improved vital economic, social, and institutional outcomes leading to significant reductions in violence and improvements in the ability of the state to provide security and strengthen democracy. No country in Latin America has had more strategic influence on the United States than Mexico. Mexico’s security and governance are intimately tied to the United States. In Chapter 7, Raúl Benítez Manaut explores the security environment within which the Mexican military and government operate. Benítez argues that Mexico is suffering from a “democratic deficit” as a result of the use of the military for domestic security missions, thus distorting civil-military relations and reducing the capacity of civilian institutions. The chapter examines how President Andrés Manuel López Obrador’s recent reforms have pushed a personalist and “neo-populist” agenda that further transforms the Mexican state and undermines democratic governance. Brazil is a major economic and geostrategic player in South America. Chapter 8, by Luis Bitencourt, analyzes the key historical, political, and institutional factors that shaped Brazil’s sovereignty, governance, and civil-military relations in the past three decades. Bitencourt focuses particular attention on how the security apparatus built during the military dictatorship has been transformed and how this new security model has challenged democratic governance. The challenge to territorial sovereignty and political stability posed by non-state violent groups is among the most important facing many Latin American countries. Peru, in particular, has faced a decades-old brutal insurgency that undermined the state’s capacity to provide security and stability for vast areas of its national territory. Chapter 9, by Maiah Jaskoski, focuses on how counterinsurgency operations and the rules of engagement under which the military operates have shaped the nature of civil-military relations and, in turn, affected the underlying conditions of democracy and security. Perhaps unique among the cases explored in this volume, Cuba does not represent a country transitioning to democracy. However, since Fidel Castro’s retirement, Cuba has undergone a transition that has shaped the nation’s civil-military relations and raised questions about the fundamental nature of the Cuban political regime. In Chapter 10, Brian Latell explores the changes brought about by Raúl Castro’s rise to power and more recent retirement. Latell describes the extent of and limits to reform in a post-Fidel Cuba. Concluding that while change is possible, such transformation is not inevitable and will be slow if it occurs. Chapter 11 focuses on the dramatic erosion of political and economic stability since 2010 in Venezuela. Analysts have recently wondered if the South American country should now be classified as a “failed state.” John Polga-Hecimovich argues, “Venezuela exhibits dramatically low security capacity for a country not at war.” The Venezuelan state has lost the ability to enforce the monopoly on the legitimate use of force across its national territory and offers little protection to citizens from illicit non-state armed actors. In fact, Polga-Hecimovich explains how the state has increasingly come to rely on non-state actors to enforce regime rule. Chapter 12, by Rut Diamint, examines the transformations of civil-military relations in post-authoritarian Argentina. The chapter analyzes Argentina’s geostrategic environment and the security challenges facing the state. After a traumatic transition to democracy marked by defeat in war, the Argentinian state and military underwent significant changes that reduced the capacity of the armed forces, both operationally and strategically. At the same time, important advances in establishing civilian control of the armed forces were achieved. Diamint concludes that Argentina needs to continue to strengthen its civilian institutions to effectively tackle the challenges to security and democracy facing the country. In the final chapter, G. Alexander Crowther explores the evolution of the security forces of Chile, a country noted for its exceptional institutional capacity, especially the professionalism of the armed forces. In Chapter 13, Crowther notes that with the absence of conventional threats,

Introduction 5

the Chilean armed forces and the Carabineros are adapting to the new global strategic environment. However, the massive demonstrations of the Fall 2019 against income inequality and the high cost of living posed new challenges to comity in civil-military relations.

Notes 1 Francis Fukuyama, “The Pandemic and Political Order,” Foreign Affairs, July–August 2020: 26. 2 Terrence McCoy, “Latin America Had Time to Prepare for the Coronavirus. It Couldn’t Stop the Inevitable,” Washington Post, June 3, 2020. 3 Robert Muggah and Katherine Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America: Facts and Figures (Rio de Janeiro: Igarapé Institute, April 2018), 2, https://igarape.org.br/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/Citizen-Security-in-Latin-America-Facts-and-Figures.pdf. 4 Anne L. Clunan and Harold A. Trinkunas, eds., Ungoverned Spaces: Alternatives to State Authority in an Era of Softened Sovereignty (Stanford, CA: Stanford Security Studies, 2010).

PART I

Institutions

1 THE CRISIS OF GOVERNANCE Phil Williams

Introduction In recent years, the headlines from many Latin American countries have not been flattering. A stream of revelations about political corruption in Argentina, Brazil, and Peru; political and economic chaos in Nicaragua and Venezuela; increasing levels of drug-related homicides in Mexico, and high levels of gang violence in the Northern Triangle of Central America have outweighed positive developments such as the end of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) insurgency in Colombia and increased economic growth. Although some bright spots, such as Chile’s consolidation of democracy, have emerged, these have been the exceptions rather than the rule. Moreover, core problems in key countries have had spillover effects on immediate neighboring countries or the broader region. Mexican drug violence, for example, has spilled over to Central America; the Odebrecht scandal in Brazil extended into Mexico, Peru, and many other countries; and the flow of approximately 2–4 million Venezuelan refugees to Brazil, Ecuador, Peru, and other countries has provoked backlash at local levels and created what one report suggested was the “biggest crisis in the hemisphere.”1 Although the latest scandal or act of violence in Latin America catches the headlines, the challenges of governance are not unique to the region. Political systems in many parts of the world are experiencing major stress and strain, and relatively few enjoy high levels of legitimacy. There is a global crisis of governance, and only a few states provide legitimate, orderly, and effective governance.2 To describe many states in the world, particularly those in Africa and Latin America, as Westphalian, therefore, is a flattering but fundamental misnomer. These states are perhaps best thought of as pre-Westphalian. Other accurate descriptions or labels include anorexic, improvisational, truncated, hollow, predatory, kleptocratic, and, most compelling, Robert Jackson’s “quasi-state.”3 Such descriptions apply to many states in Latin America, where contemporary state weakness is a result of historical trajectories. This weakness has been evident during the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic, with Mexico and Brazil having a particularly difficult time responding to the public health crisis – although it has to be acknowledged that even many Westphalian states, including France, Spain, the United Kingdom, and the United States, have also failed to respond effectively. Latin America was mostly characterized by the absence of large-scale interstate warfare that, in Europe and North America, resulted in the centralization of state authority and the consolidation of state power – both of which were necessary to mobilize populations for war in DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-2

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1914–1918 and 1939–1945.4 While these wars were costly in terms of lives and national treasure, they consolidated the relationship between state and society, harnessed nationalism, and put a premium on organizational and bureaucratic effectiveness. The expansion of state capacity did not happen to the same extent in Latin America.5 As one summary of the warfare argument has noted, “the limited wars fought by Latin American states during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were primarily financed by loans from international markets and did not lead to fiscal centralization or the expansion of public infrastructure and social provision.”6 Yet, this did not invariably preclude “the creation of a centralized administrative apparatus.”7 The trend toward administrative centralization was notable in both Chile and Costa Rica, where particular attention was devoted to public education as a form of modernization.8 In many other countries, however, the bureaucracy was highly politicized, allowing favoritism in bureaucratic placement and easy access to rents. These bureaucratic and infrastructural weaknesses contributed to the emergence of states with incomplete territorial control.9 Moreover, although “Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, Chile, Costa Rica, and Ecuador have been the most successful” in establishing a monopoly of violence, most other Latin American countries have suffered from protracted conflicts such as insurgencies and civil wars.10 These conflicts “about the distribution of national riches between classes, individuals, institutions, and regions” both reflected and exacerbated lack of trust in the state.11 There was also a self-perpetuating quality to this lack of trust, with most states failing to develop a sound and broad tax base to thereby provide the quality and degree of services and the “basic public policy results that are typically expected of modern political entities.”12 In the words of one study, they are “leviathans, but only on paper.”13 The one exception to this is Colombia, which has seen the strengthening of the state in the past several decades. Colombia faced such a dire threat from the FARC that, in the early 2000s, it imposed a wealth tax that substantially strengthened state capacity and contributed to the eventual defeat of the group.14 Although Colombia went against the trend of a weakening or retreating state, its success should not be exaggerated. Major problems still remain, and insurgency has not been wiped out. Rather, it has been transformed into an extensive and highly organized criminality that seeks not to overthrow the state but simply to carve out and maintain its operating space. Although Clunan and Trinkunas argued very persuasively that in many countries today, sovereignty has been softened, in most Latin American countries it was not consolidated and hardened in the first place.15 Following this, it bears emphasis that Latin America is not a continent of failed states but of perennially weak states unable to (1) meet the needs of their citizens; (2) provide an inclusive fold of protection and provision; (3) evoke, let alone, maintain the loyalty of the citizenry to the state; (4) establish and maintain the rule of law; (5) impose and maintain order in their principal cities; and (6) control flows across their borders.16 In other words, much of Latin America bears little resemblance to states with highly effective institutions, legitimate policy processes, and significant levels of control over not only their borders but also the vast majority of their territories. The result is an endemic crisis of governance throughout much of Latin America. This crisis was exacerbated in 2020 by the COVID-19 pandemic and the massive economic dislocation that accompanied it – a dislocation that wiped out the economic gains of the preceding decade and is likely to have serious long-term consequences for Latin America.

The Crisis of Governance The contemporary crisis of governance in Latin America has five major characteristics: (1) elite dominance and self-interest; (2) the prevalence of high, if varying, levels of violence throughout most of the region; (3) pervasive levels of corruption in government that in some cases go to

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the very top and, even when they do not, tend to hollow out key institutions; (4) the contest for control of both rural and urban spaces, a contest that, in rural areas, particularly, is grossly one-sided, both reflecting and exacerbating continued economic inequality; and (5) the rise of violent non-state armed groups that not only challenge the state monopoly of violence but also provide alternative governance structures and mechanisms.

Elite Dominance and Self Interest The contemporary crisis of governance throughout much of Latin America is the result not only of historical factors but also of continued elite choices based on narrow notions of self-interest rather than broad conceptions of the public interest.17 Weak states can be manipulated and exploited by contemporary elites. It could be argued, of course, that the spread of democracy in Latin America challenges the perpetuation of elite dominance. Several developments, however, render this theory moot. The first is that Latin American elites have been buoyed by neoliberalism. Although some observers have suggested that Latin America is in a post-neoliberal world, this argument overlooks the dominance of neoliberal philosophy since the Cold War ended. As Nils Gilman has argued, the collapse of the Soviet Union was a profound and sustained boost to the neoliberal ethos that was embraced by British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and U.S. President Ronald Reagan and subsequently exported to both the developing and transitional states of the former Soviet bloc.18 “Cremated along with the corpse of communism was the civic-minded conception of development as the central responsibility of the state and allied elites.”19 The essence of neoliberalism was that the state should get out of the way of the market, which had become global through a mix of privatization and deregulation, open borders, reductions in government spending, and removal of social safety nets in those places where they existed.20 Moreover, the diffusion of neoliberalism to the global south could not have come at a better time for many Latin American elites. In Central America, in particular, when vicious civil wars in El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua came to end, there were expectations that a new era of peace would be accompanied by stability, democracy, and greater prosperity. As it turned out, civil war has been replaced by criminal violence and hardline state responses that seem to have strengthened criminal gangs and provoked new cycles of violence. Similarly, although one of the beneficial side effects of neoliberal policies was expected to maximize opportunities for business and minimize opportunities for corruption, the former has occurred but not the latter. At the same time, neoliberalism has perpetuated state weakness by justifying the withdrawal of even modest social safety nets, limiting the role of the state, and facilitating the dominance of business interests over the public interest. All of these factors contributed to a hemispheric crisis of governance. Ironically, Nicaragua and Venezuela – the two states that most explicitly rejected neoliberalism and the Washington consensus – are also in crisis, while the massive corruption scandals in Brazil occurred at the intersection of state-owned enterprises and the private sector, thereby buttressing the case for reduced state involvement in business. While elite dominance has displayed remarkable resilience throughout most of Latin America, such resilience has been achieved through constant adaptation and reconfiguration.21 In some countries, the elites have transformed both the dimensions of their economic power and what might be termed their membership; in others, the traditional ruling families have retained much of their status and influence.22 Ironically, much of this resilience was achieved through control over and exploitation of state structures and mechanisms.23

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In this connection, North and Clark, in an edited volume examining elite reconfiguration and dominance in Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador, El Salvador, and Guatemala, noted “states were more or less captured or severely constrained by elites, despite some appearances to the contrary. And in all cases, in one way or another, the United States and the principal international financial institutions played critical roles in these transformations.”24 They add that the individual chapters reveal how “traditional dominant classes were reconfigured through state action or inaction, sometimes with the incorporation of new elements (Brazil and Chile), and including criminal organizations (Colombia and Guatemala); how capital and land were possibly concentrated further (in all six countries), even under progressive governments; and how economic elites continued to exercise political power in the supposed post-authoritarian neoliberal polities of the 1980s and 1990s (all over the region), and during the years of the progressive tide of the twenty-first century (especially in Colombia, El Salvador, and Guatemala).”25 Family or kinship connections and financial conglomerates were brought together in ways that maintained elite domination and control. In Colombia, Mexico, and the Northern Triangle of Central America, drug trafficking organizations (DTOs) also came into the mix, developing symbiotic relationships with both business and the government. Perhaps nowhere was this process more effective or far-reaching than in Honduras, where, as Sarah Chayes noted, the formation, operation, and maintenance of triangular kleptocratic networks had highly pernicious consequences.26 “The reinforcing relationships between public officials up to the highest level, business elites, and criminal organizations are … organic and intrinsic.”27 Furthermore, “both the elite public- and private-sector circles have been establishing increasingly close connections with the out-and-out criminal networks that run the narcotics trade … Individuals and families that have tied their fortunes to government service provide legal or other help to criminal organizations or ensure protection and impunity for their activities. In several cases, members of notorious drug-trafficking families have held local office, thus constituting a node connecting those two sectors. For their part, members of the economic elite connect with criminal organizations by providing money-laundering services or engaging in joint business ventures.”28 In other countries, the linkages are primarily between public officials and the business elite. Peter Lupsha once commented that, in Mexican drug trafficking, “the players change, but the game continues.”29 Much the same could be said of Latin American elites: the players change and adapt, but their dominance remains intact. As a result, the public interest continues to be subordinated to private interests.

Pervasive Corruption and Rent-seeking Corruption in Latin America is pervasive in scope and insidious in its impact. Moreover, it is linked to elite dominance and the prevalent attitude that the state is the prize of politics. The parallel is that control of the state provides endless opportunities for rent-seeking both in the illicit economy and in dealings with licit business. Ironically, the democratic process provided new opportunities to create symbiotic relationships between corrupt rent-seeking politicians and criminal organizations seeking information, protection, and support from those in government at all levels. Some of these relationships developed through political campaigns. Zamorra identified four factors that “add to the vulnerability of Latin American democracies to the penetration of organized crime in campaign finance … competitive elections, weak enforcement of campaign finance rules, political decentralization, and feeble political parties.”30 A fifth factor is the willingness of key figures in political campaigns to accept drug money, especially when it is regarded as essential to success.

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This was evident in Colombia’s 1994 presidential campaign between Ernesto Samper and Andrés Pastrana. An audiotape surfaced in which members of the Cali DTO were heard discussing the money they provided to Samper’s campaign, which contributed to his narrow victory. The recording and the subsequent scandal included two impeachment processes against Samper – both of which were unsuccessful – but enabled the United States to pressure the new government into serious and successful efforts to dismantle the Cali organization. Although Samper blamed his campaign manager and treasurer, who acted as conduits for the funds, it seems likely he was aware of the money.31 Reports at the time claimed the traffickers provided “about $1.2 million for the first round of elections and $4.9 million for the runoff in June.”32 In 2013, William Rodríguez, the son of the trafficker Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela, claimed that the campaign had been given US$10 million.33 Ironically, a more recent scandal in Colombia saw President Juan Manuel Santos in 2017 publicly apologizing because money from the Brazilian conglomerate Odebrecht SA had helped finance his 2010 and 2014 campaigns. Santos denied “knowledge at the time of the illegal payments” and claimed he did “not authorize acceptance of them.”34 He also apologized to the Colombian people “for this shameful act that should never have happened and that I have just learned about.”35 The link between politicians and drug traffickers often extends beyond campaigns. In 2017, the Honduran drug trafficker Devis Leonel Rivera Maradiaga, one of the leaders of Los Cachiros, turned himself in to the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration and subsequently revealed he had paid US$400,000 to President Porfirio Lobo, who in return promised that there would be no extraditions during his term in office.36 Porfirio’s son Fabio acted as the middleman and provided protection for Los Cachiros, ensuring that the organization could move its drug shipments without interference.37 Fabio was subsequently tried, convicted, and sentenced in the United States to 24 years imprisonment.38 Rivera also implicated Juan Antonio Hernández, the brother of Porfirio’s successor as President, Juan Orlando Hernández, who was involved in multiple aspects of the narcotics trade and, in November 2018, was arrested in Miami.39 Sometimes the corruption is at the top. Even when the political leadership is not targeted, corruption remains a powerful instrument for organized crime. This was best captured in a report by El Faro in 2011 on the operations of the “Texis Cartel” in El Salvador.40 As the report noted, the organization, reportedly led by businessman José Adán Salazar Umaña, nicknamed Chepe Diablo, “pays off police, soldiers, mayors, diputados (representatives in the National Legislative Assembly), farmers, local businesses, street gangs, and others. The police are paid to guard and transport drugs, prevent arrests, and advise others of investigations. Local mayors are paid to approve construction projects, incorporate businesses used for money laundering and fronts for trafficking, and provide information … Representatives in the National Legislative Assembly provide leaders of the cartel with access to the highest levels of power in the Salvadoran government. The cartel also pays off judges and officials in the attorney general’s office to terminate investigations into their activities.”41 Mexico, too, has witnessed many corruption cases linked to DTOs, some of which have involved governors of federal states such as Quintana Roo and Tamaulipas. Tamaulipas, which abuts Southeastern Texas, has a particularly bad reputation, with several former Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) governors accused of corruption. Humberto Padgett’s book on Tamaulipas is appropriately subtitled “the caste of narco-governors.”42 Indeed, three former governors are suspected of corruption. The most notorious is Tomas Yarrington Ruvalcaba, governor from 1999 to 2005. In May 2013, Yarrington was indicted by the Southern Court of Texas on criminal enterprise, conspiracy, and money-laundering charges.43 Yarrington went on the run but was arrested in Italy in April 2017 and extradited to the United States a year later.44 The U.S. indictment focused on corruption payments he received.45 Another recent case

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involved Javier Duarte, the governor of Veracruz state, who was described as a “poster child for political corruption” and was engaged in embezzlement and the use of public office for private gain while also having links with drug traffickers.46 Duarte’s activities, however, pale in comparison with the Petrobras and Odebrecht scandals in Brazil. Operation Lava Jato (car wash) began in 2014 as an investigation into money laundering but then revealed bribery and corruption on a scale that dwarfed anything previously uncovered in Latin America.47 Petrobras, a state-owned oil company, was the engine for much of Brazil’s economic growth but was paying inflated prices to a cartel of construction companies, with the oil company executives receiving bribes in return.48 “The bribes were then split between Petrobras executives, middlemen, and political parties for campaign funding.”49 One estimate suggested that Petrobras losses from the bribery schemes totaled over US$30 billion.50 The scandal has implicated former Presidents Luiz Inàcio Lula da Silva and Michel Temer, as well as various other congressmen. The corruption is so pervasive that it helped elect Jair Bolsonaro as president in 2018. It also helped tarnish the reputation of President Dilma Rousseff, contributing to her removal from office, even though she was not directly implicated in the scandal. Extending beyond Petrobras to the construction companies themselves, the investigation established that Odebrecht SA had used bribery and corruption to obtain contracts throughout Latin America and in Africa. “Odebrecht paid approximately US$788 million in bribes to government officials, their representatives and political parties in a number of countries in order to win business in those countries.”51 These countries included Argentina, Colombia, the Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Guatemala, Mexico, Peru, and Panama, as well as Angola and Mozambique.52 In Peru, three former presidents and the sitting president were implicated. Moreover, in April 2019, Alan García, who had been president from 1985 to 1990 and from 2006 to 2011, committed suicide shortly after police arrived at his home to arrest him.53 He had strenuously denied the allegations. In Colombia, as noted above, the money found its way into the 2010 and 2014 presidential campaigns of Santos.54 In 2014, the corruption money also helped his primary opponent.55 One engineering manager at Odebrecht agreed to return 100 million dollars in return for a lighter sentence, an offer that highlighted the vast amounts of money involved.56 The consequences of this widespread corruption scandal have been far-reaching, not only in terms of the erosion of public trust but also in terms of undermining economic development. In Peru, the scandal has had a damaging impact on construction projects, with an estimated loss of 150,000 jobs as a direct result.57 As one commentary observed, “The Odebrecht scandal has the classical ingredients for corruption: companies with state participation (Petrobras), big infrastructure projects decided by public tenders, illegal party and campaign financing, and private enrichment by politicians who commit their crimes in a historical context of impunity and judicial privileges.”58 The silver lining was the introduction of a new organized crime law in Brazil, which allowed plea bargaining and became the key to unlocking the money trail, highlighting the depth and scope of the problem, and challenging the impunity that had traditionally protected elite politicians and business people.59 Although some responses to the Odebrecht scandal might help to decrease the future likelihood of such blatant business corruption, much of Latin America remains vulnerable to political and drug-related corruption. Moreover, the coronavirus pandemic, for all its death and desolation, opened up new opportunities for corruption in the public health sectors of many Latin American countries. Price gouging, the provision of counterfeit and substandard medical equipment, and the diversion of public funds to combat the disease were facilitated by the loosening of regulations and the absence of oversight and accountability amid the crisis. Bolivia,

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Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador, El Salvador, and Mexico all had serious scandals that, in one way or another, were related to the public health emergency. Pervasive corruption in Latin America has eroded the legitimacy of the state and support for democracy. This has been especially evident in Mexico, where “according to a Latinobarómetro poll, satisfaction with democracy … fell from 41 percent in 2006 to just 18 percent in 2017. Support for democracy fell from 54 percent to 38 percent over the same period.”60 While this is an extreme example, it is not an outlier. According to an October 2017 Pew Research Center report, the median level of satisfaction with democracy in Latin America is 25 percent compared with a global median of 46 percent.61 This is a matter of significant concern in a global context in which populism, nationalism, and authoritarianism appear on the rise. While three countries – Chile, Costa Rica, and Uruguay – have avoided the excesses of both corruption and violence that characterize most of Latin America, these remain the exceptions rather than the rule. Moreover, it seems likely that faith in the state and its institutions will further diminish in the aftermath of the pandemic.

The Prevalence of Violence Security challenges in Latin America are more about human security than national security. The scale and intensity of these challenges reflect the inability of the state to maintain a legitimate monopoly on the use of force. This failure is evident in extraordinarily high homicide rates. As one report noted, Latin America is home to just 8 percent of the world’s population, but 33 percent of its homicides. “In fact, just four countries in the region – Brazil, Colombia, Mexico, and Venezuela – account for 25 percent of all the murders on Earth. Of the 20 countries in the world with the highest murder rates, 17 are Latin American, as are 43 of the top 50 cities.”62 At the other end of the spectrum, both Chile and Costa Rica have homicide rates that are low even by global standards. Despite this diversity, Latin America has the dubious honor of the highest homicide rates in the world. Moreover, unless there are meaningful changes, it will maintain this distinction for some time, even though Africa faces similar challenges in managing and controlling violence. As one report noted, “more than 2.5 million Latin Americans have been killed violently since 2000, most of them due to intentional homicide.”63 The same report noted, “Latin American’s regional homicide rate is roughly 21.5 per 100,000, more than three times the global average.”64 These are astounding figures given the absence of civil wars or major insurgencies. Although violence is pervasive throughout Latin America, it is also concentrated “in place, time, and among specific people. Not only is criminal violence especially concentrated in specific subregions – it is hyper-clustered in specific cities, neighborhoods, and households. Researchers often refer to this phenomenon as hot places and hot people.”65 The corollary, of course, is that other places are free of such violence. In Guatemala in 2014, when the country’s homicide rate was the fifth highest in the world, 53 of Guatemala’s 335 municipalities had no murders.66 Nevertheless, most of the focus is on the hotspots and the organized violence perpetrated by gangs and DTOs. There are good reasons for this. In 1991 when Pablo Escobar was still active in Medellín, the homicide rate rose to 380 per 100,000.67 Similarly, at the height of the violence in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, when the Sinaloa Federation was challenging the Carrillo Fuentes Organization for control, homicide rates rose to 272 per 100,000.68 After what was a clear Sinaloa victory, the homicide rates declined significantly.69 More generally, violence in Mexico has remained patchy, with “some states and cities reporting homicide rates above 200 per 100,000 and others with rates below two per 100,000.” 70 Concurrently, the overall level of violence has continued

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to escalate. The Justice in Mexico project reported that 121,669 homicides occurred during Felipe Calderón’s presidency during 2006–2012; under his successor Enrique Peña Nieto, the figures exceeded this in spite of an initial dip until 2015.71 Official figures from Mexico’s national security apparatus acknowledged 17,324 homicides in 2015, 22,571 in 2016, and 27,734 in 2017.72 The 2017 figure was subsequently revised upward to 31,174.73 Even this was exceeded in 2018 with the opening of 33,341 murder investigations by the authorities.74 This increase in homicides has complex causes but can be understood in terms of several factors. First, competition among the foremost DTOs has intensified because Mexican government arrests and extraditions disturbed the status quo and inadvertently created multiple vacancy chains that intensified the competition for control of routes and markets.75 A kingpin approach based on opportunism rather than a coherent set of strategic objectives contributed to what June Beittel described as “violent succession struggles, shifting alliances among the DTOs, a proliferation of new gangs and small DTOs, and the replacement of existing leaders and criminal groups by even more violent ones.” 76 In particular, the extradition of “El Chapo” Guzmán and the subsequent succession struggle between his son and other key figures in the organization weakened the Sinaloa Federation and emboldened a new challenger in the form of the Jalisco Cartel New Generation ( JCNG).77 To the extent that COVID-19 has claimed its share of victims from the ranks of high-level drug traffickers, vacancy chains and succession struggles are likely to continue and perhaps even intensify. A second and closely related factor was increased factionalism within major organizations that resulted in a violent splintering process that created a second series of competitive vacancy chains and attempts to fill them through violence.78 Indeed, the JCNG itself factionalized and was forced to confront a new rival in its offshoot, the Nuevo Plaza Cartel.79 Third, the focus in recent years has, to some extent, changed from the drug business to what might be termed the violence business. This transformation has been reflected in the growing mobilization of gang members as assassins, the recruitment of former military men, and the incorporation of criminal deportees from the United States.80 Fourth, there has been a broadening of criminality in Mexico, with the focus no longer simply on drug trafficking but on extortion, robbery, and the theft of natural resources, especially oil.81 One reason for this, as Brian Phillips pointed out, is that crimes such as kidnapping and extortion do not have the same logistics requirements as drug trafficking.82 Fifth, ordinary citizens have fought back against the traffickers and criminals, creating vigilante or self-defense forces, particularly in areas of the country where the state offers little protection.83 Another dimension is that the military itself has contributed to violence and public insecurity. This was a known risk when President Felipe Calderón increased the military’s role in countering DTOs – something that he had little choice about, given that the police were severely outgunned by the trafficking organizations. Nevertheless, the army, predictably, committed human rights violations, became more susceptible to corruption, and might well be involved in extrajudicial killings.84 Some observers have also claimed that the army has become engaged in the drug trafficking business.85 Such allegations, however, are hard to prove because of the lack of transparency and effective oversight. There are also close connections between DTOs and politicians, especially at the municipal level. Such relationships are predominantly symbiotic, but they also mean local politicians become targets of rivals of the organizations they support or even their own organizations should they fail to deliver expected protection or services. In this connection, a Justice in Mexico study by Calderón et al demonstrated that mayors are at least 12 times more likely to be murdered than ordinary citizens.86 A final factor that must be considered is impunity: not only can criminals kill or coerce and be paid for it, but they can also get away with it. As Gabriela Ramírez argued, “impunity, or the

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lack of judicial accountability, has permeated Mexico for decades and provides fertile ground where criminal behavior can flourish … Widespread impunity basically represents a blank check and a perverse incentive which encourages criminals to engage in illicit activities (that in many cases result in homicides).”87 All of these factors have contributed to a significant upsurge of violence in Mexico. Unfortunately, Mexico is not an outlier. Even with the dramatic increases, Mexico still has homicide rates that are average by Latin American standards. As the Justice in Mexico Project noted, “homicide rates are actually far worse elsewhere in the Western Hemisphere” and “in per capita terms, Mexico’s national homicide rate is close to ‘average’ for the region and, due to the magnifying effect of per capita homicide rate calculations, ranks well below those of smaller countries, like Belize, Colombia, Guatemala, Honduras, Jamaica, and Venezuela.”88 This is not surprising. There are forms of violence in Latin America unrelated to competition among DTOs. In some countries, especially in Central America, gang violence related to turf wars between Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13) and Barrio 18 and the reliance on extortion (with the accompanying threat and use of violence) might surpass drug trafficking-related violence. Nor can domestic violence and femicide be overlooked, as “victimization surveys indicate that violence against women and children is pervasive. When asked to describe the most harmful types of violence, more than 60 percent of Latin American respondents claim it is violence against women and children. This is higher than street violence (59 percent) and organized crime and gang-related violence (both 51 percent).”89 If day-to-day violence has become a central part of the machismo culture, it is not uniform in its impact. Muggah and Aguirre Tobón argued that in places where social cohesion and community organization are low, violence tends to be high.90 They add that “if the social ties within a community are too weak to influence how local people behave, criminality, in particular juvenile crime, is more likely. Likewise, where there is concentrated poverty and inequality, high levels of youth unemployment, and a high turnover of residents, violent crime also becomes more likely.”91 The corollary is that “Latin America´s youth homicide rate is more than three times the rate of the general population – reaching 70 per 100,000. Indeed, 46 percent of all homicide victims in Latin America are between 15 and 29 years old. The proportion of young people that are victims of homicide is highest in Brazil (54 percent of all victims), El Salvador (52 percent), Honduras (51 percent) and Colombia (51 percent). The next most-affected age group are males between 30-45.”92 The other factor in all this, of course, is the widespread availability of firearms – South and Central America have higher percentages of homicide by gun than anywhere else in the world.93 Moreover, Latin America also has land disputes that feed into the violence.

Contested Spaces The contest for control of spaces or land in Latin America is long-standing but has taken on new dimensions because of urbanization on the continent, as well as the growth of drug trafficking, organized crime, and gangs. As a result, there are multiple contested spaces, each of which has its own set of distinctive protagonists, dynamics, and cycles of intensity and violence. In both Guatemala and El Salvador, land distribution was an underlying cause of the civil wars that ravaged both countries. Efforts were made at the end of the conflicts to make reforms, but these were limited. More progress was made in El Salvador than elsewhere, but “an estimated 57 percent of the rural population still does not have legal access to land.”94 Nevertheless, the issue is not as contentious as in Guatemala, which “continues to have the most inequitable and concentrated distribution of land ownership in Central America.”95 Moreover, in Petén, Guatemala’s

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northernmost department, DTOs have used coercion and violence to seize land from farmers and peasants.96 The land is then used to facilitate trafficking. Other contested spaces result from resource extraction that threatens to interfere with the livelihoods of the local population. These spaces are often populated by marginalized indigenous peoples such as the Garifuna on the Atlantic coasts of Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras. Indeed, both peasants and indigenous peoples have long faced many challenges in the face of encroachments by governments and businesses seeking to maximize resource extraction, develop large plantations, or build dams. As one survey of Central America noted, “secure land tenure remains unattainable for many” as a result of resistance by the elites, the prevalence of “land related conflicts and lack of adequate dispute resolution techniques and ignorance or violation of existing laws.”97 In Honduras, the problems extend to major cities, but the land issue remains most acute and contentious in rural areas where “indigenous and other ethnic groups are highly tenure insecure. Many of these groups lack clear title to their land, which fosters encroachment and expropriation attempts by non-indigenous landless farmers, powerful business interests, and government elites. In addition, community leaders opposed to land acquisitions have been subject to intimidation and violence. Lands held under communal tenure have also been subject to government expropriation.”98 Conflicts over land increased after the coup of 2009, which shifted support from campesinos to large landowners and intensified the conflict in Bajo Aguán between Dinant Corporation with its palm oil plantations and peasants. This conflict has occasionally erupted into violence: more than 100 campesinos and some Dinant security guards have been killed, and human rights activists have been subjected to intimidation.99 Although the Bajo Aguán conflict has its specific dynamics, it is typical of the unequal conflicts over land throughout Latin America. As one study observed, “land distribution is a historical structural problem in Latin America; for two centuries, this issue has caused more wars, population displacements, social conflicts, hunger, and inequality than any other.”100 The current manifestation of this issue, however, is the growth of agribusiness, supported by preferential public policies and repression of opposition from peasants and small farmers who resist displacement or the loss of their lands.101 The process of land displacement, in many cases, “occurs through direct purchase, whether legal or fraudulent. In others, people are forced off their land indirectly; for example, in Paraguay, families have become surrounded by soybean plantations, and cannot live with the intensive application of chemical products. Displacement is often a result of violence, such as in Colombia, Guatemala, and Honduras, where peasant and indigenous communities face threats, coercion, and violent evictions to make way for soybean, palm oil, and sugar cane plantations. In Brazil, dozens of peasants and indigenous leaders have been murdered for resisting the advance of agro-industry, livestock farming, timber extraction, and mining.”102 The result is that land inequalities are perhaps more pronounced than ever in Latin America, with the largest 1 percent of farms accounting for more land than the other 99 percent.103 “The most extreme case is Colombia, where farms of more than 500 hectares – which only account for 0.4 percent of all farms – occupy 67.6 percent of productive land,” while in Chile and Paraguay, the largest 1 percent of farms occupy more than 70 percent of productive land.104 Small farms have been disappearing as the trend of concentration has intensified. The land inequality problem is exacerbated by the vastly increased role of extraction industries in Latin America. “The development of new technologies to exploit low-grade deposits, rising commodity prices, and the creation of investment-friendly legal regimes in the early 1990s meant that investors flocked to exploit the untapped resources” in many countries in Latin America.105 Indeed, “raw minerals, fossil fuels, metals, timber, meat, and vegetables account for more than half of total exports in most of the region’s countries; in Chile and Ecuador they

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are in excess of 80 percent.”106 Both mining and oil exploitation expanded enormously during the last two decades. In Colombia, with the expansion in gold mining, “the area under mining concession grew from 1.1 million hectares in 2002 to 5.7 million hectares in 2015.”107 In some cases, this brought the mining companies into conflict with local communities. A study by Haslam and Tanimoune concluded that “increasing levels of poverty, especially in poor communities underserved by the state, increase the likelihood of social conflict. In terms of livelihood concerns, we underline that it is the (increasing) scarcity of alternative agricultural livelihoods that exacerbates the tension between mining firms and nearby communities.”108 The study also found that “mining seems to compete more acutely with scarcer alternative livelihood strategies at mid-to-high altitudes, but to a lesser extent both at lower altitudes (where alternatives are likely to be more abundant), and very high altitudes (where there are no alternatives to mining).”109 In addition, it noted that specific attributes of the mining firm involved, such as foreign ownership or state participation in mining, also made conflict more likely.110 The state throughout Latin America has contributed to land and environmental conflicts. Governments focused on economic development have been highly permissive in facilitating the activities of mining companies from Canada and elsewhere, even though “in Colombia, Ecuador, Bolivia, Peru, and Chile” this has led to “increasingly frequent and intense conflicts with indigenous peoples, because such activities either directly impact their territories or affect the water sources on which they rely.”111 Few governments or companies have engaged in “prior consultation” with the people most affected.112 Moreover, there are many asymmetries favoring government and business that work against peasants and indigenous peoples. These have been perhaps most glaring in Peru where “indigenous communities must overcome 27 bureaucratic hurdles and wait a decade to obtain legal recognition of their territory, while it would take a company just seven steps and less than three months to obtain a mining or forestry concession. It is therefore unsurprising that between 2007 and 2015, only 50 titles were approved for indigenous territories, while more than 35,000 mining concessions were granted.”113 Yet, when local communities resist and defend their land, they are subjected to repressive policies that stigmatize and criminalize their actions. Moreover, even when the law sides with the resistance, some companies continue their mining with impunity. This happened, for example, with the El Tambor mine in Guatemala despite an injunction on its activities.114 Moreover, the company involved characterized those protesting as “enemies of the state” and “terrorists who should be arrested.”115 It is often only a small step from such characterizations to the use of violence. In this connection, it is worth noting that “at least 109 environmental activists were murdered in Honduras between 2010 and 2015 for standing up to corporate interests.”116 And in 2015, Latin America accounted for “122 of the 185 activists murdered worldwide.”117 It is hard, therefore, to dispute the conclusion of an Oxfam study “that peasant and indigenous leaders, human and environmental rights defenders, and the populations affected by extractive activities are now more at risk than ever from the actions or omissions of governments that are implementing repressive strategies to contain growing social unrest, in order to protect the enclaves of extraction activities.”118 There is also a land rights problem in many Latin American cities. Although the movement of people from rural to urban areas is a global phenomenon, urbanization in Latin America has been dramatic. Latin America has several megacities with populations of more than ten million people as well as an increasing number of large- and medium-sized cities. The problem is people are pouring into cities before there is adequate infrastructure for those who are already there, let alone the new arrivals.119 Moreover, new arrivals often carve out their own territories. The result is a massive growth of informal settlements that often form peripheries poorly served by

20  Phil Williams

the state.120 Yet, as James Holston argued, in Sao Paulo, this mix of “social inequality and residential illegality” led to a form of “insurgent citizenship” in which those on the periphery built informal settlements that they constantly improved in ways that gave these settlements enhanced legitimacy.121 Despite this, the lack of state capacity and presence has created opportunities for predatory and criminal behavior often by youth gangs that emerged in response to marginalization, neglect, and the lack of opportunities. Two of these gangs or maras, MS-13 and Barrio 18, have an innate level of hostility to one another, which has significantly increased homicide levels throughout the Northern Triangle of Central America and elsewhere. Each gang vigorously protects the territories it controls, and members of the other gang intrude, risking their lives. Moreover, each gang dominates the population in the areas under its control by establishing extortion economies. This tendency was effectively encapsulated by Berg and Carranza, who noted, “the logic of territorial control … points to three common functions of violence for rebel and criminal groups. As in civil wars, criminal groups use competitive violence against other armed groups to protect their turf … Competitive violence tends to be especially severe, often resulting in numerous homicides as groups seek to eliminate or deter rivals. Second, territorial competition fuels coercive violence, directed at the residents of a territory or state officials to influence their behavior … Third, armed groups sometimes engage in exploitative violence in territories they control to extract resources from the population.”122 Brazil suffers from similar problems. In Rio De Janeiro, the Comando Vermelho, the Terceiro Comando, and The Amigos des Amigos have their own distinct territories while militias, primarily composed of former police officers, have also seized control of certain favelas. The areas where these gangs come up against each other tend to be particularly violent. Significantly, the gangs’ headquarters and command and control structures in both Brazil and the countries of the Northern Triangle of Central America are in prisons. Prisons, too, are contested spaces: sometimes the contest between rival criminal organizations or gangs is muted or even latent; at other times, it emerges with a startling ferocity. Prisons, especially in the Northern Triangle of Central America, are characterized by high levels of corruption, collusion between prison personnel and inmates, overcrowding, mixing those awaiting trial with convicted felons, poor administration, high levels of violence and brutality, large-scale clashes between rival gangs, periodic fires, and occasional riots.

Drug Traffickers and Alternative Governance It is clear through much of the preceding analysis – whether discussing corruption, violence, or contested spaces – that DTOs and gangs are inextricably linked to the crisis of governance. Nowhere has the rise of transnational organized crime been as pronounced, violent, and corrosive as in Latin America. DTOs had been around for decades, but in the 1970s, the U.S. appetite for cocaine increased significantly and provided the impetus for Colombia – with its then weak state apparatus, limited control of rural areas, and tradition of contraband smuggling – to emerge as the corporate headquarters of the new drug trade.123 Major trafficking organizations in Medellín and Cali emerged and sought to create a vertical integration of the trade from the coca plantations to the distribution centers in the United States. After the takedown of these large organizations in the 1990s, however, the Colombian drug industry flattened with about 300 small groups replacing the ten or so large ones that had hitherto dominated. Colombian traffickers also truncated their operations, passing the drugs on to Mexican organizations for transportation into the United States. The result was that the Mexicans increasingly became the foremost players, just as the PRI lost its monopoly. Competition among Mexican DTOs was brutal, contributing to the high levels of violence discussed above.

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Most recently, the growth of the heroin market in the United States – initially fueled by the promiscuous supply and use of prescription opioid painkillers, and then, their tighter regulation – provided new opportunities for profit but also intensified the rivalries among Mexican DTOs. This was accompanied by the diffusion of organized crime and its extension into domestic racketeering. During the 1990s and early 2000s in Mexico, organized crime was all about the drug trade. Recent years, however, have also witnessed the development of the extortion economy with targets ranging from shopkeepers to teachers, and the emergence of natural resource crime, such as the tapping of oil pipelines and even the illegal export of coal. Another key development was the switch from maritime to overland routes of narcotic shipments into Mexico. This led to the growth of transportista organizations in Central America, especially in the Northern Triangle of El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras.124 U.S. support for the governments of the region, however, resulted in the takedown of the families that provided the leadership of these organizations but with little impact on the northward flow of drugs.125 One reason for the modest impact was the survival of the underlying trafficking infrastructure; another was that smaller, less visible groups emerged in response to the opportunities that law enforcement had inadvertently created. Caribbean states such as the Dominican Republic and Jamaica have also seen high levels of drug trafficking violence. In addition, with the outflow of refugees from the Northern Triangle to the United States and the exodus from Venezuela to Brazil, Ecuador, Peru, and other countries, lucrative opportunities for criminal organizations to become informal travel agents and illicit transportation companies have been eagerly seized. Accompanying the upsurge of human smuggling has likely been an increase in human trafficking, with women and children moved across borders for sexual exploitation or servitude and men drafted into forced labor. The continent has also seen an increase in arms trafficking, wildlife trafficking, and other forms of contraband smuggling. Borders in Latin America have always been relatively open but have become highly permeable, allowing many kinds of illicit flows. Yet, some DTOs have also provided forms of alternative governance that are paternalistic (and predatory), organic, local, and bottom-up rather than corrupt, remote, and top-down. The extent of this varies from one organization to another. Partly because of its origin in the Mexican military special forces, and partly because it did not have organic roots in any specific territory or community, the Zetas Organization relied solely on intimidation backed by a relentless brutality and did not engage in anything that could remotely be described as paternalistic. During the 1980s and early 1990s, Pablo Escobar had developed an equally fearsome reputation in Colombia. Yet he also developed a housing project called “Medellín without Slums,” and, according to his brother, really cared about the poor in Colombia.126 El Chapo Guzmán, leader of the Sinaloa Federation, also provided some degree of alternative governance, developing a reputation for paternalism that made him a folk hero in Sinaloa. Another example of drug trafficking benevolence was evident in Guatemala, where the Lorenzana trafficking family provided flood relief, established a medical clinic for the local community, gave gifts at Christmas, and offered jobs in its licit businesses.127 The takedown of the organization created a serious governance gap as the state remained largely absent from the region where the Lorenzanas had operated. None of this is meant to suggest that criminal and DTOs are inherently altruistic. Paternalism or philanthropy by criminal organizations is likely rooted in calculations of self-interest, the desire to create political capital, and recognition that enhanced legitimacy enhances territorial control at a lower cost.128 Even if criminal governance is self-serving, it can create a more secure local order and help marginalized and poor communities. The issue of criminal governance became even more prominent during the pandemic. In some instances, paternalistic behavior increased with some DTOs providing local communities

22  Phil Williams

with food and other necessities. In other cases, criminal organizations sensibly imposed curfews and restricted movement in an effort to stop the spread of the coronavirus. In Brazil, the wellknown prison gang Comando Vermelho (Red Command) used social media to tell people to stay at home.129 Indeed, the gang adopted a far more mature and responsible stance toward the pandemic than did Brazil’s president. This does not mean that DTOs and gangs ceased to engage in criminal activity. Predatory activities continued and, in some places, even increased as local extortion proved easier and more attractive than transnational trafficking activities in a period when trade and travel were curtailed. Nevertheless, the pandemic might well have given a boost to criminal or alternative governance even as it highlighted the weakness and inadequacy of state governance.

Conclusion The idea of alternative governance brings the analysis full circle. Much of the preceding discussion has focused on the failure of the state in Latin America. For citizens in many Latin American countries, the state is generally remote but often demanding and sometimes highly repressive. Countries ranging from Argentina and Chile to Guatemala have waged war on their own citizens, whether critics of the regime, indigenous peoples, or the poor and disenfranchised. Civil wars have been followed by the emergence of stuttering democracies, but these have done little to reduce the massive inequalities between the elites and everyone else. If there is a silver lining in any of this, it is that modest inroads seem to have been made against impunity. Some individuals guilty of past atrocities have been held to account; corrupt politicians, including former presidents and ministers, have been imprisoned; and some drug kingpins who once seemed untouchable have been arrested or killed. At the same time, the ability of Guatemalan President Jimmy Morales to brazenly dismantle the International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala – which has been an exemplary model of the effort to combat impunity – cautions against premature celebration.130 The systemic and endemic problems discussed in this chapter corrode governance, a process intensified by the coronavirus pandemic. In the final analysis, therefore, it is likely that during the next decade, the crisis of governance in Latin America will intensify rather than abate.

Notes 1 Ishaan Tharoor, “Venezuela’s Refugee Exodus is the Biggest Crisis in the Hemisphere,” Washington Post, August 23, 2018. 2 Phil Williams, “The Global Crisis of Governance,” in Beyond Convergence:World Without Order, eds. Hilary Matfess and Michael Miklaucic (Washington, DC: National Defense University, 2016), 21–45. 3 Robert H. Jackson, “Quasi-States, Dual Regimes, and Neoclassical Theory,” in International Law and International Relations: An International Organization Reader, eds. Beth A. Simmons and Richard H. Steinberg (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 212. 4 Charles Tilly, “War Making and State Making as Organized Crime,” in Bringing the State Back In, eds. Peter B. Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 169–191. 5 Miguel Angel Centeno, Blood and Debt: War and the Nation-State in Latin America (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2002). 6 Matthias vom Hau, “New Perspectives on Violence and State Power in Latin America,” Latin American Politics and Society 56, no. 4 (Winter 2014): 159–168. 7 Hau, “New Perspectives”, 161. 8 Agustin E. Ferraro and Miguel A. Centeno, “Paper Leviathans: Historical Legacies and State Strength in Contemporary Latin America and Spain,” in State and Nation Making in Latin America and Spain: Republics of the Possible, eds. Miguel A. Centeno and Agustin E. Ferraro (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 399–416.

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Ferraro and Centeno, Paper Leviathans, 407. Ferraro and Centeno, Paper Leviathans, 407. Ferraro and Centeno, Paper Leviathans, 407. Ferraro and Centeno, Paper Leviathans, 407. Ferraro and Centeno, Paper Leviathans, 407. Diana Rodriguez-Franco, “Internal Wars, Taxation, and State Building,” American Sociological Review 81, no. 1 (2016): 190–213. 15 Anne L. Clunan and Harold A. Trinkunas, eds., Ungoverned Spaces (Stanford, CA: Stanford Security Studies, 2010). 16 For a fuller analysis, see Williams, “The Global Crisis of Governance.” 17 The importance of this in a different geographical setting is highlighted in William Reno, Warlord Politics and African States (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2009). 18 Nils Gilman, “The Twin Insurgencies: Plutocrats and Criminals Challenge the Westphalian State,” in Beyond Convergence: World Without Order, eds. Hilary Matfess and Michael Miklaucic (Washington, DC: National Defense University, 2016), 47–60. 19 Gilman, “The Twin Insurgencies,” 48. 20 Gilman, “The Twin Insurgencies,” 49. 21 Lisa L. North and Timothy D. Clark, eds., Dominant Elites in Latin America: From Neo-Liberalism to the ‘Pink Tide’ (New York, NY: Palgrave-Macmillan, 2018), 4–5. 22 North and Clark, Dominant Elites, 4. 23 North and Clark, Dominant Elites, 4–5. 24 North and Clark, Dominant Elites, 5. 25 North and Clark, Dominant Elites, 10. 26 Sarah Chayes, When Corruption is the Operating System: The Case of Honduras (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2017), 1–2. 27 Chayes, When Corruption is the Operating System, 8. 28 Chayes, When Corruption is the Operating System, 16. 29 Peter Lupsha, “Drug Lords and Narco-Corruption: Players Change but the Game Continues,” Crime, Law and Social Change 16 (1991): 41–58. 30 Kevin Casas Zamorra, Dangerous Liaisons: Organized Crime and Political Finance in Latin America and Beyond (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2013), 4. 31 For a good overview, see James Brooke, “Drug Cartel Tied to Vote in Colombia,” The New York Times, June 23, 1994. 32 Kerry Luft, “Drug Scandal Taints President of Colombia,” Chicago Tribune, August 6, 1995. 33 Adriaan Alsema, “Cali Cartel Gave $10M to Samper’s Presidential Campaign – Cartel Executive,” Colombia Reports, May 17, 2013. 34 Henry Romero, “Colombia’s Santos Apologizes for Illegal Funds Paid into Campaign,” Reuters, March 14, 2017. 35 Romero, “Colombia’s Santos Apologizes.” 36 Joseph Goldstein and Benjamin Weiser, “After 78 Killings, A Honduran Drug Lord Partners with the U.S.,” The New York Times, October 6, 2017. 37 Goldstein and Weiser, “After 78 Killings.” 38 “Cachiros,” InSight Crime, October 1, 2017. 39 Jeff Ernst and Elisabeth Malkin, “Honduran President’s Brother, Arrested in Miami, Is Charged with Drug Trafficking,” The New York Times, November 26, 2018. 40 Sergio Arauz, Óscar Martínez, and Efren Lemus, “El Cártel de Texis,” El Faro, May 16, 2001. 41 Voices on the Border, El Faro Exposes Huge Drug Trafficking Network, May 23, 2011, https://voiceselsalvador.wordpress.com/2011/05/23/el-faro-exposes-huge-drug-trafficking-network/. 42 Humberto Padgett Leon, Tamaulipas: La Casta de Los Narcogobernadores (Mexico City: Tendencias, 2016). 43 U.S. Attorney’s Office, Southern District of Texas, Former Mexican Governor Extradited to the Southern District of Texas, April 20, 2018, https://www.justice.gov/usao-sdtx/pr/former-mexican-governorextradited-southern-district-texas. 44 U.S. Attorney’s Office, Southern District of Texas, Former Mexican Governor Extradited to the Southern District of Texas. 45 See page 6 of the indictment, https://www.ice.gov/doclib/news/releases/2013/131202brownsville.pdf. 46 David Agren, “Mexico: ‘Worst Governor in History’ Sentenced to Nine Years for Corruption,” The Guardian, September 27, 2018. 47 For a good overview, see Monica Arruda De Almeida, and Bruce Zagaris, “Political Capture in the Petrobras Corruption Scandal:The Sad Tale of an Oil Giant,” Fletcher Forum for World Affairs 39, no. 2 (Summer 2015): 87–99. 9 1 0 11 12 13 14

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48 Sabine Kurtenbach and Detlef Nolte, “Latin America’s Fight against Corruption: The End of Impunity,” GIGA Focus: Latin America 3, 06 (2017): 1–12. 49 Kurtenbach and Nolte, “Latin America’s Fight against Corruption,” 5. 50 De Almeida and Zagaris, “Political Capture,” 88. 51 U.S. Department of Justice, Odebrecht and Braskem Plead Guilty and Agree to Pay at Least $3.5 Billion in Global Penalties to Resolve Largest Foreign Bribery Case in History, December 21, 2016, quoted in Ryan K. Jensen, Corruption in Brazil:Why Are Manifestations on the Rise (Monterey, CA: Naval Postgraduate School Thesis, June 2018), 43. 52 “Odebrecht Case: Politicians Worldwide Suspected in Bribery Scandal,” BBC News, December 15, 2017. 53 Flora Charner, Gianluca Mezzofiore, and Rafael Romo, “Alan Garcia, Former Peru President, Dies from Self-Inflicted Gunshot Wound,” CNN, April 17, 2019. 54 Helen Murphy, “Colombia’s Santos Apologizes for Illegal Funds Paid into Campaign,” Reuters, March 14, 2017. 55 Murphy, “Colombia’s Santos Apologizes.” 56 De Almeida and Zagaris, “Political Capture,” 89; David Segal, “Petrobras Oil Scandal Leaves Brazilians Lamenting a Lost Dream,” The New York Times, August 7, 2015. 57 Anthony Faiola, “The Corruption Scandal Started in Brazil. Now It’s Wreaking Havoc in Peru,” Washington Post, January 23, 2018. 58 Kurtenbach and Nolte, “Latin America’s Fight against Corruption,” 6. 59 On both the law and the importance of plea bargaining, see Jensen, Corruption in Brazil, 31–36. 60 Maria Amparo Casar, “The Shadow Hanging Over Mexico’s 2018 Elections,” Americas Quarterly, January 16, 2018. 61 Richard Wike, Katie Simmons, Bruce Stokes, and Janell Fetterolf, “Many Unhappy with Current Political System,” Pew Research Center, October 16, 2017. 62 Amanda Erickson, “Latin America is the World’s Most Violent Region. A New Report Investigates Why,” Washington Post, April 25, 2018. The analysis provided a commentary on the report cited in the next endnote. 63 Robert Muggah and Katherine Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America: Facts and Figures (Rio De Janeiro: Igarape Institute, Strategic Paper 33, April 2018), 2. 64 Muggah and Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 3. 65 Muggah and Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 22. 66 Oswaldo J. Hernandez, “Guatemala’s Most Violent vs. Most Peaceful Place,” InSight Crime, September 5, 2014. 67 Sibylla Brodzinsky, “From Murder Capital to Model City: Is Medellín’s Miracle Show or Substance?” The Guardian, April 17, 2014. 68 Mica Rosenberg and Julian Cardona, “Ten Thousand Dead and Counting: Ciudad Juarez, the Mexican City That’s Deadlier Than Afghanistan,” Reuters, December 27, 2011. 69 Nick Valencia and Arturo Chacon, “Juarez Shedding Violent Image, Statistics Show,” CNN, January 5, 2013. 70 Muggah and Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 24. 71 Laura Calderón, Octavio Rodríguez Ferreira, and David A. Shirk, 2018 Drug Violence in Mexico Report, Justice in Mexico, April 2018: 7. 72 Calderón, Rodríguez Ferreira, and Shirk, Drug Violence, 4. 73 Amir Vera and Marilia Brocchetto, “Mexico had More Homicides in 2017 Than Previously Reported, Statistics Institute Says,” CNN, July 31, 2018. 74 Eli Meixler, “Cartel-Ravaged Mexico Sets a New Record for Murders,” Time, January 22, 2019. 75 On vacancy chains, see H. Richard Friman, “Forging the Vacancy Chain: Law Enforcement Efforts and Mobility in Criminal Economies,” Crime, Law and Social Change 41, no. 1 (February, 2004): 53–77. For the author’s analysis of Mexican drug violence, see Phil Williams, “The Terrorism Debate over Mexican Drug Trafficking Violence,” Terrorism and Political Violence 24, no. 2 (Special Issue: Intersections of Crime and Terror 2012): 259–278. 76 June S. Beittel, Mexico: Organized Crime and Drug Trafficking Organizations, Congressional Research Service, April 25, 2017: 25. 77 Beittel, Mexico, 22–24. 78 Williams, The Terrorism Debate. 79 Mexico Investigative Team,“The New Criminal Group Hitting Mexico’s CJNG Where It Hurts,” InSight Crime, July 24, 2018. 80 Nathan P. Jones, “The Strategic Implications of the Cártel de Jalisco Nueva Generación,” Journal of Strategic Security 11, no. 1 (2018): 19–42. 81 Jones, “The Strategic Implications,” 26–27.

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82 Brian J. Phillips, quoted in David Agren, “Mexico Maelstrom: How the Drug Violence Got So Bad,” The Guardian, December 26, 2017. 83 Brian J. Phillips, “Inequality and the Emergence of Vigilante Organizations: The Case of Mexican Autodefensas,” Comparative Political Studies 50, no. 10 (2017): 1358–1389. 84 Human Rights Watch, “Mexico: Events of 2017,” in World Report 2018, https://www.hrw.org/ world-report/2018/country-chapters/mexico. 85 Charles Bowden, “We Bring Fear,” Mother Jones, July/August 2009. 86 Calderón, Rodríguez Ferreira, and Shirk, Drug Violence, 5. 87 Gabriela Capó Ramirez, Why Did Homicides Increase So Much in 2017? What Should the Mexican Government Do About It? (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center for International Scholars, Mexico Institute, February 4, 2018). 88 Calderón, Rodríguez Ferreira, and Shirk, Drug Violence, 8. 89 Muggah and Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 9. 90 Muggah and Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 22. 91 Muggah and Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 22. 92 Muggah and Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 27. 93 Muggah and Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 8. 94 USAID Country Profile: Property Rights and Resource Governance, El Salvador: 3. 95 USAID Country Profile: Property Rights and Resource Governance, Guatemala: 3. 96 Markus Zander and Jochen Dürr, Dynamics in Land Tenure, Local Power and the Peasant Economy:The Case of Petén, Guatemala, International Conference on Global Land Grabbing, April 6–8, 2011. 97 Land Tenure: Lessons for Sustainability through Information Sharing, Organization of American States: Department of Sustainability, Policy Series, Number 10 (April 2006): 2. 98 USAID Country Profile: Property Rights and Resource Governance, Honduras: 3. 99 “Aguan, Honduras: World Bank Backs Death Squads and Displacement,” TeleSUR, April 17, 2015. 100 Oxfam International, Unearthed: Land, Power and Inequality in Latin America, November 30, 2016: 8. https://www-cdn.oxfam.org/s3fs-public/file_attachments/bp-land-power-inequality-latin-america301116-en.pdf. 101 Bernardo Mançano Fernandes, “Development Models for the Brazilian Countryside: Paradigmatic and Territorial Disputes,” Latin American Perspectives 43, no. 207 (March 2016): 48–59. 102 Oxfam, Unearthed, 37. 103 Oxfam, Unearthed, 9. 104 Oxfam, Unearthed, 23. 105 Paul Alexander Haslam and Nasser Ary Tanimoune, “The Determinants of Social Conflict in the Latin American Mining Sector: New Evidence with Quantitative Data,” World Development 78 (2016): 401– 419 at 402. 106 Oxfam, Unearthed, 31. 107 Oxfam, Unearthed, 32. 108 Haslam and Tanimoune, “The Determinants of Social Conflict,” 408. 109 Haslam and Tanimoune, “The Determinants of Social Conflict,” 411. 110 Haslam and Tanimoune, “The Determinants of Social Conflict,” 411. 111 Oxfam, Unearthed, 52. 112 Oxfam, Unearthed, 54. 113 Oxfam, Unearthed, 52. 114 Oxfam, Unearthed, 54. 115 Oxfam, Unearthed, 55. 116 Oxfam, Unearthed, 51. 117 Oxfam, Unearthed, 49. 118 Oxfam, Unearthed, 68. 119 P.H. Liotta and James F. Miskel, The Real Population Bomb: Megacities, Global Security and the Map of the Future (Dulles,VA: Potomac Books, Incorporated, 2012). 120 See Mike Davis, Planet of Slums (London:Verso, 2006). 121 James Holston, Insurgent Citizenship (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008). 122 Louis-Alexandre Berg and Marlon Carranza, “Organized Criminal Violence and Territorial Control: Evidence from Northern Honduras,” Journal of Peace Research 55, no. 5 (2018): 566–581 at 569. 123 See Francisco E.Thoumi, Political Economy and Illegal Drugs in Colombia (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 1995). 124 Steven S. Dudley, Drug Trafficking Organizations in Central America:Transportistas, Mexican Cartels and Maras, Wilson Center Working Paper Series on U.S.-Mexico Security Collaboration, May 2010. 125 For a good overview, see R. Evan Ellis, Transnational Organized Crime in Latin America and the Caribbean (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2018).

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126 Roberto Escobar, The Accountant’s Story: Inside the Violent World of the Medellín Cartel (New York, NY: Hachette, 2009). 127 For a fuller discussion, see Steven Dudley, “Guatemala’s Underworld ‘Patriarch,’ Lorenzana, Extradited to US,” InSight Crime, March 18, 2014. 128 For a fuller analysis, see Vanda Felbab-Brown, Harold Trinkunas, and Shadi Hamid, Militants, Criminals, and Warlords:The Challenge of Local Governance in an Age of Disorder (Washington, DC: Brookings, 2017). A useful supplement and somewhat different perspective can be found in Tereza Kuldova, “When Elites and Outlaws do Philanthropy: On the Limits of Private Vices for Public Benefit,” Trends in Organized Crime 21 (2018): 295–309. 129 Steven Dudley, “COVID-19: Gangs, Statemaking, Threats and Opportunities,” InSight Crime, October 7, 2020. 130 Amnesty International, Guatemala:Termination of CICIG Agreement is Latest Blow to the Fight against Impunity, January 8, 2019.

2 POLICING Lucía Dammert 

Introduction Insecurity is one of the main problems facing Latin American democracies. In the last two decades, all countries have experienced increasing levels of daily violence and the presence of organized crime linked to the consolidation of illegal transnational markets. Furthermore, citizens everywhere are requesting effective policies and governmental action to tackle crime and violence. In most countries, crime has become the concern during electoral processes, defining a fertile ground for punitive populism that emphasizes tough-on-crime policies. The most important element of the state, the coercive capacity found in the monopoly of legitimate force,1 has been undermined. There is a general perception that police forces are corrupt, ineffective, and abusive in most Latin American countries, and privatization of security activities is the main answer to the alleged need for public protection. A grossly unregulated industry has exponentially grown throughout the urban landscape, deepening inequalities, consolidating vigilante-type of security responses, and further eroding police legitimacy. The process of democratic consolidation only seldom has included structural reforms of police institutions. Besides post-conflict cases in which reforming the police was a central element of peace agreements, such as El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua, there is little emphasis on the structural modernization of police forces. Despite the growing body of criminological literature in the fields of police work and policing debates, policing is still a foreign concept in Latin America for most experts on democratic processes and institution building. Policing remains an area dominated by police officers, retired police, and armed forces personnel that design and implement most initiatives, directly impacting the militaristic framework of crime control. Although there is wider recognition that crime prevention is a key element for police officers every day, there is little investment in these programs. Most policing theories recognize the importance of multiple police initiatives that have a greater link to risk factors and socioeconomic problems rather than to crime itself. However, in Latin America, police officers are almost completely devoted to controlling crime. In fact, many police forces still use the number of detainees and quantity of drugs seized as leading indicators of policy success. Along with limited efforts to implement a new policing system that addresses violence and crime more effectively, high levels of police autonomy are a standard feature in Latin America. DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-3

28  Lucía Dammert

Scarce political interest about this issue has allowed police institutions to either consolidate internal barriers to a strong civil control system, as in the cases of Chile and Colombia, or develop political links to specific actors that involve them in a regime-protection scheme, such as in Bolivia, Nicaragua, and Venezuela. In that context, most processes of structural police reforms have been a complete failure. The initiatives that have produced specific results in the previous decades are restricted to particular areas of police work. This chapter discusses the process of police reform in Latin America over the last few years from a democratic consolidation perspective that emphasizes accountability and the rule of law. The chapter is organized into five sections except the “Introduction” section. The first includes a characterization of the security threats that increasingly erode democratic values in the region. The second develops a debate on policing as a concept that needs to be revisited in Latin America to fully understand the challenges of police reform. The third describes police forces and the wide variety of institutional characteristics and political situations in which they are immersed. The fourth section highlights those areas in which some reforms have been implemented in the last decade and offers some caveats toward long-term results. Finally, the chapter concludes with challenges for effective policing developed for fearful societies and unstable political environments.

A Kaleidoscopic Security Scenario Latin America and the Caribbean face increasing violence and insecurity. Rapid rates of urbanization along with state weaknesses are fertile ground for insecurity and impunity. Recent victimization surveys show that fear of crime has become a constant element in the daily life of most Latin Americans. Regardless of the crime level, fear affects more than 40 percent of Chileans, Mexicans, Peruvians, Salvadorians, and Uruguayans.2 The impact of fear varies, affecting how urban life is developed, policies are implemented, and police are evaluated.3 Furthermore, fear mutually reinforces a lack of trust in institutions, especially in the police force, which is perceived as corrupt, inefficient, and abusive.4 Although fear is considered a subjective dimension of insecurity, it is rooted in very objective problems. In terms of homicide rates, Latin America houses 10 of the 15 most violent countries in the world and 20 of the 30 most violent cities.5 In addition, street crime has spread and evolved into more violent activities since guns have become widely available at legal and illegal markets. Globalization has also led to the development of new threats such as cybercrime, internet fraud, and identity theft. Along with street crime, Latin American countries face a serious problem: transnational organized crime. The corridor from countries that produce cocaine (mainly Colombia and Peru) to the primary consumers (the United States) has a long history that includes integration and diversification of products, routes, and methods of transportation. In fact, there is substantial evidence that links drug trafficking activities to the arms trade and the illicit traffic of migrants, especially between Mexico and Central American countries.6 By the 1980s, most countries in the southern part of the region, such as Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay, defined themselves as territories of drug “transit,” while Costa Rica, Ecuador, Panama, and Venezuela did not include organized crime among their most pressing security challenges. The kaleidoscope representing the security scenario in Latin America went into a turbulent period that redefined the importance of criminal organizations, diversified illegal markets, and increased local drug consumption.7 Criminal organizations now have a local, national, and even regional presence in most countries. Despite intense media coverage, there is no clear evidence of the existence of highly sophisticated criminal organizations with national branches, but there

Policing 29

is a drug production line that is organized very efficiently. Perhaps the most infamous organizations are those linked to the illicit drug trade, which recently received intense attention due to several movies and TV series based on the biographies of Pablo Escobar and “El Chapo” Guzmán.8 In the last decade, however, most criminal organizations throughout Latin America were smaller groups with a more focused territorial control. The multiple faces of the criminal scenario are closely linked to the diversification of illegal markets that include traditional activities such as drug trafficking, illegal mining, and money laundering but have also evolved to the illicit trade of exotic birds.9 Most organizations have strong local roots, and albeit linked to international markets, they have developed most of their activities in specific territories. To fully implement their activities, illegal markets have shifted into formal dimensions (even formal markets), leading to the creation of networks and exchanges of favors with local politicians and government institutions. Increasing levels of drug consumption is another challenge for Latin America. The available information shows that Brazil and Argentina are the second and third largest consumers of cocaine in the world.10 Also, the percentage of people with problematic levels of drug consumption has reached exponential proportions. This situation directly affects local markets and the characteristics of criminal organizations; there is also evidence that most people involved in street crime are either under the influence of or searching for illegal substances. Along with crime, violence is a common feature of daily interactions. There is an increasing awareness of the prevalence of violence against women throughout the region, as well as high rates of femicide, sexual violence, and street harassment. In fact, despite the limitations of criminal databases and barriers of judicial processes to prosecute them, Latin America has one of the highest rates of femicide in the world.11 The normalization of violence against women is also portrayed by increasing levels of teen (even child) pregnancies in several countries such as Guatemala and Peru, in most cases linked to sexual abuse by relatives or friends.12 In the last decade, multiple feminist movements have demanded changes in the way society banalizes gender-based violence. Initiatives have been diverse, from strong calls for justice in the cases of women missing in Mexico and other countries in Central America to legal changes and the criminalization of street harassment in Argentina, Chile, and Peru.13 Besides structural violence against women, there is evidence of hate-related crimes, specifically directed at sexual minorities and more recently at migrants. Furthermore, there is an increasing amount of literature that focuses on the root causes of violence in Latin America and the region’s constant use of violence to solve any type of conflict.14 The impact of crime on democratic values is evident. Ceobanu, Wood, and Rivero find that crime victims in Latin America are less likely to be satisfied with democracy.15 Additionally, Sabet indicates that the direct experience of bribery has the single largest impact on dissatisfaction with democracy.16 Paradoxically, a similar process within police institutions has not embodied the sophistication of crime. In most countries, the monopoly of the use of force is only a constitutional metaphor since private security has increased exponentially in the last decades. The concept of “plural policing” ref lects the ongoing privatization process of public security, which fundamentally changes the relationship between the state and the private sector as providers of policing. The state is absent in multiple territories, mainly crime-ridden neighborhoods where criminal organizations have their headquarters. There is a central question regarding the effectiveness of policing in Latin America that has not been resolved in the last decades due to political interference and institutional weaknesses.17 The following sections will further analyze these processes, especially the challenges facing policing in Latin America.

30  Lucía Dammert

Policing in Latin America Policing is a word with no translation in Spanish. Although there is robust academic literature on the very definition of policing in Europe and the United States, in Latin America, research on the police is still limited.18 This is due to the limited transparency on official data regarding the police and crime and an even more opaque institutional organization that does not allow for a broader debate on police actions. Policing debates emerged at the end of the 1990s, mostly from non-governmental organizations that focused on the need to consolidate the rule of law in countries where the police were still violent, discriminatory, and ineffective. Thus, policiamiento has been used to describe the actions the police undertake to prevent and control crime. However, as Bittner explained, the police are “the agency to which individuals turn when something-is-happening-that-ought-not-to-be-happening-and-about-whichsomeone-had-better-do-something-now.”19 But many of those instances turn out not to be crime. A situation requiring a new policing model should be based on three elements: crime control, social service, and order maintenance (see Table 2.1). Most police institutions are trying to change their work model. For instance, the new British policing model has been defined as “an approachable, impartial and accountable style of policing based on minimum force designed to win public consent through tolerance and patience.”20 In the following sections, the changes in Latin American´s police forces will be analyzed in more detail. Table 2.1 presents the diversity of policing actions organized on two axes. On one axis are actions with people, places, or problems that could overlap but in most places require specific public policy designs. On the other, actions are organized around four types of police work that demand more specific education and training programs. Lately, as Brodeur21 has observed, the question of “what the police does” has been superseded by the question of “what works,” which in turn highlights the need to further discuss the different police functions and core objectives. In most countries, calls to the police are far less related to crime, and most police officers spent most of their time on non-crime-related issues.22 Therefore, what works should be carefully analyzed, since although most societies face similar problems, the policing strategies needed could vary. Despite the new paradigm of evidence-based policy decisions, the evolution of policing has not been driven by theory or empirical research. Unfortunately, in most cases, new initiatives are implemented without a rigorous definition of their main objectives and are continuously reformed during the implementation process due to political pressures and are rarely evaluated.

TABLE 2.1  Diversity of policing actions

Prevention and protection Patrol and response Investigation and intelligence Special services

People

Places

Problems

Manage prolific priority offender; vulnerable victims Visibility and reassurance; stop and search Offender management

Target hardening; situational crime prevention Neighborhood policing; hotspots policing

Partnership working on drugs, domestic violence, and other specific problems Emergency calls

Online crime; hotspots analysis Mass public events

Cases for prosecution; problem profiles Firearms deployments

Counterterrorism policing, natural disasters, health crisis

Source:  Author’s analysis based on Bittner, 1990.

Policing 31

Policing is an activity that is strongly linked to community perceptions. According to Ling cited by Brown, “the modern state rests on three inter-related characteristics: institutional capacity, legitimacy, and coercion.”23 As previously described, Latin American police institutions no longer have the monopoly of force and face serious legitimacy problems. Most citizens do not trust the police and believe they and their work could be described as corrupt, inefficient, and abusive.24 A lack of police legitimacy brings structural problems to democratic regimes since they are highly correlated to political legitimacy.25 The criminological literature emphasizes that abiding by the law is mostly linked to a perception of legitimacy and fairness.26 Therefore, effective policing should focus on strategies that allow police officers to tackle multiple issues that are not always related to crime, with impartiality and a limited use of force. Yet, this remains an enormous challenge for Latin American democracies.

The Police In Latin America, police institutions vary greatly; in countries such as Argentina, Brazil, and Mexico, there are federal, regional, and even local police forces with specific aims and goals. Those countries with federal systems of government not only face the everyday challenges of policing but also handle the complexities of coordination and competition at a political and institutional level between local and federal powers. Most Latin American countries have national organizations with broad territorial coverage (see Table 2.2). Furthermore, police forces could have investigative or preventive aims or both. In most cases, investigative police forces such as the Investigative Police of Chile are civil organizations with a hierarchical structure but not a military-like discipline. The criminal proceedings reform implemented in many countries was an opportunity to increase investigative capabilities, technological features, and modernization processes in most organizations.27 Yet, impunity levels are high

TABLE 2.2  Police forces in Latin America

Territorial coverage

National Argentina Bolivia Brazil Colombia Costa Rica Chile Ecuador El Salvador Guatemala Honduras México Nicaragua Panamá Paraguay Peru Uruguay Venezuela Source:  Author’s analysis.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X

National, regional, and local

Main function

Type

Investigative Preventive Both

Civil Military

X

X

X

X

X

X

X X

X X

X X

X X

X

X

X

X

X X X X X X X X X X

X X X X X X X

X

X X X X X X X X X X X X

32  Lucía Dammert

and are among the worst in the world. According to the Global Impunity Index 2017, Mexico’s score was the worst in the Americas and fifth among the worst-ranked countries worldwide.28 Despite the need for a more professional police force, the trend in Latin America is toward the militarization of police structures and activities. This is not a new scenario. It began with the birth of police forces in the nineteenth century. Back then, police forces could have a civil or military type of organization. The latter is present in most countries, albeit with specific features. For example, Brazil’s Military Police are not only a hierarchical institution but also share training and disciplinary codes with the military. Some police institutions of military orientation, like the Carabineros de Chile, were part of the defense sector until 2011, while others like the National Police of Colombia remain under that regime. In addition to their organizational characteristics, police forces in Latin America share three traits. First, they have been perceived as a tool for twisting the law in favor of the powerful and for the repression and containment of the vulnerable.29 In most cases, police work involves high levels of violence and low levels of accountability, forming a scenario of violence upon violence, where the police are a perpetrator of violence instead of the arm of the justice system that controls and prevents crime.30 The situation has not varied significantly: Low levels of transparency and high levels of violence are still present in almost all institutions. The scenarios are different based on the security problems that each country faces but increasing levels of lethality due to police actions could be found in countries such as Brazil and Venezuela. In a comparative study, Osse and Cano31 found that the higher a country’s murder rate, the greater the overall share of killings committed by police officers, making them part of the problem of violence rather than the solution – those in charge of bringing justice. Second, police forces are perceived as highly corrupt and even linked to criminal organizations.32 The latest Latinobarometro results show that, except for Uruguay, more than 20 percent of the population across Latin American countries believes that all or almost all police officers are corrupt (see Figure 2.1). Limited levels of confidence are the third trait of these Latin American institutions.33 Most Latin American governments have failed to recognize that “how the police treat people has an important effect on whether they will perceive their government as fair, equitable, and efficacious.”34 The majority of police institutions are acknowledged as having high levels of violence, low levels of effectiveness, and general policing strategies based on profiling the most disadvantaged in society.

FIGURE 2.1 

Police corruption in Latin America, 2016

Source:  Latinobarómetro, 2016.

Policing 33

Police Reforms For more than two decades, many police reform initiatives have been implemented throughout Latin America.35 Most reforms were the result of the politicization of the police, policy disasters, police failures, scandals, and corruption, as well as a combination of legislative changes, imported ideas, and homegrown initiatives.36 The goal of all processes was to create a police force controlled by the rule of law, which implies addressing authoritarian legacies and newly developed threats. 37 Police reform processes could be analyzed using two axes. Based on the magnitude of the change, reforms could be depicted as comprehensive, such as in the processes witnessed in El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua during the post-conflict period or partial, as in the reforms of the Buenos Aires City Police,38 the Military Police of Rio de Janeiro,39 and the National Police of Peru.40 Efforts to reform Mexico’s police have been ongoing for decades. In some cases, reform initiatives have involved a wholesale revision of the security sector, including the creation and merger of police institutions. This constant process of structural or specific reforms has not helped the security sector, nor has it strengthened the police. Even though the need for structural reform is evident, most initiatives are partial and generally focused on one specific problem.41 The second axis of analysis for police reform initiatives highlights the main leadership of the process, which could either be external or internal. Most reforms linked to scandals of corruption or the use of violence are driven by external forces, mostly led by outraged politicians who soon after move onto a different problem without a genuine strategy of policy design or implementation. Many police forces have developed specific processes of modernization instead of reform, led by an officer or group whose main concern is related to increasing police personnel, infrastructure, or technology. These initiatives often encounter resistance from police personnel, who perceive them as interference from institutional policies. Multiple analyses of police reforms have shown that internal support is a crucial element for long-term implementation that could only be obtained by a process of negotiation and compromise rather than force.42 Still, autonomy remains a challenge. As Flom confirmed, “in democracies with weak formal institutions, police autonomy depends on the political stability and strength of the incumbent.”43

Main Policies Linked to police forces is a plethora of initiatives implemented in the last few decades in Latin America. Although there is little evidence that could signal a process of state consolidation or increasing effectiveness, the four areas discussed in the following sections have been the center of most initiatives.

Increasing Community Relations Efforts Besides corruption, one of the main problems that most police institutions face in Latin America is the abuse of power, which includes extreme violence in the majority of cases. In most democracies in the region, a significant failure of the rule of law has allowed for high levels of impunity.44 In fact, over the last decade, a process for strengthening laws protecting police officers from any possible act of violence has been conducted, which usually limits effective investigations when excessive use of force and even human rights violations occurred. Although citizens have shown a clear inclination to demand tougher policies that include more police action against crime, there is also a lack of trust and a general sense of ineffectiveness

34  Lucía Dammert

regarding the police. The 2018 presidential race in Brazil demonstrated that demands for “iron fist” are central to the civil agenda. In addition, as mentioned earlier, in the past, the police were not on good terms with the community. Police officers have been centered on crime control and criminal investigation in terms of civil security as well as controlling people’s political discontent and maintaining public order at any cost. Police officers saw themselves as civil servants that were above and distant from the community they serve. Prevention was not part of the policing lexicon and for most of the past decades, there was almost no concern about the public’s trust in police work. Influenced by policing developments in Europe and the United States over the last ten years almost all police institutions created a “community policing” area to enhance community relations and increase confidence in police institutions. Identifying the specific source of this initiative is almost impossible; however, ample information confirms the involvement of both internal and external actors. Either police or state actors recognize the importance of developing a strong relationship with the community to tackle the fear of crime or build specific partnerships that would enhance crime control. Unfortunately, in most contexts, results are limited since basic elements of such strategies went underdeveloped. Decentralization of decision-making processes is needed for police officers to respond to specific issues, but police forces in Latin America are increasingly centralized. Furthermore, rather than a strategy for a small group of police officers, community policing should be adopted as a new paradigm to redefine how the police engage with the community. No police institution in the Americas has embraced this paradigm change. Community policing remains a secondary approach that is poorly implemented with limited financial and human resources.

Enhanced Educational and Training Capabilities In the 1990s, Latin American police forces had low levels of education and limited training capacities. Most countries did not require full secondary education as an entry requirement. Furthermore, initial low levels of education were not countered with a solid training process. This lack of education was maintained throughout the police officer’s career; the officer would later resort to force as the principal mechanism of action. Even though an academic entry-level does not predict professional, ethical standards, it consistently relates to fewer corruption cases.45 Therefore, ethics and respect for the norm do not depend directly on formal academic training but on other processes linked to the socialization and development of the police officers’ morale.46 Despite being a useful resource, the impact of training prior to entering the professional world should not be overestimated. Although initial educational levels are important, other dynamics contribute more to the explanatory models of successful police. These include the institutional structure, organization culture, values associated with the profession, police socialization, and – most importantly – the accompaniment and complementary training that follows after police officers graduate from the police school.47 Training is also deficient. In most countries, there are no permanent training processes that encourage acquiring new knowledge about police strategies and techniques to better prevent or control crime. In fact, the increasing concern of citizens about the imminent growth of crime has resulted in accelerated police officer training processes, which sent police officials with even less knowledge and training to the streets. Training processes that lasted less than six months are not uncommon and what is even more worrisome is they are not repeated or refreshed for a long time.

Policing 35

Around the world, police reforms have almost always included improvement in educational requirements upon entry to the force as well as better infrastructure and modernization of training programs.48 Yet, this is only partially true in Latin America. High levels of police autonomy are the main barriers to structural changes of the police educational system. The increasing presence of teachers who are not part of the police force and the introduction of such issues as human rights or gender perspectives are elements needed to develop and consolidate a more democratic and professional institution. Although several police bodies are far from those goals, significant advances can be observed, for instance, in Uruguay from 2010 to 2020. The Uruguayan police educational system has been structurally redefined to include new topics, perspectives, and teachers. This process has occurred along with important changes in policing strategies that require permanent training to address the flexibility and mobility of crime. By the same token, the Colombian and Chilean preventive police forces have implemented significant curricula changes. In these cases, however, high levels of political autonomy have allowed them to pursue such internal changes with little participation of experts and members of academia. Lack of appropriate infrastructure is another serious problem that most educational and training facilities are facing in Latin America. Therefore, multilateral agencies such as the InterAmerican Development Bank (IADB) have funded several initiatives to help police forces build better institutions. Honduras, one of the most violent countries in Latin America, is one case in which a complete overhaul of the system has been implemented, and the results are promising.49 As mentioned previously, most police organizations in Latin America have a military type of organization that divides the police into two very different groups: officials (oficiales) and street-patrol police (suboficiales). Generally, most of the investment in increasing the quality of educational facilities, programs, and even training activities has concentrated on programs offered to officials. In other words, those in charge of everyday police work on the streets have not been at the center of these educational improvements. Paradoxically, those who are more likely to have a daily relationship with the community are less prepared to deal with the complexities and demands of people’s insecurities.

Technological Investment Technological development is a new buzzword in policing worldwide. For many police forces in Latin America, technological advances have become the main element of possible reforms, highlighting the need for better communications, data systems, and even management programs. There is a vicious cycle in which the private security industry plays an important role in presenting technological solutions as the way to tackle structural problems such as corruption or inefficiency. Additionally, for many decades, police forces were absent from the modernization agenda of their countries. The security crisis has offered an opportunity to request more investment in systems and technological infrastructure, which are perceived as fundamental to control crime. In that context, most institutions have developed crime control television (CCTV) systems that allow them to monitor specific areas of the city. Furthermore, extensive use of CCTV is the norm in most Latin American cities. CCTV systems are funded by national or municipal governments and, in some cases, are connected to police forces. In general, CCTV is being used to tackle civil fear of crime rather than crime itself since there are no clear logistical capabilities to respond to problems quickly. Technological obsolescence is another issue that most CCTV systems must address in the short term since there is little funding for long-term investment. In most cases, police officers have communication systems that allow them to organize a faster response to a crisis and to better define policing patterns. However, lack of training

36  Lucía Dammert

and autonomy hinder possibilities to enhance timely police response. Many police officers are still reluctant to use devices that would trace their movements due to the perception that the objective is to control them rather than increase effectiveness. Investment in technology is increasing but is not systematic. The police institutions in Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador, Mexico, and Uruguay have developed strategic technological programs that allow the entire force to participate. However, in most police forces, there is a wide variety of specific programs or areas in which an increasing use of technology is concentrated, mainly drug trafficking.

From Random to Evidence-based Decisions Along with increasing the use of technology, policing has slowly moved toward more evidence-based decision-making. As in other parts of the world, crime is highly concentrated in territorial terms in Latin America. A study using microgeographic units of analysis showed that “crime is highly concentrated in a small proportion of blocks: 50 percent of crimes are concentrated in 3 to 7.5 percent of street segments, and 25 percent of crimes are concentrated in 0.5 to 2.9 percent of street segments.”50 Still, most police forces develop street patrolling schemes that emphasize coverage rather than evidence-based maps. Recent initiatives implemented in Montevideo and Bogotá show that evidence-based policing is more effective in crime control, but these initiatives do not go beyond pilot programs in specific neighborhoods. Nevertheless, technological advances in policing have a shadier face as well. In most countries, there is an increasing trend toward introducing such intrusive measures as wiretapping, among others, for legal and even illegal activities. The call for more effective measures opens the question of whether law enforcement’s quest for safety could infringe on people’s civil liberties. Even more, it raises the question of whether citizens are openly in favor of limiting rights to have more security. One important example is the increasing interest in drone technology, which police forces currently use in some municipal governments that wish to “protect” their citizens. Far from the effectiveness issue, information privacy is at stake in this case since there is a lack of appropriate regulation. In the same vein, several reports highlight the importance of the body cameras that officers attach to their chest, shoulder, or sunglasses, which could account for limiting the use of force and improving police-community relations. However, the question is who controls the video information being gathered by the police? Again, questions on privacy information remain unanswered. In Latin America, the issue is even more sensitive since corruption practices could further damage private information, and personal data could be used for extortion.

Main Challenges Police work in Latin America faces multiple challenges. Entrenched corrupt practices, lack of public confidence, high levels of impunity, and limited effectiveness in the police are only some of the main issues on Latin American governmental agendas. However, these problems are not only linked to technical solutions but to political will. There is a clear need for more civilian control of the police, as this would limit already high levels of political and professional autonomy, which, in turn, would increase transparency and effectively fight corruption. Also, institutional changes should be long term, and a strong and consistent political will should support them. Constant processes of reform upon existing reforms have taken a toll in most countries, which transmits a clear message that politicians are not willing to support the difficult decisions needed to fully reform the police.

Policing 37

Police reform initiatives need to move from structural, scandal-based moments to more specific reform and modernization processes. As mentioned earlier, several transformations have occurred in a number of areas over the last two decades, in many cases increasing levels of impunity due to lack of civilian oversight. Latin American democracy is closely linked to the increasing capability of police forces to succeed in policies that go far beyond crime control and prevention. As mentioned earlier, policing needs to be revisited and brought into the public policy agenda to open an important debate on the rule of law, the security/freedom dilemma, and human rights. In many countries, police officers are almost the sole representative of the state. Despite the increasing presence of stateless territories under the control of criminal organizations, the vast majority of the continent is controlled by police forces. In that context, the police reform agenda should be a political priority aimed to enhance the quality of democracies and the rule of law.

Notes 1 Samuel P. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven, CT:Yale University Press, 1968). 2 Marta Lagos and Lucía Dammert, “La seguridad ciudadana: problema principal de América Latina,” Latinobarómetro, May 9, 2012. 3 Hugo Frühling, “Las estrategias policiales frente a la inseguridad ciudadana en Chile,” in Policía, sociedad y estado. Modernización y reforma policial en América del Sur, eds. Azun Candina and Hugo Fruhling (Santiago: Centro de Estudios del Desarrollo, 2001); Alfredo Zavaleta, Gabriel Kessler, Arturo Alvarado, and Jorge Zaverucha, “A Bibliographical Essay on the Relationships between Police Forces and the Youth in Latin America,” Política y Gobierno 23, no. 1 (January 2016): 201–229; Alin M. Ceobanu, Charles H. Wood, and Ludmila Rivero, “Crime Victimization and Public Support for Democracy: Evidence from Latin America,” International Journal of Public Opinion Research 23, no. 1 (2010): 1–56. 4 Lucía Dammert, Fear and Crime in Latin America. Redefying State-Society Relations (Routledge: London, 2012). 5 Citizen Security, Igarapé Institute, last modified June 15, 2018, https://igarape.org.br/en/issues/ citizen-security/. 6 United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, World Drug Report 2018 (Vienna: UNODC, 2018). 7 Steven Dudley, “How Drug Trafficking Operates, Corrupts in Central America,” InSight Crime, July 6, 2016;Thomas Bruneau, Lucía Dammert, and Elizabeth Skinner, Maras: Gang Violence and Security in Central America (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2011), 319. 8 Lucía Dammert, “La policía en la pantalla latinoamericana: precariedad, violencia y corrupción,” in La justicia en la pantalla. Un reflejo de jueces y tribunales en cine y tv, ed. Luis Pásara (Lima: Fondo Editorial de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, March 2019). 9 Kevin Xie, “Crime Gone Wild: The Dangers of the International Illegal Wildlife Trade,” Harvard International Review, Cambridge, 36, no. 4 (Summer 2015): 60–63. 10 UNODC, UNODC World Drug Report 2018. 11 Julia Mercedes Pita, “Analysis, Systematizing and Elaboration of Proposals of Improvement in the Treatment of Cases of Violence against the Woman in Application of the Norms of the Penal New Procedural,” LEX 10, no. 9 (2015): 387–416. 12 UN Women, Women’s Police Stations in Latin America Case Study: An Entry Point for Stopping Violence and Gaining Access to Justice (Brazil, Peru, Ecuador and Nicaragua) (New York, NY: UN Women, December 2011). 13 Guite G. Deber and Sandra Brocksom, “Gender Violence and Administration of Justice in Brazil: The case of Sao Paulo,” Journal of Feminist, Gender and Women Studies 2 (November 2015): 1–8. 14 Enrique Desmond Arias and Daniel M. Goldstein, eds., Violent Democracies in Latin America (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010); Pamela J. Neumann, “(Un)exceptional Violence(s) in Latin America,” Latin American Politics and Society 55, no. 1 (Spring 2013): 168–175. 15 Alin M. Ceobanu, Charles H. Wood, and Ludmilla Rivero, “Crime Victimization and Public Support for Democracy: Evidence from Latin America,”International Journal of Public Opinion Research 23, no. 1 (2010): 56–78. 16 Daniel M. Sabet, “Corruption or Insecurity? Understanding Dissatisfaction with Mexico’s Police,” Latin American Politics and Society 55, no. 1 (Spring 2013): 22–45. 17 Randy Sunwin, “Campaigning on Public Security in Latin America: Obstacles to Success,” Latin American Politics and Society 55, no. 2 (Summer 2013): 26–51.

38  Lucía Dammert

18 Andy Aitchison and Jarret Blaustein, “Policing for Democracy or Democratically Responsive Policing? Examining the Limits of Externally Driven Police Reform,” European Journal of Criminology 10, no. 4 (Spring 2013): 496–511; Peter K. Manning, Democratic Policing in Changing World (Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publishers, 2010); Douglas Sharp, “Who Needs Theories in Policing? An Introduction to a Special Issue on Policing,” The Howard Journal 44, no. 5 (December 2005): 449–459. 19 Egon Bittner, Aspects of Police Work (Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press, 1990), 355. 20 Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary, Adapting to Protest – Nurturing the British Model of Policing (London: Her Majesty’s Chief Inspector of Constabulary, 2009). 21 Jean-Paul Brodeur, The Policing Web (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 400. 22 Lucía Dammert, “Police Reform in Latin America?” in Handbook of Law and Society in Latin America, eds. Rachel Sieder, Karina Ansolabehere, and Tatiana Alfonso (London: Routledge, May 2019), 259-277. 23 Jennifer M. Brown, ed., The Future of Policing (London: Routledge, 2014), 418. 24 Hugo Frühling, “Recent Police Reform in Latin America,” in Policing Insecurity. Police Reform, Security and Human Rights in Latin America, ed. Niels Uldriks (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2009); Mark Ungar, “The Rot Within: Security and Corruption in Latin America,” Social Research: An International Quarterly 80, no. 4 (2013): 1187–1212; Neila Tello, “Police Reforms: The Voice of Police and Residents in Mexico City,” Policing and Society 22, no. 1 (2012): 14–27; Daniel M. Sabet, “Corruption or Insecurity? Understanding Dissatisfaction with Mexico’s Police,” Latin American Politics and Society 55, no. 1 (Spring 2013): 22–45. 25 Ben Bradford, Jonathan Jackson, and Mike Hough, “Police Futures and Legitimacy,” in Police Futures and Legitimacy, ed. Jennifer Brown (London: Routledge, 2014). 26 Jonathan Jackson and Ben Bradford, “What is Trust and Confidence in the Police?,” Policing 4, no. 3 (2010): 241–248; Justice Tankebe, “Public Confidence in the Police: Testing the Effects of Public Experiences of Police Corruption in Ghana,” British Journal of Criminology 50, no. 2 (2010): 296–319. 27 David Pion-Berlin and Miguel Carreas, “Armed Forces, Police and Crime-Fighting in Latin America,” Journal of Politics in Latin America 9, no. 2 (2017): 3–26. 28 Juan Antonio Le Clercq and Gerardo Rodríguez, Dimensiones de la Impunidad Global. Índice Global de Impunidad 2017 (Puebla: Universidad de las Americas Puebla, 2017), 143. 29 Guillermo Alberto O’ Donnell, “Polyarchies and the (Un)rule of Law in Latin America,” Kellogg Institute for International Studies 254 (May 1998): 1–28. 30 Enrique Desmond Arias and Daniel M. Goldstein, eds., Violent Democracies in Latin America (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010). 31 Anneke Osse and Ignacio Cano, “Police Deadly Use of Firearms: An International Comparison,” The International Journal of Human Rights 21, no. 5 (June 2017): 629–649. 32 Lucía Dammert, “Police Reform in Latin America?” in Handbook of Law and Society in Latin America, eds. Rachel Sieder, Karina Ansolabehere, and Tatiana Alfonso (London: Routledge, May 2019), 259–277. 33 Marcelo Fabián Sain, El Leviatán azul. Policía y Política en la Argentina (Buenos Aires: Siglo XXI, 2008), 325; Mark Ungar, Policing Democracy: Overcoming Obstacles to Citizen Security in Latin America (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2011), 416; Máximo Sozzo, “Policing After Dictatorship in South America,” in The SAGE Handbook of Global Policing, eds. Ben Bradford, Beatrice Jauregui, Ian Loader, and Jonny Steinberg (London: SAGE Publications, 2016), 654. 34 David Bayley, Patterns of Policing: A Comparative International Analysis (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1985), 280. 35 Hugo Fruhling. “Recent Police Reform in Latin America” in Policing Insecurity, ed. Niels Uildriks (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2009), 23.. 36 Marcelo Fabián Sain, El Leviatán azul. Policía y Política en la Argentina (Buenos Aires: Siglo XXI, 2008), 325; Stephen P. Savage, Police Reform: Forces for Change (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 264; Arturo Alvarado, “La criminalidad y las políticas de seguridad en México,” Cuestiones de Sociología 10, (September 2014): 1–17. 37 Mariana Mota-Prado, Michael Trebilcock, Patrick Hartford, “Police Reform in Violent Democracies in Latin America,” Hague Journal on the Rule of Law 4, no. 2, (2012): 252-285; Máximo Sozzo, “Policing after Dictatorship in South America,” in The SAGE Handbook of Global Policing, eds. Ben Bradford, Beatrice Jauregui, Ian Loader, and Jonny Steinberg (London: SAGE Publications, 2016). 38 Laura Glanc, “Caught between Soldiers and Police Officers: Police Violence in Contemporary Argentina,” Policing and Society 24, no. 4 (2014): 479–496. 39 Beatriz Magaloni, Edgar Franco, and Vanessa Melo, “Killing in the Slums: An Impact Evaluation of Police Reform in Rio de Janeiro,” Stanford Center for International Development, no. 556 (December 2015): 1–53. 40 Gino Costa and Carlos Basombrio, Liderazgo civil en el Ministerio del Interior (Lima: IDL, 2008).

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41 Mark Ungar and Leticia Salomón, “Community Policing in Honduras: Local Impacts of a National Programme,” Policing and Society 22, no. 1 (2012): 28–42; Mariana Mota-Prado, Michael Trebilcock, and Patrick Hartford, “Police Reform in Violent Democracies in Latin America,” Hague Journal on the Rule of Law 4, no.2 (October 2012): 252–285. 42 Stephen P. Savage, Police Reform: Forces for Change (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 264. 43 Hernan Flom,“Controlling Bureaucracies in Weak Institutional Contexts:The Politics of Police Autonomy in Latin America,” Paper prepared for the 2017 Latin American Studies Association (LASA) Conference. 44 Daniel M. Brinks, The Judicial Response to Police Killings in Latin America. Inequality and the Rule of Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 302. 45 Joseph M. Mckenna and Jocelyn M. Pollock, “Law Enforcement Officers in Schools: An Analysis of Ethical Issues,” Criminal Justice Ethics 33, no.3 (2014): 163–184. 46 Patricia Bulla and Sergio Guarín, Formación policial y seguridad ciudadana ¿Cómo mejorar la policía? (Bogotá: FES, 2015), 24. 47 Allison Chappell and Lonn Lanza-Kaduce, “Police Academy Socialization: Understanding the Lessons Learned in a Paramilitary-Bureaucratic Organization,” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 39, no. 2 (2010): 187–214; Billy Henson, Bradford Reyns, Charles F. Klahm, and James Frank, “Do Good Recruits Make Good Cops? Problems Predicting and Measuring Academy and Street-Level Success,” Police Quarterly 13, no. 1 (2010): 5–26. 48 Patricia Arias, Hector Rosada-Granados, and Marcelo Fabián Saín, Reformas policías en América Latina (Bogotá: FES, 2012), 124; Andrej Sotlar, “Post-Conflict Private Policing: Experiences from Several Former Yugoslav Countries,” Policing: An International Journal 32, no. 3 (2009): 489–507. 49 Karelia Villa, Viviana Vélez-Grajales, and Barabra Cedillo, “Los ingredientes para una reforma policial de éxito,” Sin Miedos, September 20, 2018. 50 Laura Jaitman and Nicolás Ajzenman, “Crime Concentration and Hot Spot Dynamics in Latin America,” Inter-American Development Bank, no. 699 (2016): 2–34.

3 JUDICIAL SYSTEM Mark Ungar

The tremendous advances made by Latin America’s judiciaries also reveal how far they still need to go. Once the rubber stamp of authoritarian regimes and political elites, they emerged during the transition to democracy as the check on power and abuse envisioned in the region’s constitutions. That process was sometimes quick, such as the trials of Argentina’s junta, but mostly it was slow, such as the fight against corruption and police abuse. But no achievement is completely secure, as each exposes the depth of the conditions they are tackling. The judiciary’s role is to establish and sustain the rule of law, but addressing the many components that comprise it – from the accountability of the state to the protection of individuals – is a constant struggle.1 Assessing the strengths and weaknesses of the judiciary as it navigates the complex policies and politics involved in those challenges, this chapter first lays out and examines three broad contexts that determine its ability: independence, which reflects its ability to be a check on elected officials and laws; authority and effectiveness, which reflects the impact of judicial rulings and actions in the jurisdictions they are made; and citizen access, which measures the judiciary’s links with society. The chapter then applies these contexts to three case studies – corruption, organized crime, and the environment – to demonstrate the uncertainties involved.

The Balance of Power Although Latin America’s constitutions mandate a balance of power among the three branches of government – executive, legislative, and judicial – the executive branch continues to be dominant. Rooted in a range of historical, political, and institutional patterns, along with a separate electoral mandate that encourages a vision of themselves as the embodiment of national will,2 Latin America’s democratic presidencies manipulate, threaten, undermine, cow, and often even dismantle the other two branches.3 They do so through their controls over budgets, political parties, and state agencies, such as the police and military. Even dissolution of the other branches is not just allowable but may be politically advantageous. For example, three years after Peruvian President Alberto Fujimori dissolved both Congress and the courts in 1992, he was overwhelmingly re-elected. More frequent, as discussed next, are other measures like packing courts with handpicked choices, as done by Carlos Menem in Argentina, Hugo Chávez in Venezuela, and Juan Orlando Hernández in Honduras, often with the intent to push through constitutionally questionable measures such as eliminating a prohibition of presidential re-election. In the DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-4

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democratization literature, such executive power demonstrates that many of the region’s democracies are stalled between transition and consolidation. Latin American scholars adopted a range of terms to describe such democracies – from illiberal and stunted to “hyper-presidentialist” to “delegative” democracy.4 This has been the basis for more recent scholarship on hybrid authoritarian democracies that characterize a growing number of regimes in Europe, the Middle East, and other regions.5 Even a judiciary free to function that does not necessarily enjoy independence has many measurements, such as the number of times court’s rule against the government in cases in which the government is a party6 to elements such as “the level of budgetary autonomy, the level of transparency and use of meritocratic criteria in the nomination process, job stability, and the reach of judicial review.” 7 Other measures include correlations between executive policy and Supreme Court rulings. They generally find a convergence most likely at the beginning of the president’s term in office, when their public support is typically at its highest. This can be seen in countries like Colombia. In Argentina, nearly every president since its democratic transition has taken bold steps at the beginning of their terms that may not have withstood judicial scrutiny later on. Raúl Alfonsín initiated trials against the military in the mid-1980s, while Menem and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner launched emergency economic programs in the early 1990s and 2000s. In these and other criteria, Latin American judiciaries fare poorly. Among the powers that elected officials wield over judges are impeachment, changes in tenure rules, forced resignation, use of the media to pressure judges on specific cases, and even mass purges. The slide of Venezuela’s judiciary toward its current subservience to the executive began in the 1990s as the government started replacing tenured with temporary judges.8 Overall, there were more than 50 clear exercises of threats or attacks on High Court judges in Latin America between 1985 and 2008. Based on these criteria, many reports conclude that aside from Chile, Costa Rica, and Uruguay, judicial independence in Latin America is well below that of developed countries, almost equivalent to the average for sub-Saharan Africa. In some cases, on the other hand, division among the other two elected branches – such as different party control in the executive and legislature – can allow courts to become more independent or assertive. This is more likely when the courts gain an opportunity to develop a network of institutional support. In many countries, critical support has come from agencies like the National Contraloría or Procuraduría that investigates wrongdoing within the state, from regional and international bodies such as the Inter-American Court of Human Rights (ICHR), and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). One agency that has emerged as particularly valuable is the Defensoría del Pueblo, an ombudsman agency empowered to channel citizen grievances into government action. In Peru, the Defensor was pivotal in halting Fujimori’s attempted re-election in 2000, and in other countries, it has been key to exposing abuses and securing rights, such as for indigenous people in Bolivia and displaced people in Colombia. Because the politicization of nominations was long a primary cause for weak independence, another major reform was the establishment of judicial councils (Consejos de la Magistratura) to select nominations for judgeships and other positions, such as Attorney General, and, in many cases, to also oversee court functioning. In most countries, these councils are composed of established and nonpartisan legal specialists who choose a list of finalists for High Court positions, from which the president or Congress must choose. It has greatly reduced politicization, but many countries have politicized the councils by manipulating the selection of its members, as in Argentina, or ignoring their recommendations, as in Honduras. Such outcomes have spurred a debate between strict interpretationists, who argue for a structure based on internal control, where judges comprise the councils and loose interpretationists who favor councils composed

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of both judges and officials from other state bodies. Such discussions have defined debates over council composition, such as the establishment of Brazil’s National Council of Justice.9 Even before these reforms, judicial independence was quickly tested during the tense democratic transitions over transitional justice: using the courts to punish deposed authoritarian and military officials. In addition to facing down the still-powerful military, this task required courts to investigate past crimes with little physical or forensic evidence – particularly the disappearance of alleged political opponents throughout the Southern Cone, carried out precisely to leave no governmental fingerprints on their campaigns of murder. With its 1985 trials of the former junta’s leaders two years after the regime collapsed, Argentina became a pioneer for transitional justice worldwide. But amid military rebellions, these investigations and prosecutions were halted by the 1986 Full Stop Law, while the 1987 Law of Due Obedience exempted subordinates from prosecution when they were carrying out orders. In addition, upon taking office, Menem pardoned the men who had been sentenced or court-martialed. Both laws were repealed by the National Congress in 2003, the same year President Néstor Kirchner obtained an Argentine Supreme Court ruling permitting extraditions in cases of crimes against humanity. In 2005, finally, the Supreme Court ruled both laws unconstitutional. In nearly every other country, an amnesty was part of the transition. Amid continuing military power and lack of judicial reform, independence was more evident by what courts could not do than by what they could.10 But as with other areas, the judiciary gradually reclaimed its rightful role. In Chile, the military regime of Augusto Pinochet decreed an Amnesty Law in 1978 to shield those suspected of rights violations from facing the courts. This amnesty was part of the transition in 1989, in which Pinochet himself continued to head the military. But after Pinochet was detained during a 1998 trip to the United Kingdom through an indictment by a Spanish court for human rights abuses, Chile’s judiciary also shifted. In 1998, the Chilean Supreme Court ruled that the law should not apply to rights cases, unleashing a flood of investigations into the detentions, torture, extrajudicial executions, and disappearances under Pinochet’s rule. Well over 1,000 cases were brought before ordinary civilian courts, leading to more than 300 guilty verdicts and prison sentences for officials that included 75 former agents of the secret police. For more than 20 years, similarly, El Salvador’s Amnesty Law hindered the country from pursuing accountability for state crimes during the violent 12-year civil war. In 1993, just five days after the National Commission on the Truth issued its report on those atrocities, the legislature passed the Amnesty Law to prohibit prosecutions. But in December 2012, when the ICHR condemned El Salvador for the 1981 El Mozote massacre, in which the military killed more than 1,000 people, it also ruled that the Amnesty Law cannot impede the investigation of these massacres and ordered reparations for victims. A year later, the Salvadoran Constitutional Court admitted a petition claiming that the Amnesty Law was unconstitutional, and in 2016, the Supreme Court itself struck it down.

Authority and Effectiveness Though necessary, independence is no guarantee that a judiciary has the institutional ability to use it. To be effective, courts need authority on three basic levels. The first is issues: Courts need authority to rule on any legal matter. Still, political, legal, and institutional obstacles have prevented courts from hearing cases on many issues, ranging from police power to high-level corruption. The second level is jurisdiction: Courts must be able to rule on cases throughout their official geographic jurisdictions. But decentralization, which every Latin American democracy has enacted to transfer power from long-centralized states to the regional and local level where officials are closer to citizens and issues, has led to great variation on this requirement.

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In particular, the judiciary in poorer and more corrupt provinces are worse off without federal oversight and are particularly embattled in regions controlled by such local powers as monopolistic families, media, and crime syndicates – such as the northern regions of Argentina, Brazil, Guatemala, and Mexico. The third level, of course, is whether a court’s rulings are implemented. Among the range of actions, a judge can order are incarceration; injunctions, which are court orders for a defendant to do or not do something; damages, or “judicial war money payable as composition one separate legally-recognized interior”; and restitution, which is “a return or restoration of what the defendant has gained in the transaction.” But the colonial-era trope, “Obedezco pero no cumplo” (I obey but do not comply), has survived into the democratic era, with citizens and officials alike able to reinterpret, challenge, delay, or simply ignore court rulings. The fourth level is the judiciary’s authority to rule on the constitutionality of legislation through the power of judicial review, the doctrine under which legislative and executive actions are subject to review by judges. In this key role, courts are in a constant balancing act with the need to apply legal reasoning to halt unconstitutional laws amid warnings not to override the elected branches on popularly supported public policy. In addition to the political pressures involved, courts must also fight strong historical and structural trends. In the Americas, judicial review was perhaps most firmly established by the 1803 US Marbury v. Madison case, in which the Supreme Court affirmed its exercise of judicial review and thereby laid the foundation for its enduring power. Although most Latin American constitutions were modeled after that of the United States, their judicial structure is rooted in continental Napoleonic law, in which judges are seen as unelected powers who should not be allowed to thwart popular opinion. In this approach, they are seen more as technocrats than adjudicators of the law. Like other branches of the government, the judiciary is chronically under-resourced. The question is whether its budgets are disproportionately low, whether it is stable, and to what degree it is politicized. By any of these measures, budgets are inadequate across the board. On one level, while most Latin American countries guarantee their judicial branches have a certain percent of the budget, that percentage is always very low. Costa Rica is the highest, giving its judiciary 6 percent of the nation’s income, but in most countries, the guarantee is between 2 and 3 percent. In many states without guarantees, the judiciary often gets less than 1 percent of the national budget. On a second level is the difficulty of budgetary planning and execution. At that first stage, most national judiciaries are responsible for proposing the annual budget that requires technical teams to review and adopt methodologies – such as the documentation of increases in the number and complexity of cases heard – to outline and justify its budgetary requests. Once approved, the judiciary must be able to use its scarce resources wisely. But studies indicate that Latin America’s court system is “in crisis” because of deficiencies that include a lack of modernization with basic standards of efficiency and efficacy, a resulting inability to take advantage of economies of scale as seen through lower level courts that replicate each other’s work, scarce and poor use of technology, and personnel structures lacking clear hierarchies and evaluation procedures.11 Such weaknesses become manifest in practices that affect the rule of law and civil rights, such as the extended duration of court processes from detention to ruling, and inadequate support for victims, such as physical protection to social and legal services. As mentioned previously, the functioning of all agencies also determines judicial efficacy. In particular, the Attorney General (Ministerio Público) and Public Defense offices must be sufficiently independent and adequately supported. Measures of their ability include levels of modernization and transparency, along with the analytical capacity needed for operational functioning and planning, including equitable and efficient case assignment and the safeguarding of evidence. For the Ministerio Público,

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one of the biggest deficiencies has been among its special offices. Throughout Latin America, specialized units have done the core of the work, such as on women and youth rights. But in many countries, those units often lack the budgets to support individual prosecutors ( fiscales), much less in-depth investigations. Studies of obstacles faced by prosecutors around the region highlight constant bottlenecks in case review, high levels of rejected police reports, insufficient attention to victims, and complaints about sentencing, such as a lack of alternative resolutions.12 Public Defense units are even worse off, falling short of providing adequate legal aid for the accused, such as time for trial preparation (in many countries, defendants don’t meet their lawyer until the trial date) and access to case materials. Even with judicial reforms, public defenders are bogged down in overlapping tasks, unmanageable caseloads, and inordinate amounts of administrative paperwork.13 As in any country, the individual perspectives and ideologies of judges also affect institutional autonomy. Despite greater transparency and professionalism, judges are often suspected of biased rulings. Increasingly, the judges’ attitudes and approaches spill out of the courtroom into the public sphere as part of the judges’ strategy to become political actors.14 Scholars emphasize two methods to evaluate such claims. One is the attitudinal or ideological model, which argues that judges’ political views are the basis of their rulings, and the strategic model, which stresses that the larger context of institutions and actors involved in specific cases will determine judges’ decisions.15 This latter approach is often expanded into the broader conceptualization of “legal cultures” that include the types of training that judges received in law school, particularly the level of human rights in legal curriculum,16 along with their ideational preferences.17 Also coming into play are the judges’ well-founded fears over their safety and the safety of their families, as seen by threats against judges in Colombia, Mexico, Peru, and Central America. The provision of security measures such as bodyguards, armored vehicles, metal detectors, and hotlines are roundly seen as inadequate. This uncertain authority shapes effectiveness. In its annual World Business Environment survey, the World Bank evaluates Latin America’s judiciary with a range of criteria, including fairness, impartiality, honesty, quickness, and support for specific rights. Based on that evaluation, the bank concluded that nine countries in the region strengthened the rule of law between 2000 and 2013. According to one of the most current and comprehensive global reports, however, key measures such as judicial independence and court impartiality have slipped considerably since then.18 More than civil or commercial law, criminal justice reveals the reasons for such difficulty. The region’s homicide rate, at approximately 28 per 100,000 persons, is more than three times the global average. Of the world’s ten deadliest countries, five are Latin American. This security crisis has made criminal justice a political flashpoint in nearly every country, putting an enormous political and institutional strain on the judiciary to find and punish criminals. Despite steady economic and political advances, violent crime has increased in the democratic era. Along with the poverty, inequality, and discrimination that foment crime, this violence also reflects security agencies that remain largely corrupt, abusive, and ineffective. It also shows the dependence on the judiciary of these security agencies, from the police at the beginning of the process to prisons at the end. The police are, of course, the first stage of the criminal justice process. In that role, most of their actions or detentions are based on circumstantial evidence or the profiling of certain populations, such as youth. Most police departments have investigative divisions, but investigations are notoriously poor because of a lack of personnel, budgets, and equipment. There is also a lack of cooperation between police officers, who collect evidence and question witnesses, and the prosecutors who are officially in charge of investigations. Inadequate and unreliable information is an additional challenge, with competing databases among police,

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prosecutors, forensics units, and others with basic statistics such as homicide rates or the stages of particular cases. With the percentage of unreported crimes (the cifra negra) approaching nearly 70 percent in many countries, criminal justice systems only have a partial picture of crime overall. Countries have been working to improve the reliability of criminal statistics by using the tables of different agencies to review and consolidate statistics or employing a special statistical agency, such as Honduras “Sistema Estadístico Policial en Línea.” Even with such efforts, though, police reports are usually incomplete, delayed, and insufficient. In nearly every country, fewer than 5 percent of homicides lead to a trial and conviction. In many cases, such law rates are rooted in a perennial lack of prosecutors and other investigative officials. In the 400,000-resident Honduran city of Comayagua, for example, there were just six prosecutors and three judges with a murder rate of 79 per 100,000 people.19 Of the nearly 400 murders between 2010 and 2012, only 34 led to a completed police investigation and only three to trial and conviction. This lack of investigation characterized other violent and endemic crimes as well, such as domestic violence. According to the Special Prosecutor for Women in Honduras, there were 407 femicides in 2009 alone, but between 2008 and 2010, only 221 cases went to criminal court, and only 58 led to a conviction.20 When cases do come to court, there is intense pressure for incarceration. Because most of those cases are low-level offenses like drug possession, the prisons are then filled with first-time offenders instead of more violent criminals or heads of criminal syndicates. In many countries, there are four times more pending than resolved cases. The 1969 American Convention on Human Rights, one of Latin America’s primary interregional conventions, prohibits pretrial detention for more than two years, but nearly every member country violates that rule. The judiciary is further burdened by its historically broad interpretation of police power. In stark contrast to its unequivocal stance against abusive authoritarian era, laws are court rulings on demonstrably unconstitutional police discretion, which stem from a long history of jurisprudence. Since the term “police power” was first used in the 1827 US Supreme Court case Brown v. State of Maryland as the authority to limit citizen actions for the good of social order,21 it has been interpreted along a spectrum ranging from narrow conceptualizations limited to specific actions to broad conceptualizations with an all-encompassing “promotion” of the “general good.” This wide-ranging approach has been predominant in most of Latin American history, legalizing actions such as police crackdowns on organized labor. In 1950, for example, Argentina’s Supreme Court argued that the police’s power is “justified by the necessity of the defense and strengthening of morality, health, collective fitness, and the community’s economic interests.”22 Such legal leaning continues on both police actions and the power of police agencies. Ecuador’s judiciary has given jurisdiction to special police courts to try police for a wide range of offenses, in essence giving the police code precedence over the constitution. In 2001, Venezuela’s Supreme Court ruled that the armed forces can be used to help guarantee public order. In nearly every country, courts also regularly uphold vagrancy and misdemeanor laws, allowing for police to arrest anyone on the vaguest suspicion. In Central America’s Northern Triangle, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras show how elected officials inflame this institutional inefficacy. That region’s homicide rates, which have been among the world’s top three highest since 2010, have led to harsh iron-fist mano dura policies that have run roughshod over civil rights and the judiciary’s ability to uphold them. Along with laws in all three countries that greatly expand police power to detain those suspected of being in the country’s fearsome gangs known as maras, have been laws allowing warrantless searches and the incarceration of underage youths. Internal affairs agencies established to investigate police violence have been neutered. In many cases, the judiciary has participated in its own weakening. In Honduras, a Supreme Court magistrate even stated, “any measure” adopted

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to crack down on crime “will be approved, because criminality is a problem we all have and we are all obligated to fight it.”23 In response to such profoundly weak and biased criminal justice, one of the most extensive and important reforms adopted in Latin America during the current democratic era was a wholesale overhaul of the criminal process itself. Since the 1990s, 15 of the region’s countries replaced their long-standing structures of written and inquisitorial procedures – in which judges receive written reports and base their rulings on them – to oral processes in accusatory trials in which attorneys who had the opportunity to cross-examination injuries made the decisions instead of judges. The significance of this shift cannot be underestimated. The inquisitorial system in place since the colonial era (steeped in Roman Catholic doctrine) was fundamentally biased against defendants. Much of the proceedings were secret, opportunities to present evidence were limited, investigative procedures were not open to scrutiny, and judges controlled nearly every stage without oversight. As part of this shift, many countries adopted other supporting changes. These included establishing courts to monitor investigation at the beginning or sentencing at the end and expanding guaranteed rights for defendants in the penal code and penal process code, victims’ rights agencies, and new instruments such as plea bargains and alternative dispute resolution (ADR). Countries like Chile used the reform to modernize administration and, along with Colombia, to fortify or expand Public Defense. Costa Rica, Panama, and Peru also require judges to write logical, law-centered opinions explaining their decisions, which in theory helps expose any undue influences or questionable legal reasoning. In many cases, these reforms shifted investigative power from the police to the prosecutor’s office, or in the case of Colombia, involved a shake-up of the judicial police. Because of the constant friction between the police and prosecutors as described earlier, reforms led to the formation of a separate investigative police unit within the prosecutor’s office, as in Honduras. This shift was so transformative and ambitious that it was bound to create conflict and backlash. Two of the main difficulties of the change were political and logistical. On one level, it led police and other officials forced to alter their long-standing practice to claim that it harmed their ability to fight crime by giving too many rights to defendants. In an era of high crime, this position resonated among the population and officials. According to Ecuador’s police, for example, one of the biggest threats to security is the “implementation of the new Penal Process Code, which permits detainees of a police operation to be put in liberty immediately by the judicial authorities.”24 The second level of difficulty was the widespread confusion in the change, involving not only the internal function of each judicial agency but their already uncertain relations with each other. In Bolivia, courts in different jurisdictions were operating with entirely different systems. In Colombia, among the adaptation difficulties were “having a more proactive judge, placing the Fiscalía [Prosecutor’s Office] within the judicial branch, defining … the functions of the Ministerio Público [Public Ministry], and determining whether the Ministerio Público serves as merely a passive overseer or an active player in the whole process.”25 Amid ever-growing demands for justice and the region’s extensive human rights movement, these stubborn limits in all three areas of judicial power – independence, authority, and access – have led to a huge growth in non-court judicial forums and procedures, many based on ADR frameworks, such as alternative sentencing and restorative justice programs like community service for youth offenders. Chile was an early ADR adopter, with measures to more speedily resolve civil cases and expand victim reparation.26 One of the hallmarks of the judiciary’s growing centrality, in fact, is this extension of judicial approaches to non-court settings and innovative replication of judicial procedures.27 Part of that expansion has been in indigenous justice, described next, and in forums for mediation, conciliation, and arbitration.

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Colombia, for example, has a national Program for Equal Justice and Mediation, Conciliation, Coexistence (Convivencia). Bolivia has a Center for Arbitration and Conciliation, while Peru has a Conciliation Center and a central Office of Extrajudicial Conciliation and Alternative Mechanisms for Conflict Resolution. Venezuela has labor arbitration, a conciliation forum for access to goods and services, centers of mediation and conflict resolution, and a national association of clinics for voluntary judicial assistance. Its 1999 Constitution considerably expanded justice mechanisms with the establishment of a fourth “citizens” branch of government, which includes agencies such as the Defensoría del Pueblo (Ombudsman’s Office). But the political control by the Chávez and Maduro administrations over these agencies shows how easily even agencies whose independence is their only real power can easily be politicized or neutralized. These forums have extended to the regional and local levels. In federal countries, provinces have had wide leeway to innovate on justice access that reflects their issues and populations. Argentina has offices of both voluntary and obligatory prejudicial mediation, a national office of mediation and participatory methods of conflict resolution, a center of prevention and conflict resolution within the justice ministry, labor and consumer arbitration systems, houses of justice, consumer protection, and centers for access to justice. Brazil’s states have also launched a range of innovative forums, such as the citizenship and justice centers and the mobile courts of Ceará. Brazil also has conciliation commissions, special civil courts, and mobile courts. But most noncourt justice has been at the local level, as seen above all in the rapid formation and popularity of community justice forums and justices of the peace. Bolivia has institutional conciliation centers around the country, as well as “Houses of Justice” and integrated justice centers. Argentina and Paraguay have “open doors” programs in local judicial centers. Chile has mediation centers and centers for juridical social attention within the corporations of judicial systems, neighborhood justice units, a national system of mediation, mediation on health, and local police courts. Paraguay has offices of mediation, neighborhood mediation centers, municipal-run children’s counseling centers, commercial arbitration, and judicial facilitators. Venezuela was one of the earliest countries to have local justice forms, which now include communal, peace, and neighborhood judicial courts and services. There has also been considerable growth in civil justice in Latin America, both within and outside the judiciary. Most executive branch agencies have mechanisms of conflict resolution, particularly in areas like public services. But the most significant expansion has been within the judicial branch. Since the transition, countries throughout Latin America have created specialized family, juvenile, labor, real estate, agriculture, and other specialized civil law courts. There are consumer defense agencies in Chile, Ecuador, and Paraguay. In Peru, the Special Commission for the Integral Reform of Justice (known by its Spanish acronym, CERIAJUS) ambitiously proposed more than 170 specific judicial reform projects, few of which came to fruition. But among those that did included commercial courts and justices of the peace. Throughout the region, the percentage of cases in these courts as a percentage of cases that go to the regular penal courts range from 47 to 86 percent, with an average regional rate of 66 percent.28 That is, for every three cases heard in first-instance penal cases, two go to non-penal courts.

Citizen Inclusion and Access This expansion of justice forums underscores the centrality of citizen engagement with, access to, and trust in the judiciary. As in other new democracies, citizens throughout Latin America have turned to the courts not only to uphold their rights but also to expand them. Access has expanded most notably among long marginalized and powerless populations, such as youth, indigenous people, and women. The constitutions of Bolivia, Colombia, and Peru have

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established indigenous justice structures based on their laws and a community-based conciliatory approach to justice. In Bolivia, this has led to a proliferation of ayllus, the precolonial form of indigenous justice among the country’s Quechua and Aymara peoples. Civil society groups, meanwhile, have honed their skills at marshaling the courts on behalf of public policy demands, such as uncontrolled industrial pollution.29 This legal mobilization, amid a lack of responsiveness in the other branches, has lent the judiciary legitimacy and purpose, not to mention a political cover as it asserts its check on the other branches and widens the range of those who can come to court as litigants, known as standing. Along with the support of global NGOs and the Inter-American justice system, societal engagement has emboldened the courts to delve into current and controversial issues. Gay marriage, for example, is allowed in five Latin American countries, primarily through legislation. In Argentina, it was only recognized after rights groups assiduously battled both the president and the Supreme Court. In the case of Mexico, the Supreme Court struck down laws banning samesex marriage. For the rest of the region, however, public opinion and church power have long obstructed any realistic path toward recognizing same-sex marriage – that is, until January 2017, when the ICHR issued a ruling that mandated marriage equality and required each country to change its national law. That process has spurred legal processes in nearly every country, even where most people remain vehemently opposed to gay marriage. In Panama, a Supreme Court judge drafted and then withdrew a ruling against marriage equality, indicating that the judiciary will not challenge the ICHR. In Costa Rica, a series of cases are pending before the state’s highest court, four of them filed since the January ruling. Two separate lawsuits are wending their way through Venezuela’s court system, while activists in Ecuador have used the ruling to mobilize around a marriage equality case that has long been pending before the Constitutional Court. In Paraguay, a gay activist group filed two new lawsuits to force the issue, while the president of Peru’s Supreme Court of Justice stated that “all parties are called to respect” the ICHR ruling. A lawsuit by a leading LGBT activist to have his Mexican marriage recognized succeeded in a lower court, while a bill legalizing marriage equality is awaiting action in Congress. Despite their mobilization, citizen confidence in the judiciary remains low. In only two countries, Uruguay and Costa Rica, does more than half the population have faith in the judiciary, around the same rate as that of the United States. For the rest of the region, confidence ranges from the low-30 percent in Paraguay and Peru to the mid-40 percent in Chile and Guatemala.30 Amid this deep-seated lack of trust, the other side of the mobilization coin is the growing turn to privatized justice. The most virulent form is vigilantism, which kills up to 4,000 people each year. Taking the law into their own hands, groups ranging from spontaneous mobs to official community-policing units in countries like Bolivia and Mexico have lynched criminal suspects, corrupt officials, and social “undesirables,” such as drug addicts and prostitutes. Another dimension is Latin America’s booming private security sector, which boasts more than 3.8 million private officers – most of them heavily armed and poorly trained – who vastly outnumber Latin America’s 2.6 million police officers (though with much overlap).

Case Studies Corruption: Generally defined as the use of public office for private gain, from the traffic cop accepting bribes to the cabinet officer skimming off state contracts, corruption in Latin America was long accepted as an intrinsic, unavoidable, or necessary evil, steeped in centuries of political and legislative practice. According to the Corruption Perception Index, two-thirds of Latin American countries are more corrupt than half of the rest of the world. Despite many anti-corruption commissions, only a few countries proactively acted against it. In Peru, CERIAJUS formed

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anti-corruption courts to investigate crimes stemming from the vast corruption schemes engineered in the 1990s by Fujimori and his spy chief Vladimiro Montesinos. In other countries, democracy and stability disguised this internal rot since the democratic transition. Amid disillusionment with democracy, the exposure of massive schemes in the past decade has made corruption a focal point of political upheaval, fueled by public outrage and a judiciary that has latched on with tenacious investigations and prosecution. One of the most audacious has been the alleged kickbacks and bribes for the giant Odebrecht corporation, involving bribes of US$735 million in at least ten Latin American countries. In Guatemala, the UN International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala (CICIG or Comisión Internacional Contra la Impunidad en Guatemala), formed in 2006 to root out organized crime within the judiciary, uncovered a customs corruption ring in the tax and customs system that involved nearly every top official and led to the arrest of President Otto Pérez Molina. The scheme apparently was hatched in the party even before he was elected – showing the party has more in common with organized crime than politics. The same year, corruption in Honduras’s social security system threatened the government there as well. In Peru, President Pedro Pablo Kuczynski resigned in 2018 in a vote-buying scandal, similar to the unfolding Lava Jato (Car Wash) scandal in Brazil, where an investigation carried out by judges and the federal police since 2014 uncovered a vast network of bribery, favoritism, and kickbacks. Initially a money-laundering investigation, it expanded to cover allegations of corruption at the state oil company Petrobras, where executives allegedly accepted bribes in return for awarding contracts at inflated prices. It has ensnared practically every major official, with other schemes leading to one president’s impeachment and another’s conviction. In Argentina, a massive corruption scheme that allegedly took place during the Néstor and Cristina Kirchner administrations (2003–2015) involved top officials accused of receiving bribes by business leaders awarding profitable public works to the highest bidder, primarily in the energy and construction sectors. The federal judge overseeing the investigation ordered the detention of more than a dozen officials. Organized Crime: Parallel to and fomented by corruption are the even more elaborate networks of organized crime. Even though many large narco-trafficking cartels have been dismantled, particularly in Colombia, organized crime networks have only adapted, diversified, and proliferated. Part of the reason for their expansion is that governments are ill-equipped to detect, investigate, and halt them. Most policy and scholarship on organized crime has centered on a long-accepted but outdated understanding of their main traits. The first dimension is structural, stressing the “organized” half of organized crime syndicates, such as centralized control and strict discipline. The second is the complexity of the crime. On the simplest level are quick predatory “craft” crimes like carjacking that do not require extensive planning or organization. Moving up that scale are “market” crimes like narco-trafficking with greater volume and cooperation.31 Part of this dimension is supply lines that range from short (such as selling drugs on a corner) to long (such as intercontinental shipping). Greatly facilitating such complexity is the third dimension of racketeering that, of course, is the ability to infiltrate state institutions to shape laws, alter regulations, and dilute policies. Boosting such infiltration is the dimension of a group’s socioeconomic embeddedness – in which it provides security, jobs, and other services, creating societal support used to insulate it from the state. The final broad dimension is the goods that organized crime traffics that range in legality, from absolute (e.g., contract killings) to relative (legal under restricted circumstances, e.g., firearms) to commercial contraband (legitimate but marketed illegally to avoid regulations, e.g., cigarettes).32 Latin American criminal groups’ rapid expansion, collaboration, and diversification have shattered these typologies. Throughout the region, growing markets and decentralized states have opened up unprecedented opportunities to share physical, financial, operational, and

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electronic resources. From low-income barrios to high-end markets, they produce, transport, and sell an increasingly wide array of products: narcotics, pharmaceuticals, firearms, property (ranches, auto shops); money (gambling, currency exchange); humans (emigration, prostitution); and natural resources (timber, mining, African palm, endangered species). Neighborhood extortion becomes part of narco-trafficking, for example, while land cleared by loggers becomes airstrips for cocaine cartels. Such cooperation also eases entry into the legal economy, as contraband profits are invested in goods and services like ranching and palm oil. In addition to this diversity of goods and laws, judiciaries fighting organized crime also have to confront a wide range of actors involved, such as rural militias, neighborhood watches, social services, self-defense units (as in the Tierra Caliente of Mexico), residential property guards, “social cleansing” groups, errant community policing programs, youth gangs, Central America’s gangs (maras), private security firms, and the still-powerful transnational narcotics syndicates. These groups easily and commonly exercise simultaneous roles as vigilantes, law enforcers, service providers, and criminals. Their continual turnover and alliance formation has upturned notions of organized crime structures, with most networks now operating through transactional, temporary, and constantly shifting arrangements – an elusive moving target for the judiciary. Latin America’s judiciaries and the agencies that support them are unable to investigate, much less dismantle, these networks. Just like other units in the Ministerio Público (Public Ministry), as discussed earlier, those investigating organized crime are underfunded and often physically threatened. In the fight against the region’s arms trafficking organized crime network, a major cause of the region’s high crime rate, Latin American judicial systems struggle against a lack of border control, unmonitored trade within the region’s private security network, sales by corrupt officials of automatic weapons to organized crime groups, thriving artisanal arms workshops, online sales, and woefully inadequate state agencies. Guatemala’s forensics lab, the Instituto Nacional de Ciencias Forenses (INACIF), has just 18 specialists feverishly trying to test more than 100 arms seized each month in criminal cases, with a constant backlog of about 4,000 weapons. Environment: The centrality of the judiciary is most evident when it needs to apply the law to urgent needs and expanded human rights. No issue displays such an expectation more starkly than the environment. Inspired by the growing international movement, the environment has been at the center of the development of the third-generation collective rights. Climate change, meanwhile, is destroying much of the region’s ecology. The Amazon River Basin, the world’s largest rainforest, is suffering from a surge in deforestation. Environmental agencies have been reduced, and actions against illegal loggers are lacking; in Brazil, just 1 percent of fines are paid, reflecting a lack of judicial authority. Many of the strengths of organized crime networks, discussed earlier come from their unique position to build on the state’s weaknesses. Worldwide, the value of environmental crime is estimated at between US$91 and US$258 billion, up sharply from the 2014 estimate of US$70–US$213 billion.33 One reason for the growth is that, in regions like Latin America, criminal networks use the environment as a cover, opportunity, and gateway. Not only are goods such as timber and animals highly lucrative (some ornamental fish cost US$2 on the local black market, for example, but well over US$100 abroad), but also attributes of the areas from which they are removed, such as powerful local families and weak state agencies, are ideal for hiding and transporting them. They also offer abundant prospects for collaboration among environment and organized crime, such as when loggers provide arms for local groups, such as landowners’ militias. In fact, before Lava Jato, one of Brazil’s biggest corruption scandals involved a logging scheme covering an area larger than Spain, involving nearly 100 top officials. In response, one of the newest and most innovative and ambitious changes in the judiciary has been the creation of environmental units within the police, prosecutor’s office, and courts. Every

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country in Latin America now has a prosecutorial team on environmental crimes, and eight countries also have police divisions. Many countries are also establishing specialized courts, such as Brazil’s increasingly assertive tribunals. These cases are backed up by Latin America’s pioneering environmental protection laws. The constitutions of Bolivia and Ecuador, the judiciary of Colombia, and the penal codes of Venezuela and Brazil are among the world’s most specifically and strongly pro-environment. But even such support is not sufficient for judicial authority. Just like the courts themselves, these enforcement and judicial agencies are underfinanced, with weak political support and low budgets depriving them of needed personnel to meet their specific challenges, such as collecting and preserving evidence in remote regions. In Peru, for example, only one judge is handling environmental cases in an area the size of New York State. In some cases, promised agencies aren’t even formed; for example, Bolivia’s Agricultural-Environmental Courts (Tribunales Agroambientales) remain limited strictly to agricultural cases. The law itself is also hollow in many respects. First, there is the complexity and contradiction in the law itself. In most countries, environmental regulations fan out through four overlapping areas of law: criminal, civil (noncriminal disputes), administrative (covering state agencies), and commercial (covering other natural resource use). Within each, regulations are further disseminated into many levels (from national to local) and at least a dozen categories, including agriculture, water, hunting and fishing, petroleum, waste, forestry, mining, health, transport, wildlife, organized crime, and, of course, the environment (usually in a General Environmental Law). Most illegal activities, as a result, are also dispersed. Deforestation, for example, may be defined as activities that “range from acts related to the establishment of rights to land, to corrupt activities to acquire forest concessions, and to unlawful activities at all stages of forest management and the forest goods production chain, from the planning stage, to harvesting and transport.”34 This innumerably unfolding list of abuses itself demonstrates the difficulty of environmental crime. Within the judiciary, this complexity opens a Pandora’s Box of approaches and interpretations. It makes judges – even those free of political pressures from business and political sectors – reluctant to come down hard on environmental crime. Many believe that the criminal law’s higher level of proof – demonstrating a link between a perpetrator and victim in court, such as linking a polluted body of water to a specific entity – is all but impossible. A further complication is the fact that state agencies are often responsible, complicit, or negligent. Many abuses are not just technically illegal, in fact, but encouraged: The very nature of Latin America’s export economies – as demonstrated by countries that break their own laws to extract oil, pave roads, and log trees – is the massive and ongoing destruction of nature.35 As a result of these considerations, most judges apply administrative and civil law that they say is easier for citizens to initiate, rather than criminal law. The judiciary’s inability to address environmental crime is a primary point in the field of green criminology that 36 stresses that environmental crimes stand out from other crimes by their extent over places and time – affecting lands and generations far beyond the specific violations. Another sign of the judiciary’s incapacity, like its inability to halt crime, is the growing murder rate of environmentalists. Globally, such killings rose from 50 in 2002 to 197 in 2017, which was four people per week. Of the six countries worldwide with the highest rates, four were in Latin America. Brazil continued to have the highest overall number, with 46 killings that year. Honduras was fifth in total number globally but the highest per capita. Colombia, in third place, suffered 32 deaths, many connected to land conflicts reignited by the 2015 peace deal. Peru, which was sixth, endured one of the worst massacres in recent history in September 2017 when six farmers were killed by a criminal group that sought to buy their land cheaply and sell it to a palm oil concern.

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As with organized and other environmental crimes, the judiciary still lacks the independence, authority, and social support to halt these killings. But growing public awareness of them, along with their impact on policy, will lead the judiciary to begin to forge another new path toward the rule of law in Latin America.

Notes 1 Among works defining the rule of law are Carlos Nino, Un país al margen de la ley (Buenos Aires: Emecé Editores, 1992); Jürgen Habermas, Between Facts and Norms (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1998). 2 Juan Linz, “The Perils of Presidentialism,” Journal of Democracy, 1, no. 1 (Winter 1990): 51–69. 3 Guillermo A. O’Donell, “Delegative Democracy,” Journal of Democracy, 5, no. 1 (1994): 55–69. 4 David Collier and Steven Levitsky, “Democracy with Adjectives: Conceptual Innovation in Comparative Research,” World of Politics, 49, no. 3 (1997). 5 Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way, Competitive Authoritarianism: Hybrid Regimes After the Cold War (Problems of International Politics) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Alexander Cooley, “Authoritarianism Goes Global,” Journal of Democracy, 26–3 (2015); Roberto Foa and Yascha Mounk, “The Signs of Deconsolidation,” Journal of Democracy, 28–1 (2017). 6 Joseph L. Staats, Shaun Bowler, and Jonathan T. Hiskey, “Measuring Judicial Performance in Latin America,” Latin American Politics and Society, 47, no. 4 (2005): 77–106. 7 Carlos Scartascini, Crimen y Castigo: Independencia Judicial en América Latina (Washington, DC: Inter-American Development Bank, 2015); Ernesto Stein and Mariano Tommasi, La Política de las Políticas Públicas:The Politics of Policies (Washington, DC: Inter-American Development Bank, 2006). 8 Gretchen Helmke and Julio Ríos-Figueroa, eds., Courts in Latin America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Diana Kapiszewski, High Courts and Economic Governance in Argentina and Brazil (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 9 Steven R. Minegar, “Judicial Accountability Versus the Separation of Powers: Perspectives on Brazil’s National Council of Justice,” International Criminal Justice Review, (2011). 10 Elin Skaar, “Does Judicial Independence Explain Post-Transitional Justice?,” América Latina Hoy, 61, no. 0 (2012): 14–48. 11 Estudio Comparado Sobre Gestión Presupuestaria y Gestión Administrativa de Cortes y Tribinales y Tratamiento Estadístico de la Información sobre el Funcionamiento del Sistema Judicial (New York, NY: United Nations Development Programme, 2005). 12 Teresa Ledezma Inchausti, Logros y Límites de la Organización de la Fiscalía del Distrito de La Paz (Santiago: Centro de Estudios de Justicia de las Américas, 2005). 13 Leticia Lorenzo, Gestión de la Defensa Pública: Consideraciones sobre los modelos de gestión y los procesos de trabajo de la Defensa Pública (Santiago: Centro de Estudios de Justicia de las Américas, 2012). 14 Jeffrey K. Staton, Judicial Power and Strategic Communication in Mexico (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). 15 Lee Epstein and Jack Knight, The Choices Judges Make (Washington, DC: Congressional Quarterly Press, 1998). 16 Pérez-Perdomo R. “Rule of Law and Lawyers in Latin America.” The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 603, no. 1 (2006): 179–191. 17 Javier Couso, Alexandra Huneeus, and Rachel Sieder, eds., Cultures of Legality: Judicialization and Political Activism in Latin America (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). 18 James Gwartney, Robert Lawson, and Joshua Hall, Economic Freedom of the World 2017 Annual Report (Vancouver: Fraser Institute, 2018). 19 Alianza para la Paz y la Justicia, Combatiento la Impunidad en Comayagua: Éxitos y Obstáculos (Tegucigalpa: APJ, 2014), 2. 20 Tacuazina Morales, “Honduras: Escalada de Feminicidios,” News Service on Women in Latin America and the Caribbean, March 14, 2011, http://amecopress.net/spip.php?article6376. 21 Baker E. “The New York State Assembly.” Henry Wheaton, 1785–1848 (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1937): 44–54. Retrieved March 18, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/j. ctv4v325n.12. 22 Ministry of Justice and Human Rights, Government of Argentina, Ercolano c/Lanteri de Renshaw (1922): vol. 136, 170. The broad approach was dominant in the United States until 1877 – Aron Rabionovich (Buenos Aires: Jurisprudencia Argentina, 1950): vol. 217, 469. Most Argentine scholars support the narrow interpretation, citing the dissenting opinion in Renshaw. See Anglo c/Gobierno Nacional (Buenos Aires: Jurisprudencia Argentina, 1934): vol. 171, 366, as an example of wide police powers.

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23 Honduras This Week, June 24, 2002, online edition, 23. 24 Policía Nacional de Ecuador, Saludo a cargo del señor comandante general (Quito: Policía Nacional de Ecuador, 2006). 25 Luz A. Nagle, “Process Issues of Colombia’s New Accusatory System,” Southwestern Journal of Law and Trade in the Americas, 24, (2008): 223–286. 26 Lynette Parker, “The Use of Restorative Practices in Latin America,” Third International Conference on Conferencing, Circles, and Other Restorative Practices, Minneapolis, Minnesota, 2002. 27 C. Neal Tate and Torbjörn Vallinder, The Global Expansion of Judicial Power (New York, NY: NYU Press, 1997). 28 Carolina Villadiego Burbano, Los Sistemas de Justicia no Penal en América Latina: Estructura e Información de la Justicia Civil-Mercantil, Laboral, de Familia, y Contencioso Administrativa (Santiago de Chile: CEJA Americas, 2011). 29 Enrique Peruzzotti and Catalina Smulovitz, Enforcing the Rule of Law (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2006). 30 Barómetro de las Américas, Proyecto de Opinión Pública de América Latina,Vanderbilt University. 31 Howard Abedinsky, Organized Crime (Boston, MA: Cengage Learning, 2016); Jay Albanese, Organized Crime: From the Mob to Transnational Organized Crime (London: Routledge, 2014). 32 R.T. Naylor, Wages of Crime (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2002); Richard Friman and Peter Andreas, eds., The Illicit Global Economy and State Power (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1999). 33 United Nations Environment Program, The Rise of Environmental Crime (New York, NY: UNEP, 2016). 34 Tacconi, Luca, Illegal Logging: Law Enforcement, Livelihoods, and the Timber Trade (Routledge, 2008), 3. 35 Paul Stretesky, Michael Long, and Michael Lynch, The Treadmill of Crime (London: Routledge, 2014). 36 See Nigel South and Avi Brisman, Routledge International Handbook of Green Criminology (London: Routledge, 2014).

4 PRISONS Jonathan D. Rosen

Polling data indicates that security and perceptions of insecurity1 are on the minds of many citizens throughout Latin America.2 Such concerns are quite legitimate as the Americas is the most violent region in the world.3 In 2015, El Salvador surpassed Honduras as the most violent nation worldwide with a homicide rate of 104 per 100,000 inhabitants.4 While El Salvador’s homicide rate decreased in 2016 to 81.2 per 100,000, it has remained one of the most violent non-warring country on the planet. Moreover, San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador, had a homicide rate of 136.7 per 100,000 inhabitants. Therefore, reducing violence is a major concern for many governments throughout the region. Yet, questions remain about how to reduce drug trafficking, organized crime, and violence. Policymakers want to demonstrate to their populations that they are taking “tough on crime” measures to combat crime and violence. In Latin America, governments in various countries have implemented strategies to counter gangs, organized crime, and other illicit actors to increase security.5 These policies, however, have had unintended consequences and have resulted in a spike in the prison populations in many countries throughout the region. This chapter will examine some of the general trends in prisons and Latin America. It focuses on the cases of El Salvador and Mexico as both countries are plagued by high levels of crime and violence as well as an overcrowded prison system that presents many challenges for policymakers. These countries have implemented strategies to combat organized crime groups and gangs. In addition, these case studies are home to some of the most overcrowded and unruly prisons in the region.6 Finally, the chapter concludes by suggesting some possible reforms for implementation. Prisons have been an understudied phenomenon in the region. A functioning democracy requires that countries have institutions that work efficiently. As political scientists and criminal justice scholars note, individuals who break the law should be arrested and prosecuted and sent to prison. Combating corruption requires the implementation of the rule of law. Countries in Latin America face serious challenges with high levels of impunity. In fact, some states in the region have impunity levels that are more than 90 percent.7 The penitentiary system is one of the foremost institutions in many Latin American countries in dire need of reform. Prisons in many countries throughout the region, especially El Salvador and Mexico, are plagued by high levels of overcrowding and human rights abuses. Critics of the penitentiary system argue that jails and prisons do not deter crimes in many Latin American DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-5

Prisons 55

countries.8 They also do not help rehabilitate offenders. Instead, many prisons serve as schools of criminal activity, as will be seen in the cases discussed in the following sections.

The Consequences of Overcrowding in Latin American Prisons Prisons in Latin America face major challenges with overcrowding, which creates obstacles for governments and prison officials. As a result of the increasing prison population in many countries throughout the region, the current facilities operating in many countries do not have the capacity to house as many prisoners as they do. El Salvador, for instance, has a prison population of 568 per 100,000 (see Figure 4.1). Experts note that overcrowding can facilitate gangs that operate within prisons.9 In Brazil, prisons have seen intense and bloody riots that have led to scores of people being killed. Around 100 prisoners died during the beginning of 2017 as prison gangs battled for control. In fact, 56 inmates in a Brazilian prison located in Amazon City died in a January 1, 2017 riot.10 Experts also contend that the overcrowding within the Brazilian prison system has contributed to its high levels of violence. The high levels of violence and the coordination between prisoners and operatives on the streets have concerned law enforcement and policymakers. Benjamin Lessing of the University of Chicago argues, “On January 4, the capital of Maranhão, Brazil suffered a wave of coordinated attacks on buses and police stations, ordered by a local prison gang. The death of a six-year-old girl in the attacks, along with evidence of the execrable conditions within Maranhão’s prisons, including a gruesome video of beheaded prisoners, reports of rape of visiting family members, and signs that further inmate violence is imminent, have all drawn international attention.”11 Gang members have taken advantage of the prison structure to better organize and strategize. Steven Dudley and James Bargent maintain, “Overcrowding, corruption and abuse have made prisons incredibly dangerous places where survival depends on new and old alliances. The jails are near perfect recruiting centers and incubators for crime. They permit criminal groups

FIGURE 4.1 

Prison population per 100,000 inhabitants

Source: Created by the author with data from Steven Dudley and James Bargent, “The Prison Dilemma: Latin America’s Incubators of Organized Crime,” InSight Crime, January 19, 2017; Institute for Criminal Policy Research. Note: These are a selection of countries as opposed to a ranking of the countries with the largest rates per 100,000 inhabitants.

56  Jonathan D. Rosen

FIGURE 4.2 

Pretrial detainees as a percentage of the prison population (2017 or latest year)

Source:  Created by the author with data from the Institute for Criminal Policy Research.

to fortify their hierarchies, and they have become safe havens and operational headquarters for gangs in the Northern Triangle countries of El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala, and for criminal organizations in Colombia and Mexico.”12 Overcrowding and gang activity create severe challenges for prison officials throughout the Americas. Prison guards become more outnumbered as the prison population grows. Criminal activity occurring behind prison bars also increases the possibility that corrections officers can be susceptible to bribes.13 Overcrowding is exacerbated by the inefficiency of the judicial system in many Latin American countries. Once people are arrested, they must have their day in court and either be released or sentenced for breaking the law – indeed, you are innocent until proven guilty. Many countries in Latin America have a judicial system that is plagued by inefficiencies. In Bolivia, for example, there have been cases of individuals in pretrial detention for 23 years.14 In Mexico, 38.1 percent of the prison population in 2017 can be classified as pretrial detainees waiting for their day in court.15 Honduras exemplifies this problem as it has more than 66 percent of the prison population awaiting trial and not having been sentenced (see Figure 4.2).16

The Linkages between Drug Crimes and the Prison Population As Latin American policymakers have attempted to crack down on drug trafficking and organized crime, harsh drug laws have been enforced and have contributed to spikes in the prison population. Scholars and policy analysts note that in some countries in Latin America, one can serve more time in prison for drug charges than murder. For example, the maximum penalty in Argentina for drug-related crimes is 35 years – 20 for drug-related crimes and 15 for drug trafficking. In Colombia, the maximum penalty for drug-related crimes is 60 years – 30 for drug-related crimes and 30 for drug trafficking. Mexico also has a maximum penalty for drug-related crimes of 60 years compared to 30 for Brazil (see Figure 4.3).17 Women have been impacted negatively by drug laws. More than 60 percent of the female prison population in Argentina, Brazil, Costa Rica, and Peru is in prison for drug offenses.18 Yet, research indicates that women involved in the drug trade in Latin America are generally not chief players in the business (i.e., they are not “queenpins”).19 Critics have contended that law enforcement officials often focus on people arrested at the lower end of the drug trade, which has led to increases in the prison population in many countries. Juan Carlos Garzón Vergara, a Colombian security expert, argues, “The impact of policing generally falls on people who are easy to arrest, with offenses characterized as flagrant – as is the case with drug dealing, open

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FIGURE 4.3 

Maximum penalty for drug-related crime

Source: Created by the author with data from Rodrigo Uprimny Yepes, Diana Esther Guzmán, and Jorge Parra Norato, Addicted to Punishment: The disproportionality of Drug Laws in Latin America (Bogotá: Centro de Estudios de Derecho, Justicia y Sociedad, Dejusticia, 2013).

drug use, or trafficking in small quantities. Meanwhile, more complex crimes, which require greater investigative capacity and intelligence, have low solve rates – in other words, there are high levels of impunity.”20 The result of such policies is that the prison population is overflowing with inmates, many of whom are not primary actors in the drug trade. Some police forces in Latin America cannot arrest drug kingpins due to high levels of corruption, lack of training, and underfunding. The excessive levels of corruption and impunity plaguing some countries in the region enable drug traffickers to penetrate the state apparatus and bribe law enforcement, judges, prosecutors, and politicians, which helps these individuals evade capture. The 2017 Global Impunity Index calculated the impunity for 69 countries, and the results show that many Latin American countries face significant challenges with impunity.21 Mexico, for instance, has an impunity rate of 99 percent.22

Gangs, Mano Dura, and Prisons: The Case of El Salvador El Salvador has a long history of violence, dating back to the civil war (1980–1992).23 Yet violence levels today have surpassed the days of the civil war due to gang-related violence and failed counter-gang strategies.24 The government has implemented strategic initiatives to combat the gangs operating in the country. The main actors are Mara Salvatrucha, known as MS-13, and the 18th Street gang (Barrio 18). The 18th Street gang, originally founded by Mexican immigrants, began in the 1960s in Los Angeles, California. On the other hand, immigrants fleeing the Salvadoran civil war formed MS-13 in the 1980s.25 Scholars contend that Salvadoran immigrants, many of whom felt discriminated against, formed this gang. As gang researchers note, identity plays a major role in gangs, particularly Latino Street gangs. While MS-13 began as a group of young Salvadoran immigrants who liked to listen to rock music and smoke marijuana, the organization evolved over time. The U.S. government started to deport Salvadoran gang members through the Illegal Immigrant Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act of 1996. The lack of coordination between the U.S. government and El Salvador meant that many of these individuals deported from the United States back to their home country helped the gangs spread throughout the Northern Triangle. Gang members deported to El Salvador brought their gang culture with them. Due to the poor coordination between the U.S. and El Salvadoran governments, the

58  Jonathan D. Rosen

individuals deported returned home without criminal records. Therefore, they used the skills and “know-how” acquired during their days in California and began to expand gang operations throughout the Northern Triangle countries. Yet scholars, such as José Miguel Cruz, note that there are many other factors besides the deportations that led to the expansion of the street gangs throughout El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras.26 Some of these factors include poverty, inequality, and the high levels of corruption and impunity that characterize many Central American governments. In 2003, the Francisco Flores government (1999–2004) launched Plan Mano Dura to combat gangs and gang-related violence.27 Plan Mano Dura and the subsequent Plan Super Mano Dura sought to counter gangs by arresting alleged gang members.28 The government targeted people who committed crimes as well as individuals who “looked” like gang members.29 Salvadoran gang members who imported the U.S. gang culture with them to El Salvador had particular styles and dress codes (e.g., Nike shoes and shaved heads). Moreover, tattoos constituted – and continue to represent – a key form of identity for gang members. Gang members tattooed gang symbols on their bodies, often in visible places,30 making it easier for police officers to identify members of the organization.31 The results of such “tough on crime” counter-gang strategies have increased the total number of people incarcerated and the incarceration rate per 100,000 inhabitants (see Figure 4.4). Gang experts note that such policies have had unintended consequences.32 Prison officials had to separate gang members within prisons.33 The logic is that mixing rival gang members in the same cell could lead to riots and extreme levels of violence. However, separating gangs within the prison system created many advantages for gang members. Prison authorities placed gang members from different cliques in the same institution.34 This enabled the members to meet other people in the gang around the country and served as a form of networking. In addition, the leaders of the gang used the prison system to organize and coordinate gang operations. According to gang experts Steven Dudley and Juan José Martínez d’Aubuisson, “It was fitting that the power struggle within the MS13 would play out in the Salvadoran prisons. For the last decade, the penitentiary system in El Salvador has been the headquarters of the MS13 and the Barrio 18, the largest gangs in the country. The gangs’ takeover of the prisons resulted from a combination of bad public policy, and the gangs’ increasing organizational skill and guile.”35 Prisons, therefore, served as incubators for gang activity and operated as “schools of crime.”

FIGURE 4.4 

Prison population rate in El Salvador (per 100,000)

Source:  Created by the author with data from the Institute for Criminal Policy Research.

Prisons 59

Someone who entered the prison as a soldier in the gang could learn various skill sets. Once such individuals leave the prison system, they will have expanded their “gang knowledge” as well as their reputation on the street. Today, prisons have become an essential part of gang life. If one desires to move up the gang hierarchy, it is important to have served time in prison. On the contrary, it is quite difficult for someone to ascend the gang pyramid without having been incarcerated. Serving time in the penitentiary system enables one to learn different tangible “skills” and network. A recent study conducted by José Miguel Cruz and his colleagues at Florida International University found there are top gang leaders, known as Ranflas, both inside and outside Salvadoran prisons.36 In summary, prisons in El Salvador do not serve as a deterrent from criminal activity. Instead, prisons play an intricate part in gang life. Instead of focusing on prevention, treatment, and rehabilitation, President Salvador Sánchez Cerén of the left-wing Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (Frente Farabundo Martí para la Liberación Nacional) has implemented tough counter-gang strategies. In 2015, the Salvadoran Supreme Court declared that gang members are “terrorists.” Critics note various challenges with this categorization of gang members. Arron Daugherty argues that such labels contribute to the “warlike” discourse used by the current administration. Many concerns exist about the effectiveness of such strategies and the potential for grave human rights abuses.37 Such policies also strain the overcrowded prison facilities. The government will have to either begin to build more prisons or focus on efforts to release people who are incarcerated. Furthermore, the Salvadoran government has taken measures to regain control of the prison system. In 2016, the Salvadoran Congress passed extraordinary measures to control the gangs who are incarcerated throughout the prison system. The Congress initially approved this measure for one-year, but these policies have been extended for another year. The actions seek to isolate dangerous inmates, and there are more restrictions in terms of visitation privileges. The Salvadoran government has also attempted to decrease extortion occurring inside prisons by placing cellphone blockers on the towers located outside of prisons and jails. A person who attempts to make a phone call within a certain radius of a penitentiary system will not have cellphone reception. Blocking cellphone signals and cracking down on cellphones within the prisons can be effective methods for limiting the communication that prisoners have with the outside world.38 While the government supports these strategies, critics maintain that such policies are excessive and ineffective. Inmates who live in extremely harsh conditions in the Salvadoran prison system are not rehabilitated.39 They also do not have the necessary skills to become productive members of society. Since El Salvador does not have the death penalty, the majority of inmates will be released in the future. Thus, it is essential that politicians and leaders of the penitentiary system think not only about the short-term consequences of such policies but also the long-term implications.

The Mexican Penitentiary System Drug trafficking, organized crime, and violence in Mexico have been a major concern for both the Mexican and U.S. governments. These countries share a nearly 2,000-mile border. The United States is the largest drug-consuming country in the world, and transnational organized crime groups move drugs – and other illicit commodities – into this country. President Donald J. Trump has emphasized the need to build a wall along the border to combat not only illegal immigration but also drug trafficking and organized crime. Many experts have criticized Trump’s discourse and the border wall arguing that it would be ineffective.40 Organized crime

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groups have a variety of different mechanisms for penetrating borders, including, but not limited to, tunnels, drones, and catapults. Moreover, thousands of vehicles cross the border each day as a result of the increasing interconnectedness between the United States and Mexico, making it difficult to combat the flow of illicit products.41 What has the Mexican government done to combat drug trafficking and organized crime? How have such policies impacted the prison population? President Felipe Calderón (2006– 2012) launched a “war on drugs” upon assuming the presidency. The Calderón administration deployed the military to topple the major leaders of the cartels and interdict drugs, arms, and other illicit commodities. Many security experts have criticized the use of the military for internal policing operations, arguing this is the jurisdiction of the police.42 Calderón did not have confidence in the Mexican police due to high levels of corruption and even adapted the constitution to make it legal to deploy the military on the streets to assist with the drug war.43 The Calderón administration had “partial victories”44 against organized crime groups. The government captured many leaders and seized drugs and weapons. The Calderón administration marketed the victories in the war on drugs by parading kingpins on television so the public could see the “victories.”45 Yet, critics noted that capturing the leaders of the main organizations, often known as the kingpin strategy, leads to a fragmentation of organized crime. In 2006, Mexico had six major drug cartels, but the number of organizations has continued to proliferate over time.46 In 2012, the attorney general of Mexico contended that there are as many as 80 drug cartels operating in the country.47 Experts note that the fragmentation of organized crime often leads to spikes in violence as drug trafficking organizations fight for control of territory and routes. In addition, the toppling of a kingpin can lead to infighting within cartels as members jockey for power.48 By the end of Calderón’s six-year term, Mexico had more than 100,000 drug-related deaths. Along with increasing levels of violence, Mexico’s drug war has resulted in significant challenges for the penitentiary system. The prison population increased from 210,140 in 2006 to 239,089 in 2012 (Figure 4.5). The rising prison population due to the “tough on crime” approach has led to serious overcrowding. Research indicates that more than half of Mexican prisons are overcrowded.49 The Center for Research and Teaching in Economics (Centro de

FIGURE 4.5 

Total prison population in Mexico

Source:  Created by the author with data from the Institute for Criminal Policy Research.

Prisons 61

Investigación y Docencia Económicas), a leading research university in Mexico, conducted a 2012 survey in federal prison. The researchers found that 60 percent of prisoners in the country were incarcerated for violating various drug crimes.50 The Washington Office on Latin America also conducted a study and found “that during the first four years of the government of Mexican President Felipe Calderón … of the 226,667 detainees accused of a drug crime, 33,500 or less than 15%, were ever sentenced.”51 In summary, the war on drugs has led to a proliferation in the Mexican prison population. Mexican prisons are not only severely overcrowded; they have become schools of crime. It is estimated that organized crime groups control more than 65 percent of state prisons in the country.52 While the Mexican government can cite statistics about the increasing number of criminals behind bars, in many facilities, prison staff cannot control inmates while they are incarcerated. Being a corrections officer in Mexico and many other countries in Latin America is a very dangerous job. Not only are prison guards poorly paid, but they often fear being physically harmed by inmates that have connections to organized crime syndicates. As a result, Mexico has witnessed seemingly countless escapes from prisons.53 The government’s inability to maintain control of the criminal justice system is best illustrated by the case of Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán, the former leader of the Sinaloa cartel. Enrique Peña Nieto’s administration refused to extradite Guzmán to the United States. In 2015, the attorney general contended the government would extradite the notorious drug lord upon the completion of his sentence in Mexico (i.e., in 300 or 400 years).54 Guzmán first exited a Mexican prison in 2001 through a laundry basket. In July 2015, Guzmán escaped from Altiplano prison through his shower as he left the prison through a tunnel. The inability to keep the most notorious drug lord in the world behind prison walls led many to question the Mexican government’s ability to control the prison system. Paul Rexton Kan, an expert on drug trafficking and organized crime, notes, “Prison officials and corrections staff were complicit in his escape; they ignored the construction noise underneath El Chapo’s cell and refrained from watching his movements. At the time of his escape, the prison guards responsible for monitoring El Chapo were playing computer solitaire while their other computer screens linked to the closed-circuit cameras were turned off.”55 The escape of the most notorious drug lord resulted in a crushing blow for the Mexican government, who did not want to send Guzmán to the United States. The refusal to extradite Guzmán also created tensions between these two countries.56 Mexican authorities captured Guzmán in his native Sinaloa in January 2016.57 In January 2017, the Mexican government extradited Guzmán to New York.58 Furthermore, the case of Mexico shows that the increasing prison population caused by the war on drugs did not result in decreased crime and violence. While the violence dropped during the first years of the Peña Nieto government, the country experienced spikes in 2016.59 Violence also has shifted throughout the country. Today, the most violent city is Acapulco, which is in the southern state of Guerrero.60 Other states, such as Tamaulipas and Michoacán, have also been plagued by drug-related violence and strong linkages between organized crime groups and the government. Moreover, organized crime groups are diversifying their criminal activities. Heroin production, for example, has increased in the state of Guerrero as traffickers seek to supply the rising demand for the substance in the United States.61 While the United States grapples with a drug epidemic, drug trafficking organizations are moving into the production and trafficking of other drugs, such as Fentanyl.62 Thus, the increasing prison population has neither decreased violence nor reduced drug trafficking and organized crime. In summary, the Peña Nieto administration faced a major security crisis as violence continued to increase. As of March 2017,63 Peña Nieto had a 17-percent approval rating as his administration was plagued by human rights and corruption scandals. In addition, the prison system remains in dire crisis and desperate need of reform.

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Conclusion Latin American countries have seen spikes in the number of people behind bars as many governments have launched campaigns to combat drug trafficking and organized crime. As seen in the Mexican and Salvadoran cases analyzed in this chapter, the results have been proliferations in the prison populations. While mano dura policies64 are often popular among the public, such strategies lead to more violence and contribute to high levels of overcrowding. Prisons do not have the space to house the increasing number of inmates who are locked up. Therefore, countries either will have to build more prisons or find sound alternatives to incarceration. Criminal justice experts have debated the goal of prisons, questioning the trade-offs between rehabilitation and punishment.65 As demonstrated by the case of El Salvador, prisons do not serve as a deterrent for gang members. Instead, prisons play an integral part in gang life. Gang members who seek to ascend the organizational hierarchy are expected to serve time in prison; while in prison, they can develop various useful skills. Prisons have become schools of crime, and the leaders of many gangs and drug trafficking organizations operate while behind bars. The penitentiary systems in Latin American countries are plagued by high levels of violence and human rights abuses. Many critics of the prison system argue that nonviolent drug offenders should be rerouted to treatment and rehabilitation.66 Drug treatment in Latin American prisons is underfunded. Moreover, someone who has a criminal record will f ind signif icant obstacles in employment and educational opportunities after serving prison time. Many prisoners lack the basic skill sets required to compete in the highly competitive and globalized world of the twenty-f irst century. This also assumes that Latin American prisons have the capacity and resources to provide inmates with the necessary education and training to compete in the “real world.” In summary, the current trends suggest that prisons will continue to function as revolving doors due to the high levels of discrimination offenders face upon reentry into society. It is quite difficult for individuals with a criminal record to be given the opportunity to study or work in the formal economy. People who have records of gang membership face additional challenges finding employment. For example, ex-gang members with visible gang-related tattoos often find that employers are very hesitant to hire someone with a gang record. Tattoos, therefore, make it hard for an ex-gang member to escape his or her past.67 Doubts also can exist among businesses if someone has really abandoned the gang life or has merely “calmed down” gang activities. Ultimately, unless prisons are reformed, Latin American countries will continue to see a lost generation of youth caught up in the criminal justice system.

Notes 1 A special thanks to Amanda Gurecki for her comments. 2 For more, see the Latin American Public Opinion Project (LAPOP) at Vanderbilt University, https:// www.vanderbilt.edu/lapop/, accessed November 2017. 3 Charles Parkinson, “Latin America is World’s Most Violent Region: UN,” InSight Crime, April 21, 2014; UN Office of Drugs and Crime, Global Study on Homicide 2013 (New York, NY: UNDOC, 2014), chapter 1; Elyssa Pachico, “Latin America Dominates List of World’s Most Violent Cities,” InSight Crime, January 22, 2015. 4 Arron Daugherty, “El Salvador is Most Violent Nation in Western Hemisphere,” InSight Crime, January 4, 2016. 5 T.W.Ward, Gangsters Without Borders: An Ethnography of a Salvadoran Street Gang (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013); Sonja Wolf, “Mara Salvatrucha: The Most Dangerous Street Gang in the Americas?” Latin American Politics and Society 54, no. 1 (2012): 65–99;Thomas C. Bruneau, “Pandillas and Security in Central America,” Latin American Research Review 49, no. 2 (2014): 152–172.

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6 For more on this topic, see Jonathan D. Rosen and Marten W. Brienen, eds., Prisons in the Americas in the Twenty-First Century: A Human Dumping Ground (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, April 2015). 7 Stephen D. Morris, “Corruption, Drug Trafficking, and Violence in Mexico,” The Brown Journal of World Affairs 18, no. 2 (2012): 29–43; Francesca Lessa, Tricia D. Olsen, Leigh A. Payne, Gabriel Pereira, and Andrew G. Reiter, “Overcoming Impunity: Pathways to Accountability in Latin America,” International Journal of Transitional Justice 8, no. 1 (2014): 75–98. 8 Steven Dudley and James Bargent, “The Prison Dilemma: Latin America’s Incubators of Organized Crime,” InSight Crime, January 19, 2017; José Miguel Cruz, “Central American Maras: From Youth Street Gangs to Transnational Protection Rackets,” Global Crime 11, no. 4 (2010): 379–398. 9 Dudley and Bargent, “The Prison Dilemma.” 10 Tristan Clavel, “Brazil Starts New Year with Series of Brutal Prison Killings,” InSight Crime, January 9, 2017: 1. 11 Benjamin Lessing, “How Gangs Grow Stronger in Brazil’s Prisons,” InSight Crime, January 31, 2014: 1. 12 Dudley and Bargent, “The Prison Dilemma”: 4; see also: Patrick Corcoran, “How to Fix Mexico’s Broken Prisons,” InSight Crime, February 24, 2012. 13 Dudley and Bargent, “The Prison Dilemma.” 14 Marten Brienen, “A Special Kind of Hell: The Bolivian Penal System,” in Prisons in the Americas: A Human Dumping Ground, eds., Jonathan D. Rosen and Marten W. Brienen (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2016), 150–152. 15 “World Prison Brief,” Institute of Criminal Policy Research, http://www.prisonstudies.org/country/mexico, accessed November 2017. 16 Elyssa Pachico, “Pre-Trial Detention Brews Crisis in LatAm Prisons,” InSight Crime, February 22, 2012. 17 This is according to 2012 data. Rodrigo Uprimny Yepes, Diana Esther Guzmán, and Jorge Parra Norato, Addicted to Punishment: The disproportionality of drug laws in Latin America (Bogotá: Centro de Estudios de Derecho, Justicia y Sociedad, Dejusticia, 2013), 12. 18 Washington Office on Latin America, Women, Drug Policies, and Incarceration in the Americas (Washington, DC: WOLA, 2016). 19 Washington Office on Latin America, Women, Drug Policies, and Incarceration in the Americas. 20 Juan Carlos Garzón Vergara, Tough on the Weak,Weak on the Tough: Drug Laws and Policing (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center for International Scholars, 2015), 4. 21 Juan Antonio Le Clercq Ortega and Gerardo Sánchez Lara, eds., Global Impunity Dimensions: GII-2017 Global Impunity Index (Puebla, Mexico: Fundación Universidad de las Américas, August 18, 2017). 22 James Bargent, “Mexico Impunity Levels Reach 99%: Study,” InSight Crime, February 4, 2016; Le Clercq Ortega, Sánchez Lara, eds., Global Impunity Dimensions. 23 Russell Crandall, The Salvador Option:The United States in El Salvador, 1977–1992 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016); Elisabeth Jean Wood, Insurgent Collective Action and Civil War in El Salvador (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003); Robin Maria DeLugan, Reimagining National Belonging: PostCivil War El Salvador in a Global Context (Tucson, AZ: The University of Arizona Press, 2012). 24 Jonathan Watts, “One Murder Every Hour: How El Salvador Became the Homicide Capital of the World,” The Guardian, August 22, 2015. 25 Clare Ribando Seelke, Gangs in Central America (Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service, 2014); Ana Arana, “How the Street Gangs Took Central America,” Foreign Affairs 84 (2005): 98; for more on gangs in Los Angeles and the role of law enforcement, see Susan A. Phillips, Operation Fly Trap: L.A. Gangs, Drugs, and the Law (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago, 2012). 26 Cruz, “Central American Maras”; José Miguel Cruz, “The Root Causes of the Central American Crisis,” Current History 114, no. 769 (2015): 43; José Miguel Cruz, ed., Maras y pandillas en Centroamérica (San Salvador: UCA, 2006); José Miguel Cruz and Nelson Portillo Peña, Solidaridad y violencia en las pandillas del gran San Salvador: Más allá de la vida loca,Vol. 9 (San Salvador: UCA Editores, 1998). 27 Mo Hume, “Mano Dura: El Salvador Responds to Gangs,” Development in Practice 17, no. 6 (2007): 739– 751; Philippe Bourgois, “The Power of Violence in War and Peace: Post-Cold War Lessons from El Salvador,” Ethnography 2, no. 1 (2001): 5–34; Laura Pedraza Fariña, Spring Miller, and James L. Cavallaro, No Place to Hide: Gang, State, and Clandestine Violence in El Salvador (Cambridge, MA: Human Rights Program, Harvard Law School, 2010). 28 Chris van der Borgh and Wim Savenije, “De-securitising and Re-securitising Gang Policies: The Funes Government and Gangs in El Salvador,” Journal of Latin American Studies 47, no. 01 (2015): 149–176. 29 Robert Brenneman, Homies and Hermanos: God and Gangs in Central America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 30 Sonja Wolf, Mano Dura: The Politics of Gang Control in El Salvador (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2017). 31 Ward, Gangsters Without Borders.

64  Jonathan D. Rosen

32 Wolf, “Mara Salvatrucha: The Most Dangerous Street Gang in the Americas?” 33 Cruz, “Central American Maras.” 34 Cruz, “Central American Maras.” 35 Steven Dudley and Juan José Martínez d’Aubuisson, “El Salvador Prisons and the Battle for the MS13’s Soul,” InSight Crime, February 16, 2017: 2. 36 José Miguel Cruz, Jonathan D. Rosen, Luis Enrique Amaya, and Yulia Vorobyeva, The New Face of Street Gangs:The Gang Phenomenon in El Salvador (Miami: Florida International University, 2017). 37 Arron Daugherty, “El Salvador Supreme Court Labels Street Gangs as Terrorist Groups,” InSight Crime, August 26, 2015. 38 For more, see Michael Lohmuller, “El Salvador Moves to Clamp Down on Prisons, Gangs,” InSight Crime, April 1, 2016. 39 Carlos Martínez, “The Unbelievable Hell Inside El Salvador’s Prisons,” InSight Crime, December 28, 2016. 40 David Bier, Why the Wall Won’t Work (Washington, DC: CATO Institute, May 2017); Adam Isacson, Throwing Money at the Wall: An Overview of the Trump Administration’s Border Wall Funding Requests (Washington, DC: Washington Office on Latin America (WOLA), March 31, 2017). 41 Ted Galen Carpenter, Bad Neighbor Policy:Washington’s Futile War on Drugs in Latin America (New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). 42 Ted Galen Carpenter, The Fire Next Door: Mexico’s Drug Violence and the Danger to America (Washington, DC: CATO Institute, 2012). 43 Jonathan D. Rosen and Roberto Zepeda, Organized Crime, Drug Trafficking, and Violence in Mexico:The Transition from Felipe Calderón to Enrique Peña Nieto (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, July 2016). 44 Bruce Bagley, Drug Trafficking and Organized Crime in the Americas: Major Trends in the Twenty-First Century (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, 2012). 45 Bagley, Drug Trafficking and Organized Crime in the Americas. 46 Bagley, Drug Trafficking and Organized Crime in the Americas. 47 Patrick Corcoran, “Mexico Has 80 Drug Cartels: Attorney General,” InSight Crime, December 20, 2012. 48 Rosen and Zepeda, Organized Crime, Drug Trafficking, and Violence in Mexico. 49 Marguerite Cawley, “Overcrowding Sows the Seeds of Violence in Mexico Prisons,” InSight Crime, October 9, 2013. 50 Centro de Investigación y Docencia Económicas, Resultados de la Primera Encuesta realizada a Población Interna en Centros Federales de Readaptación Social (Mexico City: CIDE, 2012). 51 Maureen Meyer, “In Mexico, Guilty Till Proven Innocent,” CNN, June 5, 2013; Washington Office on Latin America, System Overload: Drug Laws and Prisons in Latin America (Washington, DC: WOLA, 2011). 52 Victoria Dittmar, “Crime Groups Control 65 Percent of State Prisons in Mexico: Report,” InSight Crime, May 23, 2017. 53 Mariano Castillo, “Mexico: 14 Inmates at Large after Tunnel Prison Break,” CNN, March 26, 2017; Rosen and Brienen, eds., Prisons in the Americas in the Twenty-First Century. 54 Alan Feuer, “El Chapo, Accused Drug Lord, Questions Legality of His Extradition From Mexico,” The New York Times, August 3, 2017. 55 Paul Rexton Kan, “Busted: The Micropower of Prisons in Narco-States,” Small Wars Journal, no. 9 (2016): 1, https://smallwarsjournal.com/jrnl/art/busted-the-micropower-of-prisons-in-narco-states; Joshua Partlow, “Chapo Guzman’s Prison Guards Reportedly Played Solitaire While He Escaped,” Washington Post, October 6, 2015. 56 Steven Dudley, “El Chapo’s 2nd Escape Could Paralyze Mexico’s National Security Plans,” InSight Crime, July 12, 2015: 2. 57 Azam Ahmed, “How El Chapo Was Finally Captured, Again,” The New York Times, January 16, 2016. 58 “El Chapo: Drug Lord Joaquin Guzman Extradited from Mexico to US,” BBC, January 20, 2017. 59 Jonathan D. Rosen and Roberto Zepeda, “Una década de narcoviolencia en México: 2006–2016,” in Atlas de la Seguridad y la Defensa de México 2016, eds. Raúl Benítez Manaut and Sergio Aguayo Quezada (México: Casede, 2017). 60 For more, see Thiago Rodrigues, Mariana Kalil, Roberto Zepeda, and Jonathan D. Rosen, “War Zone Acapulco: Urban Drug Trafficking in the Americas,” Contexto Internacional 39,, no. 3 (2017): 609–631. 61 Deborah Bonello, “Conflict in Mexico’s Heroin Heartland as Self-Defense Groups Cry ‘Narco’,” InSight Crime, November 14, 2016. 62 Azam Ahmed, “Drug That Killed Prince is Making Mexican Cartels Richer, U.S. Says,” The New York Times, June 9, 2016. 63 Laura Tillman, “How Mexico’s President Saw His Approval Rating Plummet to 17%,” Los Angeles Times, March 1, 2017. 64 For more on this topic, see Steven Dudley, “How ‘Mano Dura’ is Strengthening Gangs,” InSight Crime, November 21, 2010.

Prisons 65

65 For more, see Charles H. Logan and Gerald G. Gaes, “Meta-Analysis and the Rehabilitation of Punishment,” Justice Quarterly 10, no. 2 (1993): 245–263. 66 For more on this topic, see Faye S. Taxman, Matthew L. Perdoni, and Lana D. Harrison, “Drug Treatment Services for Adult Offenders: The State of the State,” Journal of Substance Abuse Treatment 32, no. 3 (2007): 239–254; Marten W. Brienen and Jonathan D. Rosen, eds., New Approaches to Drug Policies: A Time for Change (New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, August 2015). 67 For more, see Jonathan D. Rosen and José Miguel Cruz, “Overcoming Stigma and Discrimination: Challenges for Reinsertion of Gang Members in Developing Countries,” International Journal of Offender Therapy and Comparative Criminology 62, no. 15 (2018): 4758–4775.

5 MINISTRY OF DEFENSE AND THE ARMED FORCES Gabriel Marcella

Introduction Latin America faces the contradiction of being relatively free of interstate conflict while having the highest levels of crime in the world. This chapter analyzes the roles of the ministries of defense and the armed forces in dealing with the challenges of democratic civil-military relations. Meeting the threats to national defense and public security makes it imperative that civilians and military officers work together. The urgency was made clear by the deployment of military troops to help deal with the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic.1 Military organizations have the capacity to respond quickly with skills and resources to assist civilian authorities in confronting national emergencies like the coronavirus.

Civil-Military Relations and Military Strategy Civil-military relation is the process that determines when and how military power is used. Civil and military are not separate domains but overlapping mutually reinforcing spheres. 2 There are three levels: civilian control of military force, integration of civilian and military functions in national defense, and societal support for the maintenance and deployment of the military. The academic discourse on civil-military relations in Latin America has emphasized the f irst level, civilian control, bypassing elements that are essential for the legitimate and effective use of military power. British military historian Hew Strachan asserts: The principal purpose of effective civil-military relations is national security; its output is strategy. Democracies tend to forget that. They … address civil-military relations not as a means to an end, not as a way of making the state more efficient in its use of military power, but as an end in itself. Instead, the principal objective … has been the subordination of the armed forces to civilian control.3 Another scholar makes a similar point about Colombia: The ability of the state to synchronize policy, strategy, and operations, is arguably the most important national security function of civil-military relations. The problem in Colombia DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-6

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can be traced to dysfunctional institutions tasked with the making of strategy, and to the delegation of the responsibilities of making war to small professional forces drawn from narrow sectors of society.4 Strachan refers to civil-military relations in consolidated democracies, such as the United Kingdom, conducting a conventional war against a state opponent. Latin American countries, by contrast, are in transition to democracy, with negligible state-to-state threats to national defense. The military professional is a realist who believes that power matters in the competition between states, that conflict is possible.5 Military strategy is the calculated use of military power to achieve policy objectives. Because policy governs, there must be a permanent conversation between policy and strategy – and civilians and the military. Both have a moral imperative to communicate effectively because, “without strategy, power is a loose cannon and war is mindless. Mindless killing can only be criminal.”6 Accordingly, “strategy always will demand clear and honest interaction and cooperation between two very distinct tribes, civilian and military, who have different priorities, cultures, and modes of operating.” 7 Since war is too important to be left only to generals, the inversion of civil-military relations, where the military dominates decision-making, can bring disaster, such as the Argentine military junta’s Plan Rosario for the invasion of the Falkland/Malvinas Islands in 1983.8

Strategic Context Latin America is fortunate to enjoy the near absence of hypotheses of interstate conflict. Yet, state-to-state kinetic war is not the only option. War can be conducted below a threshold of violence, more economically, and with some plausible deniability. The diffusion of sophisticated technology, increasingly available to state as well as non-state actors, combines with hybrid warfare, which employs cyberattacks, propaganda, sabotage, economic pressure, intelligence operations, and disinformation. The “killing of time,” the “death of distance,” and “global interconnectedness” increase the vulnerability of states and menace international order.9 For example, 28 countries (none Latin American) possess armed drones, nearly 100 have unarmed ones, while ten non-state actors have used both armed and unarmed.10 There is the emerging cyber threat to digital national sovereignty, such as the September 2019 hacking of local corporations and the entire population of 16.5 million) of Ecuador.11 One-third of Brazil’s banks experienced cybercrime in 2015.12 North Korea hacks financial institutions to make money.13 The Inter-American Development Bank estimated in 2016 that cybercrime cost 90 billion dollars annually.14 Russia engages in disinformation in Latin America to subvert democracy and the role of the United States and Western countries.15 Accordingly, hybrid warfare is attracting the attention of Latin American military officers and academics.16 Like other military academic institutions in the region, the Colombian Escuela Superior de Guerra offers a master’s degree in cybersecurity and defense, open to military and civilian students. Some Latin American governments have established cyberdefense commands with military personnel providing technical expertise. Latin American states face an assortment of illicit power, where conventional military capabilities must be adapted to perform limited missions to support civil authority. Criminal groups occupy ungoverned space, rendering the ungoverned borderlands a witch’s brew of terrorists, gangs, paramilitaries, insurgents, traffickers, and contrabandists.17 Given this backdrop, Latin American armed forces deter foreign threats to national territory and lend fungible capabilities to perform secondary missions, such as combating terrorism, supporting civil authority for public security, providing humanitarian assistance, helping to develop physical infrastructure, establishing presencia in remote areas to defend borders, and provide services to remote

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populations. A model of presencia (presença in Portuguese) is the Brazilian Army’s Amazon Military Command, which provides security and services to remote peoples in the vast Amazon Basin.18 In addition, militaries assist civilian authority by providing disaster relief, logistical assistance to counter-narcotics activities, and defense against cyberattacks. The following militaries contribute personnel to international humanitarian assistance and peacekeeping missions: Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Mexico, Paraguay, Peru, and Uruguay. Between 2004 and 2017, Brazil commanded the UN Stabilization Mission in Haiti. Brazil also provided the largest number of troops – 2,170 – and a financial contribution of US$1.85 billion.19 In 2018, Uruguay, despite its small population, dispatched the most – 900 peacekeepers to eight conflicted countries.20 By 2013, close to 10 percent of its 24,650, military personnel served overseas.21 Peacekeeping requires specialized training. Accordingly, 11 countries established peacekeeping centers. Though the emphasis is on the military, police and civilians also train and participate.

Ministry of Defense Making and applying effective strategy requires resources and organization. The strategic state must have the capacity to summon resources in the form of soldiers, tax revenue, and public support for the expected cost in blood and money. The infrastructure comprises the executive, a decision-making apparatus with the National Security Council, Ministry of Defense (MOD), command and control, intelligence, armed forces, logistics, and legislative authority to scrutinize and budget funds and engage public support. The responsibility for mobilizing and integrating resources, as well as developing defense and military strategy, should reside in the MOD. Thomas C. Bruneau, a widely published scholar who has advised Latin American governments on the formation of defense ministries, asserts, “It is clear that emerging democracies will be unable to formulate a national security strategy and military strategy without an MOD in place.”22 Ministries of defense in Latin America seldom function like this. The leadership of the Armies, Navies, and Air Forces historically improvised integrating capabilities, but with mixed results. In 2020, the following countries had civilian defense ministers: Argentina, Chile, Colombia, Haiti, Nicaragua, Peru, and Uruguay. With the exception of Uruguay, none of the ministers had professional preparation in defense and military affairs. The Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Guatemala, Mexico, and Venezuela had active-duty general officers. Bolivia, Ecuador, Honduras, and Paraguay had retired officers. Brazilian Defense Minister Fernando Azevedo e Silva was a reservist in the Army, having achieved four-star rank on active duty in 2014. He was among dozens of active duty and retired officers in President Jair Bolsonaro’s government. Military officers bring valuable skills as well as a mindset that makes them less adept at the politics of governance. An exception to the rule about the military in governance in 2020 was the unique case in Ecuador. Retired General Oswaldo Jarrín was the Minister of Defense, for which he had extensive professional preparation. He served in that capacity as an active-duty army general (2005– 2006) and as a civilian appointee in 2018. Moreover, he brought strong academic credentials with a doctorate, along with a distinguished career in political-military affairs, senior military command, diplomacy, university teaching, and publications. His legacy includes directing and coauthoring strategic-level documents, principally the Política de Defensa Nacional del Ecuador 2002 (Libro Blanco) and Política de Defensa Nacional del Ecuador 2018.23 In 2020, Jarrín was the leading military intellectual in Latin America. Ecuador itself was besieged by an extraordinary

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amount of insecurity driven by international criminal activity spawned by narco-trafficking and criminal spillover from Colombia.24 Latin American armed forces seldom fought wars against conventional external enemies in the modern period. Thus, there is less need to improve military operational efficiency and develop deep societal engagement or legislative oversight. The Ecuador-Peru war of 1995 was too limited to have such effects.25 The 1983 Falklands-Malvinas war was disastrous for Argentina. It deepened the civil-military divide and eventually weakened the operational capabilities of the armed forces. The exigencies of World War II, with multi-theater global logistics and combat, resulted in the 1947 creation of the American strategic state in the form of a Department of Defense and other entities. Similarly, the need to create better combat efficiency through jointness interoperability among the Army, Navy, Air Force (operaciones conjuntas in Spanish, operações conjuntas in Portuguese) within the American armed forces was driven by two events: the inability of American forces to operate jointly in the Desert One disaster in Iran in 1980, and the 1983 invasion of Grenada, where Army combat units on the ground could not communicate with offshore Navy support ships because of incompatible radios. In response, the U.S. Congress enacted the Goldwater-Nichols Act in 1986 to improve joint operations and joint careers for military officers. Such adaptations have not been necessary in Latin America, with the exception of Colombia. Moreover, legislative bodies in Latin America often lack expertise and authority over military affairs, contributing to the absence of jointness. Besides, legislatures appear to be more interested in asserting civilian control than the operational efficiency of the armed forces.26

Colombia The greatest expansion of military power in the modern period took place in Colombia after the late 1990s. Civilian authority controlled the military historically. Yet, the military was a politically and socially isolated institution accustomed to low budgets and little involvement by civilians in national defense – all within a weak state capacity for national defense and governance.27 Though considered experienced in counterinsurgency, in 1998, it was suffering humiliating battalion-size defeats inflicted by the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias Colombianas or FARC), and losing territorial control. The implementation of the Democratic Security and Defense Policy in 2003 helped generate military strategy and power. The strategy had four objectives: consolidation of state control throughout the national territory, protection of the population, elimination of the illegal drugs trade, and maintenance of a deterrent capability. In 1998, the Colombian Army could deploy a mere 35,000 troops for combat. It lacked the capacity to cover a country the size of Texas and California combined, in one of the world’s most difficult geographies. Forces grew to 341,300 personnel by 2014, accompanied by a dramatic transformation of doctrine, strategy, leadership, intelligence, mobility, firepower, equipment, medical service, special operations, and joint operations.28 To gain the support of the people, it instituted “acción integral (comprehensive action)” for community development in isolated areas.29 By 2005, the armed forces were defeating the FARC and inducing the paramilitaries to put down their arms. They became more adept at joint operations, launching the successful transborder Operation Phoenix into Ecuador against the camp of Raúl Reyes, a senior commander of the FARC in 2008. In 2020, the armed forces were implementing Plan Victoria to help consolidate government control in areas vacated by the FARC after the peace agreement of 2016. The Achilles heel of Plan Victoria was inadequate resources. These accomplishments came under the leadership of Presidents Andrés Pastrana, Alvaro Uribe, and Juan Manuel Santos. The Colombian constitution of 1991 required a civilian MOD.

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However, the mere existence of a civilian MOD does not assure effectiveness because professional personnel, expertise, resources, and legal authority are also necessary. Minister of Defense (2002–2003) Marta Lucía Ramirez lamented the lack of professional personnel: “There is a civilian minister of defense but not a civilian ministry of defense.”30 Civilian authorities lacked the experience of working with the military in integrating strategy, intelligence, resources, and operations. Civilians believed the military could take care of national defense, doing so without the civilians establishing clear expectations, providing strategic guidance, and holding military commanders accountable. Among civilian intellectuals, there was a general indifference regarding military affairs. Civilians and military officers rarely socialized and had few professional interactions.31 The Colombian case demonstrates the vagaries of the chain of command – linea de mando. Ideally, it should flow from the president to the minister of defense, to the comando general de las fuerzas armadas, which is always commanded by an army four-star general because the Army is the dominant force. Moreover, the Army commander historically functioned as the de facto minister of defense, reluctant to yield power to the civilian minister. Two ministers performed well: Rodrigo Lloreda Caicedo (1998–1999) and Juan Carlos Pinzón (2015–2017). Given the unequal dialogue about military affairs, tensions between civilians and the military are inevitable, tilting the balance of power in favor of the military. In 2000, only a handful of civilians were qualified in military affairs and strategy. To invest in civilian professionalism, Colombian students were sent to study strategy at foreign universities. Whether they have opportunities for professional advancement remains to be seen. Since the late 1990s, repeated cycles of planning, budgeting, and working with the armed forces to implement military strategy engendered mutual learning and improved the professional capacity of the players in national defense.32 Proud of its success, Colombia now exports security advice to several Latin American and African governments. The bad news is that the strengthening of the military arm of the state did not bring about the end of the illegal coca economy, which continued to inflict corruption and violence.33 By 2020, the Colombian state made significant progress in security and governance, though both were fragile in significant portions of the national territory, especially the southwest.34 For more details on the progress, see this book’s chapter on Colombia by Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila Amin Gutiérrez de Piñeres.

Brazil The Brazilian armed forces counted 334,500 personnel in 2020. The MOD came into being in 1999, during the presidency of Fernando Enrique Cardoso (1999–2002). Historically the Army, Navy, and Air Force were separate ministries. In 2007, President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva decided to develop a civilian MOD, as well as joint forces. A convergence of factors helped. Brazil’s ambition for a greater global role (grandeza), such as a seat on the UN Security Council, needed a more respected civilian-led military capability. Experienced and reputable civilian and military officials, such as Nelson Jobim, Roberto Mangabeira Unger, and General Sérgio Etchegoyen, Chief of the Army Staff, negotiated the process of moving authority from the armed services to the MOD.35 The conversion would clash with deeply rooted institutional turf and culture.36 The commanders of the Army, Navy, and Air Force: … had authority over services that controlled vast resources and made major decisions with little interference from civilians. Each service decided how to spend money … developed plans for acquiring and developing equipment and manpower, and handled its procurement of military equipment. The commanders … answered only to the president.37

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The chain of command bypasses the minister of defense, going directly from the president to the commanders of the armed forces, who are appointed by the president. The MOD website states, “The Armed Forces operate under the superior direction of the Ministry of Defense … which has the task of guiding, supervising and coordinating the activities developed by these institutions.” While the functions of “guiding, supervising, and coordinating” do not mean control, the minister’s clout also depends on the personal relationship with the president, with some presidents empowering the MOD. Civilian employees remained a minority, even though they participate in a professional career system for national defense. In 2016, the MOD employed 1,693, of which 343 were civilians. A few held higher level positions in the Ministry.38 Brazilian universities have a robust number of graduate-level security and defense programs from which to draw civilian talent. A modest form of jointness, short of true interoperability among the Army, Navy, and Air Force, is taking root. For example, since 2011, the Brazilian armed forces conducted joint Operation Agata to counter drug trafficking, contraband, and illegal logging and mining in the remote borders, deploying more than 10,000 troops over 17,000 kilometers of the border.39 The effort integrates the resources of 12 ministries and 20 government agencies.

Chile In Chile, the development of a modern MOD came as the result of the post-Augusto Pinochet adjustment in civil-military relations. Moreover, the armed forces (77,000 in 2020) had to prepare for a greater global role, including humanitarian assistance and multilateral peacekeeping – missions requiring high levels of political and diplomatic coordination, along with special training. The MOD had been a rubber stamp for plans developed by military officers. It handled administrative tasks, such as purchase orders and retirement funds, and had nothing to do with strategic plans and budgets or command of the armed forces. The military services jealously guarded their domains.40 The reshaping began in 2001 when President Ricardo Lagos’ government began planning to modernize the MOD. The combination of civilian and military expertise and leadership, such as General Emilio Cheyre (2002–2006) and General Oscar Izurieta (2006–2010), commanders in chief of the Army, along with Minister of Defense (2002–2004) and President Michelle Bachelet (2006–2010, 2014–2018),41 helped pave the way. They and others lent their professional standing to build a civil-military coalition of support for reform. President Sebastián Piñera’s administration began implementing the enabling legislation in 2010 – “the massive shift in expectations, norms, culture, and the chain of command.”42 By 2014, the MOD was developing a defense policy.43 The chain of command goes from the president to the minister of defense and the Joint Strategic Command ( JSC). The JSC performs strategic planning, command, joint intelligence, joint training, joint doctrine, and civil support coordination. Civilians work in the MOD, but there is no career system for civil servants. In 2019, the National Congress passed a bill that phases out the 1958 Ley de Cobre, which guaranteed 10 percent of the sales of the national copper company for the military budget.44 Additional legislation established congressional control of the budget, acquisitions, force development, and strategy. The Congress also has defense committees in both houses, welcome changes for transparency and accountability.45 The experiences of Colombia, Brazil, and Chile provide important lessons. Initiatives for modernizing the MOD resulted from favorable factors: collaboration and creative visionary leadership among civilians and senior military officers, changes in international relations, catalytic events that made reform imperative and easier, political opportunity, professional interaction with models of democratic military professionalism, such as the United States

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and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), and the increasing influence of the international epistemic community of civil-military relations advocating co-responsibility for national defense. The academic dialogue on security enhances transparency and trust between civilians and the military. Military officers follow closely and aspire to emulate the professional standards maintained by the United States and NATO, as well as military institutions in Latin America. Those who study at U.S. and NATO military institutions bring back concepts that nurture the cause for institutional change and adaptation. Despite the progress made, having effective MODs and jointness still must contend with resistance by the military because of turf and institutional culture. Institutional and cultural change is a work in progress, even in the United States.

Size, Budgets, Readiness, and Epistemic Community Latin American armed forces are among the smallest in the world. They range from Brazil’s 334,500 to small ones, like Honduras’s 15,000. Table 5.1 shows the active duty personnel for in 2019. Latin American countries spend little on the military, 1.2 percent of the regional gross domestic product in 2017, the least among regions of the world. Brazil spent US$28 billion in 2018, 11th in the global ranking. Table 5.2 presents the military budget as a percent of GDP. Numbers do not tell the whole story; the readiness of the available personnel and equipment to perform missions is the crucial factor in determining military capacity. Inadequate defense budgets can have dangerous consequences. A number of militaries have aging or obsolete TABLE 5.1  Active duty military personnel in 2019

Brazil Colombia Mexico Venezuela Peru Chile Argentina Dominican Republic Cuba Ecuador Bolivia Uruguay El Salvador Guatemala Honduras Nicaragua Paraguay Haiti Trinidad and Tobago Jamaica Guyana Belize Suriname

334,500 295,000 277,000 120,000 90,000 77,000 75,000 55,000 50,000 40,000 35,000 25,000 25,000 20,000 15,000 12,000 10,500 5,000 (planned) 4,000 (est.) 3,400 (est.) 3,000 2,000 (est.) 1,850

Sources: “Countries with the Largest Number of Active Military Personnel in Latin America and the Caribbean in 2019,” U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, The World Factbook 2020, https://www. statista.com/statistics/987544/number-active-military-personnellatin-america-country/, accessed June 30, 2020. Panama abolished the military and has an estimated 10,000 police.

Ministry of Defense and the Armed Forces 73 TABLE 5.2  Military budgets as percent of GDP in 2017

Argentina Belize Brazil Bolivia Chile Colombia Dominican Republic Ecuador El Salvador Guatemala Guyana Honduras Jamaica Mexico Nicaragua Paraguay Peru Trinidad and Tobago Uruguay Venezuela

0.9 1.26 (2018) 1.8 1.4 1.9* 3.1 0.7 2.4* 0.9 0.4 1.7 1.6 1.6 0.5 0.6 1.2 1.0* 0.8 2.1 0.5*

*  Data for Chile, Ecuador, Peru, and Venezuela do not include offbudget military spending derived from a percentage of revenue from natural resources – copper for Chile, oil for Ecuador and Venezuela, and natural gas for Peru.46 Costa Rica and Panama do not have armed forces. No budget figures are available for Haiti and Suriname.

equipment. For example, faced with serious threats from non-state actors, the Guatemalan military has enormous equipment shortages among all the services.47 Argentina, with its large territory and maritime space, had virtually no operational Navy and Air Force in 2020, and equipment shortages in all three branches (Army, Navy, and Air Force).48 In 2019, 90 percent of the defense budget covered wages for military personnel and civilians, leaving little for equipment, maintenance, and operations.49 Insufficient funds for training and maintenance contributed to the sinking of the ARA San Juan submarine on November 15, 2017, with the loss of its crew of 44.50 The crew should have received 190 days of training while submerged; in 2014, they had 18 hours. In Brazil in 2012, personnel costs covered over two-thirds of the military budget, leaving little for operations and procurement of new equipment. Facing a 40 percent cut in the military budget in 2019, the personnel portion rose to 81 percent.51 At the other end of the spectrum, bankrupt Venezuela was armed to the teeth, having “assembled one of the largest military stockpiles in the Western Hemisphere.”52 Colombia’s 3.1 percent military budget was exceptional due to the dramatic expansion of its armed forces since the late 1990s. To generate money to expand the capabilities of the armed forces and the police fighting the war, under Uribe Colombia imposed a war tax in 2002, which was renewed periodically. The original tax hit the wealthiest taxpayers, those whose assets exceeded US$65,000. Some 420,000 taxpayers, including corporations and an estimated 300,000 civilians, paid equaling approximately 1 percent of the population.53 In Latin America, as in all societies, military service contributes to national development by training soldiers in skills that make them productive citizens. Skills run the gamut: leadership, engineering, medicine, public health, administration, communication, technology, and literacy. The size and quality of the armed forces have an impact on civil-military relations.

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The smaller the number of military personnel, the lower the societal linkages and civilian participation in national defense. The absence of incentives, including compensation and a defined career system, discourages civilians from pursuing professional careers in defense. For example, during the war in 2002–2004, Andrés Soto, Colombia’s civilian Vice Minister of Defense, was paid US$13,500, far below his six-figure salary for security work for British Petroleum. Paltry compensation privileges retired military officers for positions in the defense ministry increase civil-military distance by rooting the military culture in what should be civilian. Anecdotal evidence from Argentina indicates that military officers were holding second jobs to compensate for low pay. The effect of low compensation on the quality of cadets entering the military academy should concern civilian and military leaders. Democracy demands intelligent and well-educated professionals to deal with the challenges of modern conflict, uphold ethical principles, and not be manipulated for partisan political purposes. Argentine President Mauricio Macri (2015–2019) granted the armed forces a 20 percent salary increase in 2018 to compensate for years of low pay.54 A knowledgeable community in strategic studies is indispensable for democratic civil-military relations. By engendering academic dialogue on national security and military affairs, it informs public debate, enhances co-responsibility, promotes transparency and accountability, and promotes military professionalism. There is a growing international exchange on strategy, engaging a variety of sources: think tanks, civilian and military statesmen, and government agencies. A mix of civilian and military researchers is ideal, while authors must have the freedom to publish. Centers or institutes of strategic studies in Latin America, akin to the prestigious International Institute of Strategic Studies in London, for example, are scarce. The Buenos Aires-based Red de Seguridad y Defensa de América Latina produces high-quality research.55 The prolific Brazilian Pandiá Calógeras Institute was established by the MOD to generate strategic-level research by linking academics, think tanks, and government officials. The Chilean Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Estratégicos does excellent work, as does the Centro de Estudios Estratégicos del Ejército del Perú.

War and State Building “War made the state and the state made war” is Charles Tilly’s oft-cited refrain that war shaped the European state through mobilizing national power, establishing logistical and decision-making infrastructures, requiring citizens to pay taxes, and risk making the ultimate sacrifice for the nation. Miguel Angel Centeno argues that the “dogs of war” did not bark as fiercely in Latin America. Because wars were limited or internal, they did not demand extensive and repeated mobilization of resources and soldiers by the state to face a foreign aggressor. Bargaining with legislatures and society for money and personnel was less necessary, and societal impact diminished. Thus, Latin American governments have not developed robust infrastructure as the unintended consequence of war – the bellicist theory of state formation.56 Whereas Tilly focused on the security dilemma posed by the European state system, and the impact of war between states, today’s wars yield this critique: The ‘war makes states’ argument no longer holds … state building takes place in a globalised context which alters the effects of the central processes which Tilly … argued placed war making and state making in a positive relationship … these mechanisms and processes continue to be useful and essential for understanding the relationship between wars and states. However, if we look at how they work, it soon becomes clear that they fail to create a positive link between wars and states … it helps us understand why wars at present do not make states, but rather unravel them.57

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Another author, Ann Mason, makes this point regarding Colombia: Global markets for illicit drugs, links between Colombian armed actors and international criminal organizations, regional externalities of Colombian violence, the burgeoning Colombian trans-migrant community on all five continents, the explosion of the global third sector’s presence in the country, increasing U.S. military involvement, and growing concerns by the international community about the deteriorating Colombian situation all illustrate the international face of this crisis.58 Colombia demonstrates the limits of Tillian thinking. It’s the insecurity dilemma at work. A weak state, lacking an internal monopoly on the use of force, might have been overwhelmed without external support. It was the weakness of the state that threatened Colombia and international order, not its strength. The enemy was internal criminal non-state actors, not an external one. Support from the United States and other countries to Plan Colombia in the form of extensive economic, military, and technical assistance made a crucial difference in reducing the combination of terrorism and drug-related violence. The United States provided some 10 billion dollars of assistance from 2000 to 2016. Though about 10 percent of what Colombians provided, the support came at critical junctures. Unquestionably, the coercive capacity of the state improved. Yet, it remains to be seen if the mobilization of national power by the various governments since the 1990s will yield more effective ministries, more effective governance – in sum, a more effective state. One of the defects of the Colombian example is that the war was fought by the pobres, soldiers from the humbler elements. A total of 80 percent of the soldiers came from low-income families, 19.5 percent from the middle class, while only 0.5 percent were from familias acomodadas, wealthy families.59 While the ideal of collective sacrifice in war is seldom a reality in any society, bachilleres (high school graduates) were exempt from exposure to combat risk.

Crime and the Military With 8 percent of the world’s population, Latin America counts 33 percent of the world’s homicides.60 The cost of crime is estimated to be between US$114.5 and US$170.4 billion a year, 3.5 percent of regional GDP, twice the per capita costs in developed countries.61 The state’s monopoly of force is further challenged by the emergence of private security; some 16,000 companies employed 2.4 million individuals.62 Four examples illustrate state response to growing insecurity. In 2019, the Mexican government announced that as many as 6,000 personnel of the newly created National Guard (expected to grow to 140,000) would be deployed to the Guatemalan border to help the police reduce illegal migration. The Guard was described as something between the police and military.63 In 2018, Ecuador dispatched a joint military task force to help repel the drug-related crime wave spilling over from Colombia into Esmeraldas, Carchi, and Imbabura provinces. In Brazil, the armed forces secure borders from criminals and assist in combating urban crime. In the Northern Triangle of Central America, governments relied on the military to assist in putting down drug-fueled gang violence. Military professionals recognize the short-term requirement for soldiers in the streets but advocate a comprehensive approach to better governance by the state, with the assistance of the international community.64 Similarly, the use of 5,400 soldiers to help law enforcement in the favelas drew attention to the rules of engagement (regras de engajamento) for the operation, which demonstrated that the use of constrained military force within international norms was problematic.65 Defense Minister Raúl Jungmann announced in 2018 that military occupation in the favelas would not be used again because it was ineffective in solving the problem of urban violence.66

76  Gabriel Marcella

While the military can provide certain fungible assets, such as logistics, transport, intelligence support, and communication, the use of military power for public security raises serious concerns for democracy and military professionalism. Deploying armed forces for missions abroad is very different from using military force for domestic public security. Even if limited, the deployment is likely to generate intense scrutiny in society, and the military is not trained and equipped for such missions. Moreover, it generates expectations of decisive action that are unattainable. In addition, there would be concerns about the politicization of the armed forces and the effectiveness of ethical restraints ( jus ad bellum, jus is in bello) imposed on the warrior who is trained to employ lethal firepower. Finally, military power cannot substitute for effective governance. It is, at best, a temporary expedient.

Conclusion: An Appeal to Civilians and Military Dealing with conflict in the twenty-first century will require a new civil-military coalition. Civilians must understand the gamut of defense and military affairs – from leadership to strategy, operations, doctrine, logistics, intelligence, and all attributes of military professionalism. This is necessary not only for national defense but also for the health of the three levels of democratic civil-military relations: control, civilian participation, and societal support. For their part, the armed forces should welcome the development of civilian professionalism in national defense. The distance between civilians and the military must be bridged so they can work together for the common defense.

Notes 1 In March 2020, 3,000 Ecuadorean soldiers were deployed to the streets of Guayaquil to enforce a lockdown. Stephan Kueffner and Daniel Cancel, “Tropical City Ravaged by Virus Taken Over by Ecuador’s Army,” Bloomberg, March 26, 2020; Red de Seguridad y Defensa de América Latina, “La Labor de Fuerzas Militares en Contexto de Crisis COVID-19,” April 2020; Kristina Mani, “The Soldier Is Here to Defend You. Latin America’s Militarized Response to COVID-19,” World Politics Review, April 21, 2020. 2 Elliot Cohen, Supreme Command: Soldiers, Statesmen and Leadership in Wartime (New York, NY: Free Press, 2002). 3 Hew Strachan, “Making Strategy: Civil-Military Relations after Iraq,” Survival 48, no. 3 (Summer 2006): 66. 4 Douglas Porch, “Preserving Autonomy in Conflict: Civil-Military Relations in Colombia,” in Global Politics of Defense Reform. Initiatives in Strategic Studies: Issues and Policies, eds. Thomas Bruneau and Harold Trinkunas (New York, NY: Macmillan, 2008), 128. 5 Military professionalism includes a code of honor and ethics, leadership, teamwork, discipline, knowledge of military history, national strategy, military strategy, weapon systems, strategic and operational planning, and intellectual curiosity about the profession, society, and world in which it operates. 6 Richard K. Betts, “Is Strategy an Illusion?,” International Security 25, no. 2 (Fall 2000): 5. 7 Tami Davis Biddle, Strategy and Grand Strategy: What Students and Practitioners Need to Know (Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War College, Strategic Studies Institute, 2015), 53. 8 Lawrence Freedman and Virginia Gamba-Stonehouse, Signals of War:The Falklands Conflict of 1982 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), 103–120. 9 Zachery Tyson Brown, Unmasking War’s Changing Character (West Point, NY: Modern War Institute, March 12, 2019). 10 New America, “Who Has What: Countries Developing Armed Drones,” https://www.newamerica.org/ international-security/reports/world-drones/who-has-what-countries-with-armed-drones/, accessed February 14, 2020. 11 Palko Kararsz and Anatoly Kurmanaev, “Ecuador Investigates Data Breach of up to 20 Million People,” The New York Times, September 17, 2019. 12 ESET, “Three Reasons Why Latin America is Under Cyber Attack,” https://innovationatwork.ieee.org/ latin-america-is-under-cyber-attack/, accessed February 14, 2020. 13 Justin Lynch, “North Korea ‘Hacking the Hell Out of Latin America’,” Fifth Domain, June 29, 2018.

Ministry of Defense and the Armed Forces 77

14 Inter-American Development Bank, Cybersecurity: Are We Ready in Latin America and the Caribbean (Washington, DC: IADB, March 2016):VIII. 15 Russia Today en Español, a Russian state operation, published a piece in 2017 that accused Great Britain of sinking the Argentine submarine ARA San Juan. Brian Fonseca, “Russian Deceptive Propaganda Growing Fast in Latin America,” Diálogo Americas, August 7, 2018: 24. 16 Hybrid warfare is non-linear, employing covert operations, disinformation, economic power, and conventional military means. Paulo Cesar Leal, “A Guerra Híbrida: Reflexões Para o Sistema de Defesa do Brasil,” Doutrina Militar Terrestre, Army of Brazil, January–June 2016. See also Román D. Ortiz, “El concepto de la guerra híbrida y su relevancia para América Latina,” Revista Ensayos Militares 1, no.2 (2015): 131–148. Ortiz was an advisor to the Colombian Ministry of Defense. 17 Annette Idler, Borderland Battles: Violence, Crime, and Governance at the Edges of Colombia’s War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019). 18 Forces include four infantry jungle warfare brigades and a construction engineer brigade. 19 Agnieszka Paczynska, In Post-Conflict Haiti, Brazil Consolidates Its Status as Regional Actor (Washington, DC: Stimson Center Issue Brief, September 25, 2017), 5. 20 Adriana Erthal Abdenur, Giovanna Kuele, and Ariane Francisco, Enhancing Peacekeeping through Cooperation: Lessons from Latin America (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: Igarapé Institute, January 2018), 5. 21 Arturo C. Sotomayor, Peacekeeping Contributor Profile: Uruguay Providing for Peacekeeping, https://www. providingforpeacekeeping.org/2014/04/03/contributor-profile-uruguay/, May 2013. 22 Thomas C. Bruneau, “Ministries of Defense and Democratic Control,” Occasional Paper, Center for Civil-Military Relations, Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, CA, 2008, 277. 23 Ministry of National Defense, Ecuador’s National Defense Policy 2018 (Quito, Ecuador: Ministry of National Defense, December 2019). 24 Sara España and Ana Marcos, “El conflicto en la frontera entre Ecuador y Colombia lleva años cocinándose,” El País, April 13, 2018. 25 Gabriel Marcella and Richard Downes, Security Cooperation in the Western Hemisphere: Resolving the Ecuador-Peru Conflict (Miami: North-South Center, 1999). 26 Thomas C. Bruneau, An Analysis of the Implications of Joint Military Structures in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Colombia (Miami: Florida International University, Western Hemisphere Security Analysis Center, April 2011), 15–16. 27 Alvaro Valencia Tovar, Inseguridad y violencia en Colombia (Bogota: Universidad Sergio Arboleda, 1997). 28 Colonel German Giraldo Restrepo (Army of Colombia), Transforming the Colombian Army during the War on Terrorism (Carlisle Barracks: U.S. Army War College, 2006). 29 Comando General Fuerzas Armadas de Colombia, “Comando de Apoyo de Acción Integral y Desarrollo,” accessed February 29, 2020. 30 Thomas C. Bruneau, An Analysis of the Implications of Joint Military Structures in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Colombia (Miami: Florida International University,Western Hemisphere Security Analysis Center, April 2011), 15. 31 Gabriel Marcella, The United States and Colombia: The Journey from Ambiguity to Strategic Clarity (Carlisle: Strategic Studies Institute, 2003), 12–13. 32 As an example, see the strategic planning document by the MOD: 2011–2014 Guía de Planeamineto Estratégico, June 2011. The authors, under the direction of Yaneth Giha Tovar, Director of Planning and Budget for Defense, were mostly civilian. Giha Tovar studied conflict resolution and received a master’s degree in war studies from King’s College, London. 33 The government’s effort at crop substitution for peasants to switch from coca suffered from a lack of security and services in remote areas. See: Juan Carlos Garzón and Juan David Gélvez, En qué va la sustición de cultivos ilícitos? (Bogotá: Fundación Ideas para la Paz, 2018); “Colombia sigue siendo el mayor cultivador de coca pese a leve reducción,” Deutsche Welle, February 8, 2019, https://www.dw.com/es/ colombia-sigue-siendo-el-mayor-cultivador-de-coca-pese-a-leve-reducci%C3%B3n/a-49874336; see also: Former Minister of Defense, Rafael Pardo on the endless drug war: La guerra Sin Fin: Una nueva vision sobre la lucha contra las drogas (Bogotá: Aguilar, 2020). 34 International Crisis Group, “Calming the Restless Pacific: Violence and Crime on Colombia’s Coast,” Report No. 76, August 8, 2019. 35 For background, see: Jorge Zaverucha, “The Fragility of the Brazilian Defense Ministry,” Revista de Sociologia e Política 2, no. 25 (2006), 107–121. 36 Tristan Dreisbach, Civilians Get a Foot in the Door: Reforming Brazil’s Defense Ministry, 2007–2010 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, Innovations for Successful Societies, 2018). 37 Dreisbach, “Civilians Get a Foot in the Door,” 2–3. 38 Dreisbach, “Civilians Get a Foot in the Door,” 13–14. 39 Ministério da Defensa, Exército Brasileiro, “Na Fronteira Oeste do País, Operaça¯o do Ministério da Defesa combate Crime Organizado e Práticas Ilícitas,” September 5, 2019.

78  Gabriel Marcella

40 Tristan Dreisbach, Civilians at the Helm: Chile Transforms its Ministry of National Defense, 2010–2014 (Princeton, NJ: Innovations for Successful Societies, 2015), 2–3. 41 Bachelet studied at the Inter-American Defense College in Washington, DC, and the Academia Nacional de Estudios Políticos y Estratégicos in Chile. 42 Tristan Dreisbach, Civilians at the Helm: Chile Transforms its Ministry of National Defense, 2010–2014 (Princeton, NJ: Innovations for Successful Societies, 2015), 1. 43 Estatuto Orgánico del Ministerio de Defensa Nacional, Ley número 20.424, modified September 2019. 44 Ley No 21.174 establece nuevo mecanismo de financiamiento de las capacidades estratégicas de la defensa nacional,” MICROJURIS.com, September 26, 2019. 45 Thomas C. Bruneau, Requirements for Military Effectiveness: Chile in Comparative Perspective (Washington, DC: William J. Perry Center for Hemispheric Defense Studies Occasional Paper, March 2020). 46 Data from the International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance 2017 (London: IISS, February 2017). 47 “Guatemala – Military Spending,” GlobalSecurity.org, https://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/ centam/gt-budget.htm, accessed February 29, 2020. 48 José Manuel Ugarte, “La indefensión argentina se agrava: Se inicia el cuarto año consecutivo en que el país carece virtualmente de fuerza aérea,” El Clarín, August 3, 2019. 49 Juan Battaleme and Francisco de Santibañes, “Argentina’s Defense Deficit,” Survival 61, no. 4 (2019), 63–78.. 50 Daniel Pardo, “Por qué Argentina es el país que menos gasta en defensa en Sudamérica y cómo pudo eso afectar al submarino desaparecido ARA San Juan,” BBC Mundo, November 38, 2017. 51 Andrew McDonald, “Brazilian Defence Programmes Face Lowest Acquisition Budget in Ten Years,” Jane’s Defense Weekly, April 2, 2019. Additional background: Benjamin Gaden and Kathy Lui, As it Reengages with the World Will Argentina Rebuild Its Military? (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, May 14, 2018). 52 Ryan C. Berg and Andrés Martínez-Fernández, “Venezuela Is Armed to the Hilt,” Foreign Policy, May 2, 2019: 1. 53 Gustavo A. Flores-Macías, “Financing Security through Elite Taxation: The Case of Colombia’s ‘Democratic Security Taxes,” Studies in Comparative International Development 49, no. 4 (December 2014): 477–500. 54 Federico Rivas Molina, “Mauricio Macri otorga una subida salarial de 20% a las Fuerzas Armadas,” El País, July 12, 2018. 55 See Latin American Security and Defence Network (RESDAL), Military Missions and Post-Conflict Environment: A Regional Perspective on Colombia (Buenos Aires: Latin American Security and Defense Network, 2015), www.resdal.org/assets/diagnostico_colombia_eng.pdf, accessed February 10, 2020. 56 Miguel Angel Centeno, Blood and Debt: War and the Nation-State in Latin America (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002); Charles Tilly, Coercion, Capital, and European States: AD 990– 1992 (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 2000). 57 Anna Leander, “Wars and the Un-Making of States: Taking Tilly Seriously in the Contemporary World,” in Copenhagen Peace Research: Conceptual Innovations and Contemporary Security Analysis, eds. Stefano Guzzini and Dietrich Jung (London: Routledge, 2004), 4. 58 Ann Mason, “Colombia’s Conflict and Theories of World Politics,” Items, September 2018: 1. 59 María Elvira Bonilla, “La Guerra de los pobres,” El Espectador, May 31, 2015.The soldados pobres also had a high rate of illiteracy. Daniel M. Rico,“Soldados Regulares: Pobreza y Analfabetismo,” La Silla Vacía, February 2, 2016. 60 Robert Muggah and Katherine Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America: Facts and Figures (Rio de Janeiro: Igarapé Institute, April 2018), 2. 61 Robert Muggah and Katherine Aguirre Tobón, Citizen Security in Latin America, 40. 62 Sarah Kinosian and James Bosworth, Security for Sale: Challenges and Practices in Regulating Private Military and Security Companies in Latin America (Washington, DC: Inter-American Dialogue, 2018). 63 Redacción, “Qué es la Guardia Nacional, el polemico cuerpo militar de élite con el que AMLO pretende combatir la violencia en México,” BBC Mundo, January 17, 2019, https://www.bbc.com/mundo/ noticias-america-latina-46905995 64 Colonel Victor Antonio Orellana (Army of El Salvador), A More Comprehensive Strategy to Address the Insecurity in El Salvador (Carlisle Barracks: U.S. Army War College, 2016). 65 Estado-Maior Conjunto das Forças Armadas,“Regras de Engajamento da Operaça¯o Rio de Janeiro,” Diretriz Ministerial no 16/2017, Brasilia, July 25, 2017. 66 Colonel Giovani Moretti (Army of Brazil), The Employment of Brazilian Armed Forces in Guarantee of Law and Order (Carlisle Barracks: U.S. Army War College, 2018), 12; Luis Kawaguti, “Militares ocupam favelas na maior operaça¯o da intervença¯o no Rio,” Folha de Sa¯o Paulo, June 28, 2018.

PART II

Country Studies

6 COLOMBIA Security Challenges and State Capacity Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila Amin Gutiérrez de Piñeres

Introduction It has long been understood that Colombia’s security challenge of multiple types of violence is fundamentally related to a weak state.1 For example, Francisco E. Thoumi described the Colombian state as “extremely weak with regard to its ability to control the national territory and provide an effective policing, legal, and judiciary system to protect property rights and solve conflicts.”2 Others viewed the state as captured by clientelism.3 In the 1980s and 1990s, the state’s effectiveness had been called into question, and many feared that Colombia was at risk of becoming a failed state,4 if it wasn’t already one.5 Max Manwaring warned that Colombian violence could destabilize the region.6 Harvey Kline blamed endemic corruption, a lack of central control, and rampant insecurity for its status as a failing state.7 Historically, the country has had a radically different state presence across territory and time.8 This uneven state presence is common in Latin America, as noted by Guillermo O’Donnell, who described Colombia as having extreme heterogeneity. Blue areas, such as Bogotá, have high state presence and effective government, green areas have high state presence but low effectiveness, and brown areas show where the state is absent.9 Nonetheless, the county has been fundamentally divided by the levels of development10 and security. In 2005, Foreign Policy created its failed state index. Colombia was the second-worst in the Western Hemisphere (behind Haiti) and was the 14th worst globally. Less than 15 years later, Colombia has significantly improved, both in terms of violence and state control. Other problems remain, including violent groups and illegal drug production, but most violence indicators show significant improvement. Foreign Policy’s Fragile State Index in 2019 still included Colombia in an elevated-risk category. However, many today consider Colombia a post-conflict country, since the conflict with the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia or FARC) that started in 1964, formally ended with peace talks in 2016. It is among the 20 most improved over the last ten years.11 Continued violence by the National Liberation Army (Ejército de Liberación Nacional or ELN) and other violent groups, in addition to the destabilizing impact of Venezuela, has the potential to disrupt Colombia’s progress. Despite the improvement, parts of the country remain vulnerable and certain state organizations need to develop professionalism and efficacy. Progress needs to continue to avoid the Colombian historical pattern of numerous actors competing for power and dominance.12 DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-7

82  Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila A. G. de Piñeres

This chapter will assess state effectiveness in various ways. First, it will examine multiple indicators of violence to capture a comprehensive view of the Colombian security challenge, from guerrillas to paramilitaries. Second, it will situate Colombia globally by using cross-national indicators that are typically used to assess state capacity. Third, it will discuss coca production using cultivation numbers from the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, since many illegal groups fund themselves with illicit trade. Finally, we will examine markers of state capacity, including the depth and breadth of basic services and the corruption scores of different institutions.

Colombia as a Failed State? Robert I. Rotberg uses well-known cross-national indicators such as Freedom House scores, Transparency International’s index ratings, gross domestic product (GDP) per capita, and the Human Development Index (HDI) to measure state strength.13 In general, this fragile state approach associates high levels of conflict with weak states. Tables 6.1 and 6.2 present indicators typically used to assess state performance, with a focus on Colombia. World Bank indicators are used to facilitate cross-national comparisons, since Transparency International scores cannot be used to make comparisons over time.14 TABLE 6.1  Select indicators of state performance

Year 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

GDP per capita (constant 2010 US$)

Human Development Index (HDI)

4,311 4,316 4,409 4,565 4,748 4,912 4,933 5,024 4,977 4,697 4,765 4,776 4,826 4,947 5,141 5,313 5,602 5,913 6,034 6,037 6,231 6,619 6,808 7,049 7,313 7,461 7,541 7,612

0.592 0.595 0.606 0.612 0.619 0.625 0.634 0.642 0.649 0.649 0.653 0.656 0.658 0.657 0.671 0.683 0.691 0.704 0.710 0.715 0.719 0.725 0.725 0.735 0.738 0.742 0.747 0.747

Fragile State Index/rank

FH status

95.0/14 91.8/27 89.7/33 89.0/37 89.2/41 88.2/46 87/44 84.4/52 83.8/57 83.1/59 82.5/61 80.2/67 78.9/69 76.6/70 75.7/71

PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF PF

Sources: “UN Development Programme, Foreign Policy, World Bank, and Freedom House.” GDP per capita numbers are in constant 2010 international $.

Colombia 83 TABLE 6.2  Indicators of effective state governance

Year 1996 1998 2000 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017

Political Political Stability and Stability and Control of Absence of Absence of Control of Corruption: Government Government Violence/ Violence/ Rule of Corruption: percentile Effectiveness: Effectiveness: Terrorism: Terrorism: Law: estimate rank estimate percentile rank estimate percentile rank estimate −0.51 −0.50 −0.40 −0.24 −0.18 −0.13 −0.13 −0.12 −0.22 −0.24 −0.31 −0.39 −0.29 −0.39 −0.41 −0.37 −0.30 −0.32 −0.37

36.56 36.08 40.61 48.48 52.53 53.66 53.17 53.66 51.46 50.49 46.89 42.38 49.29 43.13 42.18 44.23 47.60 44.71 43.75

−0.46 −0.23 −0.32 −0.41 −0.15 −0.18 −0.18 −0.17 −0.05 −0.03 −0.25 −0.06 0.04 0.02 0.07 −0.10 −0.04 0.02 −0.07

36.61 48.19 44.62 40.31 52.04 51.23 49.51 50.24 52.43 54.37 48.80 51.67 56.40 57.35 57.82 49.52 52.40 53.85 51.44

−1.64 −1.79 −1.60 −1.95 −2.37 −2.27 −2.06 −1.90 −1.80 −1.85 −1.83 −1.54 −1.28 −1.40 −1.29 −1.11 −1.07 −0.88 −0.79

6.91 6.38 8.47 2.65 1.01 2.43 2.91 3.86 7.25 5.77 5.21 8.53 12.32 8.06 10.43 10.95 12.86 16.19 17.62

−0.75 −0.64 −0.89 −0.72 −0.70 −0.69 −0.62 −0.51 −0.44 −0.40 −0.39 −0.31 −0.26 −0.35 −0.41 −0.29 −0.27 −0.28 −0.36

Rule of Law: percentile rank 25.63 31.00 23.27 28.71 28.71 29.67 32.06 38.76 40.67 41.83 43.13 45.97 47.42 45.07 41.78 44.71 46.63 43.75 40.38

Control of Corruption captures perceptions of the extent to which public power is exercised for private gain, including both petty and grand forms of corruption and “capture” of the state by elites and private interests. Estimate gives the country’s score on the aggregate indicator, in units of a standard normal distribution, i.e., ranging from approximately −2.5 to 2.5. Government Effectiveness captures perceptions of the quality of public services, the quality of the civil service and the degree of its independence from political pressures, the quality of policy formulation and implementation, and the credibility of the government’s commitment to such policies. Estimate gives the country’s score on the aggregate indicator, in units of a standard normal distribution, i.e., ranging from approximately −2.5 to 2.5. Political Stability and Absence of Violence/Terrorism measures perceptions of the likelihood of political instability and/or politically motivated violence, including terrorism. Estimate gives the country’s score on the aggregate indicator, in units of a standard normal distribution, i.e., ranging from approximately −2.5 to 2.5. Rule of Law captures perceptions of the extent to which agents have confidence in and abide by the rules of society, and in particular the quality of contract enforcement, property rights, the police, and the courts, as well as the likelihood of crime and violence. Estimate gives the country’s score on the aggregate indicator, in units of a standard normal distribution, i.e., ranging from approximately −2.5 to 2.5.

Colombia made significant strides from 1990 to 1998; however, from 1998 to 2001, both per capita GDP and the HDI were more or less stagnant. After 2001, Colombia saw a positive trend in per capita GDP and HDI, including a corresponding improvement in ranking as a fragile state. Colombia continued to move in the right direction. The question remains if this trend will continue after the signing of the peace accord. Freedom House noted in 2019, “the government and the country’s main left-wing guerrilla group signed a peace accord in 2016, but as of 2018, Colombia still faced enormous challenges in consolidating peace and guaranteeing political rights and civil liberties throughout its territory.”15 Questions remain regarding the implementation and durability of the 2016 peace accord as attacks on human rights defenders and other social activists continued in 2018. The World Bank’s Governance Indicators, presented in Table 6.2, reveal a mixed story about Colombia. For the indicators of corruption, Government Effectiveness, and the Rule of Law, 1996 represents the worst year. Perception of the Control of Corruption peaked between 2004 and 2006

84  Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila A. G. de Piñeres

and then began to decline over time. Ratings of Government Effectiveness were highest from 2011 to 2013 but then began to decline. Confidence in the Rule of Law peaked in 2010 but since then has seen a decrease. Political Stability and the Absence of Violence improved to its highest score in 2017 and had their largest positive movement after the signing of the 2016 peace accord. The Government Effectiveness indicator suggests a much higher capacity in the government than the stability rating. There is only a slight negative correlation (−0.007 and −0.111) between corruption and homicides and human rights violations, respectively. While corruption does not appear to be correlated with homicides and human rights violations, Government Effectiveness (−0.706 and −0.782) is more highly negatively correlated. Additionally, the strongest negative correlation is between the Rule of Law and human rights violations. Increases in homicides and human rights violations are associated with the declining effectiveness of the government and the Rule of Law rather than corruption. Although these indicators are useful to demonstrate general trends given the diversity of violent threats in Colombia, it is important to disaggregate the challenges Colombia faces. Table 6.3 provides an overview of national-level violence statistics as tallied by the Centro de Investigación y Educación Popular (CINEP) and the Colombian government. Based on Geneva Convention concepts and the distinction between combatants and civilians, CINEP tallies TABLE 6.3  Colombian leftist guerrilla violence statistics

Year

Homicide rate

Terrorism

Guerrilla HR violations

1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018

75 70 65 67 63 59 61 66 68 70 56 48 42 40 39 36 35 34 35 35 33 28 27 25 25 26

723 1,136 835 1,323 1,506 1,726 1,194 1,549 1,172 1,645 1,258 724 612 646 387 486 489 472 571 894 890 763 443 224 123 152

496 678 459 558 547 638 873 916 731 978 453 295 196 182 126 99 191 87 118 169 94 96 49

Sources: Homicides (per 100,000, Instituto de Medicina Legal, Forensis, various years).Terrorism: Colombian government terrorism comes from the Ministerio de Defensa Nacional and the Viceministerio para la Estrategia y la Planeación (July 2011 and 2004 Avance de la Politica de Defensa y Seguridad). Human rights violations prior to 2000 are from CINEP (2010 vintage, according to the October 2008 Marco Conceptual Banco de Datos de Derechos Humanos y Violencia Política). The later years are from CINEP’s 2016 vintage.

Colombia 85

human rights violations, including the use of illicit means, methods, targeting of people, places or goods, and other human rights abuses. Examples vary from threats to homicide. CINEP also includes attributions of responsibility. We use different sources to check potential bias in violence statistics. Homicide rates (per 100,000) peaked in 1993, declining until the early 2000s before beginning another decline. During this time, they fell from a high of 75 to a low of 25 in 2016 and 2017. There is a slight increase in homicide rates in 2018. To capture politically motivated violence, we examine tallies of terrorism from the Colombian Ministry of Defense. Here, we see peaks in 1998, 2000, and 2002, before there is general improvement. However, 2012 saw a significant increase in terrorist acts, increasing from 571 to 894 in just one year. Terrorist acts continued to decline post-2012, with the largest decreases as the peace talks continued. It is worth noting that terrorist acts in 2018 represented less than 10 percent of the acts committed in the peak year of 1998. This indicates a movement away from large-scale acts of violence in response to the peace accord and increases in government presence.

Drugs and Violence In general, violent groups took advantage of the power vacuums left by the dismantling of the dominant Colombian cartels in the 1980s and 1990s. The FARC and other groups were able to involve themselves in several aspects of the drug trade, ranging from predation on the industry to direct involvement. Many analysts and scholars assume a direct relationship between drugs and violence.16 Figures 6.117 and 6.218 contradict any direct connection between the two. Coca cultivation began to increase in the mid-1990s. The years 2003–2004 show a decline in coca cultivation with production in 2007 roughly the same as in 2002. Post-2007 coca production fluctuated slightly with a significant decrease through 2013. However, in 2014, there was a steep trend in coca cultivation; 2017 represented the highest number of hectares in production. Under President Juan Manuel Santos, Colombia halted aerial eradication of coca due to environmental and health concerns in 2015. Cultivation spiked in response, reaching levels not seen since the late 1990s, but this did not fuel a corresponding spike in terrorism.

FIGURE 6.1 

Coca cultivation (hectares)

Source: Observatorio de Drogas de Colombia, http://www.odc.gov.co/sidco/oferta/cultivos-ilicitos/departamentomunicipio, accessed May 10, 2019.

86  Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila A. G. de Piñeres

FIGURE 6.2 

Violence and coca cultivation

Sources: Homicides (per 100,000): 1993–2011 Instituto de Medicina Legal, Forensis, various years. Terrorism: Colombian Government (GOC) terrorism comes from the Ministerio de Defensa Nacional and the Viceministerio para la Estrategia y la Planeación ( July 2011 and 2004 Avance de la Politica de Defensa y Seguridad). [i] Combat Actions come from CINEP “Informe Especial Conflict Armado en Colombia Durante 2011” June 2012. Human rights violations: CINEP (2010 vintage, according to the October 2008 Marco Conceptual Banco de Datos de Derechos Humanos y Violencia Política. 2010 and 2011 tallies are from CINEP’s Noche y Niebla.

On the contrary, terrorism plummeted as coca cultivation increased, as the Santos administration finalized the peace process with the FARC in 2016. These competing trends challenge any assumptions of direct causality between coca production and violence. A more plausible explanation is the link between state strength and violence. As Thomas Marks states, “drugs, to repeat, are not the central element of Colombia’s problem. That is state fragmentation. We can talk of nothing until the government actually exercises its writ within national territory.”19 It is promising that despite the dramatic recent increase in coca cultivation, violence has not spiked. Scholars such as Holmes, Gutiérrez de Piñeres, and Curtin 20 have documented different relationships between leftist violence and coca cultivation, a positive relationship in an earlier period in the mid-1990s but not at the turn of the century. Based on cross-national research, Snyder and Bhavnani argue that the interaction with state strength, the overall resource profile of the country, and the mode of extraction are important, not just a blanket assertion that lootable resources like drugs and diamonds, for example, increase conflict.21 The next section evaluates the changing character and strength of the state.

Security Spending and Military Strength Prior to the last few decades, it was widely held that Colombia’s security forces were insufficient. In an early study, Granada found that defense spending fell significantly, from 27 percent in the 1950s to around 16 percent in the 1980s and 1990s.22 At the turn of the century, Byman et al. rated Colombia’s 3.1 percent of GDP in 1998 as inadequate, given the security situation.23 Since then, security spending has increased. By 2009, Colombia had doubled the percentage of GDP spent on security.24 Much of the increase in this period was due to President Álvaro Uribe’s 2002 Wealth Tax, which was followed by similar taxes in later years. Table 6.4 tracks the number of active troops and police in Colombia.

Colombia 87 TABLE 6.4  Military troops and public forces in action

Year

Troops in action (total)

Army

Navy

Air force

2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018

1,082,742 1,148,524 1,159,960 1,146,746 1,178,277 1,182,639 1,220,254 1,216,022 1,170,563 1,100,322 1,105,153 1,136,829

226,317 238,889 236,537 227,885 235,407 234,993 239,495 236,922 222,648 202,826 202,929 217,459

31,582 33,385 34,716 34,709 34,237 34,452 33,668 32,879 31,481 31,416 31,650 31,090

12,287 13,108 13,611 13,418 13,817 14,364 14,743 14,861 13,512 12,704 13,662 13,522

Military forces Nacional police 270,634 285,700 285,189 276,296 283,773 284,115 288,245 285,008 267,978 247,290 248,581 262,411

135,644 145,871 152,359 159,071 163,635 165,300 177,929 180,672 183,483 179,398 179,875 174,968

Public forces (includes civilians) 406,278 431,571 437,548 435,367 447,408 449,415 466,174 465,680 451,461 426,688 428,456 437,379

Source: Ministerio De Defensa Nacional Viceministerio Para Las Políticas y Asuntos Internacionales Dirección de Estudios Estratégicos Grupo de Información Estadística – ([email protected]), Información De Criminalidad, Resultados Operacionales, Delitos Contra Las Propias Tropas Y Pie De Fuerza, https://www.mindefensa.gov.co/irj/ go/km/docs/Mindefensa/Documentos/descargas/estudios_sectoriales/info_estadistica/Avance_Politica_Defensa_ Seguridad.xlsx, accessed May 10, 2019.

The change in the number of police and soldiers is more apparent than the GDP spending figures. Table 6.4 demonstrates the significant increase in security forces sustained since Uribe’s term. The contrast is stark. In 1949, according to Ortiz Sarmiento, the Colombian government had only 15,000 soldiers. Even after the buildup from President Gustavo Rojas Pinilla’s regime in 1953–1957, the number of soldiers had not tripled, even though this period corresponded with the civil war, known as la violencia.25 The buildup continued. In 1985, Colombia had 66,000 soldiers, 110,000 in 1990, and 146,000 in 1995, according to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. By 2000, this number rose to 153,000 and continued to grow in this decade. By 2018, both forces had increased, to 174,968 and 262,411, respectively.26 The increase in forces continued through 2013, after which there is a decline in troops through 2017 as peace talks progressed, with a slight increase in all areas in 2018. President Andrés Pastrana, with the support of the United States in the second term of the Clinton administration, announced Plan Colombia. This comprehensive plan dramatically increased U.S. assistance but did not allow the fungibility of aid between counternarcotics and counterinsurgency purposes. After the 9/11 attack on the United States in 2001, President George W. Bush removed any restriction on the use of counternarcotics aid for counterinsurgency objectives. As aid and spending increased, so did scrutiny of the Colombian government’s human rights record and pressure for an approach that was more than just a military response. The infusion of aid, as seen in Table 6.5, has provided a foundation for progress. U.S. security aid increased dramatically in 2000. The mix of social and economic aid, in addition to military aid, increased over time. In 1999, social and economic aid was less than 5 percent of total aid. But by 2012, it was more than 40 percent, and the ratio stayed at a level in which investment matched the understanding that “progress in one area – but especially in the extension of authority – paves the way to improvements in the others.”27 Colombia started to have notable success in state-building and security successes beginning with the Uribe (2002–2010) and Santos (2010–2018) administrations. In 2002, Uribe released the Democratic Security Plan, which aimed to consolidate state control, reduce drug

88  Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila A. G. de Piñeres TABLE 6.5  U.S. aid to Colombia (US$)

Year

Military and police aid

1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

64,468,000 86,562,950 115,161,000 309,712,877 771,540,855 223,940,217 388,550,141 605,627,707 610,824,588 596,121,737 589,374,053 619,484,593 402,104,615 441,505,261 437,324,860 370,792,537 247,859,979 259,325,132 246,040,931 218,463,613 239,890,000 260,630,000 203,984,000 230,925,000

Social and economic aid 618,000 520,000 8,750,000 231,356,000 1,350,000 115,500,000 136,700,000 134,479,000 134,713,000 142,955,000 149,723,970 252,169,655 254,699,183 205,988,999 185,275,255 176,485,129 176,498,129 151,730,129 145,834,000 133,205,000 191,062,000 105,000,000 100,000,000

Total 65,086,000 86,562,950 115,681,000 318,462,877 1,002,896,855 225,290,217 504,050,141 742,327,707 745,303,588 730,834,737 732,329,053 769,208,563 654,274,270 696,204,444 643,313,859 556,067,792 424,345,108 435,823,261 397,771,060 364,297,613 373,095,000 451,692,000 308,984,000 330,925,000

Source: Data 1996–2009:Washington Office on Latin America, “Just the Facts,” September 2012, Data 2010–2019, https://securityassistance.org/colombia, accessed May 10, 2019.

cultivation and trafficking, and increase state strength, efficiency, and transparency. The plan also included increased coordination among public forces and an emphasis on the Rule of Law. Security gains would be followed with improvements in judicial presence, support of local democracy, and expansion of state services. In sum, development plans would be coordinated with security gains.28 This plan included a commitment to democratic principles, protection of citizen rights, and a promise to do so within a comprehensive and coordinated manner.29 In 2008, a Brookings report described Colombia as still weak in social welfare and security.30 Over the years, the United States invested billions of dollars in Colombian security. Deshazo et al. summarized the impact: improvement in professionalism and capability, gains in state strength and presence, and reductions in violence and human rights violations.31 Under these two presidents, military and state presence extended to many previously neglected and conflict-ridden parts of the country. Figure 6.3 shows the increased effectiveness of Colombian security forces in terms of tracking their ability to neutralize rebels. The metrics of rebels captured or killed continued to rise in the 2000s until the conflict began to wind down. Post-2003, there was a decline in troops captured but a corresponding increase in troops killed or demobilized. There was a subsequent increase between 2011 and 2012 of individuals captured or killed. As expected, post-peace accord there was a significant decline in the number of individuals captured or killed. In 2018, they were the smallest numbers seen – in 2003, individuals captured were less than 15 percent of the maximum, and in 2006, the killings of armed troops were less than 2 percent of the peak. The response of the Colombian public forces to marginalized armed groups has reached its lowest levels in history, as the violence from the FARC dropped.

Colombia 89

FIGURE 6.3 

Marginalized armed groups in Colombia 32

Table 6.6 illustrates significant increases in the percentage of the population with access to drinking water and sanitation. Since 2000, people with access to safely managed or basic services have risen by more than 7 percentage points, with 97 percent having access to drinking water and 84 percent having access to sanitation. Table 6.7 presents trends in education and poverty indicators. The improvement in basic services is also matched by an increase in educational attainment and a decrease in extreme poverty. In terms of years of schooling, educational attainment is a balanced measure since it reflects both TABLE 6.6  Access to drinking water and sanitation: percentage of

population covered Drinking water Year 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015

Sanitation

Basic Safely managed service service Total 23 23 23 23 23 23 23 23 24 24 24 24 25 25 25 25

67 68 68 69 69 69 70 70 70 70 70 71 71 71 71 71

90 91 91 91 92 92 93 93 94 94 95 95 95 96 96 97

Basic service 59 59 60 60 61 61 61 62 62 63 63 63 64 64 64 65

Safely managed service Total 17 17 17 17 18 18 18 18 18 19 19 19 19 19 19 20

76 76 77 78 78 79 79 80 81 81 82 82 83 83 84 84

Source: WHO/UNICEF Joint Monitoring Programme for Water Supply and Sanitation, https://washdata.org/data/household#!/table?geo0=country&geo1=COL, accessed May 11, 2019.

90  Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila A. G. de Piñeres TABLE 6.7  Education and poverty indicators

Year

Mean years of schooling, population 25+ years, both sexes

1993 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016

Poverty headcount ratio at $1.90 a day (PPP) (percent of population)

6.47

20.1 16.4 19.7 14.3 12 10.9

7.08 7.29 7.20 7.33 7.26 7.41 7.53 7.64 7.85 8.01 8.06 8.27

9.7 10.4 9 7.8 6.4 6.3 5.7 5 4.5 4.5

Source: UNESCO Institute for Statistics, available from UIS website, http://www.uis.unesco. org. Data extracted on May 11, 2019 16:00 UTC (GMT) from UIS.Stat.

access to education and individual achievement. Using a percentage of the population at a poverty headcount ratio of $1.90 a day, Table 6.8 illustrates a dramatic decrease from 20.1 percent in 1999 to a low of 4.5 percent in 2016. Colombia has made significant inroads into addressing the sources of poverty and growing the economy. TABLE 6.8  State and paramilitary violence

Year

Government HR violations

2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 Total

281 298 419 517 621 611 479 459 419 321 365 328 433 468 376 465 6,860

Paramilitary HR violations 782 910 773 1,309 733 516 273 402 512 708 724 593 546 613 561 434 10,389

Source: Human rights violations prior to 2000 are from CINEP (2010 vintage, according to the October 2008 Marco Conceptual Banco de Datos de Derechos Humanos y Violencia Política).The later years are from CINEP’s 2016 vintage.

Colombia 91

State Violence and Paramilitary Violence The inflammatory impact of state violence is well established.33 State human violence is also a trait of poorly trained and less professional security forces. As security aid to Colombia increased, so did scrutiny of human rights abuses. Some feared that increased scrutiny would lead to abusive practices being transferred to paramilitaries instead of being reduced overall.34 Although the professionalism of the security forces has improved overall, there are also scandals. For example, CINEP documented the falsos positivos scandal.35 Here, some mid-level officers orchestrated the killing of civilians so that they could “claim” the victims as guerrillas killed in combat to win promotions. Reports of this activity reached more than 100 a year in 2004 and peaked in 2007 with 388 killings, declining dramatically after 2008.36 In response, a leading general resigned, more than two dozen officers were forced out of the service, some charged with murder, and promotion metrics were revised to no longer include a body count.37 Paramilitary groups were encouraged to form in the 1960s as a private complement to the Colombian security forces. However, due to their violence, they were declared illegal in 1989 and officially demobilized under Uribe from 2003 to 2006. Despite this demobilization process, violence attributed to paramilitaries continued at a significant level. There is a debate about whether this violence is committed by groups more appropriately called organized criminal groups (BACRIM) or neo-paramilitaries.38 Others attribute the continued violence to midlevel leaders who “did not give up and continue to fight; the various AUC units have become increasingly autonomous; and a considerable number of demobilized members operating in an outsourcing mode as ‘subsidiaries,’ ‘pseudo-paramilitaries,’ or ‘gangs’ (bandas criminales) – renting (not selling) their services to the highest bidder.”39 We examine trends in paramilitary violence and state violence in Table 6.8. Government violations as reported by CINEP hovered between 200 and 400 while paramilitary violations ranged between 300 and more than 1,300. From 2000 to 2015, government forces’ violations averaged 428, while paramilitary violations were 650. A correlation between government and paramilitary violations is only −0.11, revealing only a slightly negative relationship. Despite concerns about a simple inverse relationship between paramilitary and state violence, we see a low correlation due to increasing professionalism in the security forces and the government’s demobilization effort.40

Institutional Integrity Transparency International’s Colombian affiliate, the Corporación Transparencia por Colombia, rates national agencies for the risk of corruption and transparency. They created an ITN rating (Índice de Transparencia Nacional), based upon visibility and transparency, institutionalization and efficiency, and sanction and internal control. This is an important rating, but scores are only comparable within specific time periods: 2003–2005, 2008–2009, and 2014–2016. Given changes in methodology, it is inappropriate to compare scores from 2003 to 2014. However, we can still infer improvements. In general, there are gains in the ratings of the Colombian national institutions. Overall averages improved from 2003 to 2005 and from 2013 to 2016. Improvement has been seen in judicial and defense sectors both in 2005 and between 2013 and 2016. The legislative sector was viewed most at risk, with a score of 55.7. These results are consistent between 2013 and 2016. The notorious parapolítica scandal, with its extensive breadth among legislators, including the 120 charges filed before 2010.41 Nine defense and security agencies have specific ITN scores, presented in Table 6.9. There is no particular score for the respect of human rights, but discipline is included in the sanctions

92  Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila A. G. de Piñeres TABLE 6.9  Institutional ITN ratings of security agencies

Colombian Civil Defense Logistics Agency for Military Forces Colombian Air Force National Police General Command of the Military Forces National Penitentiary and Prison Institute (INPEC) Colombian Navy Colombian Army Administrative Department of Security

2007– 2008

2008– 2009

2013– 2014

2015– Change 2016 2013–2016

78.43

85.3 71.5

87.5 89

82.68 71.44

75.81 67.66

−6.87 −3.78

83.76 78.45 70.97

87.51 82.17 71.78

83.6 68.8 78.7

86.5 82.6 78.5

69.34 69.90 62.14

67.23 73.53 66.29

−2.11 3.63 4.15

58.81

72.47

77.68

66.2

60

57.71

64.49

6.79

73.65 70.78 62.85

77.76 79.7 76.69

84.19 83.42 71.37

86.9 74.2 83

90.4 63.9 71.5

64.07 51.19

72.34 64.82

8.28 13.63

2003

2004

2005

69.68

70.14

59.49 56.03 64.7

Sources: Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad (DAS), accessed May 13, 2019. The DAS and INPEC had notorious problems with corruption and infiltration.

score. In the early years, 2003–2005, all defense and security agencies improved their scores. In the middle period, only the National Penitentiary and Prison Institute (INPEC), the Army, and the Administrative Department of Security (Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad or DAS) had significant declines in scores. The DAS was the most infamous Colombian institution. Jorge Noguera, its former director, collaborated with paramilitaries, sharing names of individuals who were later murdered by them.42 He was forced to resign and is serving a 25-year sentence. Maria del Pilar Hurtado, a later director, had to step down after it was revealed that the DAS was spying on leftist politicians.43 Multiple interim reorganizations were attempted before the DAS was disbanded by Santos and replaced by a new intelligence agency in 2011. The Colombian prison agency, INPEC, was also so plagued by corruption that it was threatened with being reorganized out of existence. It had been well known that imprisoned paramilitary leaders were able to continue operating while in prison, ordering assassinations, running their organizations, and controlling their drug businesses from behind bars.44 Additional signs of corruption and mismanagement included the escapes of prominent prisoners, such as ELN leader Gustavo Aníbal Giraldo Quinchía “Pablito” in 2009 or other paramilitary leaders in 2010. After a plot to assassinate Congressman Iván Cepeda was thwarted in 2011, the INPEC was almost disbanded by Justice Minister Juan Carlos Esguerra.45 However, from 2014 to 2016, there was a significant improvement in INPEC. In 2014, there was a court order to improve the prisons. In 2016, INPEC initiated an Anti-Corruption and Citizen Services plan to increase professionalism and reduce corruption. It is worth noting that between 2013 and 2016, most of these agencies showed positive gains indicating advancements in transparency, with only the Colombia Civil Defense, logistics agency, and Air Force showing mild declines. Consistent improvement over time has been seen in the Navy, National Police, and General Command of the Military Forces. When examining the agencies with the greatest decline in transparency from 2014 to 2016, they are those related to finance and budget, while those with the largest increases are those related to social services, except for education. Table 6.10 presents these results. The agency with the largest gain is the House of Representatives, indicating an increase in confidence in the government.

Colombia 93 TABLE 6.10  Institutional ITN ratings of other agencies

Unit Financial Information and Analysis Superintendence of Solidarity Economy Office of the Attorney General of the Nation Ministry of National Education Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development National Planning Department Colombian Institute for Family Welfare House of Representatives

2003

2004

2005

2007– 2008

2008– 2009

2013– 2014

2015– 2016

Change

79.92

82.93

84.94

89.1

92.8

62.6

47.5

−15.0

70.65

75.42

82.8

73.3

75.3

67.7

52.8

−14.9

61.34

77.55

78.98

83.4

61.2

62.5

50.9

−11.6

72.27

82.83

84.77

89.7

93.5

79.2

68.6

−10.6

62.63

81.06

80.83

83.7

74.7

52.1

68.2

16.1

75.44

79.21

79.48

80.7

84.7

57.8

80.4

22.6

67.87

85.81

86.69

85.9

77.7

53.8

78.5

24.6

49.9

54.79

44.41

35.1

58.2

24.3

61.3

37.0

Sources: Índice de Transparencia Nacional, https://www.indicedetransparencia.org.co/ITD/Gobernaciones, accessed May 13, 2019. The threat of corruption has moved from agencies with power to those with resources.

Conclusion Despite criticism of the “Colombian model,”46 it is clear the Colombian state has improved in service provision and security since Uribe and Santos. Progress is never completely linear, as challenges remain, and gains must be protected and extended to all areas of the country and government agencies. Ongoing human rights abuses and agency ratings of transparency and professionalism remind scholars and practitioners that vulnerabilities remain. Security gains must be complemented by enhanced transparency and better services. In institution by institution, improvement is a safeguard against bad actors infiltrating the state. Progress has been seen in parts of the country that have been historically neglected in contrast to typical patterns of neglect since independence.47 The continuing political violence of such groups as the ELN and BACRIM/neo-paramilitary violence are clear warnings that more progress is needed. Progress becomes more difficult as the “easy” gains have already been made. Definitive peace depends on the state closing the gaps in security and state presence to tip the balance to where today’s illegal groups can be vanquished while preventing the emergence of new illegal actors.

Notes 1 Carlos Miguel Ortiz Sarmiento,“Violencia política de los ochenta: elementos para una reflexión historica,” Anuario Colombiano de Historica Social y de la Cultura no. 18–19 (1990): 245–280; Daniel Pécaut, Guerra contra la sociedad (Espasa) (Bogota: Editorial Planeta Colombiana, 2001); and Jennifer S. Holmes, Kevin M. Curtin, and Sheila Amin Gutiérrez de Piñeres, Guns, Drugs, and Development in Colombia (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2009). 2 Francisco E. Thoumi, Illegal Drugs, Economy, and Society in the Andes (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), 274. 3 Francisco Leal Buitrago and Andrés Dávila Ladrón De Guevara, Clientelismo: El Sistema politico y su expression regional (Bogota: Universidad de los Andes, 1990).

94  Jennifer S. Holmes and Sheila A. G. de Piñeres

4 Frank Safford and Marcos Palacios, Colombia: Fragmented Land. Divided Society (Latin American Histories) (London: Oxford University Press, 2001), 298. 5 Phillip McLean, “Colombia: Failed, Failing or Just Weak?,” The Washington Quarterly 25(no. 3) (2002): 123–134. 6 Max G. Manwaring, Nonstate Actors in Colombia: Threat and Response (Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 2002). 7 Harvey F. Kline, “Colombia: Lawlessness, Drug Trafficking, and Carving Up the State,” in State Failure and State Weakness in a Time of Terror, ed. Robert I. Rotberg (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2003), 161–182, 179. 8 Safford and Palacios, Colombia: Fragmented Land. Divided Society. 9 Guillermo O’Donnell, “On the State, Democratization Conceptual Problems: A Latin American View with Glances at Some Postcommunist Countries,” World Development 21(no. 8) (1993): 1355–1369, 1358. 10 Iván Silva Lira, “Local Economic Development and Territorial Competitiveness in Latin America,” Cepal Review 85 (2005): 79–98; and Jaime Bonet and Adolfo Meisel, “Regional Economic Disparities in Colombia,” Investigaciones Regionales 14 (2008): 61–80. 11 Fragile States Index 2019 – Annual Report (Washington, DC: Fund for Peace, 2019). 12 Harvey F. Kline, Chronicle of a Failure Foretold: The Peace Process of Colombian President Andres Pastrana (Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press, 2007). 13 Robert I. Rotberg, “Failed States, Collapsed States, Weak States: Causes and Indicators” in State Failure and State Weakness in a Time of Terror, ed. Robert I. Rotberg (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2003). 14 Daniel Kaufmann, Aart Kraay, and Massimo Mastruzzi, “The Worldwide Governance Indicators: Methodology and Analytical Issues,” in World Bank Policy Research Working Paper No. 5430, 2010. 15 Freedom in the World 2019 – Colombia Report (Washington, DC: Freedom House, 2019). 16 Daniel Byman, Peter Chalk, Bruce Hoffman,William Rosenau, and David Brannan, Trends in Outside Support for Insurgent Movements (Santa Monica, CA: The Rand Corporation, 2001); Philippe Le Billon, “The Political Ecology of War: Natural Resources and Armed Conflicts,” Political Geography 20(no. 5) (2001): 561–584; and James F. Rochlin, Vanguard Revolutionaries in Latin America: Peru, Colombia, Mexico (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2003). 17 Source, Figure 6.1: http://www.odc.gov.co/sidco/oferta/cultivos-ilicitos/departamento-municipio, accessed May 10, 2019. 18 Sources, Figure 6.2: Homicides (per 100,000): 1993–2011 Instituto de Medicina Legal, Forensis, various years. Terrorism: Colombian Government (GOC) terrorism comes from the Ministerio de Defensa Nacional and the Viceministerio para la Estrategia y la Planeación (July 2011 and 2004 Avance de la Politica de Defensa y Seguridad). [i] Combat Actions come from CINEP “Informe Especial conflicto Armado en Colombia Durante 2011” June 2012. Human rights violations: CINEP (2010 vintage, according to the October 2008 Marco Conceptual Banco de Datos de Derechos Humanos y Violencia Política). 2010 and 2011 tallies are from CINEP’s Noche y Niebla. 19 Thomas Marks, “Colombian Army Counterinsurgency,” Crime, Law, & Social Change 40(no. 1) (2003): 77–105, 93. 20 Holmes, Curtin, and Gutierrez de Piñeres, Guns, Drugs, and Development in Colombia. 21 Richard Snyder and Ravi Bhavnani, “Diamonds, Blood, and Taxes: A Revenue-Centered Framework for Explaining Political Order,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 49(no. 4) (2005): 563–597. 22 Granada, 1997, 3. 23 Byman, Chalk, Hoffman, et al., Trends in Outside Support for Insurgent Movements. 24 Government of Colombia, Ministry of National Defense and Vice Ministry for Strategy and Planning, Advancement of Policy, various years. 25 Carlos Miguel Ortiz, “Violencia política de los ochenta: elementos para una reflexión historica,” Anuario Colombiano de Historica Social y de la Cultura 18 (1991): 245–280. 26 Government of Colombia, Ministry of National Defense,Various Years, 73. 27 Peter DeShazo, Johanna Mendelson Forman, and Phillip McLean, Countering Threats to Security and Stability in a Failing State: Lessons from Colombia (Washington, DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 2009), 50. 28 Government of Colombia, Ministry of National Defense, 2003, 42. 29 For an in-depth discussion of the coordination, leadership, and institutional learning involved in Uribe’s democratic security and defense policy, see Thomas Marks, “Colombia: Learning Institutions Enable Integrated Response,” Prism 1(no. 1) (2010): 127–146. 30 Susan E. Rice and Stewart Patrick, Index of State Weakness in the Developing World (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2008): 14, 23. 31 DeShazo, Mendelson Forman, and McLean, Countering Threats to Security and Stability in a Failing State.

Colombia 95

32 https://www.mindefensa.gov.co/irj/portal/Mindefensa/contenido?NavigationTarget=navurl:// ba0a5897ade8865822fd63c3a69cc854; https://www.mindefensa.gov.co/irj/go/km/docs/Mindefensa/ Documentos/descargas/estudios_sectoriales/info_estadistica/Avance_Politica_Defensa_Seguridad.xlsx; https://www.mindefensa.gov.co/irj/portal/Mindefensa/contenido?NavigationTarghttps://www.mindefensa.gov.co/irj/portal/Mindefensa/contenido?NavigationTarget=navurl://ba0a5897ade8865822fd63c3a69cc854et=navurl://ba0a5897ade8865822fd63c3a69cc854, accessed May 10, 2019. 33 Jeff Goodwin, No Other Way Out: States and Revolutionary Movements, 1945–1999 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001); Holmes, Curtin, and Gutierrez de Piñeres, Guns, Drugs, and Development in Colombia. 34 The “SIXTH DIVISION:” Military-Paramilitary Ties and U.S. Policy in Colombia (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2001). 35 Colombia, Deuda con la Humanidad 2: 23 años de Falsos Positivos (Bogotá: Centro de Investigación y Educación Popular/Programa por la Paz, 2011). 36 Deuda con la Humanidad 2: 23 años de Falsos Positivos, CINEP/PPP. 37 International Crisis Group, “The Virtuous Twins: Protecting Human Rights and Improving Security in Colombia,” in Latin America Briefing No 21, Bogotá/Brussels, 2009. 38 INDEPAZ, The Institute for Development and Peace Studies, 2012; Human Rights Watch, Paramilitaries’ Heirs.The New Face of Violence in Colombia (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2010). 39 Max G. Manwaring, “Translating Lessons Learned in Colombia and Other Wars Among the People: Confronting the Spectrum of 21st Century Conflict,” Small Wars Journal 9(no. 8) (2013): 6. 40 Michael Spagat, Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR: Quiet and Tentative Success, Department of Economics, Royal Holloway, University of London and Centro de Recursos para Analisis de Conflictos, 2007: 2. 41 United Nations, Situation of Human Rights in Colombia – Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (New York, NY: UNHCR, 2012). 42 Mauricio Romero, ed., Parapolítica: la ruta de la expansión paramilitar y los acuerdos politicos (Bogotá: Corporación Nuevo Arco Iris, 2008). 43 “El DAS Sigue Grabando,” Semana, February 21, 2009. 44 “Te llamo desde la prisión,” Semana, May 12, 2007. 45 “Inpec, rumbo a la liquidación,” El Espectador, February 2011. 46 Adam Isacson, Colombia: Don’t Call it a Model: On Plan Colombia’s Tenth Anniversary, Claims of ‘Success’ Don’t Stand Up to Scrutiny (Washington Office on Latin America, 2010). 47 Kline, “Colombia: Lawlessness, Drug Trafficking, and Carving Up the State,” 161–182.

7 MEXICO Dilemma between Democratic Recession and Internal Security Raúl Benítez Manaut

Introduction Mexico is experiencing a democratic recession, in which the armed forces are deployed because civilian government institutions responsible for public security are weak. Modern Mexican military history divides into seven periods: 1. Triumph of the Mexican Revolution and the writing of the new constitution (1910–1920). 2. Direct militarization of the state, whereby the military directly controlled the country (1920–1946). 3. Civilianizing the state, whereby the state surrendered power to a civilian government led by, the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI), while the military were guarantors of governance through military autonomy (1946–1990). 4. Transition to liberal democracy via an agreement between civilians and military to not modify the military autonomy in the governments of Carlos Salinas de Gortari and Ernesto Zedillo (1990–2000). 5. Building a liberal-democratic state protected by the military at the same time that the war on drugs begins in the governments of Vicente Fox and Felipe Calderón (2000–2012). 6. The beginning of the democratic recession, where the practice of twentieth-century civil-military relations was restored in the government of Enrique Peña Nieto (2012–2018). 7. The power of the armed forces is reconstructed during the government of President Andrés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO) (2018–present). Three conclusions are set forth in this chapter. First, the fight against organized crime has become the principal mission of the armed forces, transforming them into “super-policemen.” Second, the legal framework does not favor the success of this mission because there are large contradictions in the Mexican constitutional and legal systems that provide advantages to criminal activity. Third, the result of more than 13 years of direct military action against criminal groups dedicated to narco-trafficking has had the contrary effect. The threat has grown and increasingly has affected the civilian population and weakened state capacity to provide security. In addition, the chapter analyzes the AMLO government’s military reform, which reduced the Secretariats of National Defense and the Navy and created the National Guard.1 This could be termed a new era of Mexican militarism, articulated with personalist and semi-populist DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-8

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modalities in the exercise of political power and the transformation of the structure of the state. During the first half of 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic policies strengthened the role of the armed forces. The government of López Obrador has ignored criticism of this militarization because opinion polls indicate strong support from the population, and the political parties in Congress support the expansion of the armed forces’ missions. This increased militarization occurred in the context of military failures and the questioning of political leadership in 2019 and 2020. The noted failure occurred on October 17, 2019, with the arrest and release of Ovidio Guzmán, the son of El Chapo Guzmán.2 The Army was heavily criticized for its tactical failures. Politically, this criminal’s release led to many doubts about the effectiveness of the military’s confrontations with criminal groups. The president took full responsibility. The release was strongly questioned in the United States since it was to fulfill an extradition request. The second big shock was General Salvador Cienfuegos’ capture in Los Angeles, California, on October 15, 2020. He was accused of drug trafficking and money laundering, and the U.S. Department of Justice decided to release him to Mexican authorities one month later. This case exposed the threat of corruption within the military resulting from the power of large criminal groups. The crisis resulting from the arrest of Cienfuegos caused great friction between the Mexican and U.S. governments. The Mexican Congress approved an amendment to the National Security Act of 2005 to force all diplomats to report their activities to Mexican authorities. This legal modification results from the Mexican Army’s anger with the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) for promoting the lawsuit against Cienfuegos, accusing him of drug trafficking.3 These two crises within the Mexican military reopened an old debate about national security and military doctrine. Had the United States not returned Cienfuegos to Mexico, defense cooperation agreements between the two nations could have been threatened. In other words, the incident could have sparked a nationalist backlash in Mexico’s political establishment resulting in the return to a noncooperation doctrine in relations with the United States.

Democratic Recession and the Military In Mexico, the transition to democracy began in 1990. In contrast to the majority of Latin American countries, a civilian-led ministry of defense and professional civilian competence on defense matters was not established, nor were the old military doctrines based on the Mexican Revolution and the Constitution of 1917 modified. An enduring and stable authoritarian political model fashioned by the triumphant military of the revolution had two phases: the first from 1917 to 1946, when the military directly controlled the apparatus of the state, and the second from 1946, in which they surrendered power to a civilian-led government, the PRI. The military enjoyed autonomy of action, silently oversaw the conduct of the state, and defended it when it faced significant challenges to its stability, such as in Mexico City in 1968, combating the guerrilla groups in the 1970s, and the Zapatista uprising of 1994. In these cases, the armed forces were deployed for deterrence, not containment.4 (See Phases 1 and 3 of the seven periods of Mexican military history mentioned earlier.) The military decided not to modify its internal regulations nor subordinate itself to civilians. Constructing a civil-military agreement in 1946, they would not conduct a coup against the state while civilians would respect their political and financial autonomy and military privileges. Civilians limited themselves to constructing a ministry of defense to maintain good relations with the military. In the 1990s, the political system and the defense structures were democratized in a limited way, though the conceptualization of democracy did not change. This was because civilians decided to avoid conflict with the military leadership to maintain political

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harmony and the country’s stability. In other words, it was democratization without substantive reform of the defense system, intelligence, and military.5 Mexico changed its geopolitical orientation toward North America by signing the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), effective January 1, 1994. However, building a new liberal democratic state was incomplete because of the absence of reform in the security sector (Phase 4). The country lived in an era of democratic optimism between 2000 and 2012, similar to what occurred in many Latin American countries (Phase 5). Two opposition governments ruled: Vicente Fox (2000–2006) and Felipe Calderón (2006–2012), both of the Partido de Acción Nacional (PAN), of social-Christian orientation. During this period, threats to democracy began to emerge in the growth of informal power, which became increasingly menacing, such as narco-trafficking.6 In 2007, President Calderón decided to intensify the fight against narco-trafficking into “war” and strengthened U.S. cooperation through the Mérida Initiative. This program transformed the mission of the armed forces, giving priority to the struggle against organized crime, but it has not stopped its growth, nor has it controlled the flow of illicit arms from the United States into Mexico. The outcome of the Mérida Initiative and the military effort has been contrary to what the two governments initially proposed: homicides have increased in an alarming way (from 8 per 100,000 in 2008 to 25 per 100,000 in 2020); the number of criminal groups has grown from two to seven macro-organizations; and so have crimes beyond narco-trafficking, such as kidnapping, gasoline theft, and violations of the human rights of migrants. Although the armed forces have modernized notably, the expansion of crime has not stopped, and the consequence is the structural weakening of civilian government. The Mexican state is moving in the opposite direction to that of a democracy: more missions are being given to the armed forces. And increasingly, they adopt the form of a super-police. In other words, they conduct fewer national defense operations and adapt and train for internal security and police missions. In 2012, the democratic recession began (Phase 6). The old authoritarian-dominant PRI returned to govern with its corrupt practices, and the military came back to empower itself, pushing Congress to enact laws in its favor, including some contrary to the constitution. They succeeded in imposing the Law of Internal Security in December 2017,7 which, after being legislated, was immediately negated by the Supreme Court of Justice on November 15, 2018.8 The Court argued that the legislation did not respect article one of the constitution, which references human rights, and that the military could exercise civilian attributes of power through states of exception by substituting judicial and political authorities and the police forces. For the military, civilian capabilities are low. The Law of Internal Security would resolve this problem by giving the military rights through legal protection to defend their members in contentious cases related to actions where they would be exposed to human rights violations. In other words, decreeing a “state of emergency” is suggested to combat criminal organizations. This arrangement would avoid the supervision and preeminence of human rights, thereby contributing to the democratic recession. In periods of democratic recession, the capacity to govern weakens. The armed forces substitute for the deficiencies in government capacity, even going beyond judicial authorities. One of the reasons that explain the current period of democratic recession is the growth in corruption and the increasing ability of actual illegal powers, such as organized crime. Corruption is an endemic evil in the administration of the resources of the Mexican state. When the military directly administered the state apparatus in the first half of the twentieth century, it was also involved in corruption. However, its corruption was unknown because there were no mechanisms for social and congressional accountability, nor was there transparency in public expenditures. This endemic malady, which has affected almost all Latin

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American political systems, occurs regardless of the government’s ideological orientation – neoliberals, pro-free trade, populists of left or right, or Bolivarians. It precludes making progress toward liberal democracy. Despite the democratic evolution of many state institutions, the defense structure continued being supported by two state secretariats in a structure that originated in 1939: the Secretaría de Defensa Nacional (SEDENA), responsible for the Army and Air Force, and the Secretaría de Marina (SEMAR) for the Navy. Mexico does not have a joint staff of the armed forces nor a civilian-led ministry of defense. Military doctrine remained based on a classic nationalism, focusing on and amplifying internal missions. This also affected the professionalization of the armed forces. It’s the design of an authoritarian system that has not succeeded in advancing positively in its principal mission: neutralizing organized crime. At the 100th anniversary of the Mexican Army in 2013, the military saw the continuity of its institutions as a symbol of strength, despite its vision of looking only to the past: “At one hundred years, the creation of the Mexican Army gives strength to the new generations of women and men who wear the uniform of the Republic.”9 Nonetheless, this continuity and vision toward the past is synonymous with weakness because the military does not evolve along with the democratic state and a globalized world, even in matters of security and defense. The only doors the military institutions opened were international military cooperation due to the exponential growth of the drug-trafficking criminal organizations and U.S. pressure. The United States, noting that Mexico did not have the capacity to combat narco-traffickers and organized crime successfully, helped design the Mérida Initiative in 2007.10 The United States provided US$3.1 billion in 13 years of implementation, in part following the model implemented in Colombia since 1999. Of the total amount, only 30 percent has been direct military assistance; the rest included assistance to civilian government institutions.11 Since the end of the twentieth century, the Mexican military has been living the dichotomy between nationalism and globalism.12 Since the period of democratic recession appeared in 2012 with the declaration of the drug war, the intense military presence is justified to strengthen internal military missions (above all to support public security and intelligence) and to provide strategic “help” to civilians. The military became indispensable for civilians, who are impeded from fighting on the war on drugs. The most distinguished lawyers of the country maintained from the beginning of the drug war that the legal system was not established to combat organized crime successfully with the support of the civilian population: “It could be both a failure to effectively fight real organized crime while also posing a situation of danger to the rights of most of the national population.”13 Accordingly, the military amplified its scope of action in internal missions as it did before, during the height of the revolutionary authoritarianism of the twentieth century, but with the addition that the “principal enemy” – organized crime – provides many legal, political, and operational advantages to promoting its goals. Three political parties have dominated since the beginning of the democratic transition the PRI, the PAN, and the Partido de la Revolución Democrática (PRD). The last two presidents of the PRI, Carlos Salinas de Gortari and Ernesto Zedillo, employed the military for their goals in crucial moments. In the case of Salinas, immediately upon assuming power in January 1989, the powerful union leader Joaquín Hernández was arrested because he had called the oil workers to vote for the opposing candidate, Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas, in the presidential elections of July 1988.14 The Army conducted the arrest, continuing a role it assumed in the twentieth century, responding to the governing party’s political interests. The arrest was made to neutralize the Army’s sympathy toward opposition leader Cárdenas of the emerging party of the left, the PRD. The oil workers supported Cárdenas because he is the son of Lázaro Cárdenas, who in 1938 nationalized the oil industry and created Pemex, the government oil company. Salinas also had

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to face the Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN) toward the end of his mandate in January 1994 in a nonmilitary form. Herein surfaced a disagreement with the armed forces since they asserted they were very close to arresting the EZLN’s Subcomandante Marcos. In this posture change toward the Army, Salinas was influenced by NAFTA going into effect and the political support the EZLN was rapidly gaining. Accordingly, he decided not to take on military containment but instead embarked on a path of political negotiation with the insurgents, the opposite of the anti-subversive 1970s strategy. In the case of Zedillo, the United States tried to influence Mexico’s democratization in matters of defense and security depending on the speed of economic integration, to persuade Mexico (indirectly) to build a civilian-led ministry of defense. The armed forces roundly opposed the proposal.15 Fox and Calderón also opposed the project. The opposition to military reform came from the new parties, the PAN on the right and the PRD on the left. They never incorporated the subject in their agenda for debate in congress. The goal was to have “the backing” of the military and good relations to avoid them blocking their governments, principally the state governments, since the military is critical for containing crime at the local level. In the case of Calderón, giving them almost complete operational control of the “war against narco-trafficking” froze in place the any efforts of military reform.

López Obrador and the Military: From Criticism to Mutual Support López Obrador notably confronted the military at the beginning of his political life. He led social movements in the oil state of Tabasco and, on many occasions, attempted to block access to the oil fields. The military evicted him each time and even arrested him. In 1996, he blocked 51 oil fields.16 From there, he moved on to national prominence and, in the elections of 2000, won the position of Head of Government of the Federal District (Mexico’s capital), as the candidate of the PRD party. In 2006, as a presidential candidate, he accused the PAN of leading an alliance with the PRI, businessmen, and the middle class called the “Mafia in Power.” He alleged he was the victim of fraud that favored his rival, Felipe Calderón. On numerous occasions, he stated that the structure of the government, even the armed forces, belonged to this Mafia.17 In a speech at the Zócalo in Mexico City in October 2014, he remarked, “All the institutions have been captured, the entire government serves only a minority. It’s a hidden dictatorship. Corruption has originated the inequality.”18 After the murder of 423 students in Ayotzinapa on September 26, 2014, during a 2017 visit to the Organization of American States in Washington, DC, he stated that the Army had participated in the massacre of students in Ayotzinapa.19 López Obrador affirmed, “The complaint should be made to the state, not to us, the complaint is to the regime, it should be to Peña Nieto, to the armed forces, to those who were involved in that crime, not to us.”20 Similarly, he noted in a video released on October 27, 2015: “Peña, Chong and the secretaries of the Navy and Defense are mistaken. Instead of telling the truth and castigating those responsible without consideration of any kind, they have maintained a complicit silence, they have distorted the facts.”21 In 2017 and 2018, as his popularity rose gradually among possible candidates for the presidency, he repeatedly affirmed, beginning in his pre-campaign, that he was going to pull the armed forces from the streets and “return them to the barracks.”22 In press releases, SEDENA constantly defended itself from the accusations of AMLO. During 2018, López Obrador, in his speeches about radically changing the direction of the strategy, said that an amnesty would be implemented without clarifying details of the proposal. This idea generated such strong rejection among the military elites and public opinion that he abandoned the proposal because there was significant opposition to pardoning criminals. Above all, the families of victims of violence showed their disapproval.23

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López Obrador’s triumph in the July 1, 2018 elections brought a quick reconciliation between both sides.24 López Obrador announced on the second day of assuming the presidency his reform of the public security and defense system:25 (1) the creation of the National Guard, defining its foundation to be military officers and troops; (2) dismantling the Federal Police, as well as creating the Secretariat of Public Security and Citizen Protection; (3) transforming the civilian intelligence organization based within the Center for Investigation and National Security (CISEN, founded 1989), thus becoming the National Center for Intelligence; and (4) dissolving the Estado Mayor Presidencial, an institution responsible for the security of the president, which grew to 8,000 personnel in 2018 with 90 percent of them coming from SEDENA. This institution oversaw the protection of the president and his family. It was like a secret service, but of a military nature, which somehow meant military surveillance of the president and his activities. López Obrador dissolved it precisely so he would not be watched by the Army, a move some considered disrespectful to the military. This great reform of the defense structure, intelligence, and public security implied the militarization and change of heretofore civilian structures, such as the Federal Police and CISEN by senior officials of SEDENA and SEMAR. Between 2018 and 2020, there was ample growth of the missions of the armed forces, all oriented toward public security and the restructuring and reduction of SEDENA, the reorientation of SEMAR (increasing its responsibilities to control ports), reducing the role of the Secretariat of Communications and Transport, and creating and strengthening the National Guard. This historic military reform can be analyzed by looking at the assigned missions. In 2020, the Mexican military had to divert a large number of its operational resources to support the government’s health effort to address the COVID-19 pandemic. By July, the government reported it had assigned 36,655 personnel from the Army, Navy, and National Guard, which is more than 10 percent of the total personnel, and 20 percent of their operational personnel (see Table 7.3). As 2020 ended, the government decided the armed forces would safeguard the vaccine and its distribution to the population during the first months of 2021.

Old and New Missions of the Armed Forces To the missions performed by the armed forces since the Mexican Revolution, the López Obrador government added the task of public security (such as prosecuting gasoline theft in a new campaign between January and March 2019), helping the United States build a wall to block migrants in the agreements signed in June 2019,26 direct construction work of the new international airport by a military engineer unit (in reality becoming a kind of subcontracting company for public works), and like many armies around the world, supporting the effort against the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020. In a news conference on the morning of July 19, 2020, the government presented complete information about the personnel deployed by the three military services, with the corresponding number dedicated to each mission.27 Table 7.1 summarizes the data presented by Mexican government. The missions of the armed forces in mid-2020 were organized as support missions to public security and were divided into 11 large operations. Table 7.2 presents the personnel levels by functional mission. The first category, “Peace Building Operations,” is notable, and supports public security and the war on narco-trafficking. What stands out regarding the personnel deployed is that the National Guard had twice the number of personnel as the Navy Secretariat in the first year after its creation. Details on each mission provide the total number of military personnel operationally deployed. First, the missions are committed to internal security rather than national defense. Second, they

102  Raúl Benítez M. TABLE 7.1  Mexican armed forces personnel, July 19, 2020

1. Actual number SEDENA SEMAR Guardia Nacional Total 2. Operational forces SEDENA SEMAR Guardia Nacional Total 3. Deployed SEDENA SEMAR Guardia Nacional Total 4. Various support activities to operations SEDENA SEMAR Guardia Nacional Total 5. Equipment Air Force Navy Guardia Nacional

165,454 51,333 103,096 319,883 83,445 18,176 90,091 191,712 71,822 (86%) 15,450 (85%) 76,531 (85%) 163,803 (85%) 11,623 (14%) 2,726 (15%) 13,560 (15%) 27,909 (15%) 78 planes 215 boats and crafts 35 planes

provide medical support for the COVID-19 crisis. And third, the military is impeding the movement northward of migrants from the southern border, per agreement with the United States (more than 25,000 migrants were stopped by mid-2019). In the case of maritime and port security, the Navy performs Coast Guard duties as opposed to the role of a Navy designed for war; and the military performs civil engineering tasks, such as the construction of the airport, refurbishing of hospitals, and support for the construction of the Banco del Bienestar. The extraordinary support for the COVID-19 crisis by the Secretariat of Health and the Mexican Institute of Social Security is a common phenomenon among countries of the world. In 2020, the factories for military uniforms took on the task of making uniforms for doctors and medical personnel. The military supported the civilian population in natural disasters through Plan DN3, Plan Marina, and, now, the National Guard. This is one of the oldest missions of the Mexican armed forces, dating from the 1960s. The protection of strategic installations, especially power facilities, is also a historic mission of the armed forces, in the absence of police TABLE 7.2  Missions of the three military branches and assigned

personnel, July 2020 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Peacekeeping operations COVID-19 health emergency Natural disasters Migrant plan, northern and southern borders Security and eradication Security of strategic installations Protection of oil pipelines Defense of maritime rights Maritime and port security Operations in the Gulf and Pacific Search and rescue

81,694 36,655 4,496 8,146 6,923 7,846 5,800 4,711 878 6,179 475

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trained for that purpose.28 These facts illustrate that military doctrine, the objective of which is to defend national sovereignty, does not correspond with actual military deployments and missions. Table 7.3 presents the operational deployments of the armed forces. The operational deployments indicate that the three branches of the armed forces dedicate themselves to internal and public security to a large number of nonmilitary missions that the constitution assigns TABLE 7.3  Operational deployments of the armed forces, July 19, 2020

1. Peacebuilding operations 81,694 personnel Citizen protection: Nuevo León, Tamaulipas, Jalisco, Guanajuato, Michoacán, Oaxaca, Coahuila, Durango, and Guerrero Operations of interception on land (military posts for strategic security) Air and sea operations Actions to reduce violence and guarantee the economic and social development of the country Maintain the peace and tranquility of the population 2. Emergency medical support for COVID-19 36,655 personnel Deployment of military hospitals Refurbishing hospitals of the Institute of Health and Well-Being Reconversion of operational units Security for hospitals Security for stores and strategic installations of the Social Security Institute (IMSS) Security and sanitation measures at airports Acquisitions of medical equipment and material Refurbishing hospitals Training emergency health professionals Air, land, and maritime transport medical supplies and support for INSABI (the free health-care system in Mexico) and IMSS Producing emergency items in the Factory of Uniforms and Equipment of SEDENA and SEMAR Humanitarian air transport Establishing one national center and 32 state centers for contingency coordination Contracting health professionals Implementing centers of voluntary isolation Designating medical stations’ logistical corridors on both coasts 3. Responding to natural disasters 4,496 personnel Support to distributing pantries Security and surveillance in affected areas Administration of hotels Cleaning streets, drains, and removing trash Establishing administrative cells and community kitchens Assistance for air and land accidents Fighting and putting out forest and urban fires 4. Migrant plan northern and southern borders 8,146 personnel Humanitarian rescue operations Control stations for migrants Military security posts with nonintrusive inspection teams Establishing mobile community kitchens Emergency medical attention Fluvial and maritime border control 5. Security and eradication 6,923 personnel Operations to eradicate drug plants Air reconnaissance Land reconnaissance Locating and judicialization of synthetic drugs Fumigating plantings of drugs Surveillance of posts at airports Destruction of clandestine runways Security and control posts

(continued)

104  Raúl Benítez M. TABLE 7.3  (Continued)

6. Security of strategic installations 7,846 personnel Surveillance of entry and exit Contingency reaction to guard sensitive installations Establishing military security posts in vicinity of installations Maintain adherence to law of the sea Daily and nightly patrols Guard supply and dispatch terminals 7. Protection of oil pipelines 5,800 personnel Operations to combat the illicit market in gasoline Reenforcing installations to control access; secure control rooms and vertical tanks Securing the priority pipelines of PEMEX Surveillance with unmanned aircraft Establishing bases of operations every 20 kilometers Establishing peripheral security during theft of gas and petroleum products Establishing bases of operations for the strategic pipelines to prevent theft of oil Land reconnaissance on foot and motorized to deter and find clandestine theft and alerts for low pressure in the pipelines Coordination with PEMEX to prevent clandestine theft 8. Naval operations to apply the law of the sea 4,711 personnel Operation Sonda Guarantee security and operations of strategic installations of PEMEX Conduct operations against the illegal market of gasoline Prevent and control polluting of the sea by discharge of waste Permanent surveillance to prevent theft of national and foreign ships and naval equipment Operation Camarón Air and maritime patrolling to prevent theft of fishing boats Random physical presence of Navy personnel on shrimp boats Save human lives on the sea Maritime Interdiction Conduct coast guard operations to surveil Mexican maritime zones Intercept crafts carrying narcotics Vaquita Marina Program of integral attention to the Upper Gulf of California Presence of ships and planes, highway control, and mutual assistance with civil authorities 9. Maritime and port security 878 personnel Surveillance, inspection, and control within port facilities Assistance to fiscal and customs authorities to prevent the transit of illegal goods by means of joint inspections when the cargo might represent a risk to national security Neutralize organized crime tries to use these means to ship illegal goods 10. Operations in the Gulf and Pacific 6,179 personnel 11. Search and rescue 475 personnel Respond immediately and effectively to every call for help in national waters Exercise command and control of search and rescue via a National Coordination Center and 33 naval stations on both coasts

to civilian secretariats of the state, as indicated in the detailed breakdown of the 2020 work of SEDENA, SEMAR, and the National Guard. With respect to international missions, the armed forces participate in intensive diplomatic activity in multiple international fora and conduct international military cooperation.29 However, this activity is very recent. In 2014, the president of Mexico announced the military’s participation in United Nations (UN) peacekeeping operations. Nonetheless, by January 2020, only 377 had been trained to participate in those operations.30 Beginning in 2014, Mexican observers participated in UN peacekeeping missions in the Central African Republic, Colombia, Haiti, Mali, and Western Sahara. Unarmed, their role is to observe the verification process of

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peace accords and distribute humanitarian aid.31 In January 2020, the Center for Joint Training of Peacekeeping Operations in Mexico was founded, where elements of SEDENA, SEMAR, and the National Guard are trained as future blue helmets.32 The late arrival to peacekeeping operations compared to other countries shows additional evidence of the Mexican armed forces’ vocation for internal security. Yet, despite devoting 100 percent of the military’s forces to guarantee Mexico’s internal security, the situation has become progressively worse, and the action of criminal organizations has strengthened between 2019 and 2020.33

Conclusions It is impossible to win the war on drugs in Mexico,34 given the market dynamics of supply and demand. It is because Mexico is caught in a territorial and geographic prisoner’s dilemma. It’s on the route between Colombia and the United States and has internal vulnerabilities that impede conducting the war with the possibility of success. At the same time, the governmental and institutional organization of defense and security is not designed for twenty-first-century challenges. In Mexico, the military contributes to security, but not to democratic security. Because of the extent of the military’s missions, it has adapted itself to the concept of multidimensional security of the Organization of American States (declared in 2003) or the concept of multilevel armed forces. This does not favor building a democratic state based on law, where all the state institutions develop fully so the armed forces can retire from the scene at some point in the future. The central part of their existence as institutions of the state has been linked to authoritarian governments, occasionally populist, of all political tendencies. After having been a bitter critic of the military for more than 20 years, President López Obrador became dependent on them and assigned them additional nonmilitary responsibilities. One of his most important decisions was dismantling the Federal Police. With that, he opened the door to the notion that the only solution to public security problems is in the hands of the military. The legal framework that regulates municipal police (Article 115, Constitution) contradicts military deployments, principally in rural areas. Because of the preceding points, the context is not encouraging to successfully undertake the military’s principal mission of the twenty-first century – combating organized crime. In other words, narco-trafficking has the road paved for success, while the government and armed forces have it full of obstacles. One of the main elements favoring the military in Mexico is that no president or political party has ever questioned it. In the minds of presidents and the vast majority of political leaders, the military has always been considered the key institution to “save” the country from ungovernability and, similarly, to fulfill operations of a wide magnitude. For example, the military has developed well-organized operational capabilities to help the population against floods and earthquakes. Another weakness of the civilian authorities has been the lack of a viable project to strengthen police forces to fight common and organized crime. In the last 30 years, colonels and generals have always been appointed to public security bodies to lead the fight against drug trafficking. Although López Obrador criticized the military publicly during his several campaigns for president since 2006, in private he affirmed to U.S. Ambassador Antonio Oscar Garza that he only trusted the military. In a declassified Wikileaks cable, the ambassador said: Drug consumption is on the rise, noted the Ambassador, and counter-narcotic and counter-terrorism programs must be important themes of Mexico’s next administration. AMLO agreed and told the Ambassador that both governments must find ways to increase

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cooperation. AMLO then laid out his two-fold plan for combating both issues. First, he said, he wants to give the military more power and authority in counter-narcotics operations because it is the least corrupt of all of Mexico’s agencies and can be the most effective. He pointed out, however, that this would require a constitutional amendment but felt strongly he could get it done. He also explained that giving the military more authority would limit Mexico’s Prosecutor General’s Office (PGR), which AMLO considered too corrupt to have the lead on counter-narcotics.35 The armed forces have characteristics that would obstruct a successful war on drug trafficking. The problem arises with its division into three ministries: SEDENA: Army and Air Force; SEMAR: Navy, with the role of a Coast Guard and the deployment on land of special units of marine infantry, and the National Guard. Moreover, they are not headed by a civilian minister of defense. Commanders are two military officers on active duty and one retired, the first two with the rank of ministers in the cabinet of the federal government. From these political conditions, 16 factors weigh against the possibility of strategically winning the war against organized crime: 1. There is no doctrine for war or modern military equipment with offensive capacity. 2. The constitutional and legal system of Mexico is not appropriate for combating organized crime. 3. An offensive war doctrine does not exist in accord with the principle of nonintervention in the internal affairs of other states. Diplomacy is made more viable, but this restricts the armed forces from being more decisive actors. 4. Mexico does not have enemies or conflicts with neighbors at the military level. There are only three land borders: the United States, Guatemala, and Belize. In the past 100 years, there has not been any significant foreign military incident; the last was the 1914 intervention in Veracruz by the United States. 5. Equipment is obsolete. Given the absence of enemies, governments do not prioritize modernization. The high cost of equipment is the most serious problem facing the Air Force and Navy. 6. Defense doctrine is based on the military’s participation in internal affairs: collaborating for “social peace,” confronting internal enemies of the state and assisting the people and nation. In this sense, even though military doctrine states the opposite, the military is a political power at the national, state, and local levels. Many local governments do not have police forces and depend on military commanders and units. There has been a growing dependence on the part of many state governors who seek military support in a semipermanent way. 7. The military covers the police vacuum, but training is not based on police doctrine, crime prevention, and working closely with the population. 8. War doctrine is nationalist despite foreign assistance from the Mérida Initiative. 9. In Mexico, neither narco-politics nor the corruption and money laundering that derive from them is fought. Therefore, many military operations against narco-trafficking lack results. For example, this is evident in the state of Tamaulipas, where governors have been accused of collaborating with criminal organizations. Although there is convincing judicial evidence provided by foreign sources, there has been no investigation conducted by national judicial entities. 10. The intense deployment of the armed forces in combating narco-traff icking generates human rights problems. There are scandals of human rights violations by the Army

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and Navy. Judgments against the military are few, and they rarely are punished. The situation generates conf lict with civil society and international organizations. The armed forces have been accused of acts of “omission” where they allowed criminal activity, even though they were not directly responsible. For example, the Army did not want to participate in the investigation of the death of 43 students in Iguala on September 26, 2014. Similarly, they are accused of extrajudicial executions, such as the case in Tlatlaya on June 30, 2014, where a battalion killed 22 young people, and no members of the military were injured. The main problem is that there is no equivalence between the constitution and human rights laws, and the military training and tactics employed. 11. The structures of the military police were expanded. These were initially created to guarantee discipline and order within SEDENA. With López Obrador, they were strengthened to take to the streets and to become the military base of the National Guard. 12. The Army has a growing conflict with civilian political elites: One, with respect to disagreements about human rights, both with the National Commission for Human Rights and nongovernmental organizations, national and international (e.g., Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, Americas Human Rights, Inter-American Commission for Human Rights). Second, with political representatives of MORENA, the party of López Obrador, who disagreed with the war on “narco-trafficking” until December 2018. 13. The anti-Mexico rhetoric of U.S. President Donald J. Trump affected the implementation of military cooperation in the war against narco-trafficking; there are periods of agreement and suspicion between both governments. The military elites of the two countries work hard to ensure that national political events do not affect binational cooperation. 14. The creation of the National Guard in May 2019 implied a fundamental change among the military institutes since it expanded from two to three military forces. It also affected the balance between civilians and the military, since it gave the latter direct control over public security.36 This is because the majority of the members of the National Guard come from the military. 15. The crisis in U.S.-Mexico cooperation due to the arrest of Cienfuegos. The Mexican Congress proposes to control the activity of foreign security agencies, civilian, and military, particularly the U.S. DEA, which can affect the efficiency of cooperation. Then-U.S. Attorney General William Barr stated, “The passage of this legislation can only benefit the violent transnational criminal organizations and other criminals that we are jointly fighting.”37 16. The growth of militarization in the current government of López Obrador is possible because the Army, Navy, and National Guard have broad support from the population. In other words, it is a militarization with popular support, despite criticism from civil society organizations that maintain that this process affects democracy in the country.

Notes 1 Patricia H. Escamilla-Hamm, “The Guardia Nacional (National Guard): Why a New Militarized Police in Mexico,” Small Wars Journal, December 8, 2020. 2 León Krauze, “Mexico’s reléase of El Chapo´s son is a Shocking Capitulation,” The Washington Post, October 18, 2019. 3 Dictamen de las comisiones unidas de gobernación y de estudios legislativos, segunda con proyecto de decreto por el que se adicionan diversas disposiciones de la Ley de Seguridad Nacional (Government of Mexico, 2020). 4 For the most complete analysis of the Mexican Army as an instrument of political control, see Roderic Ai Camp, Generals in the Palacio: The Military in Modern Mexico (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1992), 24.

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5 Raúl Benítez Manaut, “Reforming Civil-Military Relations During Democratization,” in Mexico’s Democratic Challenges. Politics, Government, and Society, eds. Andrew Selee and Jaqueline Peshard (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2010), 182. 6 John Bailey, The Politics of Crime in Mexico. Democratic Governance in a Security Trap (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2014), 143. 7 “Ley de Seguridad Interior. Texto Vigente,” Diario Oficial de la Federación, México, December 21, 2017. 8 Supreme Court of Mexico, Press Release, “La Suprema Corte de Justicia de la nación invalidó la ley de seguridad interior en su totalidad,” November 15, 2018, https://www.internet2.scjn.gob.mx/red2/ comunicados/noticia.asp?id=5794. 9 General Salvador Cienfuegos, “Historia de los ejércitos mexicanos,” Secretaría de la Defensa Nacional, Secretaria de Educación Pública, México: INEERM, 2014, 10. 10 Raúl Benítez Manaut,“The Merida Initiative: Challenges in the Fight Against Crime and Drug Trafficking in Mexico,” Real Instituto Elcano, Madrid, ARI 130/2007 (December 18, 2007). 11 “Mexico: Background and U.S. Relations,” Congressional Research Service, Washington, DC, Doc. R42917 (May 12, 2020), 18. 12 Raúl Benítez Manaut, “Security and Governance: The Urgent Need for State Reform,” in Mexico’s Politics and Society in Transition, eds. Joseph S. Tulchin and Andrew Selee (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2003), 68. 13 José Ramón Cossío, “The Justice System,” in Mexico’s Politics and Society in Transition, eds. Joseph S. Tulchin and Andrew Selee (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2003), 227. 14 “‘La quina’: el ex líder sindical que desafió a Salinas,” Forbes Mexico, November 11, 2013. 15 Craig A. Deare, A Tale of Two Eagles. The US-Mexico Bilateral Defense Relationship Post Cold War (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017), 154. 16 Pablo Ferri, “López Obrador, cuando bloqueó 51 pozos petroleros en 1996: La cárcel es un honor cuando se lucha por la justicia,” El País, August 7, 2019. 17 Andrés Manuel López Obrador, La Mafia que se adueñó de México … y el 2012 (Barcelona: Grijalbo Mondadori, 2010). 18 “Palabras de AMLO en el Zócalo, YouTube, October 28, 2014,” https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=ZZP8U5OcwTU. 19 “PRI, PAN y Osorio critican a AMLO por acusaciones contra el Ejército; serénense, les responde,” sinembargo.mx, March 16, 2017, https://www.sinembargo.mx/16-03-2017/3174308. 20 J. Jesús Esquivel, “Reclamen a Peña y al Ejército por lo de Ayotzinapa, no a mí: AMLO,” Proceso, March 15, 2017. 21 RicardoAlemán,“AMLOmandaríaaprisiónaPeña,Osorio,yCienfuegos…,”Milenio,March23,2017,https://www. milenio.com/opinion/ricardo-aleman/itinerario-politico/amlo-mandaria-prision-pena-osorio-cienfuegos. 22 Jorge Carrasco, “Sedena revira a AMLO: Infundios, los señalamientos sobre violaciones a derechos humanos,” Proceso, March 21, 2017. 23 “López Obrador propone que amnistía a delincuentes se decida en consulta ciudadana,” Animal Político, December 5, 2017. 24 “AMLO mensaje a las Fuerzas Armadas,” YouTube, November 25, 2018, https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=YaelAM41Uzk. 25 “Mensaje de AMLO a las Fuerzas Armadas,” YouTube, December 2, 2018, https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=2PxMcQpvhYc. 26 David Pérez, “Trump llega a un acuerdo migratorio con México y retira la amenaza de aranceles,” El País, June 8, 2019. 27 Transcripción de la “Conferencia Mañanera,” Andrés Manuel López Obrador, CANAL 14 de Red Abierta de TV, June 19, de junio de 2020, 7:00 to 9:00 a.m. Presentaron la información el secretario de Defensa Nacional, General Luis Cresencio Sandoval, y el secretario de Marina José Rafael Ojeda Durán. Esta es la fuente de los Cuadros 1 y 2, y del listado de misiones. 28 Andrés Manuel López Obrador. “Transcripción de la Conferencia Mañanera,” https://lopezobrador.org. mx/, accessed July 19, 2020. 29 “Palabras pronunciadas por el c. general Salvador Cienfuegos Zepeda, secretario de la defensa nacional, el día 10 ene. 2018, durante el XXIX reunión de embajadores y cónsules 2018,” Channel 1 Los Angeles, January 12, 2018. 30 México, ADN 40, Canal 140 SKY, transmission July 5, 2020, 11:30 to 11:40. 31 Manuel Espino, “Fuerzas armadas se incorporan a cascos azules,” El Universal, January 13, 2020. 32 Government of Mexico, Secretaría de Defensa Nacional, “Presidente inaugura Centro de Entrenamiento Conjunto de Operaciones de Mantenimiento de la Paz en México,” January 8, 2020. 33 Mary Beth Sheridan, “As Mexico’s Security Deteriorates, The Power of The Military Grows,” Washington Post, December 17, 2020.

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34 Tony Payan, Kathleen Staudt, and Z. Anthony Kruszewski, eds., A War that Can´t Be Won. Bi-National Perspectives on the War on Drugs (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2013). 35 U.S. Department of State Cable, “Apocalypse Not: AMLO Assures Ambassador He Will Have a Strong, Sound Administration,” January 31, 2006, Wikileaks website, Original Classification: Confidential. 36 Ernesto López Portillo, “El fin de la seguridad pública en vía civil,” Animal Político, October 14, 2020. 37 U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Public Affairs, “Statement by Attorney General William P. Barr on Mexico’s Proposed Legislation,” December 11, 2020, www.justice.gov/opa/pr/statementattorney-general-william-p-barr-mexicos-proposed-legislation.

8 BRAZIL The Evolution of Civil-Military Relations and Security Luis Bitencourt

The Curious Incident On November 15, 1889, under the leadership of Army Marshall Deodoro da Fonseca, a group of Army military officers staged a coup d’état, deposed Emperor Pedro II, and turned Brazil into a republic. From that moment on, throughout the entire twentieth century, the military would become somewhat of a shadow presence in Brazil’s politics. Because Brazilian military leaders were not linked to any of the forces contending for control of Brazilian politics – such as the coffee producers (from São Paulo), the cattle creators (from Minas Gerais), or traditional political clans – they influenced the political processes1 either indirectly as a self-defined poder moderador (moderating power) in the political arena or, directly, as a self-defined “guardian of democracy.”2 In 1964, amid a political crisis and social turmoil, this perception produced the longest military intervention in the Brazilian political realm: Following a coup d’état, the military remained in control until 1985. Of course, any disinterested political scientist would qualify this period as a “dictatorship.” But even this qualification today remains the object of heated ideological disputes, and the military does not accept the classification of “dictatorship” for that period.3 As an obvious corollary, during this period, the military forged a robust, broad, and sophisticated security apparatus, inspired by the rationale provided by the National Security Doctrine, which had been developed by the Escola Superior de Guerra. “National security” was one of the two key pillars of the regime – the other was “development.” The Escola Superior defined national security as “the relative degree of guarantee, by political, economic, psychological, and military actions, that the State provides at a given time to the Nation which it rules, for the realization or maintenance of National Objectives in spite of existing or potential oppositions or pressures.”4 By including security and development in the same concept, the military had a rationale to suffocate subversion and guerrilla movements, repress criticisms against the regime, maintain domestic order, and even promote a model for economic development, which, at least during the early 1970s, produced high rates of “economic development.”5 In the end, the national security establishment was competent to accomplish all its goals. The order was maintained, subversion and guerrilla movements were defeated and dismantled, and efforts to unseat the military in power were deflected. But this happened at a cost to democracy, civil rights liberties, the rule of law, and political freedom. DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-9

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Therefore, when this 21-year period of military intervention ended, many greeted the end of the dictatorship with exhilaration, the seating of a civilian president (still indirectly elected) in 1985, and the approval of a new federal constitution in 1988. These initial moments of transition to democracy were delicate and complex, yet surprisingly smooth: The military withdrew from the political realm in a controlled, quiet, and relatively organized way and the judicial system institutionally channeled the eventual impetus of vengeance. It would take longer to adjust military governance to the democratic environment, and it would take even longer to modernize and transform the formidable security apparatus6 that had been built during the dictatorship primarily to maintain the military in power. Finally, on March 15, 1990, Brazilians could greet with understandable enthusiasm their new president of the republic, finally chosen in a popular election after such a long period. Fernando Collor de Mello was elected after a bombastic campaign to fight corruption and privileges among the governing elites. But, before completing his second year in power, he was impeached for corruption and forced to resign.7 During the next decade, there was a sense of relative political normality with Brazil under Presidents Itamar Franco and Fernando Henrique Cardoso. But then, on June 6, 2005, as if they were watching a poorly written chapter of a soap opera, Brazilians learned about the mensalão (monthly kickback) corruption scandal within President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva’s administration.8 And this was only the first of a long series of corruption scandals that plagued the 14 years of the Partido dos Trabalhadores – Workers’ Party or PT administration. By 2018, the Car Wash Operation (Lava Jato) had unveiled a gigantic corruption scheme that took former Lula da Silva and dozens of politicians and entrepreneurs to jail, impeached President Dilma Rousseff, and produced several political aftershocks in the Brazilian democracy.9 In the past, for less dramatic reasons, the Brazilian military did not hesitate to intervene, either to preserve internal order and security or to “save” Brazil’s democracy. This time, indifferent to calls for “intervention” coming from many parts of civil society, the military did not move a muscle. Conversely, the military clung firmly to its professional role and constitutional mission. Often, the only voice heard from military leaders was a reaffirmation of their confidence that Brazil’s democratic institutions should be trusted to address and resolve the crises. And “this was the curious incident.”

Brazil as a Case Study for Security and Democracy This book is concerned with “Security and Democracy in Latin America.” Not surprisingly, when Latin America is mentioned in connection with security and democracy, the result is an immediate association with military dictatorships. Indeed, the history of Latin America over the last century is plagued by military interventions and dictatorships installed in the name of national security. At first glance, the case of Brazil analyzed in this chapter is not different from other Latin American countries. From the very beginning of Brazil’s history as a republic, the Brazilian military – as a relatively homogeneous actor forged upon positivist values and a strong institutional culture – often felt encouraged to intervene – sometimes in a subtle way, other times not so much – in the political realm. Quite often, military leaders intervened either to preserve security and stability or to correct flaws in the Brazilian political establishment. But, on occasion, democratic institutions did not show major concerns in keeping security establishments under control. Although discreetly, and not strictly in a planned way, much has changed in the Brazilian military mindset and in Brazil’s security establishment since 1985.

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As a result, there is a curious paradox: On the one hand, the Brazilian military – as the most obvious security actor – has been a staunch defender of democracy. On the other, when it perceived that democracy could be at risk, the military leaders were never hesitant to “adjust” democratic values and intervene in the political field “to secure the democratic regime.”10 Notwithstanding, the variable Brazilian military requires a more nuanced consideration. This expression identifies a complex – yet homogeneous – establishment cemented by vivid traditions and a well-defined institutional culture. Somewhat paradoxically – (if this is considered “interventionist,” trace the absence of major external threats and the rarity of wars in Brazil’s modern history) – the military enjoys a very favorable reputation among Brazilians. Indeed, over the last decades, public opinion surveys consistently present the armed forces as the most reliable Brazilian institution. The Brazilian interpretation of democracy also requires some consideration. Although democracy was adopted and became a declared political value from Brazil’s beginning as a republic, the political history of Brazil during the twentieth century shows that the Brazilian view of democracy has little resemblance – in both definition and practice – with an idealized, liberal democracy built upon healthy institutions, checks and balances, and respected political practices. All things considered, “Brazilian democracy” is a complex mix of relatively sophisticated institutions and a comprehensive legal framework counting on relatively fragile accountability practices and processes in a society marked by profound inequalities. For example, in practice, it is the armed forces rather than Congress that is the most important actor shaping national security in Brazil. Therefore, to assess the relationship between democracy and security, it is necessary to analyze how the large security apparatus built during the military dictatorship – under the rationale of the National Security Doctrine – has been transformed over the last 35 years and how this new security model is consistent with democracy. For this purpose, this analysis of Brazil’s current security establishment will employ a “checks and balances” model to consider how the mandate and the powers of organizations responsible for national security are defined and legally supported, and how these tasks and powers are controlled and overseen by the other branches of government.

The Authoritarian Regime and the Transition to Democracy So, regardless of whether it is qualified as a dictatorship, the military regime installed in March 1964 was peculiar. It was not a democracy, although President Ernesto Geisel referred to it once as a “relative democracy.”11 From the very beginning, as soon as the military seized the political aspects of governing, it adopted several legal measures to reassert its control over the political establishment, but it did not immediately close the Congress, for example. The hardening of the regime would have happened gradually over the following months. On occasion, this regime expelled opposition voices, abrogated political rights, dismantled political parties, resorted to repression and censorship, kept the entire political system under close control, did not allow for free and fair elections, and stayed in power for 21 years. But it kept the Congress working for most of the time, had a presidential rotation every four years, and made its decisions based on a legal – yet, on occasion of questionable legitimacy, through the Institutional Acts – framework.12 From a historical perspective, the military coup happened as a series of military interferences into democracy. But, again, the expression “Brazilian democracy” requires further reflection as does “military dictatorship.” Military dictatorship captures the repression, censorship, and limitations of civil and political rights during that period of Brazilian history. But it neglects to

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provide a fair picture of the motivations for the coup that led the military to power.13 It also fails to capture the difference between an authoritarian regime under one caudillo – a common presence in the history of several Latin American countries – and the rotating Brazilian presidents of every four years (although they were all Army generals and indirectly chosen). It also does not mention that Congress was functioning for most of those dictatorship years. And it does not underscore that the decision to reopen (abertura) the regime was made and controlled from the inside, by the military in power at the time. The end of this regime and the installation of democracy would happen, as anticipated by Geisel, in a gradual, peaceful, and controlled way – as compared, for example, with Argentina – but not without a touch of surprise and deep emotions. But during this long period of the return to democratic “normality,” it soon became clear that while the political left wanted to turn the restoration of democracy into a victorious conquest, the military leaders struggled to keep it as a concession.14 This slow and gradual transition process recommends a more careful observation of the security organizations transformed or created after the authoritarian regime ended. There was no sharp division between the old and the new political moment. Some changes happened before the end of the military regime in anticipation of democracy, such as the 1983 termination of the Department of Information Operations – Center for Internal Defense Operations (DOI/CODI) in the Army regional commands.15 Other changes occurred because of the sheer incompatibility with a democratic environment. The “Sectorial Intelligence System,” for example, with intelligence divisions in all civilian ministries, ended up being perceived as (slowly) obsolete by the late 1980s and was subsequently dismantled in 1990.

The Security Establishment during the Military Regime As soon as it grabbed power, the military initially moved to adopt measures to secure the regime and, soon after, expanded it to all sectors of the administration. These decisions were surprisingly swift; the National Security Doctrine provided the rationale, and changes were always implemented upon a legal framework. In those days, the military was less concerned with external or traditional threats than with internal ones. For external threats within the defense realm – as noted in this chapter – Brazil counted on a strategic model in which the paramount concern was Argentina and had its forces distributed according to this concept. The main challenge for the military leaders was to quickly reorganize all security forces to face domestic challenges. And they were fast to begin establishing a gigantic apparatus, beginning with the creation of an intelligence service as early as 40 days after the coup. The security establishment was organized along four levels. At the highest was the president of the republic, a four-star army general, and the military ministers, including general officers (Navy, Army, Air Force, Joint Staff, Military Cabinet, and director of the Intelligence Service), advised by the National Security Council (NSC), which was responsible for producing the National Security Concept and assisted the president in the processes of canceling political rights during the most repressive moments of the military regime.16 Below that were the military forces who responded to traditional defense threats and domestic threats, including the organization of specific intelligence agencies and counterguerrilla units. Each military service had its own intelligence organization. The Navy had the Navy Intelligence Center, the Army had the Army Intelligence Center, and the Air Force had the Air Force Intelligence Center. During this period, these organizations were dedicated to gathering intelligence related to domestic insurgency and subversion. In close association with these efforts, it was the federal police within the Ministry of Justice that enforced punishment for

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crimes against the union and participated in the National Intelligence System with its Division of Security and Intelligence. At the state level, the state governors counted on the military and civilian police. The military police was directly subordinated to state governors but coordinated by the military through the Inspectorate General of Military Police. The civilian police also had Departments for Political and Social Order, which closely supervised political activism against the military regime.17 From the Geisel administration (1974–1979) on, coinciding with the beginning of the “opening” process, the NSC’s political influence was diminished. During the João Figueiredo administration (1979–1985), the last government of the authoritarian regime, the National Secretariat of the NSC directed its activities to oversee and coordinate strategic themes and regions, such as Borders Stripe (Faixa de Fronteiras) and Calha Norte Project (Northern Region to the Amazon River). The National Intelligence Service (Serviço Nacional de Informações o SNI)18 was established to provide the necessary intelligence for the president’s decision-making and to be the central organization of the National Intelligence System (Sistema Federal de Informações),19 a vast organization that included the military intelligence services and Security and Intelligence Divisions (Divisões de Segurança e Informações) in all ministries; and the military police (subordinated to the Governors of State) but also under the coordination of an Army general. The Army also counted on the DOI/ CODI in each Army Command (Detachment for Intelligence Operations and Center for the Defense of the Internal Order) that had played a prominent role in curbing political activism and urban guerrilla actions in the Army’s areas. Therefore, from 1964 to 1990, in addition to hundreds of military officers (mostly in the reserve) disseminated in different government positions, the government counted upon six general officers with the status of Minister of State (Minister-Chief of the Military Cabinet, Minister-Chief of the National Intelligence Service, Minister-Chief of the Joint Staff, and Ministers of the Navy, Army, and Air Force). Thus, just by considering the magnitude of the military presence in all corners of the administration, at the government and state levels, it is easy to understand the complexity of the transition between the authoritarian and the civilian administration that replaced it. By the same token, the redesigning of the security establishment and its adaptation to a fully democratic environment was complex, slow, and difficult. To capture the complexity of this process and the resulting national security establishment that replaced the “old regime,” it is essential to analyze not only how, why, and how much of that apparatus was dismantled to adjust to democracy requirements, but also how the military missions were transformed to respond to current security needs and how democratic institutions presently define and control security and the armed forces.20

The Transition’s Tortuous Pathway Although the end of the military regime can be defined by a specific date, March 14, 1985, the transition process cannot be rigorously demarcated in time. Its beginning could be considered the 1974 announcement by Geisel that he would begin a process of political abertura. Others would consider it the approval of the 1979 amnesty law or in the voting (defeated) for the Diretas Já (“Direct Elections Now”) amendment in 1983.21 Each of these events affected the transition to democracy. They also contributed to undermining the image of the military, and they influenced the establishment of the resulting democratic regime in Brazil (there is a reasonable argument that the military’s reluctance to intervene in more recent political crises relates to negative memories from the dictatorship). But the Figueiredo administration and the military still controlled the political transition process up to the end.22 A fundamental piece for this controlled transition was the approval of an “amnesty law” in 1979.23 By pardoning all those who had committed political crimes and “crimes associated with

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political crimes,” the law would establish a legal barrier to future legal prosecutions and retaliation related to events that occurred between September 2, 1961 and August 15, 1979. Preventing retaliation was an important legal step for Figueiredo to finally conclude the abertura process and allow the return of democracy in 1985. Still, from the very beginning up to the end of his tenure (1979–1984), Figueiredo had to face a complicated and multifaceted problem: governing under difficult economic times. Once responsible for “miraculous” growth rates, the economic model was showing cracks everywhere, and inflation was spiraling out of control. It proved a challenge to maintain the political “opening” process against internal opposition from the linha-dura (hard-liner) military and to continue and control the process when the left was pressuring and producing popular waves to speed up the opening. In late 1984, according to the military agenda for the abertura, a civilian president (Tancredo Neves) was selected by an electoral college, and March 15, 1985, was chosen for his inauguration. The military dictatorship was finally coming to an end after 21 years. For the armed forces, the net result of the transition strategy was very positive if considered against its long period of involvement with domestic politics. In 1985, the military withdrew from the political arena and returned to the barracks in relative peace and tranquility, although some were not happy. In contrast with Argentina, for example, where the military lost many prerogatives, the Brazilian military could keep its leadership, governance structure, institutions, and archives; moreover, thanks to the amnesty law, the Brazilian military could not be a target of retaliative legal processes. Yet, they would later find their involvement in politics for so long had left profound distortions in their organization, structure, professional perception of positioning within a democratic regime, and even their view that such a deep transformation – the return to democracy – was necessary. The military was less effective though in crafting its new professional role within a democracy. For example, the Escola Superior, which had been so capable when developing the National Security Doctrine, did not have the same relevance in providing a road map for the armed forces in a democratic environment. It appeared that when the end of the dictatorship was approaching, a state of denial and lethargy had paralyzed the military leaders. Any reasonable observer would imagine that a comprehensive reform in the state’s security and defense apparatus, which had been tailored to respond to and protect the military regime, would be among the first decisions of a new government succeeding this long authoritarian era. And perhaps this reform would have been on Neves’ agenda, but it cannot be known because his death imploded all expectations. With some emotional tension and backstage intrigue to undermine the process, Vice President Jose Sarney was, instead, confirmed as president, and no major reform happened in the security sector. The armed forces and security establishments were untouched, as was the feared intelligence apparatus. Priorities had clearly changed.24 Sarney, an experienced politician, knew that the political transition drama required some stability in this highly emotional moment, which only the military could provide. As a result, no major transformation was forced on the security establishments, and reform expectations were transferred to the Constituent Assembly.25

Surprising Changes in Brazil’s Traditional Threats Strategic Framework In the meantime, an external actor would unexpectedly intervene in the process to change Brazil’s strategic military posture. In May 1985, Argentine President Raúl Alfonsín proposed creating a bilateral system for nuclear safeguards and invited Sarney to visit Argentina’s nuclear enrichment facilities. For the Brazilian military, Argentina had for decades been the primary

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external “hypothesis of conflict” that had guided its strategic planning and defense forces deployment, and vice versa. In the early 1980s, Figueiredo had made some steps to improve bilateral relations with Argentina – prompted by Brazil’s interest to build the Itaipu Dam – but the relationship was still nascent. When Sarney took over the presidency, the bilateral agenda was still frozen by mutual suspicion over the possible existence of “opaque” nuclear programs – and rocket and missile developments – in both countries.26 Therefore, Alfonsín’s gesture was strategically important and was reciprocated by Sarney with an invitation to Alfonsín to visit Brazil’s nuclear facilities.27 In November 1988, during another visit to Argentina, Sarney agreed to create a bilateral program that would allow both countries to advance the peaceful use of nuclear energy.28 These extraordinary steps of presidential diplomacy were initially met with suspicion by the Brazilian military. Yet, they generated a political space that, in the end, assuaged the regional rivalry and resulted in a joint regime for the peaceful use of nuclear energy. As a baseline for the agreements, both countries pledged not to conduct nuclear tests, even if “for peaceful purposes,” but maintained the interest to preserve the use of nuclear propulsion.29 As a collateral outcome, this affected Brazil’s perception of threat and forced the military to begin thinking about the need for a comprehensive strategic review. Yet, this would also mean removing a classic perception of threat in a moment when the military was politically defensive and vulnerable toward domestic political pressures and revenge at the outset of the dictatorship. At the time, the military leaders were very concerned with the impacts of the National Constituent Assembly and the prospects of a new constitution being discussed in Congress. A strategic overhaul would have to wait for more dramatic movements.

Frustrating Impacts from the National Constituent Assembly The 1987–1988 National Constituent Assembly was the first major political movement after the military regime that could affect security, military governance, and military prerogatives. But the military proved quick to adapt to this political challenge. In full agreement with the law, each service installed a lobby in the Constituent Assembly “to help … advising and clarify on topics related to security, defense, and the military.”30 Indeed, this moment offers an excellent example of the military’s ability to rapidly adapt to the rules of the democratic process, advance its views, and protect its prerogatives. The three military branches officially registered representation (“parliamentary advisors”) to the Constituent, and, in a purely political process designed to channel all the anxieties and ideals of the society repressed for over two decades, the military effectively organized a lobby to present and defend its interests. As such, it succeeded in keeping the authorization in the 1988 Constitution for the military to act if the preservation of law and order is threatened.31 In terms of “security,” the new Constitution was truly made with eyes on the past. In what refers to “security” and the military, it was discussed and written under a “exorcist’s mindset” and aimed at preventing the eventual return of a (military) dictatorship. The Assembly deleted all references, in the new Constitution, to the “national security doctrine” – which had been critical to help the military suppress the opposition to finish the military regime. Overall, references on “security” and “national security” in the 1988 Federal Law were replaced by “defense” and “national defense.” The resulting 1988 Federal Constitution maintained most of the military prerogatives and military interests, in particular, its ability to intervene domestically to maintain “internal order.”32 Therefore, deeper transformations in the security paradigm would still have to wait … until Collor de Mello was elected president.

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The Military under Heavy Attack … Finally On March 15, 1990, Collor de Mello entered the Palacio do Planalto as the first president elected by the people after the end of the military regime, and his entrance could not have been more theatrical or bombastic. On his first day as president, he issued a Provisional Decree,33 demolishing the security structure and heavily hitting the military establishment, including the Secretaria de Assessoramento da Defesa Nacional (SADEN) and the intelligence organization, the once-powerful SNI.34 For the security establishment and the military, that was the real day-after of the military dictatorship, even if delayed by five years. The extinction of SADEN produced a surprising collateral effect in military planning. This organization was responsible for coordinating the National Strategic Concept, the highest level document from which all Army planning would derive. As this task was not first delegated to another institution, the armed forces did not have a strategic-level document to align their respective planning. So, after an initial shock, they improvised and drafted plans based on the available budget. Cardoso would finally address the institutional solution for this defense governance issue with the creation of a Ministry of Defense and the publication of a defense policy. Collor de Mello replaced the SNI with the Departamento de Inteligência within a newly formed Secretariat for Strategic Affairs. Although this was the first time the word inteligência appeared in the Brazilian legal lexicon, it was not defined. Therefore, the mandate and the searching powers of this new organization were never legally clarified. As a result, the SNI, one of the emblematic organizations of the military dictatorship was terminated, and a new organization was created to replace it, but aside from the removal of the military, it could continue doing what it had done before. In addition, the legislation made no mention of controls or congressional oversight of this sensitive activity, particularly when it focused mostly on Brazilian citizens. The net result was a downsizing of the organization and its demilitarization. As an ironic paradox – perhaps typical of the “fantastic realism” of Brazilian bureaucracy – at the re-inauguration of the Brazilian democracy, Collor de Mello dismantled the SNI and created a new intelligence organization with a strong instrument, a Provisional Decree. In May 1964, a few weeks after the coup and the dictatorship, the military had created the SNI with a bill sent to Congress. In practice, under a nebulous mandate and counting on a cadre of personnel from the extinct SNI, this department did not show a profound institutional change in terms of adjusting to a democratic environment. However, it did suffer minor bureaucratic adjustments during the subsequent administration under Franco, such as its promotion to sub-secretariat.35 On December 7, 1999, in a bill submitted to Congress, Cardoso created the Brazilian Intelligence Agency (Agência Brasileira de Inteligência) – subordinate to the Institutional Security Cabinet and the Brazilian Intelligence System.36 The new organization was responsible for “the process of obtaining and analyzing intelligence information and the production of knowledge necessary for Executive Branch decision making, besides protecting the sensitive and strategic information of the Brazilian State.” In what was truly remarkable, considering Brazilian history vis-a-vis democracy, the law established that the control and external oversight of intelligence activity should be exerted by the legislative branch, as defined by the National Congress.37,38 Although Collor de Mello stayed in power for about two years before resigning on December 29, 1992, amid an impeachment process for corruption, his tenure had an important effect on the security establishment built by the military. The intelligence organizations were profoundly affected and, after some time, were finally more consistent with a democratic environment. And the military was also forced to redesign its institutions to make them consistent with a democratic state and civilian governance. In 1985, the military had been forced to withdraw from the political arena and had no plan B to implement a new security model; Collor de Mello’s short but bombastic intervention gave it the necessary motivation.

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So, for the Brazilian military, the bad news was that Collor de Mello dismantled the military security concept still lingering in 1990. But the good news was that he dismantled the national security concept still lingering and the armed forces were forced to review its governance, strategic posture, and force organization.

A Classical Force Transformation By the mid-1990s, the Brazilian Armed Forces had recovered from the initial shock and seemed well-adapted to Brazil’s democratic institutions. They had restructured the three services based on perceived strategic interests and threats, had adapted to the new governance models and even strengthened their institutional links with Congress, and had developed a new vision for the military’s role in a democratic regime. As a matter of principle, the military must have a clear sense of mission and strategic value, generally defined by hypotheses of conflict. The transformations in the regional arena – mostly affected by the changing bilateral relations with Argentina – and in the global arena – caused by the end of the Cold War – gave the Brazilian military a new strategic paradigm to revise its missions, needs, force distribution, and even its professional roles, which had been considerably distorted by its long involvement in politics.39 From that moment on, the three services designed and implemented comprehensive modernization strategies. The Army defined its priorities by protecting Amazonia (SISFRON, Brazil’s Integrated Border Monitoring System)40 and supporting the indigenous development of armored cars. The navy launched an ambitious and sophisticated strategic vision – Amazonia Azul – to address Brazil’s sovereignty over its Atlantic Ocean interests and focused its Submarine Development Program, PROSUB, ultimately aimed to build a nuclear-powered submarine. The air force developed the Dimension 22 initiative (air power to support Brazilian sovereignty over 22 million kilometers of Brazil’s strategic interests) and focused on acquiring the F-39 GRIPEN fighter, besides supporting the development of the multi-mission military transport aircraft KC-390 by EMBRAER. These are clear strategic visions consistent with legitimate professional military roles and security interests.41

Changes in Democratic Governance over the Military Another important variable to assess the Brazilian security establishment in a democracy relates to changes in the armed forces governance model. Although 1985 marks the end of the autocratic military regime, substantive changes in civilian governance of the military happened only under Cardoso’s presidency. In 1996, he issued Brazil’s first Defense Policy,42 and in 1997, he established a Ministry of Defense under a civilian minister. Nevertheless, serendipity and no specific sensitivity to increasing democratic control over the military seemed to have played a role.43 According to Jorge Zaverucha,44 Cardoso was instead motivated by external and domestic factors. Externally, the motivation was rooted in Brazil’s long-standing interest in having a seat on the UN Security Council,45 then facing increasing opposition from Argentine President Carlos Saúl Menem. (In August 1997, Menem had stated that the position on the UN Security Council should be rotating and not assigned to Brazil.) One week later, Cardoso informed the public about the creation of the Ministry of Defense in Brazil. The domestic factor would derive from Cardoso’s support for a parliamentarian regime in Brazil: How could it be that in an eventual fall of a government in a parliamentary regime, four military ministers would remain? Regardless of Cardoso’s possible hidden intentions, the Ministry of Defense was established and produced immediate and practical effects in the relationship between security and democracy. By formally inserting a political buffer between the military leaders and the highest

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political sphere, these decisions – however, initially received with suspicion and perceived to have downgraded prospects of military influence on the government – finally produced the most important relevant changes in military governance since the end of the authoritarian era. The armed forces would have to educate themselves on focusing on traditional missions related to defending the country’s sovereignty within a democratic environment. In the following years, the military quickly learned to live with the new model and approved a 2005 revision of the National Defense Policy, a 2008 (updated in 2012) National Defense Strategy, and a 2012 White Book of Defense prepared after extensive discussions with civil society. Although some military officers (usually retired officers in events organized by military social clubs) criticized these moves, perceived as dwarfing the military’s influence on politics, the military establishment accepted and quickly adopted the modifications. The military leaders also swiftly learned about the advantages of having a politician defend their interests while they focus on traditional missions, advance projects of modernization and weapons acquisition, and force redistribution without getting involved in the political parties’ budget skirmishes.

A Tough Test to Military Stomachs A very emblematic moment to assess how much the military mindset had adapted to the democratic environment happened in October 2015, 30 years after the end of the military regime. Rousseff announced the nomination of Aldo Rebelo – a house representative from the Communist Party of Brazil, and a traditional communist and former guerrilla militant – to Minister of Defense. It is well known that the Brazilian military has always considered communism its archenemy and the nomination generated expectations on how the military would accept it. Surprisingly, the three Brazilian military commanders posted a joint video supporting Rebelo’s nomination and confirming their loyalty to the new minister. This gesture was exceptionally symbolic and politically meaningful. It signaled the undisputed acceptance of the highest military leaders of their subordination to civilian authority and democratic institutions and processes. The military’s attitude toward the press and other opinion makers has also changed during the last decades. On August 18, 2018, for example, the then-Brazilian Army Commander General Eduardo Villas-Boas published an opinion, “Defesa Para Quê?” (“Why Defense?”), in the newspaper O Estado de São Paulo,46 to explain why Brazil needs well-equipped armed forces. This was an unusual declaration because the military had previously not felt the need to explain or justify these matters to civil society. In another demonstration of his understanding of the value of social media, Villas-Boas maintained an active Twitter account with 305,000 followers.47 Many military leaders and unit commandants have social media accounts, a strict department from the past’s strictly hierarchical and vertical discipline where the highest military leader was the only one permitted to speak for the institution.48 All of these attitudes reflect acceptance and confidence in democratic institutions. They show an improved level of engagement in the political process, playing according to the rules of the democratic game rather than tailoring the process to fit a military vision. This is certainly remarkable progress in the relationship between security and democracy, when compared, for example, to the military lobbying during the National Constituent Assembly in 1988–1989. In those days, the military operated efficiently and according to democratic rules to protect its prerogatives and interests. But these were the works of a quasi-military expeditionary incursion within the political world to advance values cherished by the military. Now, the situation is vastly different: The military is inviting civil society to discuss security issues. This reveals an extraordinary change in military attitudes – promoted from within – and aimed at informing

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and engaging civil society in a debate about the armed forces’ professional activities … and not in its role as the “guardian of Brazilian democracy.”49 For Brazil’s National Congress, defense and security were never a priority, and during the National Constituent Assembly, the topic was more an issue to be dismantled and submitted rather than empowered. However, under this new defense framework, even congressional committees (Senate and House) became more engaged and proactive on defense and security.50 When the Minister of Defense was also a politician or a former congressman, it leveraged more interest in Congress on Ministry of Defense themes. The politician’s familiarity and contacts in Congress helped generate attention on defense, security, the military, and other areas of interest for the armed forces.

The Serendipitous Role of MINUSTAH Another symbolic variable affecting the redefinition of professional military roles was Brazil’s participation in the 2004 UN Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH). This experience would profoundly change the Brazilian military, the military ethos, and even the image of the armed forces before civil society. Although Brazil had a record of relatively intense participation in multilateral peacekeeping operations beginning in 1947, Brazil had only participated in missions under UN Chapter VI,51 which defines UN interventions for “pacific settlement of disputes.” MINUSTAH, however, was clearly under Chapter VII, which refers to “action with respect to threats to the peace, breaches of the peace, and acts of aggression.”52 Always under Brazilian Force Commanders, the Brazilian military serving in MINUSTAH (more than 37,000 troops distributed in 26 contingents on a rotating basis) demonstrated excellent discipline and professional skills, which granted it domestic and external respect. Its successful participation in MINUSTAH helped the Brazilian military change the “military dictatorship” narrative, once and for all.53 The armed forces could now move from questions about the authoritarian interventionist past and focus on the future and their professional responsibilities within a democracy.

The Military and Public Safety in Brazil’s Major Urban Centers In the meantime, organized crime and violence were escalating in major urban centers, and the population questioned why the armed forces could not address it as it was doing in Haiti. Previous use of the military in enforcement operations in favelas proved disastrous and had a negative impact on the military’s public image. It was clear the public safety organizations under the states’ responsibility were largely unprepared for their enforcement demands. As a 2018 The New York Times article explained, based on the Brazilian Forum of Public Security’s statistics,54 Brazil’s murder rate in 2017 had jumped to 30.8 per 100,000 people from 29.9 in 2016. (For comparison, the United States had 5 per 100,000 people in 2015, whereas Mexico, also considered a very violent country, reached 25 per 100,000 in 2017.) This complex problem has roots in Brazil’s income gap, deep social challenges, and poverty clusters. It is complicated by other critical variables such as proximity to drug production centers and porous borders, police incapacity, an outdated judicial and penal system, weak intelligence, poor education, easy access to weapons by criminals, and militia activities. Moreover, it is clear the country’s law enforcement was not modernized to the democratic environment. As early as 2003, a paper published by the Center for Strategic and International Studies, “Brazil’s Growing Insecurity: Is it a Threat to Brazilian Democracy?” detailed several dimensions of this problem. The paper concluded that despite the seriousness of the problem, which

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was considerably less dramatic at that time than in the present, its threat to democracy was somewhat mollified by a relatively energetic political ambiance and trust in democratic institutions. The causes for this situation in many Brazilian urban centers are problems in the enforcement, judicial, penal, and intelligence systems, which, in many ways, have not been modernized since the days of the dictatorship.55 The only innovative approach tried was the 2008 Unidades de Polícia Pacificadora (Pacifying Police Units or UPP) program initiated in 2008 in Rio de Janeiro to respond to a public safety crisis. The program captured well several dimensions of the crisis and was partially executed with 38 UPPs installed in several of Rio de Janeiro’s neighborhoods. Since 2018, as is often the case in Brazil, it was gradually dismantled for incapacity, loss of political prestige, and controversy over its incapacity to truly curb crime in Rio de Janeiro.56 On February 16, 2018, in the face of another public safety crisis – and in response to a request by Rio de Janeiro’s governor – Brazil’s President Michel Temer ordered a federal intervention in the state.57 This decision was in agreement with Article 34 of Brazil’s 1988 Federal Constitution.58 In the same legal instrument, Temer named Brazilian Army General Walter Braga Neto, the Army Commander of the East, as the “interventor” with authority over the state’s military police, civil police, and firefighters. The intervention lasted until December 31, 2018. For those expecting significant changes in Rio de Janeiro’s security, the results were frustrating because it did not greatly reduce the crime statistics. But frustration was also caused by exaggerated expectations. The intervention was, for example, criticized because it produced an increase in the number of deaths caused by police action, but the enforcement authorities explained that the increased numbers were caused by the larger police presence and, thus, more confrontation with violent criminals. The Intervention Cabinet said the intervention underscored “structural” actions, such as modernizing police equipment. The fact is that the intervention acted to respond to a contingency under a limited mandate and within a short time window. As such, it could contemplate only some of the faces of the multiple variables of crime and violence in Rio de Janeiro. The most recent expectations from Brazilians reside in a proposal presented to Congress by Brazil’s Minister of Justice, Sergio Moro. Moro’s proposal includes three projects designed to modernize legislation related to corruption, organized crime, and violent crimes (PL 881/2019, PL 882/2019, and PLP 38/2019, respectively). This proposal would create a more efficient legal framework to strengthen the state’s capacity to fight crime. But the popularity of this proposal derives less from its technical aspects and more from the positive image of former judge Moro as the champion of Lava Jato and anti-corruption in Brazil.

Not All Quiet on the Security Front The 2018 election result of a retired army captain and former congressman Jair Messias Bolsonaro to president saw the security versus democracy equation resurface again in Brazil. As soon as he was invested in power, President Bolsonaro filled several positions in his administration with military officers, some retired and some in active service. Could this be another threat to the “young” Brazilian democracy? Earlier in this chapter, it was explained how the Brazilian military enjoys a strong and corporatist institutional culture. So, an administration led by a president and filled with many military officers as key ministers and cadres is naturally influenced by military values and perceptions. An outcome of this influence is a tendency to value technical over political projects and processes. However, a democratic environment is firstly a political environment, which requires negotiation and accommodation, for example, with members of Congress and

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state governors. In this environment, the pace of decisions in the political world eventually conflicts with the expectations created by a purely technical perspective. Another outcome is that the military enjoys more public sympathy than politicians, especially after the series of corruption scandals that have stained Brazilian politicians’ reputations over the last few decades. These varying perspectives have generated some crises. So far, the Brazilian democratic institutions have accommodated these conflicting perceptions, but the model is not yet entirely consolidated. It is important to recall that this administration entered a political environment disturbed by a high degree of corruption within the political process and previous administrations. In this environment, there is a tendency that any disagreement might be mutually perceived or eventually portrayed as walloping vested interests. This climate of suspicion undermines the political process. When the Bolsonaro administration was beginning to address these challenges, it was confronted by the COVID-19 pandemic. During the first couple of weeks, the government response was confusing and contradictory. The president and the Ministry of Health offered conflicting guidance on the need for lockdowns and even on the seriousness of the pandemic. Several state governors challenged Bolsonaro and adopted strict lockdown measures. After four weeks of inconsistent positions, the president finally established a Crisis Committee and assigned its direction to Army General Braga Neto, who had led the military intervention in Rio de Janeiro and was recently named minister of the Civilian Cabinet. The net result is that military influence became even more evident in the Bolsonaro administration. Consequently, some suggested that the military was “patronizing” the president, which was promptly denied.59 Operationally, the armed forces were – and are – already helping, according to its tradition, in many sectors: transportation and distribution of medical supplies and food, transportation of personnel, support of doctors and hospital facilities, communication, logistics, construction of campaign hospitals, and security. But the late creation of a Crisis Committee under the command of an Army general put another military face in a critical and highly visible element of the administration.

Conclusion These facts could inspire a casual observer to wonder whether the Brazilian military is slowly retaking the political spaces lost after 1985, at least those related to national security. But the present situation is not comparable to the authoritarian period. First, there is no detectable appetite among the military leaders to reinstall a dictatorship. Second, democratic institutions are functioning well so far. On that, an emblematic moment was offered by Vice President Antônio Hamilton Mourão (a retired four-star Army General) during a conference at Harvard University in April 2019. Asked by a student on what would be the difference between Geisel and Mourão, both Army Generals in the government, Mourão was concise: “Well, General Geisel was not elected.” It is, indeed, a major difference; there is undoubtedly a new relationship between security and democracy in Brazil. How this new relationship will affect the future of Brazilian democracy is the key question at this moment. The Brazilian experience offers quite an extraordinary case for analyzing the relationship between security and democracy in Latin America. But it is also a peculiar one. This chapter has initially underscored that Brazilian democracy is not a particularly good example of a “perfect” democracy. Well, perhaps there is no perfect democracy, and democracy is a process. But it is crucial to acknowledge that, although Brazilians take democracy as a granted form of life, democracy is not a politically intrinsic value for Brazilian society.

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Another important observation in the case of Brazil emerges from their respects to the military “presence” in nearby politics since the inception of the Republic. Finally, the chapter emphasizes the importance and peculiarity of the 21-year military dictatorship and its transition to democracy, which was gradual and controlled by the military up to the end. During this authoritarian period, on occasion when challenged by leftist organizations, the military leveraged the security establishment and successfully suffocated efforts to terminate the regime. At the end of the dictatorship, when a civilian administration was inaugurated in 1985, there was an obvious necessity to dismantle the security apparatus entrenched in all corners of the government bureaucracy. But the unfortunate circumstances caused by the death of the “indirectly elected” Neves profoundly shook that logic. As a result, the transformation of the security establishment lost priority to political stability in that delicate moment of transition toward democracy. Also, while the end of the dictatorship was granted and conducted according to military planning, the military itself was not particularly convinced that a rupture of the old regime and a new security establishment were necessary. The fact is that reforming the security establishment lost priority within the political agenda to guarantee stability of the transition. The National Constituent Assembly’s impacts on security were less impressive than expected. But the fact that the process enthused the military to prepare, engage, and participate actively in an essentially political process – according to the rule of law and respecting the rules established by the Assembly – was mutually instructive and beneficial for the rapprochement between the security and political establishments. The last decades witnessed remarkable transformations in the security sector, particularly concerning democratic institutions and instruments. The publication of defense policies and strategies, the launching – including an admirable process of discussion with civil society – demonstrated considerable progress in Brazil’s transformation and adaptation of its national security concept to democratic institutions. Finally, the fact that the Brazilian military has maintained distance and refrained from interfering in the political and legal process addressing the crises caused by a succession of large-scale corruption scandals was highly positive. Importantly, these scandals helped elect Bolsonaro. But this government is also heavily influenced by military values, which lit a warning sign because of both Brazil’s history of military interventions in the political system and the moment of profound public discredit of the political class. Could this signal the national security establishment’s return to authoritarianism and, therefore, threaten democracy? Moreover, the Bolsonaro administration’s initial response to the COVID-19 crisis, including resorting to the military to organize a crisis cabinet, revealed a strong dependency of Bolsonaro’s government on the military, particularly during crisis circumstances. Thus far, democracy has not been threatened, and solutions are within democratic institutions. But the national security model still in practice is plagued by old vices. It needs considerable improvement to offer the security that Brazilian democracy requires without affecting the rights that it grants to its citizens. The mandate and powers of organizations responsible for the “legitimate exercise of force,” and, in some cases, the controls and oversight by Congress are usually well defined in legislation according to democratic norms. But the practice of these institutional responsibilities is still fragile and incomplete.

Notes 1 Frank McCann, Soldiers of the Patria: A History of the Brazilian Army, 1889–1937 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003); Victor Nunes Leal, Coronelismo, Enxada e Voto (Sao Paulo, Brazil: Companhia das Letras, 2012); and Raymundo Faoro, Os Donos do Poder: Formação do Patronato Político Brasileiro (Rio de Janeiro: Editora Globo S/A, 2011).

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2 Todd Diacon, “Bringing the Countryside Back In: A Case Study of Military Intervention as State Building in the Brazilian Old Republic,” Journal of Latin American Studies 27, no. 3 (October 1995), 569–592.; Kees Kooning,“Shadows of Violence and Political Transition in Brazil: From Military Rule to Democratic Governance,” in Societies of Fear: The Legacy of Civil War, Violence and Terror in Latin America, eds. Kees Kooning and Dirk Kruijt (London: Zed Books Ltd., 1999); and Luis Bitencourt’s Brazilian Military Culture (Miami: Florida International University, 2018). 3 Ernesto Londono, Shasta Darlington, and Letícia Casado, “Brazil’s President Tells Armed Forces to Commemorate the Military Coup,” The New York Times, March 19, 2019. 4 Wayne A. Selcher, The National Security Doctrine and Policies of the Brazilian Government (Carlisle Barracks, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, July 15, 1977). 5 Usually, Brazilians define “national security” in a broader sense, philosophically influenced by positivism, which includes domestic threats to the state, defense against external threats, and economic development as part of the same concept. See Gilvan Veiga Dockhorn, Quando a Ordem é Segurança e o Progresso é Desenvolvimento: 1964–1974 (Porto Alegre: EDIPUCRS, 2002). 6 This chapter uses the expressions security apparatus, security establishment, and security system to encompass all institutions responsible for the internal and external security of Brazil, including the military, intelligence organizations, firefighters, and law enforcement agencies. 7 Keith S. Rosenn and Richard Downes, eds., Corruption and Political Reform in Brazil: The Impact of Collor’s Impeachment (Miami: North-South Center Press, University of Miami, 1999). 8 A “big monthly stipend” is used to describe clandestine payments made by the Workers’ Party to congressional allies in return for supporting its legislative agenda, according to “What is Brazil’s ‘Mensalão’,” The Economist, November 18, 2013. 9 The impeachment process against Collor de Mello, who resigned in 1992 before being impeached, and the actions of the “Lava Jato” (Car Wash) operation (ongoing), which helped impeach President Dilma Rousseff and incarcerated President Lula da Silva along with dozens of politicians and entrepreneurs, is one of the most important victories of modern Brazilian democracy. See “Operation Car Wash: Is this the Biggest Corruption Scandal in History?,” The Guardian, June 1, 2017. 10 In this chapter, the expressions autocratic military regime, military regime, and military dictatorship are used interchangeably, for style purposes and from a purely political science perspective.The term dictatorship has become so ideologically loaded that it has lost its descriptive precision. In that period, Brazilian governance could not be simply tagged as “dictatorship” without considering the peculiarities of the authoritarian regime installed by the military.The military grabbed power upon the strong incentive of large portions of Brazilian civil society and imposed the limitation and cancelation of political and civil rights and censorship within specific periods (not for the entire time). Every four years, a new army general and civilian vice-president would be “indirectly” chosen by Congress. It was also a regime that exerted strong control of the government, politics, and large sectors of civil society and efficiently repressed a strong opposition. It was eventually helped and armed by foreign powers interested in installing a different dictatorship in the country. See recent interviews by former leaders of guerrilla organizations that tried to unseat the military in power and install, in their words, the “dictatorship of the proletariat. Fernando Gabeira, YouTube, https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=OCERghyRf4c, accessed June 15, 2018; and Eduardo Jorge, YouTube, accessed June 15, 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5h4xW558hk. From the political scientist’s angle, the military regime installed in Brazil in 1964 was certainly a dictatorship, yet under a tropical Brazilian varnish. 11 “Memorial da Democracia” website, http://memorialdademocracia.com.br/card/pais-tem-democraci a-relativa-diz-geisel, accessed May 2, 1977. 12 The military regime issued 17 “institutional acts,” decrees with the power of executive orders that provided legal justification for the restructuring of the political system and granted greater strength to the government. The most notorious was number 5 (AI 5), issued on December 13, 1968, which suspended individual liberties and political rights, established censorship of the media, and gave the government, among others, the power to intervene in state administrations and municipalities. 13 See Elio Gaspari, A Ditadura Envergonhada (São Paulo: Companhia das Letras, 2002), 138. According to Ernesto Geisel, the 1964 coup could not be defined as a revolution because, “Revolutions are made around an idea, to advance a doctrine.We simply moved to overthrow João Goulart. It was a movement against something, and not to push something forward. It was a movement against the subversion and against the corruption. But first, neither the subversion nor corruption is terminated.You may repress them, but you cannot destroy them. What we did was aimed to correct something, not to build something new.This is not revolution” (translated by this author). 14 Gaspari, A Ditadura Envergonhada. 15 Centro de Pesquisa e Documentação de História Contemporânea do Brasil, Destacamento de Operacoes de Informacoes-Centro de Operacoes de Defesa Interna, http://www.fgv.br/cpdoc/acervo/ dicionarios/verbete-tematico/destacamento-de-operacoes-e-informacoes-centro-de-operacoes-e-defesa-interna-doi-codi, accessed June 8, 2018.

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16 Upon the March 31, 1964 coup d’état, the secretariat had its mission broadened (Decree nr. 54303, September 24, 1964), to “plan, oversee, and produce studies needed for the national security policy and to orient intelligence gathering.” Executive Order nr. 200 clarified the secretariat’s responsibilities in relation to the National Security Concept. Executive Order nr. 900 (September 29, 1969) turned the National Security Council into “the highest organization for directly advising the president in the formulation and execution of national security policy.” 17 See Brazil’s Ministry of Justice and Public Safety, Arquivo Nacional: Estrutura da Repressao da Ditadura Militar, http://www.arquivonacional.gov.br/br/difusao/arquivo-na-historia/696-doi-codi.html, accessed June 13, 2018. 18 Law nr. 4341, June 13, 1964, https://www2.camara.leg.br/legin/fed/lei/1960-1969/lei-4341-13-junho-1964-376645-publicacaooriginal-1-pl.html, accessed June 13, 2018. 19 See Luis Bitencourt, “The ‘Abertura’ in Brazil: The Day-After of the Brazilian Intelligence Monster,” 33rd Convention of the International Studies Association, Atlanta, GA, April 1992; and Luis Bitencourt’s O Poder Legislativo e os Servicos Secretos no Brasil (Brasilia: Universidade Catolica, 1992). On structural changes in the government, see Wendy Hunter, Eroding Military Influence in Brazil: Politicians against Soldiers (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1997). 20 The Brazilian Armed Forces include the Navy, the Army, and the Air Force. With approximately 320,000 active-duty troops and officers, it is the second-largest in Latin America, behind Colombia. It is the first if considering the level of equipment, see International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The ­Military ­Balance 2017 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, February 2017). Military Police (organized in each state) and firefighters are considered auxiliary and reserve forces. Military service is mandatory for men (Federal Constitution, art. 143), but because there is a large excess (95 percent) of enlisted individuals, serving is practically a voluntary choice. Since the early 1980s, women have served in the armed forces. In 2003, the first women could enter the Air Force Academy for training as officers and pilots. The Navy inaugurated its first class of women cadets in 2014 and the Army in 2017. Therefore, Brazilian women officers can participate in combat operations in the three branches of the armed forces. 21 Proposal for Constitutional Amendment nr. 5, March 2, 1983, rejected by the House on April 25, 1984. 22 As noted by Wendy Hunter, State and Soldier in Latin America: Redefining Military Roles in Argentina, Brazil, and Chile (Washington, DC: USIP, 1996), “The military as an institution emerged from the authoritarian governments of 1964–1985 in a favorable position. Notwithstanding the legacy of financial debt, the economic successes the public associated with Brazil’s military governments, the comparatively low incidence of human rights violations they committed, and the public support they managed to command allowed the last two military presidents, Generals Ernesto Geisel (1974–1979) and João Figueiredo (1979–1985), to keep a firm grip on the transition back to democracy and to preserve important institutional prerogatives for the military in the process. 23 The “amnesty law” (Law nr. 6,683, August 28, 1979): “is granted to all that, in the period between September 2, 1961 and August 15, 1979, have committed political crimes, or in connection with those, electoral crimes, to the ones that had their political rights canceled and to the workers of the Administration Direct and Indirect, of foundations linked to the public administration, to the Legislative and Judiciary’s employees, to the Military and to the union leaders and representatives, punished upon Institutional and Complementary Acts.” 24 Frances Hagopian and Scott Mainwaring, “Democracy in Brazil: Origins, Problems, and Prospects,”Working Paper nr. 100,” Kellogg Institute (September 1987). 25 For a detailed account of the military administrations, see Thomas E. Skidmore, The Politics of Military Rule in Brazil: 1964–1985 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). 26 Everton Vieira Vargas, “Átomos da Integração: a aproximação Brasil-Argentina no campo nuclear e a construção do Mercosul,” Revista Brasileira de Política Internacional 40, no. 1 (June 1997), 41–74. 27 See the “Digital Archive” maintained by the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars,Washington, DC; and Rodrigo Mallea, Matias Spektor, and Nicholas J.Wheeler, eds., Origens da Cooperação Nuclear: Uma Historia Oral Critica entre Argentina e Brasil (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, 2012). 28 Rodrigo Mallea, Matias Spektor, and Nicholas J. Wheeler, eds., Las Orígenes de la Cooperación Nuclear: una historia oral crítica entre Argentina y Brasil (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, 2012). 29 Caroline Silva Ramos and Eduardo L. Cruz, “A Rivalidade Geopolitica Brasil-Argentina nos anos 70. O contencioso de Itaipu,” UNILUS Ensino e Pesquisa 13, no. 30 (2016), 165; and Alessandro Warley Candeas, “Relacoes Brasil-Argentina: uma análise dos avanços e recuos,” Revista Brasileira de Política Internacional 48, no. I (2005): 178–213. 30 “Já está pronto o ‘lobby’ militar,” Jornal de Brasília, (February 4, 1987),https://www2.senado.leg.br/bdsf/bitstream/handle/id/113952/1987_01%20a%2004%20de%20Fevereiro_136.pdf?sequence=3&isAllowed=y.

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31 Federal Constitution of Brazil, 1988, Article 142. “The armed forces, comprised of the navy, the army and the air force, are permanent and regular national institutions, organized on the basis of hierarchy and discipline, under the supreme authority of the president of the republic, and are intended for the defense of the country, for the guarantee of the constitutional powers, and, on the initiative of any of these, of law and order.” 32 Federal Constitution of Brazil, 1988, Article 142. See also Suzeley Mathias and Andre Guzzi, “The Armed Forces in Brazilian Constitutions,” Revista Brasileira de Ciências Sociais 5, Sao Paulo (2010), http:// socialsciences.scielo.org/scielo.php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S0102-69092010000100004. 33 Medida Provisória 150, Law 8028 (April 12, 1990). 34 Marco Cepik and Priscila Antunes, “The Brazilian Intelligence Law: An Institutional Assessment,” International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence 16, no. (3) (July 2003): 349–373. 35 Law 8490, November 19, 1992. 36 Law 9883, December 9, 1999. 37 Law 9883: Art. 6: 1, “The leaders of the majority and the minority in the House and in the Senate, as well as the Presidents of the External Relations Committee and National Defense of the House and the Senate will also integrate the external control over the intelligence activities.” 38 Agência Brasileira de Inteligência, Centro de Pesquisa e Documentação de História Contemporânea do Brasil, http://www.fgv.br/cpdoc/acervo/dicionarios/verbete-tematico/agencia-brasileira-de-inteligencia-abin, accessed June 6, 1988. 39 Not all military officers performed functions in the military administration or exerted repressive activities, but the fact that the military was in control (and created an impressive model and respective apparatus to govern the country) produced extraordinary influences over the military missions, doctrine, organization, and even its ethos and professional culture. For a discussion of these influences, see Wendy Hunter, “Politicians against Soldiers: Contesting the Military in Post-authoritarian Brazil,” Comparative Politics 27, no. 4 (July 1995): 425–443. 40 For a detailed account of the transformation of Brazil’s Army to strengthen the security at its northern border, see John Cope and Andrew Parks, Frontier Security:The Case of Brazil (National Defense University, Institute of National Strategic Studies, Perspectives 20, August 2016). 41 See Brazil’s Ministry of Defense website, https://www.defesa.gov.br/, accessed May 16, 2018. 42 The 1996 Policy of Defense also established that the Chamber of Foreign Relations and National Defense would increase civilian responsibilities in defense issues. See: “O Brasil e a Questão da Defesa e Segurança: Histórico e Perspectivas no Período Pós-Militar,” Journal of Sociology and Politics, no. 25 Curitiba (November 2005). 43 For a well-documented account of the transformation of the Armed Forces during the Cardoso administration, see Joao Martins Filho and Daniel Zyrker, “The Brazilian Armed Forces after the Cold War: Overcoming the Identity Crisis,” Latin American Studies Association Congress, Chicago, IL, 1998, http:// bibliotecavirtual.clacso.org.ar/ar/libros/lasa98/MartinsFilho-Zirker.pdf. 44 Jorge Zaverucha, “(Des)Controle civil sobre os militares no governo Fernando Henrique Cardoso,” Lusotopie 10, no. 1 (2003): 399–418, 406. “For it would be difficult to explain to the world how a country aspiring a seat in the UNSC would decide on international security upon four military ministers responding for Defense.” 45 For a detailed account of decisions related to Brazil and its possible accession to a UN Security Council seat, see: Eugenio V. Garcia and Natalia B.R. Coelho, “A Seat at the Top? A Historical Appraisal of Brazil’s Case for the UN Security Council,” SAGE 8, no. 3 (September 8, 2018), 1–13. 46 Eduardo Villas Boas, “Defesa Para Quê?,” O Estado de S. Paulo, August 18, 2018. 47 See General Villas Boas’ Twitter account, https://twitter.com/Gen_VillasBoas. 48 “As Midias Sociais do Exército Brasileiro,” Brazil Ministry of Defense website, http://www.eb.mil.br/ web/midia-impressa/noticiario-do-exercito/-/asset_publisher/IZ4bX6gegOtX/content/as-midias-sociais-no-exercito-brasileiro, accessed June 6, 2018. 49 Frank D. McCann, Soldiers of the Patria: A History of the Brazilian Army, 1889-1937 (Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press, 2004). 50 The House depends on the Committee of Foreign Affairs and National Defense and the Committee of Public Security and Fight against Organized Crime. The Senate counts on the Committee of Foreign Relations and National Defense. 51 Eduarda Passarelli Hamann and Carlos Augusto R. Teixeira, eds., A Participação de Brasil na MINUSTAH (2004–2017): Percepções, Lições e Práticas Relevantes para Futuras Missões (Rio de Janeiro: Instituto Igarapé and Centro Conjunto de Operacoes de Paz do Brasil Sergio Vieira de Mello, October 2017), 3–4. 52 Charter of the United Nations. 53 Charles T. Call and Adriana Erthal Abdenour, A ‘Brazilian Way?’ Brazil’s Approach to Peacebuilding (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, February 2017).

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54 Shasta Darlington, “A Year of Violence Sees Brazil Murder Rate Hit Record High,” The New York Times, August 10, 2018. 55 Luis Bitencourt, Brazil’s Growing Urban Insecurity: Is it a Threat to Brazilian Democracy? (Washington, DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 2003). 56 “Deputados do Rio Aprovam Projeto de Lei que Prevê Fim das UPPs,” Revista Veja, February 18, 2019; and Daniel Edler Duarte, “Sobre o Fim das UPPs,” Revista de Politica e Cultura, June 22, 2017. 57 Presidential Decree 9, 288, February 16, 2018. 58 Federal Constitution: Art. 34, A União não intervirá nos Estados nem no Distrito Federal, exceto para: I-manter a integridade nacional; II-repelir invasão estrangeira ou de uma unidade da Federação em outra; III-pôr termo a grave comprometimento da ordem pública; IV – garantir o livre exercício de qualquer dos Poderes nas unidades da Federação; (...).” 59 Tânia Monteiro, “Villas Bôas: Ninguém Tutela Bolsonaro,” O Estado de S. Paulo, April 3, 2020.

9 PERU Counterinsurgency and the Rule of Law during Re-democratization Maiah Jaskoski

Introduction In Latin America, international armed conflicts have been rare, and militaries have been used extensively for internal missions, work that often brings them in contact with their countrymen. Assessing the capacity of armed forces in the region since democratization thus requires looking beyond budgets, human resources, and the ability to confront illegal violence. It is important to consider the extent to which the military puts these resources and skills toward combating threats to security within constraints set by judiciaries that, in democracy, must protect citizens’ fundamental civil and human rights. It cannot be taken for granted that the military will perform operations amid such constraints, considering that much of Latin America has experienced extended periods of authoritarianism during which the armed forces enjoyed impunity for human rights abuses. This chapter addresses military involvement in the internal mission of counterinsurgency, which here is conceptualized broadly to encompass various military actions – prescribed by different military strategies – to eliminate the presence of armed guerrilla fighters.1 It focuses, in particular, on the Peruvian army’s performance and neglect of its assigned mission to combat the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) insurgency in the decades following Peru’s 1980 transition to democracy. The analysis emphasizes the lasting influence of an officer cohort’s experience autonomously defining and implementing counterinsurgency strategy in the 1980s and 1990s, unconstrained by civilians. Officers came out of that period believing the army required such autonomy for counterinsurgency. Therefore, when its autonomy was challenged by civilian politicians and courts in the 2000s, the army, now led by members of that cohort, refused to root out the remnants of Sendero. In contrast, the younger cohort, which had not served in the previous decades, did not identify a contradiction between effective counterinsurgency and legal constraints. The chapter examines 1980–2008, a period that offers variation in political regime type and the army’s counterinsurgency performance. Peru most recently saw democratization from military rule in 1980, when elected President Fernando Belaúnde Terry (1980–1985) took office. Democracy was subsequently suspended: President Alberto Fujimori (1990–2000) came to power through free and fair elections, but in April 1992, he staged a self-coup (autogolpe) in which he dissolved the national legislature and closed the courts. He then governed by decree until 1993, when a constituent assembly produced a constitution that was approved by popular referendum the same year.2 The Fujimori government continued exhibiting authoritarian tendencies, for instance, pursuing “constitutionally dubious attempts to extend presidential term DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-10

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limits” and employing “political violence to punish, terrorize, or demoralize the opposition.”3 A re-democratization process ensued with Fujimori’s departure, under the transitional government of President Valentín Paniagua (2000–2001) and elected President Alejandro Toledo (2001–2006). This analysis first shows how the Peruvian army defined and assertively carried out a counterinsurgency strategy in the 1980s–1990s while enjoying substantial autonomy. Restrictions on that autonomy, especially in the human rights arena, led the army to refuse to pursue insurgents with any seriousness, briefly in the late 1980s, and then for an extended period in the 2000s. In a final section, the chapter provides evidence of the mechanisms connecting the early experience of autonomy to army behavior when that autonomy was constrained. In particular, it demonstrates the lasting impact of previous work of officers in the older cohort on their beliefs about army autonomy and effective counterinsurgency. The chapter is based on portions of Military Politics and Democracy in the Andes, which is grounded in field research the author conducted during 2005–2006 and 2009.4

Benchmarks for the Analysis: Counterinsurgency as a Professional Latin American Military Mission and International Humanitarian Law This analysis of the Peruvian army’s neglect of its counterinsurgency assignment rests importantly on two ideas about counterinsurgency. First, there is the notion that a military might want to carry out counterinsurgency, a mission that involves killing fellow citizens. In Latin America, frequently this has been the case, going back to the rise of leftist insurgencies across the region following the 1959 Cuban Revolution, when militaries oriented themselves toward fighting guerrillas they viewed as threats to national sovereignty and to the very survival of the armed forces.5 This orientation contrasts with how armed forces from outside the region, including, for example, the U.S. military, have viewed internal combat: For the U.S. military, fighting insurgency means facing low-intensity disturbances; for the Latin American military, on the other hand, it is a question of high-intensity conflicts, inasmuch as these consume practically all available resources and jeopardize the stability and continued existence of affected countries’ economic, social, and political systems. Insurgency, for the Latin American military, is not a peripheral conflict; it is often the conflict.6 As demonstrated later in this chapter, Peruvian army officers interviewed did indeed view counterinsurgency as an important mission that belonged to the military. A second idea underlying the present analysis is that in internal combat zones, it is possible to pursue insurgents while also seeking to respect the rights of civilians. International humanitarian law (IHL) provides detailed guidance for militaries to do just that, and these practices have been institutionalized within military training protocols, including in Latin America, as illustrated by the well-known case of Colombia.7 The Colombian military’s intensive training in IHL and human rights was triggered by recommendations of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC). The training began in 1992 and was institutionalized starting in 1999 with the installation of human rights and IHL “training platforms” for in-field training of military personnel. As of 2010, there were 49 such platforms throughout the country. Between 2003 and 2010, more than 350,000 military and civilian employees of the armed forces were trained in “situational issues.” The military’s 2007 rules of engagement include clear instructions for how to conduct operations that respect IHL and human rights. As of the early twenty-first century, the Colombian armed forces had earned

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and retained a dismal reputation for abusing human rights in the country’s decades-long civil war, with much of the military’s human rights abuses taking place outside of combat situations. Despite these important shortcomings, the Colombian military’s progress in IHL has been recognized by the ICRC and the United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights’ Committee Against Torture. With IHL guidance and the Colombian experience as a foundation, we now turn to the case of Peru.

Army Autonomy in the Development and Implementation of Counterinsurgency Doctrine In the 1980s, Peru’s army developed a counterinsurgency doctrine in the face of a new threat: a powerful insurgency that controlled a substantial portion of the country. Throughout that period, the army emphasized the need to respect and even improve the material conditions of impoverished residents of insurgent zones while also advocating for aggressive combat against guerrilla fighters. As discussed later, the Peruvian army developed its counterinsurgency doctrine through trial and error, in a context in which civilians did not show leadership. For a brief period in the 1980s, the government reprimanded the army for human rights abuses committed in Sendero zones. Army personnel responded to this new constraint by halting all counterinsurgency efforts, demonstrating that in those early years, officers already thought the institution needed substantial autonomy vis-à-vis civilian sectors of the state to pursue insurgents. Once government restrictions on army abuses were lifted, the army resumed its counterinsurgency efforts.

High Insurgent Threat8 Sendero Luminoso came from Peru’s communist party. Specifically, it was a Maoist offshoot with strong ties to the local University of Huamanga, in the southern highland department (region) of Ayacucho.9 After spreading throughout Ayacucho and into neighboring departments during the 1970s, Sendero staged its first major violent attack the day before the May 1980 general elections, on the eve of Peru’s transition to democracy.10 Sendero expanded beyond the university student population to recruit many peasant combatants by appealing to frustrations over socioeconomic conditions, serving as the law in a part of the country where the Peruvian state was absent, and coercing the peasantry into cooperating with the movement.11 By the late 1980s, Sendero controlled the central highlands, and as of the 1990s, its power had spread to most of Lima’s shantytowns on routes leading from the highlands to the capital. In 1989, the guerrilla movement caused state authorities to abandon their posts in at least 28 percent of Peru’s electoral districts. That year, its 10,000 full-time combatants inflicted 1,526 deaths. By December 1991, 47 percent of all provinces in the country were under a state of emergency due to Sendero.12 The Marxist Movimiento Revolucionario Túpac Amaru (MRTA) also operated during this period. Formed in 1982, the MRTA was based primarily in Lima and the Huancayo and San Martín departments in the northern highlands. At its height, the MRTA claimed approximately 1,000 militants.13

Assertive Counterinsurgency 14 The Belaúnde administration initially excluded the military from the counterinsurgency effort and instead relied on the national police for the work. He was reluctant to give the armed forces a prominent role in the delicate post-transition period when the government was trying to establish itself as dominant over a military that enjoyed a positive domestic reputation.

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The armed forces’ popularity was due, in important ways, to the relatively low level of repression against civilians under the recent military regime and to the military’s 1981 victory against the Ecuadorian armed forces, as part of the long-standing Ecuador-Peru border dispute.15 Belaúnde placed the military in charge of counterinsurgency at the end of the intensely violent year of 1982.16 As a first step in its attempt to confront Sendero, the army employed indiscriminate violence in accordance with counterinsurgency doctrine it had retained from its brief counterinsurgency experience in the mid-1960s when it fought two small guerrilla movements.17 The approach failed to reduce and even helped expand Sendero’s power; in many cases, peasants saw Sendero as the lesser evil and sided with the guerrillas.18 Of note is that, in other ways, the army’s initial strategy to fight Sendero Luminoso respected basic peasant interests, to compete with insurgents for support. This effort was perhaps most evident in the Upper Huallaga Valley (Valle del Alto Huallaga or VAH), in the central highlands. The VAH, Peru’s primary coca-producing zone and a center for the cocaine trade, was a key source of Sendero funding and also critical to the local peasant economy. In the 1980s, the army refused to participate in counterdrug operations and even protected the cocaine trade in an attempt to reduce Sendero’s power among peasants in the VAH.19 Military leaders also advocated for state-funded economic development to help win over peasants.20 The Belaúnde government refused to provide such financing (amid a national economic crisis), so the army went forward on its own. For example, the “political-military commander” in charge of the emergency zone in Peru’s southern highlands ran local assistance projects.21 During these early years of its fight against Sendero, the army sought to expand its legal authority in insurgency zones,22 which it received shortly before Belaúnde left office. The 1985 Law 24150 assigned political-military commanders the authority to “coordinate, supervise, and harmonize” the actions of all public and private entities in their areas of responsibility.23

Threats to Autonomy and Army Paralysis under Alan García 24 President Alan García’s (1985–1990) administration challenged army autonomy in the counterinsurgency realm. Early on in his presidency, after mass graves of people purportedly killed by the army were found in Ayacucho, García denounced human rights abuses perpetrated by state security forces. He removed the head of the joint command, the political-military commander in Ayacucho, and the general in charge of Lima’s military “region” – comparable to an army division, with specific territorial jurisdiction. These actions marked the first time that a civilian president in Peru had purged the military of three top military leaders at one time.25 The government also punished uniformed personnel for a renowned 1986 prison massacre. Sendero prisoners took control of three Lima prisons in June of that year. García sent the military and police to regain state control of the prisons. In the effort, security forces killed more than 200 rioting inmates convicted of terrorism, at two sites. Following the massacre, 24 police officers, as well as the army general who had overseen the operation, faced legal charges. Army leaders thought the García administration’s orders to fight guerrillas and avoid human rights violations were contradictory. At the time, the only combat method they knew for counterinsurgency involved harming (many) civilians, as well as guerrillas, and García had not proposed an alternative strategy.26 In the words of Cynthia McClintock, “The majority of officers believed that … the war against the Shining Path could not be won without serious human rights violations.”27 Indeed, in the prison massacre case, García’s directive to the state security forces to regain control of the prisons and his later move to punish the leaders of the operation made him a hypocrite in the eyes of military personnel.28 Because of their frustration over human rights constraints, military personnel in emergency zones remained in their barracks despite guerrilla attacks on local self-defense committees

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(comités de autodefensa or CADs) and civilian government officials.29 A 1988 case in the central highland province of Tocache, San Martín, has been described as “the most pathetic example” of this military behavior: “The country listened by radio and television” to the Tocache police chief ’s pleas for help, which continued for eight hours. The guerrillas destroyed the detachment and killed the police personnel, including the chief. Throughout the crisis, all military units within a 50-kilometer radius refused to help, claiming that they could not act without written orders to do so, that bad weather made travel by helicopter impossible, and that they were afraid of being ambushed by guerrillas.30 The army’s refusal to act facilitated Sendero’s spread. For instance, insurgent attacks rose from 2,050 in 1985 to 2,489 in 1987.31

Increased Autonomy and the Resumption of Counterinsurgency Just as limits to the army’s autonomy led it to neglect counterinsurgency, subsequent increases in autonomy prompted it to recommence operations against Sendero. García relaxed his human rights policy toward the end of his term. At the time, he encountered extraordinarily low public and military support, an ongoing and deepening economic crisis, and a major, increasing insurgent threat.32 The army resumed vigorous counterinsurgency operations, as exemplified by quantitative measures of violence: assassinations and disappearances carried out by state security forces rose from 274 in 1987 to 400 in 1988 to 663 in 1989.33 The army employed a new strategy that it developed and implemented starting in the late 1980s, again without executive guidance.34 The strategy combined a more targeted, intelligence-driven approach to combat, greater political-military power in insurgency zones, and efforts to improve rural communities’ material conditions.35 Army autonomy increased further under Fujimori. In 1991, by legislative decree, political-military commanders went from “coordinating” state funds, goods, services, and personnel to controlling them.36 Also that year, other legislative decrees permitted the military to conduct counterinsurgency operations in universities, prisons, and nonemergency zones and placed the CADs under military control.37 Two 1995 amnesty laws (Laws 26479 and 26492) protected state security forces from being tried for any abuses committed since 1980 that were related to the internal conflict. These multiple reforms gave the army autonomy that officers believed was critical for counterinsurgency operations.38 In addition to the army’s increased legal and political autonomy, other developments under Fujimori that facilitated counterinsurgency included the centralization of Peru’s National Intelligence Service under the leadership of Vladimiro Montesinos39 and expansions in the military’s resource base.40 In conformity with its new counterinsurgency strategy, and enjoying autonomy, the army pursued Sendero.41 At the national level, the insurgency declined precipitously after an elite police force captured its leader, Abimael Guzmán, in 1992.42 By the end of the 1990s, only small pockets of the country continued to see Sendero military training, attacks on police anti-narcotics operations, and threats and kidnappings in remote towns. These sites of continued insurgency included the VAH and the Valley of the Apurímac and Ene Rivers (Valle de los Ríos Apurímac y Ene or VRAE), in Peru’s southern highlands. For its part, the MRTA dissolved in the late 1990s following the army’s 1997 Special Forces Operation Chavín de Huántar, in which army commandos rescued MRTA hostages that were being held at the Japanese ambassador’s residence, killing the on-scene insurgents.43 As analyzed later, the army’s experience from the 1980s into the 1990s developing and implementing counterinsurgency autonomously and, through that, contributing to Sendero’s contraction, proved critical in the post-Fujimori period. Officers “learned” from the experience that the army needed such autonomy to tackle insurgency effectively.

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Human Rights Abuses and Army Neglect of Counterinsurgency in the 2000s In the 2000s, Peru’s internal armed threat was posed by a mere 200–450 Sendero Luminoso combatants.44 These guerrilla fighters had abandoned the insurgency’s previous practice of massacring communities. Instead, in rural areas, they mainly pursued the relatively benign tactic of distributing ideological messages. In the departments of Ayacucho and Junín, which were the remaining spaces in which Sendero carried out armed incursions, insurgents spread propaganda, coerced CADs, and threatened to attack police and military personnel.45 From 2000 to 2004, only 85 people were killed in insurgent incidents.46 Sendero’s main focus became the cocaine trade: The group continued providing security for drug traffickers and coca growers while also expanding into production, especially in the VRAE, which caught up to the VAH as a coca producer.47 The Peruvian government assigned the army to root out the remaining insurgents, in a context in which the army had not had a salient international mission to speak of since the 1995 Cenepa War with Ecuador. Following its military defeat in the war, Peru’s army did increase its focus on border defense. For instance, a sixth army region was created to provide security in the disputed border zone. However, a 1998 peace agreement resolved the border conflict, and in the early 2000s, the additional army region was eliminated. With external defense noticeably lacking, the Peruvian army remained committed to counterinsurgency as an appropriate mission, based on data from interviews the author conducted with army officers during 2005 and 2006. Of the 50 officers asked to name the army’s most important activities, 22 cited counterinsurgency and 22, external defense (with ten officers mentioning both). Of the 86 explanations that officers volunteered for why the army conducted counterinsurgency, 59 percent of those explanations were that the mission simply belonged to the army. More specifically, counterinsurgency was the army’s duty, the size or character of the threat necessitated the work, and the army performed the work to achieve “pacification,” collect intelligence, establish army presence, or support CADs. Despite such acceptance of the counterinsurgency mission and a mandate from the government to eliminate Sendero, in the 2000s, the army neglected this assignment due to new constraints on its autonomy during the country’s re-democratization.

Reduced Autonomy in Counterinsurgency48 The most noteworthy constraints were national efforts to hold the state, including military personnel, accountable for past human rights abuses. Paniagua initiated the National Truth and Reconciliation Commission (Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación or CVR) to investigate human rights abuses committed between 1980 and 2000.49 The CVR’s 2003 report estimated a total of nearly 70,000 deaths and disappearances during the 20-year period, attributing approximately 32 percent to the armed forces (and 56 percent to Sendero).50 The Commission presented 47 human rights cases to the Peruvian justice system, which began refusing to apply the 1995 amnesty laws in the wake of a 2001 landmark Inter-American Court of Human Rights decision that had found the laws inconsistent with the American Convention on Human Rights.51 Peru’s courts opened all 47 CVR cases by late 2005.52 Of the 339 individuals accused in association with the cases, 264 were serving or previously had served in the army.53 In this process, civilian courts extended their reach. The Constitutional Tribunal (Tribunal Constitucional or TC) ruled in 2004 that civilian courts had jurisdiction in all cases in which civilians were harmed, even if the accused were military personnel. The Supreme Court, too, adopted this interpretation. 54 That same year, the TC declared disappearances to be ongoing crimes. 55

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The army also lost autonomy in Sendero zones, in relation to the national police and politicians. In the VRAE, the military was assigned control of security, yet its power stopped there. In 2004, the TC ruled it unconstitutional to grant the armed forces political control of emergency zones, and political-military commanders became “military commanders” (Expedient 00172003-AI/TC). The military was ordered to carry out counterinsurgency in the VAH, but only to support the national police. With intelligence sector reforms implemented in late 2005, the legislature could now access intelligence information, Peru’s national audit office could monitor intelligence funds, and all special operations by intelligence agencies, such as wiretapping, required prior approval by the judiciary.56

Neglect of Counterinsurgency57 Facing these constraints, the army essentially withdrew from counterinsurgency. Its overall resource allocations prioritized external defense, not fighting guerrillas. It passed up the opportunity to improve its decrepit fleet of helicopters, vital for counterinsurgency, and instead refurbished tanks, repaired antiaircraft artillery, and acquired modern antitank systems. Centrally planned counterinsurgency operations directed by army leadership in Lima or regional army commanders – operations common in the 1980s and 1990s – were virtually nonexistent in the post-Fujimori period. The approximate number of army personnel that worked in or near insurgency zones, including those on counterinsurgency bases and the larger brigade and battalion bases, dropped from 31,000 in 1991 to between 3,000 and 4,000 by early 2006.58 The understaffing of counterinsurgency bases limited their effectiveness. During the 1980s and 1990s, there were typically between 60 and 80 men on any given base,59 facilitating multiday patrols. One group of men patrolled for days at a time to cover more terrain far from the base where insurgents were more likely to operate, while back at the base, another group slept and a third stood watch.60 After 2000, this system was no longer feasible because only approximately 40 men now operated each base.61 Personnel limitations aside, the counterinsurgency bases could have done more. For instance, bases regularly denied requests from CADs and local units of the national police for help against insurgents. In contrast to army inaction, Peru’s national police increased its counterinsurgency efforts considerably. Indeed, high-level officials in the national police and the interior ministry (which oversaw the police) were well-aware of the contrast between army and police counterinsurgency action and were frustrated by the army’s inaction. For example, in January 2006, former interior minister Fernando Rospigliosi told the press he previously had thought that installing more military bases would help eliminate Sendero, but he had since changed his mind because the armed forces refused to assign sufficient men to the bases and to conduct effective operations.62 An interview subject who had served at the highest levels of the interior ministry said, “We decided that we would do counterinsurgency. We would do it alone, since the army wouldn’t do its job.”

Mechanisms of Army Paralysis in the 2000s and Variation across Cohort63 The Peruvian army’s paralysis in counterinsurgency was linked to the prior experience of the cohort that had developed and implemented counterinsurgency doctrine in the 1980s and early 1990s. By the 2000s, that cohort filled important leadership positions in the army. Data from interviews conducted with army officers during 2005–2006 allow for a close examination of how that “senior cohort,” consisting of mid-ranking officers (majors and lieutenant colonels) and high-ranking officers (colonels and generals), interpreted post-Fujimori constraints on army

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autonomy as having created a contradiction in the very mission of counterinsurgency. The analysis also reveals differences between senior cohort views, on one hand, and perspectives of junior officers (second lieutenants, lieutenants, and captains), on the other.

Resistance to Counterinsurgency at the Army’s Highest Levels The armed forces, which did not accept institutional responsibility for abuses committed during the 1980s and 1990s, sought to protect military personnel from conviction. For instance, military courts attempted to reclaim de facto control of human rights cases. As of August 2005, 11 CVR cases were undergoing investigations in the military and civilian judicial systems. The actions of retired officers also stand out. When former general Marciano Rengifo Ruiz was defense minister (2005–2006), he refused to release the identity of military personnel to their would-be accusers.64 Against this backdrop, at the highest levels of the army, officers pushed back against civilian orders to eliminate Sendero, specifically based on resentment of post-Fujimori human rights protections. A retired interior ministry official described stubborn insubordination on the part of the army: Toledo had a great opportunity to take control of the armed forces. But he didn’t. If he had, he could have given the orders for them to go in and take care of terrorism, and they would have complied. But he never got control, so when he says to go in, they don’t go in … The armed forces still say no. They have a long list of what they need if they are going to go in: they need a state of emergency; they need mandatory conscription, so they have enough people for the efforts, they say; they need the government to fix all of their helicopters; they need new weapons; they need a guarantee that the officers who fought against Sendero get amnesty. Where did you get this list from? Or, is this just your sense of what they want, from different conversations? No, this is exactly what they would say to Toledo and to us when we were in the Ministry of Interior. I understand that the army doesn’t have working helicopters for this work. They have helicopters, they have plenty. What do you think, in a country the size of Peru that they don’t have helicopters that work? They have them. Similarly, a former high-level interior ministry official described the following case: [Interior Minister Rospigliosi and Vice Minister Gino Costa had been] in the Ministry of Interior for five days … and [several] police are killed. And not only that, but the killers had chopped [the police personnel] up into pieces. The police helicopters couldn’t go in to deal with it, as they were only unarmed transport helicopters … The armed forces [were asked] to help. What was their response? They were angry they had not been called ahead of time, before the operation. They said, “from now on, tell us first.” But they say this while they don’t do anything themselves, either … They feel beaten by the CVR and the proceedings … [Military personnel] are not participating in counterinsurgency, because

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they want to use it as a card to push for amnesty … The argument that they don’t have resources to do counterinsurgency is ridiculous. The police have a fleet [of helicopters] in good shape. They had the same problems as the army … and they were able to fix up their fleet, also with few resources.

The “Contradiction”: Variation across Cohorts Data from interviews with army officers illustrate vividly the impact of serving in the 1980s and 1990s. From the perspective of officers in the senior cohort, restrictions on the army’s autonomy made effective counterinsurgency impossible by introducing a contradiction into the mission. Members of the junior cohort, in contrast, did not view autonomy as critical.

The Connection between Constrained Autonomy and Limited Counterinsurgency Overall, officers emphasized that limited army autonomy vis-à-vis the courts – and, in Sendero zones, vis-à-vis political officials and the national police – caused the army to underperform counterinsurgency. They pointed to human rights developments more than any other factor when they explained why the army performed little or cautious counterinsurgency work and why the counterinsurgency it did perform was ineffective (Table 9.1). Closer scrutiny of officer responses reveals that while both the senior and junior cohorts thought a lack of autonomy had caused the army to underperform counterinsurgency, it was mainly the mid-ranking and senior officers (that is, members of the senior cohort) who thought the reductions in autonomy were unfair and the army response to those reductions was reasonable. One central focus of the senior cohort, and not of the junior cohort, was reduced autonomy in relation to the police and local political officials in Sendero zones. For example, commenting on how battalion commanders in the VAH were required to contact the regional government before conducting operations, one senior officer said, “The [army’s] requests are always granted, but this system means there are no secret patrols, which makes the patrols less effective. Battalion commanders choose not to do patrols at all, usually.” Members of the senior cohort saw human rights accusations as the most detrimental constraint on the army’s autonomy. Thirty-nine of the fifty-one mid- and high-ranking officers interviewed (76 percent) spontaneously referred to human rights and potential harm to civilians during army operations.65 Officers in the senior cohort who mentioned human rights tended to TABLE 9.1  Officers’ explanations for the Peruvian army’s limited, cautious, and/or

ineffective counterinsurgency work, 2005–2006 (in no. of mentions) Explanation Lack of army autonomy Possible accusations of human rights abuses Low autonomy in relation to politicians/police Poor intelligence Insufficient army resources Low threat/police are sufficient Other Total mentions

Senior cohort (22 officers)

Junior cohort (11 officers)

Total (33 officers)

45 20 22 3 18 3 2 68

15 14 1 0 10 7 4 36

60 (58%) 34 23 3 28 (27%) 10 (10%) 6 (6%) 104 (101%)

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abuses (in no. of opinions) Opinion Accusations of abuses are unfair Abuses occurred Army (army personnel) was (were) responsible for abuses

Senior cohort (26 officers)

Junior cohort (8 officers)

Total (34 officers)*

21 12 4

4 7 7

25 19 11

*  The sample includes all officers who mentioned human rights issues related to counterinsurgency during 1980–2000. (It excludes the views of officers who discussed the theme of human rights abuses in general or only with respect to the post2000 period, as well as officers who made no mention of human rights issues.) Several officers expressed more than one of the three opinions. All opinions of each officer are presented; for each officer, a given opinion was counted only once.

complain about accusations against military personnel for abuses committed during Peru’s 1980– 2000 internal conflict and were much more vocal than junior officers in this regard (Table 9.2). The more senior officers frequently said that army personnel were being unfairly accused of abuses when those individuals had heroically saved the country from terrorism. A mid-ranking officer said, “This country has a short memory. People don’t remember what happened during the 1980s and 1990s, with all of the violence caused by terrorists, and all the good we have done. So what do they do? They punish us for saving the country.” Another officer from the middle ranks said, “Politicians are taking revenge by attacking us for doing our job, with all the accusations of human rights abuses. It hurts the image of the army.” Officers in the senior cohort often tried to justify abuses by saying the acts had been unavoidable, given the high insurgency threat, and that there were always “excesses” in any major internal conflict. Relative to members of the senior cohort, junior officers were less focused on the theme of human rights abuses, with only 9 of the 22 junior officers (41 percent) spontaneously referring to human rights and potential harm to civilians during army operations. When junior officers did broach the topic, they were less likely to say that accusations of human rights abuses were unfair and more likely to say that abuses had, in fact, been committed. All but one of the junior officers who mentioned the topic of the army and human rights during the 1980–2000 period attributed responsibility for the acts either to the army institution or army personnel, instead of saying the abuses were inevitable (Table 9.2). Consistent with this interview data, an internal army survey administered in the wake of the CVR report also found cohort differences in attitudes about human rights abuses. A senior army officer who had overseen the administration and analysis of the survey said the results revealed a “clear rupture” between young officers and officers who had fought Sendero. He said the more junior officers did not sufficiently respect the work of their superiors, were less antagonistic toward the CVR, and tended to condemn the army for past abuses.

Perceived Contradiction within the Counterinsurgency Mission Mid- and high-ranking officers interviewed thought that human rights developments in Peru not only insulted the army but also introduced a contradiction into the army’s counterinsurgency work. For these officers, the government was ordering the army to perform counterinsurgency while denying it the autonomy it “needed” to achieve the mission. Officers asked how an army unit could confront effectively guerrillas or even protect its men if it must conduct operations while hesitating at every step, lest a civilian is harmed unintentionally – harm that could result in legal investigations and trials of army personnel. All 11 mid- and high-ranking army officers who complained that human rights developments had reduced the army’s participation

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in counterinsurgency thought the army’s current counterinsurgency assignment contained an internal contradiction. For example, a mid-ranking officer said that legal liability interfered with the army’s effectiveness: Do local commanders have the authority under military regulations to plan operations? Yes. But if I am commanding a unit, and a civilian gets killed, I’ll be tried for it… Why do you think that officers don’t do more operations against subversion in the country? We have all these … trials for human rights abuses. With all that, why would we put ourselves on the line? Several officers in the senior cohort worried that should civilians be harmed, officers up the chain of command, as well as the soldiers directly performing the acts, might be accused of human rights abuses. A senior officer said that nongovernmental organizations and the CVR were unfairly attributing blame to those involved in commanding but not directly carrying out actions that resulted in human rights abuses. [The theory] is the idea that if an innocent person is killed, it is not just the fault of the person who did it, but it is also the fault of the person who ordered it … It can’t apply here because of our situation. If you are on a patrol and the soldier in front kills people, and there is confusion over who was armed, and who was attacking, the officer at the back of the line can’t be held accountable. He doesn’t know who was armed and who attacked whom! This theory doesn’t apply to military personnel, because of the nature of it, because of the hierarchy. The CVR is applying it, that’s what is happening. They are accusing everyone. In contrast to trends in the attitudes of mid-ranking and senior officers, only four junior officers said that the human rights developments were unjust (Table 9.2). Of the four, only one saw a contradiction in the army’s counterinsurgency mission. The other three thought the reduced counterinsurgency was an overreaction on the part of the more senior officers or of the army as an institution.

“Lessons” from Serving in the Army in the Late 1980s–Early 1990s The senior cohort’s perception of a contradiction can be linked to their service in the army at a time when the institution had enjoyed exceptionally high levels of autonomy and had proven successful in reducing insurgency. Unprompted, 25 of the 51 mid- and high-ranking officers said that in the 1980s and 1990s, army autonomy had facilitated successful counterinsurgency operations. Those officers frequently stated that independent of other actors, the army had designed a more effective, intelligence-driven, hearts-and-minds approach at a time when politicians were neither interested in finding a solution to Peru’s internal conflict nor capable of guiding or supporting the army in its effort. They saw the army as the only available actor to save the country from “terrorism.” Therefore, oversight by any other actors would have hindered, not helped, counterinsurgency. Several officers described counterinsurgency as seamless during the 1980s and 1990s when army units collected intelligence without first obtaining approval from any other state actor and when the army exercised authority over the police during operations. For instance, in his depiction of the military’s political power in emergency zones as critical to fighting Sendero in the 1990s, a mid-ranking officer said, “The military was put in control, not just in the military

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sphere, but also in politics … You didn’t know who was a subversive … In that period, we had freedom [to act], because the military had political control … The only way to do it was to give the military power.” Reinforcing this high value placed on autonomy was the prominent idea among mid- and high-ranking officers that it was unrealistic to expect army personnel to avoid civilian casualties, a view rooted in the senior cohort’s experience serving in the 1980s and 1990s. Sixteen members of the senior cohort volunteered opinions on whether civilian casualties could reasonably be avoided during counterinsurgency operations. Thirteen thought civilian casualties were unavoidable. Interview excerpts reveal officers’ reasoning. According to some officers, Sendero’s tactics forced the army to harm innocent civilians. For instance, a mid-ranking officer described a case in the early 1990s in which an army helicopter flew over a cluster of homes in the countryside. Armed senderistas stood in front of one of the huts, along with civilians (among them children) whom the guerrillas were using as human shields. The officer added, “this kind of thing happened all the time during the violence … all kinds of scenarios in which civilians were killed while we were hunting terrorists … There are always excesses in a war like that – an irregular war.” When officers in the senior cohort spoke of harm to civilians in the conflict, they generally meant civilians who supported Sendero. These officers tended to think that unarmed civilians who helped the insurgents constituted a legitimate target for the army during counterinsurgency operations. A senior officer said of the earlier period that, “though they might not have been Sendero, peasants helped the subversives openly. So we had to be tough on them.” Another officer, of the middle ranks, said that “excesses” or abuses on the part of the army were necessary during the 1980s and 1990s, explaining this opinion: “You might enter a town of one thousand [people]. There may be only two hundred senderistas, but the other eight hundred support Sendero, because they have been lied to, convinced, brainwashed. So you go in, and you are confronting one thousand enemies. Of course there are excesses.” Officers also said it was difficult to distinguish between civilians and guerrillas. For instance, a senior officer who described an incident in Ayacucho during the 1980–2000 period said that many guerrillas had attacked a town, and shortly thereafter, several peasants were seen farming close by. He had concluded that those farmers were the combatants, who would not have had time to flee the area. We were told that fifty to sixty senderistas had come and attacked the people [in the town], and killed thirty-two people … There is no way that so many of them [senderistas] could have gotten away. I am sure that the peasants … [seen] farming [in the area] were the ones who had come through [the town] and carried out the attack. They were only peasants. But what happened was that Sendero Luminoso leaders would force peasants to fight with them. Perhaps precisely because of their experiences in the 1980s and 1990s, officers in the senior cohort also tended to think it was hard to differentiate civilians from guerrillas since 2000. For example, the officer describing the farming incident said that the same dynamic had continued in Ayacucho after 2000. In contrast to the senior cohort, when junior officers raised the issue of autonomy (which was rare), they generally did so by simply referring to the army’s reduced autonomy since the 1990s, without claiming that the army required that same kind of autonomy in the more recent period. Some junior officers even criticized the army’s earlier practices and implied that autonomy inappropriately had granted them the freedom to violate human rights. For instance, one junior

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officer said, “We [i.e., the army] were prepared for regular conflict when Sendero came onto the scene. But this wasn’t the way to fight subversion. The military was put in charge of everything, the war, everything. There were abuses, on our [i.e., the army’s] part.” Also different from the senior cohort, junior officers generally described Sendero in the post2000 period as being distinguishable from the civilian population, as communicated by one junior officer as follows: Do you, as the head of the base, worry ever that you will be accused of human rights abuses should you go out to do an operation, and a civilian gets hurt? The [counterinsurgency] bases are far from the townspeople, in virgin jungle, so we are not right in the town … When we do operations, we know where the enemy is – he is out in the virgin jungle, not around the town. It is not like the [other military personnel] say, that you don’t know who the enemy is. The peasants have shotguns. Senderistas, on the other hand, have weapons of war, [purchased with] drug trafficking money, or stolen from the military or the police. Because members of the junior cohort thought one could discern civilians from guerrillas, it is not surprising that only three of those younger officers said that civilian casualties could not reasonably be avoided during counterinsurgency operations; the other six junior officers who mentioned the topic of casualties thought they were avoidable. Since the intensive interview stage of this research was concluded in 2006, follow-up research in 2009, during García’s second administration (2006–2011), confirmed the importance of the senior cohort’s experiences and beliefs concerning autonomy. In direct response to the army’s neglect of its counterinsurgency mission, the executive proposed a law to define military rules of engagement in internal security operations. The law (Law 29166) passed by the legislature in 2007 gave the army greater autonomy. It mandated that all on-the-job crimes fell within the jurisdiction of the military-police justice system and expanded what counted as on-the-job activities to include situations in which military personnel used their weapons when confronting hostile “intentions” as well as hostile acts (articles 7, 13). With increased autonomy, the army dramatically increased its counterinsurgency efforts.

Conclusion This analysis has identified the perception within the Peruvian army’s senior officer cohort that there was a contradiction in the army’s counterinsurgency mission in the 2000s. In contrast, junior officers saw no such contradiction. The chapter attributes this cohort difference to the fact that only mid- and high-ranking officers who made up the senior cohort had served in the army during the high point of Peru’s internal conflict and had drawn particular lessons from that service. There is an important alternative explanation worth entertaining, though it proves less helpful for explaining officer views and behavior: the question of varied training across cohorts, and especially the training of junior officers in IHL, which addresses directly the question of fighting insurgents while respecting human rights.66 In the 2000s, new training in IHL was layered on top of general instruction in human rights that had been taught in the Peruvian army since the first half of the 1990s.67 Between 2002 and 2004, the ICRC trained 522 Peruvian military instructors throughout the country. A May 2004 defense ministry resolution approved a military directive to integrate IHL into doctrine and training.68

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However, because army training in IHL was inadequate, it does not satisfactorily explain the cohort differences analyzed here. Beginning with the graduating class of 2002, IHL constituted only one of the 91 total units in a cadet’s studies. The class of 2003 took only two units (of 99). As of 2005, the year-long high-command course at the army war college consisted of 1,692 class and lecture hours, with only 108 hours devoted to international law.69 (Presumably, some of those international law hours would have focused on IHL.) As of 2006, IHL lessons were delivered by outside instructors, who received less respect and attention from students than instructors from within Peru’s armed forces. Furthermore, the Peruvian army’s tactical training in IHL omitted many critical situations, including those involving civilians, schools, or prisoners of war.70 IHL training in Peru contrasts starkly with the Colombian experience discussed at the start of this chapter. An ICRC official who had worked in Peru and Colombia described the latter case as a model for IHL training, in general, and certainly relative to the Peruvian case. The official focused on three differences: In Colombia, IHL training was more extensive, it was led by Colombian military personnel, and included scenarios involving civilians. In sum, this analysis has focused on how under democracy government may grapple with challenges to achieving military capacity to combat an armed internal threat. It has emphasized the importance of looking below the institutional level when it comes to the military or a branch thereof, to consider differences across officer cohorts in experiences and resulting views. Ultimately, the study demonstrates the need to think about the capacity of state security forces and the rule of law in relational terms in democratic Latin America. Understanding army capacity in Peru requires that we consider not only resources and coercive abilities but also the willingness of the army to use those resources and skills while answering to a civilian judicial system. In Peru’s post-Fujimori democracy, the army was directed by a cohort especially dependent on autonomy due to its experiences combating Sendero in the 1980s and 1990s. This reliance was so intense that the introduction of basic judicial constraints on army behavior during re-democratization meant that there was now a contradiction in the counterinsurgency mission in the eyes of those more senior officers. In contrast, junior officers who had not served in the army in those previous decades did not perceive autonomy as crucial for carrying out counterinsurgency operations. Future in-depth research on the Peruvian army would be required to assess the extent to which this younger group of officers might carry those beliefs with them and shape military practices in the future as leaders of the institution.

Notes 1 Counterinsurgency strategy has varied substantially in Latin America. David Pion-Berlin identified the hardline and softline strategies, each of which aligned with a different version of national security doctrine adopted by Latin American militaries during the Cold War. According to the hardline version, “counterinsurgency becomes counterforce and revolutionaries become terrorists. The practitioner of counterforce ignores the persuasive, political-historical message of his radical foe … His reduction of complex political formations to tactical maneuvers invites the state to resort to violence and extermination as a logical response.” David Pion-Berlin, “Latin American National Security Doctrines: Hard- and Softline Themes,” Armed Forces and Society 15, no. 3 (Spring 1989): 419. In contrast, the softline version of counterinsurgency strategy is multifaceted, focused on winning the trust of fellow citizens: “Victory is won when the opponent is convinced, through a combination of political, economic, psychological, and military interventions, that further resistance is futile.” Pion-Berlin, “Latin American National Security Doctrines”: 420. 2 Steven Levitsky, “Fujimori and Post-Party Politics in Peru,” Journal of Democracy 10, no. 3 (1999): 78; and Cynthia McClintock, “Electoral Authoritarian versus Partially Democratic Regimes: The Case of the Fujimori Government and the 2000 Election,” in The Fujimori Legacy:The Rise of Electoral Authoritarianism in Peru, ed. Julio F. Carrión (University Park, TX: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006), 245–248.

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3 McClintock, “Electoral Authoritarian versus Partially Democratic Regimes,” 243–244. On Fujimori’s authoritarian practices, see also Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way, “Elections without Democracy: The Rise of Competitive Authoritarianism,” Journal of Democracy 13, no. 2 (2002): 51–65; and Julio F. Carrión, ed., The Fujimori Legacy: The Rise of Electoral Authoritarianism in Peru (University Park, TX: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006). 4 Maiah Jaskoski, Military Politics and Democracy in the Andes (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013). 5 This discussion of counterinsurgency in Latin America is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics and Democracy in the Andes, 8–9. 6 Carina Parelli and Juan Rial, “Changing Military World Views: The Armed Forces of South America in the 1990s,” in Beyond Praetorianism: The Latin American Military in Transition, eds. Richard L. Millett and Michael Gold-Biss (Miami, FL: North-South Center Press, University of Miami, 1996), 72; emphasis in original. 7 The discussion in this section on international humanitarian law and human rights training in Colombia is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 188–193. 8 Information in this section is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 38–40. 9 On Sendero Luminoso’s organizational roots, see Carlos Iván Degregori, “Sendero Luminoso: Los hondos y mortales desencuentros – Lucha armada y utopía autoritaria,” in Peru: Sendero Luminoso, ejército y democracia, ed. Norberto Ceresole (Madrid: Prensa y Ediciones Iberoamericanas, S.A., and Buenos Aires: Instituto Latinoamericano de Cooperación Tecnológica y Relaciones Internacionales, 1987), 190–201. 10 Gustavo Gorriti, The Shining Path: A History of the Millenarian War in Peru (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1999), 17. 11 Carlos Iván Degregori, “Cosechando tempestades: Las rondas campesinas y la derrota de Sendero Luminoso en Ayacucho,” in Las rondas campesinas y la derrota de Sendero Luminoso, eds. Carlos Iván Degregori, José Coronel, Ponciano del Pino, and Orin Starn (Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1996), 189–225; and Cynthia McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America: El Salvador’s FMLN and Peru’s Shining Path (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, 1998), 63–72, 271–281, 287–298. 12 McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America, 73, 80–81. 13 McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America, 47; and Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación (CVR), Informe Final (Lima: CVR, 2003), 6: 402, 404–421. 14 Information in this section is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 25, 38, 40–42, 44–46, 81–82, 108. 15 Gorriti, The Shining Path, 115–117. 16 Gorriti, The Shining Path, 259–260. 17 Carlos Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso: Dos estrategias y un final (Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1997), 23–30, 32. 18 José Coronel, “Violencia política y respuestas campesinas en Huanta,” in Las rondas campesinas y la derrota de Sendero Luminoso, eds. Carlos Iván Degregori, José Coronel, Ponciano del Pino, and Orin Starn (Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1996), 48–49, 58–59; Degregori, “Cosechando tempestades,” 205; and Tapia, Las Fuerzas Armados y Sendero Luminoso, 32, 34–35. 19 The army took on the anti-narcotics mission in the early 1990s in the face of pressures from Fujimori and the U.S. government. The work thoroughly corrupted the army to such an extent that security experts have attributed the Peruvian armed forces’ humiliating military defeat to the Ecuadorian military in the 1995 Cenepa War over an ill-defined stretch of the international border to that corruption and associated reduced professionalism. With the Cenepa defeat, Peru’s military withdrew from its anti-narcotics mission. Even in the 2000s, following the 1998 peace agreement between Ecuador and Peru, the Peruvian army refused to participate in anti-narcotic missions. For instance, in 2006, the army turned down U.S. aid attached to anti-narcotics, even though the U.S. training in question would have included more general skills in navigating, first aid, and combat. Tapia, Las Fuerzas Armados y Sendero Luminoso, 81–82. Of the 17 explanations offered by army officers who were interviewed during 2005–2006 about the army’s lack of participation in anti-narcotics, explanations focused on statements that the mission was not appropriate for the army (ten explanations) and to avoid corruption in the army (five explanations). 20 Fernando Rospigliosi, Montesinos y las Fuerzas Armadas: Cómo controló durante una década las instituciones militares (Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 2000), 47–69. 21 Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 36. 22 Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 32, 36; and Rospigliosi, Montesinos y las Fuerzas Armadas, 64–66. 23 Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 38. 24 Information in this and the following sections is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 43–44, 50–54, 231–232. 25 McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America, 143.

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26 Enrique Obando, “The Power of Peru’s Armed Forces,” in Peru in Crisis: Dictatorship or Democracy?, eds. Joseph S.Tulchin and Gary Bland (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 1994), 111; and Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 39–40. 27 McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America, 143. 28 Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 40–41; McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America, 143; and CVR, Informe Final, 7:161–181. 29 Ponciano del Pino, “Tiempos de guerra y de dioses: Ronderos, evangélicos y senderistas en el valle del río Apurímac,” in Las rondas campesinas y la derrota de Sendero Luminoso, eds. Carlos Iván Degregori, José Coronel, Ponciano del Pino, and Orin Starn (Lima: IEP Ediciones, 1996), 149; and Cynthia McClintock, “The Evolution of Internal War in Peru: The Conjunction of Need, Creed, and Organizational Finance,” in Rethinking the Economics of War:The Intersection of Need, Creed, and Greed, eds. Cynthia J. Arnson and I. William Zartman (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005), 71–72. 30 Enrique Obando, “Civil-Military Relations in Peru, 1980–1996: How to Control and Coopt the Military (and the Consequences of Doing So),” in Shining and Other Paths: War and Society in Peru, 1980–1995, ed. Steve J. Stern (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998), 391. The armed forces resented the García government not only for its new human rights policy but also for decreasing military spending amid a deepening economic crisis. Obando, Power of Peru’s Armed Forces, 111–113. 31 Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 40. 32 McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America, 143–144. 33 CVR, Informe Final, Appendix 3: 84. 34 Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 44–45. 35 Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 48–55; see also CVR, Informe Final, 2: 194–198. 36 Rospigliosi, Montesinos y las Fuerzas Armadas, 116; and Legislative Decree 749. 37 Legislative Decrees 726, 734, 738, and 741; Tapia, Las fuerzas armadas y Sendero Luminoso, 62–77; and Rospigliosi, Montesinos y las Fuerzas Armadas, 113–120. 38 Rospigliosi, Montesinos y las Fuerzas Armadas, 127. 39 Rospigliosi, Montesinos y las Fuerzas Armadas, 190–213. 40 National defense spending rose from US$642 million in 1990 to US$783 million in 1992, and the government financed the army’s program to arm CADs. McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America, 72, 133. The government also channeled substantial monies from the government’s privatization contracts and external debt to the armed forces. Wilson Hernández Breña, “El presupuesto del sector defensa en el Perú: Gastos de ‘cuartel’ y gasto en armamentos,” in Transparencia y eficiencia en gastos para la defensa, eds. Gustavo Suárez, Wilson Hernández, and José Robles (Lima: Instituto de Defensa Legal, 2003), 86. 41 Degregori, Cosechando tempestades, 211; and CVR, Informe Final, 2: 194, 202–207. 42 McClintock, Revolutionary Movements in Latin America, 144–145, 147–148. 43 The Chavín de Huántar case has received international attention as an example of excellence in special forces operation due to the operation’s success in freeing the hostages. However, after Fujimori left office, participants in the operation were tried in courts due to concerns about the treatment of the MRTA insurgents: forensic evidence showed that the insurgents had already been badly wounded or had surrendered before they were killed by army commandos; Coordinadora Nacional de Derechos Humanos (CNDDHH), Informe Anual 2001 (Lima: CNDDHH, 2001), 119; and Eduardo González Cueva, “The Contribution of the Peruvian Truth and Reconciliation Commission to Prosecutions,” Criminal Law Forum 15 (2004): 65–66. 44 “Después de la traición de ‘Feliciano’ al ‘Presidente Gonzalo’: ¿Qué pasa hoy con Sendero?” El Comercio, March 3, 2003; “Ayacucho: La lucha contra el narcoterrorismo – Senderistas pretendían emboscar a patrulla de veinte comandos,” El Comercio, July 18, 2003; “Descuido que costó ocho valiosas vidas: Narcoterroristas prepararon emboscada a policías de Aucayacu desde noviembre,” El Comercio, December 25, 2005; McClintock, Evolution of Internal War in Peru, 79; and Mariella Balbi, “Entrevista, Fernando Rospigliosi: Confusiones y recetas sobre Sendero,” El Comercio, January 2, 2006. The discussion of insurgency and military mission commitments in the following three paragraphs is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 38, 59–73, 82–83, 88, 106. 45 Luis García Panta, “Aniversario del terror: Policía con orden de inamovilidad,” El Comercio, May 17, 2003; see also CNDDHH, Informe Anual 2002 (Lima: CNDDHH, 2003), 90. 46 Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática (INEI), Statistics (Lima: INEI, 2005), drawing on Peruvian national police data. 47 As of 2009, the VRAE produced one-half of national coca production and enough cocaine to satisfy the demands of one-half of all U.S. cocaine users or almost all of Europe’s consumers. “Los ‘mochileros’ del VRAE,” Caretas No. 2076, April 30, 2009. 48 Information in this section is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 84–86.

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49 CVR, Informe Final, 1: 35–36. 50 CVR, Informe Final, Appendix 3: 86. 51 Defensoría del Pueblo, A dos años de la Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación, Informe Defensorial 97 (Lima: Defensoría del Pueblo, 2005), 120. 52 Defensoría del Pueblo, A dos años de la Comisión, 49–52. 53 Defensoría del Pueblo, A cinco años de los procesos de reparación y justicia en el Perú: Balance y desafíos de una tarea pendiente, Informe Defensorial 139 (Lima: Defensoría del Pueblo, 2008), 139. 54 Defensoría del Pueblo, A dos años, 130–135. 55 Defensoría del Pueblo, A dos años, 223; and Defensoría del Pueblo, A cinco años, 268–269. 56 “Fiscalizarán nueva central de inteligencia nacional,” La República, June 3, 2005. 57 Information in this section is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 73–76, 97–99. 58 These estimates were provided by a retired senior officer who handled personnel matters in the 1990s, including in emergency zones. According to the security experts interviewed, decreases in manpower in Sendero zones cannot be explained fully by the reduced size of the overall army (in terms of personnel) that occurred during the same time period. 59 The information on the number of personnel assigned to counterinsurgency bases in the 1980s and 1990s was provided during an interview with a retired general who, in the 1990s, had worked in a leadership capacity on operations and personnel assignments to emergency zones, and during a discussion group consisting of two senior army officers and one senior navy officer. 60 This rotation practice was described by two junior officers who had worked in emergency zones in the late 1990s. 61 The description of post-2000 personnel assignments to counterinsurgency bases was provided during interviews with a mid-ranking army officer and a civilian researcher who specializes in Peru’s internal conflict, and during an army-navy discussion group. Similarly, the CNDDHH reported that, in the VAH as of 2001, several counterinsurgency bases had been dismantled and the remaining bases lacked personnel and logistical support, which explained “the limitation of regular patrols through Upper Huallaga communities.” CNDDHH, Informe anual 2001, 118. 62 Balbi, “Entrevista, Fernando Rospigliosi.” 63 Information in this section is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 86–105. 64 Previously, the defense minister Aurelio Loret de Mola (2001–2003) – who had not served in the armed forces – had provided such information to the CVR on request. Angel Páez, “Marciano te llaman,” La República, February 21, 2006. 65 There was no relationship within the study’s officer sample between valuing counterinsurgency as an appropriate army mission and raising the topic of human rights. That is, it seems that concerns about human rights did not cause officers to reject counterinsurgency altogether, and that officers did not complain about human rights to try to justify any distaste for counterinsurgency. 66 Information in this section on international humanitarian law training is drawn from Jaskoski, Military Politics, 193. 67 This description of human rights training is based on information from officer interviews and the author’s review of course listings for infantry cadets at the Escuela Militar de Chorrillos (1981–2003) and of training materials at the army war college (Escuela Superior de Guerra). 68 UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights’ Committee against Torture, Consideration of Reports Submitted by States Parties under Article 19 of the Convention; Addendum: Peru, CAT/C/61/Add.2. (2005), 90; and Centro del Derecho Internacional Humanitario y Derechos Humanos de las Fuerzas Armadas, Manual para las fuerzas armadas: El derecho internacional humanitario (Lima: Comando Conjunto de las Fuerzas Armadas, Ministerio de Defensa, 2004). 69 Escuela Superior de Guerra, Exposición a la Delegación de la Escuela Nacional de Guerra de la Universidad Nacional de la Defensa de los Estados Unidos de América, PowerPoint Presentation (Lima: Escuela Superior de Guerra, 2005). 70 This information on the content of international humanitarian law training was provided by an official of the International Committee of the Red Cross in an interview with the author.

10 CUBA The Exceptional Case Brian Latell

Popular aspirations for a softening of Cuba’s communist dictatorship have intensified on the island since 2006, when Fidel Castro yielded power to his brother Raúl. To an extraordinary degree, they were stimulated by Raúl, who set out to rule differently. Cubans were soon relieved no longer to be called on to march in mass demonstrations or assemble to witness long, impassioned speeches as they had under Fidel. Anti-American rhetoric gradually diminished. The leadership ranks of the government and communist party were revitalized with younger men and an unprecedented number of women. Most were Raúlistas, longtime associates of the younger Castro, who replaced harder line Fidelistas of the revolutionary old guard. Early in his term, President Raúl surprisingly called for “conceptual and structural” changes, unmistakably a reference to Fidel’s intransigence. Among the most important early changes was the legitimizing of cuentapropistas, a vigorous private sector of small service providers independent of the state. Slowly at first, it dawned on the populace that even more sweeping changes might be possible. Another of the most significant ones occurred late in Raúl’s tenure when, as part of the rapprochement with the Obama administration that began in 2014, Cubans were allowed much greater access to electronic media, and thus to long-forbidden information flows. As a result, by the time Raúl himself stepped down from day-to-day power, an embryonic new civil society had begun to coalesce, however, tentatively. Yet, even before Fidel Castro’s death in November 2016, a hardline reaction against much of Raúl’s reform effort was gaining strength. Little is known outside Cuba about the hardliners, and thus it cannot be determined how Raúl’s successors might deal with them. The post-Castro era began on April 19, 2018, when 57-year-old Miguel Díaz-Canel Bermudez replaced Raúl as president of the councils of state and ministers. The succession had been on Raúl’s mind from early in his presidency. He first broached the charged issue in a speech in April 2011.1 His intent was reiterated with finality in February 2013 when he revealed that he planned to step down at the end of the five-year presidential term he had just begun. He was not explicit then, or subsequently, about whether term limits would affect members of the communist party leadership or the military high command. Yet, he has remained First Secretary of the party – the country’s ultimate authority – and is Cuba’s only four-star general.

DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-11

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Cuba’s Compounding Problems The need for change was urgent when the octogenarian Castro orchestrated the succession and was even greater by the end of his 12-year presidency.2 The economy was stagnant, impaired by inefficiencies and low productivity, deep-seated corruption, a withered agricultural sector, meager export revenue, and a paucity of needed foreign investment. Even sugar sales, historically the largest source of hard currency earnings, had fallen to negligible levels. (The 2018 harvest of a little over one million tons was the smallest in more than a century.) Standards of living for Cubans working in the public sector were declining. Disparities of wealth and income were worsening as the new class of entrepreneurial cuentapropistas accumulated comparative wealth by operating small businesses under the regime’s watchful gaze. The number of Cubans living in poverty increased during Raúl’s presidency. Scholar Richard Feinberg observed in 2018 that economic performance was “deeply disappointing” under Raúl.3 Feinberg emphasized the human costs of the malaise: “shortages of consumer staples, energy rationing, and price inflation are features of daily life.” He added that “take-home pay in many public sector jobs fails to cover basic household needs.”4 Reform of the dual currency system was one key promise Raúl was unable to fulfill. As a result, severe distortions generated by the unpopular dual currency system have persisted. Financial constraints became so severe that in March 2018, new restrictions on imports by state-run companies were imposed. The Reuters economics correspondent in Havana reported that Cuba “was struggling with a shortage of cash and mounting commercial debt.”5 A Western banker was quoted saying the restrictions would lead to “a short-term plunge in imports and to a slower contracting of supplies.”6 Measures taken by the Trump administration to punish Cuba for its support of the Maduro regime in Venezuela have further aggravated the foreign exchange crisis. These and other problems, including reductions in Venezuelan economic assistance, have put Cuban society under considerable stress. As scholar Jorge Dominguez noted in 2017, “the urgency of social policy change is acute.” 7 Public expenditures for education and health, the two sector’s revolutionary leaders traditionally touted as exemplars of their success, have been declining for several years. By 2012, health care “had endured millions of dollars in budget cuts and tens of thousands of layoffs.” 8 School enrollments fell from three million students in 2008 to 2.2 million three years later, according to the Cuban National Statistics Office. University enrollment dropped by almost 50 percent, and adult education also fell dramatically.9 Race is becoming a divisive issue. Afro-Cubans are often the most impacted by poverty and lack of opportunity, especially since they are the least likely to be recipients of remittance dollars from abroad or to operate small businesses. A nascent Afro-descendant movement is emerging.10 Cuba’s demographic trends are “alarming and worsening,” according to Sergio Díaz-Briquets, who has written extensively about population issues.11 “All projections agree that in decades to come, Cuba’s population will contract in size at an accelerating pace,” he wrote in 2015.12 Cubans were emigrating in large numbers: 463,502 were admitted to the United States between 2006 and 2016 as thousands of others went to other countries, including “tens of thousands of highly educated professionals” leaving every year, according to the Associated Press.13 Then-economic czar Marino Murillo acknowledged the dilemma when speaking to Cuban leaders in July 2012, adding that “the ageing of the population no longer has a solution … society must prepare.”14 Yet, the leadership has remained largely oblivious to the longer term social and economic consequences of that stark reality. By 2035, the number of seniors is projected to nearly double to 3.6 million, or a third of the population. Working-age Cubans are expected to decline from 65 percent to 52 percent of the population.15 The costs of caring for large cohorts of Cuban elders are already becoming onerous.

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Raúl Castro’s public discussion of the need to rejuvenate the leadership confronted the reality that younger generations of Cubans were deeply disaffected. Hoary tales of the revolutionary feats of their elders during the late 1950s and 1960s, repeatedly featured in the controlled state media, no longer inspire the youth. They want tangible progress after so many years of hardship and sacrifice: better housing and career opportunities, consumer goods, unrestricted access to electronic media, and social welfare stability for themselves and their families. They long for more information from abroad and the personal freedoms denied them by the monolithic state and party. Impatient youths and the small community of democracy and human rights activists bridle under virtually constant surveillance by the large and powerful internal security organs. As it had been during Fidel Castro’s long reign, Raúl permitted no dilution of the party’s supreme authority or the prevalence of the state security apparatus.

Thaw under Raúl Castro Nonetheless, Raúl’s presidency proved somewhat analogous to the “thaw” in the Soviet Union impelled by communist party Chief Nikita Khrushchev between 1956 and 1964. Soviet intellectuals, writers, filmmakers, and publishers were allowed greater freedoms; while new journals appeared and others were revived, according to Khrushchev’s biographer William Taubman.16 A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s masterpiece depicting the horrors of a Stalinist labor camp through the eyes of a simple peasant, was published with Khrushchev’s enthusiastic backing. Ilya Ehrenburg’s novel, The Thaw, included mordant criticism of the Soviet elite.17 The decompression “felt like the great holiday of the soul,” according to an author quoted by Taubman.18 Khrushchev opened the gates of the Kremlin so that citizens could walk the grounds, which had been closed to all but the highest-ranking leadership under Stalin.19 Khrushchev endeavored to reform agriculture, although his efforts mostly failed. His 1956 “secret” speech denouncing the savagery of Stalin’s dictatorship – the gulags, the executions, the grisly purges – “was the bravest and most reckless thing he ever did,” according to Taubman.20 The ensuing campaign against Stalin’s crimes provided an unexpected balm that changed Soviet history, presaging Mikhail Gorbachev’s more encompassing reforms 30 years later. It was Gorbachev’s speech condemning the Stalinist terror, televised on November 2, 1987, that “would play a crucial role in undermining the Stalinist system of coercion and empire,” according to journalist and author David Remnick. That speech, he added, “opened the gate … and the lion of history came roaring in.”21 Neither Khrushchev nor Gorbachev denounced Lenin, the progenitor of the Russian revolution, and Raúl Castro never explicitly criticized Fidel Castro. But Raúl succeeded, cautiously, in fits and starts – and with a heightened concern about his personal safety – to distance himself from the harsher, more draconian aspects of his brother’s dictatorship.22 Raúl admitted that Fidel Castro’s achievements had not been without error. Breaking with one of his brother’s classic shibboleths, he told the Cuban people that the American economic embargo was not the source of all the country’s problems; Cubans were mostly to blame themselves. Raúl moved decisively to mollify popular grievances, allowing Cubans to buy and sell homes and vehicles under controlled circumstances, and lodge at hotels previously reserved for foreign tourists. He permitted growing cellphone use and established Wi-Fi hot spots. Restrictions on foreign travel were reduced. The reforms reaped the greatest economic benefits in the tourist sector. Private restaurants (paladares) have sprouted throughout Havana and elsewhere, and private residences are now rented to foreign tourists on Airbnb and other sites. The number of cuentapropistas grew steadily during Raúl’s tenure.

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His cultural “thaw” was not as liberating as Khrushchev’s, but Cubans knew that the rules were changing as they sought new room to maneuver. Some took advantage of greater freedom of expression in the arts, music, and performance. Raúl’s daughter Mariela led a movement for greater acceptance of gay and transgender Cubans. Prominent regime critics were allowed to travel abroad and return home, where they have blogged and operated websites that have attracted international followings. Severe repression of the small human rights and pro-democracy communities was ameliorated. Apparently, there were fewer political prisoners. The death penalty was rarely, if ever, imposed. And, as Jorge Dominguez has observed, “people have started to question, and at times criticize, the economic policies implemented during the so-called economic updating … (that) have nurtured a low-key social discontent.”23 Dominguez chose to analyze three examples of “social grumbling” that were permitted to be aired in Granma, the official party daily. Cubans complained about widening inequality in society, inequities in the regime’s foreign investment policies, and the possible future economic role of the Cuban diaspora on the island. “The newspaper,” Dominguez said, “need not endorse these views, but it has clearly endorsed their incorporation into the public debate.” He added that24: This is a tribute to a greater tolerance for critical views, but it also likely indicates that some of those critical views have sufficient support within the communist party that its official newspaper is permitted and encouraged to publish them. If grumbling exists at this high level, then take notice. (emphasis added)25

Raúl’s Apostasies Demonstrating that Fidel was not entirely sacrosanct, Raúl indirectly challenged three of his brother’s core beliefs. He announced in a speech that the “paternalism, idealism, and egalitarianism” of the past would have to give way. This was not as traumatizing for Cuban leaders as Khrushchev’s “secret” speech denouncing Stalin had been, but reformers and modernizers throughout the leadership must have been delighted with the prospects for significant change suddenly emerging. Those three loaded words encapsulated the doctrinal essence of the Fidelista dictatorship that Raúl sought to modulate. • •

•

Paternalism referred to the enormous, expensive state system of welfare and social services, and by extension, to the asserted infallibility of the communist party and its leadership. Idealism coaxed Cubans to endure hardship and sacrifices and be selfless “internationalists” and purer revolutionaries disinterested in material gains. The imagined Che Guevara was its icon. Egalitarianism proved to be the most divisive of the precepts among the nomenklatura. By Fidel’s dictate, no individual could be allowed to acquire conspicuous income, wealth, or exalted standing.

Marino Murillo was enlisted to reinforce for Raúl the message of excess paternalism. In a speech, he complained of the need for the “gigantic paternalistic state” to shrink because cradleto-grave benefits were no longer affordable.26 It turned out, as noted, that health and education suffered some of the worst cuts. There were no indications that the bloated military and internal security services were also affected. The regime committed to removing 50 percent of noncritical workers from the public payroll. The number of underperforming state employees has diminished substantially, but contrary to Raúl’s wishes is still much higher than what he

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had planned. To compensate and avoid a calamity of massive unemployment, nearly 200 categories of basic services that entrepreneurs could provide for profit were licensed. By early 2019, according to the Minister of Labour and Social Security, there were 1.3 million workers in the non-state sector, including the cuentapropistas and others employed by them or in other services.27 Making money was no longer anathema. Gradually, however, regime hardliners were coming to grips with what Raúl had wrought, just as others had with Khrushchev. Some cuentapropistas were too successful by the traditional standards of Fidelista egalitarianism. Enterprising Cubans have reportedly accumulated so much capital that, with few ways to spend it on the island, they have been sending millions of dollars abroad annually.28 A new capitalist class was forming. No doubt for this and related reasons, in 2017 and 2018, the government began cracking down on private businesses, imposing higher taxes, enforcing byzantine regulations more aggressively, and suspending the issuance of new licenses. 29 The hardline reaction, probably influenced by Fidel, strengthened. A more cautious and perhaps chastened Raúl never publicly uttered that incendiary passage about “paternalism, idealism, and egalitarianism” again. By the end of his presidency, policies toward the private sector were in flux as hardline opposition to the emerging wealthier class had further intensified. Like Khrushchev, Raúl was deterred in his efforts to reform agriculture, and by the time he yielded presidential power to Díaz-Canel, only marginal progress had been made. Cuba still imports between 60 and 80 percent of the food that is consumed, as vast acreages lie effectively fallow. Similarly, the high priority, often enunciated, that Raúl placed on attracting at least two billion dollars of foreign investment annually to jump-start the economy was frustrated.30 Bureaucratic intransigence and other obstacles apparently imposed by regime recalcitrants impeded that objective year after year. In a remarkably candid interview, Deborah Rivas, the Director General for Foreign Investment, attributed the investment shortfall, in part, to “mentality problems” in the Cuban bureaucracies. “You cannot change the minds of the people of the enterprises,” she said.”31 Well-placed bureaucrats had too much to lose if foreign investors established efficient enterprises. In a more open system, such failures would be politically calamitous, and in a more perfectly run centralized one, such intransigence would be severely punished. The survival of the dual currency system may be another example of bureaucratic and hardliner resistance, although, in this instance, it likely emanated from the internal security establishment. State workers are paid in pesos, the national currency, but many goods and services are purchased with “convertible pesos,” known as CUCs, that are pegged to the U.S. dollar. Raúl spoke of the many distortions caused by this system and, on several occasions, raised expectations that it would soon end. In a speech in December 2017, for example, he spoke of the pressing need to eliminate it. Yet, neither he nor Díaz-Canel has revealed a plan for achieving that.32 Perhaps no other initiative taken by Raúl to thaw the revolutionary legacy of his brother was as controversial as the normalization of relations with the United States. It is not known if Fidel Castro was consulted as the Obama administration and Cuban officials conducted protracted secret negotiations to reestablish long-broken diplomatic ties and ameliorate historical tensions.33 If he did participate, Fidel would surely have objected strenuously to what his brother’s team (Raúl’s son Alejandro Castro Espín was the lead Cuban negotiator) agreed to. When diplomatic relations were restored in July 2015, the American flag was still flying over the Guantanamo naval base, and the unilateral U.S. economic embargo remained in force. It was not the kind of deal Fidel would have embraced. And he remained true to his convictions, refusing to express approval. Instead, his controlled fury was aired in an editorial published in his name in March 2016 following U.S. President Barack Obama’s visit to Havana. “We do not need the empire to give us anything,” Fidel wrote. A few weeks later, frail and wizened,

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he appeared at the communist party’s seventh congress to read a statement affirming his undying commitment to Marxism-Leninism and admiration for the Russian revolution. “I shall soon turn 90 … We all reach our turn, but the ideas of Cuban communists will remain … and we must fight relentlessly.” Raúl had gone too far; Fidel meant to rally the backlash.34 Subsequent evidence suggests that he succeeded. Regime recalcitrants, presumably party stalwarts, military hierarchs, entrenched bureaucrats, and members of the dwindling generation of original revolutionaries – the historicos – united by their reverence for Fidel and all he stood for, mounted opposition to Raúl. The elder Castro was mistakenly thought by many to have been in steep cognitive decline after his retirement, and thus unable to influence events. Whether Fidel organized a cabal to oppose Raúl or it was done for him by trusted acolytes cannot be established. But clearly, a retreat from measures inimical to Fidel’s core beliefs was playing out during the last few years preceding his death. Furthermore, regime hardliners have probably been strengthened and emboldened as U.S. economic sanctions and hostile rhetoric were sharpened by the Trump administration. Increased U.S. pressures have stoked a stronger sense of Cuban nationalism and defiance, at least within some sectors of the leadership.

Díaz-Canel’s Route to Power Díaz-Canel’s ascension began in earnest in 2012 when he was named a vice president. A year later, he moved up to become First Vice President. With a shock of silver hair and a calm, agreeable demeanor, he appears to have emerged straight from postrevolutionary Cuban central casting, with a resume to match. An electrical engineer trained at Cuba’s Central University, he is known to use an iPad and an iPhone, and he uses Twitter. Astute observers who have spent time with him are skeptical, nonetheless, that he is inclined to be a modernizer. Describing him in April 2018, Raúl said, “compañero Díaz-Canel has a career of almost 35 years.”35 He served in anti-aircraft missile units and taught engineering. His political career began in 1987 as secretary of the Young Communist League at the university where he had studied. Later he served as a party “internationalist” in revolutionary Nicaragua. Returning to Cuba in 1991, he was selected by party elders to serve on its central committee while also holding the second-ranking position in the national youth league. He continued to impress his seniors in a succession of important party posts. As provincial secretary in Villa Clara beginning in 1994, he reportedly developed a “reputation as an efficient manager, pragmatist, and man of the people.”36 His leadership style was said to have been unpretentious and casual. In 2003, he moved up as a member of the party politburo and took charge of the party bureaucracy in Holguín, a large and politically important eastern province. Adding government and administrative experience to his party profile, he served as a minister of higher education from 2009 to 2012. As he rose and took on greater responsibilities, Díaz-Canel was measured and tested by the national leadership, including by Fidel Castro, still at the height of his power into the early 2000s. In fact, Díaz-Canel’s legitimacy as president derives from the repeated blessings of both Castro brothers. He could not have been named to the top party posts without Fidel Castro’s imprimatur, yet, he is, by all appearances, Raúl Castro’s protégé. Raúl introduced him in a speech to party regulars when Díaz-Canel was inducted as a junior politburo member, praising him for his “solid ideological firmness.”37 It appears that he was closely monitored and groomed for higher leadership by party Second Secretary José Ramón Machado Ventura, Raúl’s most trusted confidante and adviser. As he rose, Díaz-Canel performed adroitly. Unlike several others who were thought to have been next in the line of succession after the Castros, but who overstepped their bounds and were

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discarded, he kept a low profile. He knew from their mistakes to avoid appearing overconfident or grandiose. He was discreet in private and informal small group meetings, no doubt aware that anything incriminating he might say could be recorded by state security. He delivered relatively few speeches, traveled abroad infrequently, received only limited attention in the Cuban media, and did not identify with sensitive issues, except the safest of them: education.

Díaz-Canel’s Presidency Díaz-Canel has continued to steer cautiously as president, traveling the island to consult with provincial officials and mingling with locals while mostly uttering agreeable platitudes. He is frequently photographed in ceremonial meetings with visiting foreign dignitaries. Virtually no new policy initiatives bear his mark, however, and he managed well into his term to ignore some of the most pressing problems – notably the need for currency reform. His room to maneuver in the policy arena, for now at least, is circumscribed. According to Cuba’s constitution, he is outranked by Raúl, who plans to remain communist party First Secretary until 2021, and by Machado Ventura. Furthermore, Díaz-Canel must be concerned about how to deal with the hardline backlash against Raúl’s thaw. Díaz-Canel has, therefore, been loath to take explicit stands on most of the sensitive policy issues associated with those changes. Yet, he must stay in the good graces of the two octogenarians he depends on for legitimacy (Raúl was 89 in June 2020; Machado Ventura is several months older). It will continue to be a difficult balancing act. Nonetheless, Díaz-Canel’s standing was reconfirmed in January 2019 when Raúl issued an unqualified endorsement. “The leadership of the communist party,” he said in a speech, “strongly supports the pronouncements and actions undertaken by comrade Díaz-Canel … I can affirm that the transfer process to the new generations … is going well … very well, without any setbacks or surprises.” As ordained by Cuba’s new constitution, in December 2019, Díaz-Canel was joined at the pinnacle of state power by a new prime minister. Manuel Marrero Cruz, the longtime tourism minister, was elevated and now presides over the council of ministers. According to an official Cuban media source, Marrero Cruz, “as head of government will be the administrative right-hand of the president.”38 At least initially, he will not loom as a rival to Díaz-Canel. Cuban scholar William LeoGrande observed, “it’s a division of responsibilities rather than a division of authority.”39 Remaining president of the council of state, Díaz-Canel serves as head of state and putative commander-in-chief of the armed forces. He must be prudent, however, by periodically genuflecting before the memory and iconography of Fidel Castro. Díaz-Canel did that vigorously in a speech at the United Nations in October 2018, referring to Fidel three times (and Raúl once). He quoted the elder Castro at length early in his remarks and near the end enthused: “It has been exciting and pleasant to take the floor at the same rostrum from which Fidel expressed powerful truths 58 years ago that still continue to shake us.”40 Sounding like a stolid apparatchik aligned more with regime traditionalists than with Raúl’s thaw, Díaz-Canel declared, “I am certain that there will be no changes in our strategic objectives and that the irrevocable nature of socialism will be ratified.” He was referring to the ratification of Article 5 of the new constitution that was then being discussed and debated, across the island, before being put before the populace in a controlled referendum. The constitution was ratified in February 2019 by nearly 87 percent of voters, with 9 percent opposed, and 4.5 percent spoiled or blank ballots, according to the government. The constitution stipulates that Cuba will retain a centrally planned economy and be ruled exclusively by the communist party. Yoani Sánchez, the island’s most famous blogger and editor of an online newsletter (mostly reaching foreign audiences), said she would “vote ‘no’ because

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Article 5 … leaves the country in the hands of the communist party for centuries to come.”41 She and Cubans with internet access campaigned against ratification, and when she voted, she was harassed by regime thugs.

Embryonic Civil Society Raúl’s thaw set the stage for the tentative emergence of an embryonic civil society. In contrast, virtually no opposition to the communist regime was tolerated when Fidel ruled. Early on, he had made it clear that undiluted loyalty to him and the revolution were required. In 1961, he popularized a forbidding slogan that he never abandoned: “Within the revolution,” he proclaimed, “everything was possible,” but “outside the revolution, nothing.” Cubans soon understood that there would be just one arbiter of what behaviors would be considered acceptable or not: Fidel himself. But during Raúl’s thaw and since, that dynamic has begun to evolve. The nearly threemonth period of popular consultations, and the referendum that endorsed the new constitution, represented an unprecedented degree of procedural openness. And the process has had an enduring impact. Raúl said in a speech on January 1, 2019, that the consultations led to “modifications of 60 percent of the articles,”42 amounting to more than “several hundred changes,” according to an informed source.43 Although most of the revisions were minor, several significant ones prevailed in response to public pressure. For example, the government compromised on a provision prohibiting the accumulation of private property. The result was a bow to the cuentapropistas, to which the regime conceded for the first time that the private sector has a legitimate complementary role in the economy.44 The government also seems to have accommodated organized protests by artists against a decree requiring censorship and permits. Not all the changes were progressive, no doubt reflecting tension among competing interest groups. A clause permitting same-sex marriage was abandoned apparently in response to concerted objections from increasingly influential religious leaders. Language that describes Cuba’s ultimate political goal as “advancing toward communism” was restored, a win for hardliners.45 In his 2019 New Year’s Day speech, Raúl characterized the process as “clear evidence of the democratic nature of the revolution, where the main decisions that define the life of the nation are made with the contribution of all Cubans.” His words should not be dismissed as classic Marxist rhetoric. Limited and controlled as the constitutional reform process was, it could never have occurred when Fidel Castro ruled, and it seems to have stimulated popular expectations for real change. By late 2018, there were scattered indications of individual Cubans confronting regime authorities and protesting official policies in ways that had rarely occurred in the past. A group of private taxi drivers was seen on cellphone videos protesting new control measures.46 Cuentapropistas collaborated to protest stifling regulations imposed on their businesses until the labor minister lifted those restrictions.47 The potentially most momentous change was revealed by the government in April 2018. It said that by then, five million cellphones were in use in Cuba after a rapid surge in their availability along with greater access to Wi-Fi sites.48 It was a remarkable concession by a system that had always tightly controlled all communications media. And it was potentially the most seismic concession the Cubans had made in the negotiations with the Obama White House.49 So enabled, Cubans have posted videos embarrassing to the regime, for example, of people standing in long lines to buy bread. Another video depicted a protracted rock-throwing disturbance in Santiago de Cuba as angry citizens sought to punish an alleged rapist before being dispersed by security forces.

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Perhaps the most detrimental video to Díaz-Canel personally was taken in the aftermath of a devastating tornado that struck the Regla neighborhood of Havana in January 2019. The president arrived at the scene of the damage with an official delegation but was rebuked by angry residents. Yoani Sánchez described the scene in her blog: “In a small video shared on social media networks, you can see the crowd shouting at the presidential entourage, surrounded by a strong security operation, consisting of several Mercedes-Benz vehicles.”50 She caustically noted that later the president boasted on Twitter of the unity of the people and “their leaders,” and she added that “the government has been harshly criticized after selling food and construction materials to victims of the storm.”51 Anecdotal reporting also indicated that spontaneous private relief initiatives from on and off the island were organized via the internet in the aftermath of the tornado. The popular discontent of the last few years suggests that diverse forces favoring democratic reform, a more participatory society, and economic opening are ascendant. Under Díaz-Canel, for the first time, the regime permitted an independently organized, unsanctioned protest march to take place in Havana. In April 2019, hundreds of Cubans marched peacefully through the city, calling for an end to animal cruelty.52 It was an innocuous and nonthreatening event, to be sure, yet it demonstrated the newfound ability of Cubans to communicate out of official channels, to gather in public, and to express their views. A month later, perhaps encouraged by the earlier march, more than 100 gay rights activists marched in an unauthorized parade in Havana, chanting “long live a diverse Cuba.”53 The government had warned against staging it and called it subversive. After marching about one kilometer, demonstrators were stopped by dozens of security personnel, and at least three participants were arrested.54 An independent Cuban journalist and gay activist was quoted declaring that “this moment marks a before and after for the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender community, but also for Cuban civil society more generally.” The event was organized largely through social media sites.

The Uniformed Services Since its inception in 1959, the revolutionary armed forces (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias or FAR) have been, by far, the most powerful institution on the island. Unlike in the Soviet Union and other communist countries, the FAR was never subordinate to the communist party. They represented the continuation of the guerrilla rebel forces the Castro brothers commanded in the late 1950s, well before the modern communist party was established. The brothers were the ultimate military commanders. As commander-in-chief, Fidel was never seen at public events on the island out of uniform, and Raúl, who once accurately claimed he was the longest-serving defense minister in history (1959–2008), was Cuba’s highest-ranking general. The loyalty of the armed forces to the Castros and their revolution, through all its gyrations, was hardly ever in doubt. The FAR’s preeminence derives from the presence of several of its tenured three-star generals on the party politburo. Nearly all the two- and three-star generals are loyal associates of Raúl, and most are elderly by the standards of modern militaries elsewhere. With an inordinately large force – 40,000–50,000 believed to be on active duty and complemented by militia and reserve units – the military is without peer as the regime’s main bulwark. It was an accomplished fighting force from the 1960s through the 1980s, but today, diminished and poorly resourced, its mainline units are mostly confined to the barracks and parade grounds. Since the mid-1960s, military forces have not been known to deploy to suppress civilian opponents or unrest. The FAR, according to Hal Klepak, a knowledgeable expert, “are keen to be seen as … far away from any repressive role as possible.”55 With the sole exception of the Roman Catholic Church, no other institution is as favorably viewed by the populace.

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Since the 1990s moreover, the FAR has played a dominant role in the economy. Active and retired officers are extensively and profitably engaged in dollarized enterprises. The Grupo de Administración Empresarial, SA (GAESA) is a military-run conglomerate of enterprises, many in the tourism sector. Marrero Cruz, the new Prime Minister (since 2019), operated for years as a ranking functionary of the tourism arm of GAESA. Military officer-businessmen operate forprofit, hard currency-oriented tourist enterprises and other companies. Many have, therefore, acquired extensive business experience, often dealing with foreign investors. In 2005, Klepak wrote, “There are some 230 factories and companies involved.”56 In short, a portion of the senior military command operates the largest consortium of capitalist enterprises on the island. Younger officers have also become intimately acquainted with market economics. Some were trained and educated in business administration in European universities. Alvaro Alzugaray Treto, a former Cuban diplomat, said, “on the one hand we have the important business sector, composed in part by high-level FAR officers but also of a young generation of economists and administrators.”57 He believes they all seek more flexible economic policies. Although it cannot be stated with confidence, many of these better educated and more worldly military officers may be modernizers interested in diversifying and opening the economy to market forces. If any cabal among them is opposed to Raúl’s reforms, no evidence of that has emerged. The preferences of the elderly senior officers close to Raúl cannot be determined. Still, as they retire or otherwise leave the scene, the chances of economic restructuring seem likely to improve. With the closely allied intelligence, police, and other security services of the Ministry of the Interior (MININT), the FAR stands ready as the regime’s last resort if a need arose to quell mass unrest. But ordinary policing, foreign intelligence, and counterintelligence functions are MININT responsibilities, and they serve as the regime’s first line of defense against internal unrest, even if incipient. Members of the dissident, pro-human rights community are subjected to blanket surveillance, preventative arrests, and periodic confinement. Their groups are typically penetrated by regime sympathizers, and little happens in the dissident community that goes unnoticed by MININT. Thus, together the FAR and MININT exercise a monopoly of coercive power.

Looking Ahead after Raúl How tolerant Díaz-Canel and party elders choose to be when confronted by a more restless and electronically connected populace will shape how Cuba evolves once Raúl Castro is no longer able to exert influence. Since yielding the presidency, Raúl has operated on a reduced schedule, staying mostly in the background as his health may have declined. His expected departure in 2021 as party First Secretary will provide a historic opportunity for Díaz-Canel and younger officials to assert greater control. They would continue to feel constrained as long as Raúl lives, however, and be loath to antagonize hardliners by straying too far or too quickly from traditional Fidelista policies. Yet, the realities of Cuba’s acutely distressed economy may well compel them to move ahead gradually with market-opening policies to generate growth. Fidel’s insistence on social and economic egalitarianism has already been seriously compromised and would be further undermined if new market forces were unleashed. If such reforms were ordained by the top civilian and military leadership, the objections of hardliners would likely be overcome. Díaz-Canel has not indicated he favors an expansion of cuentapropismo or other forms of forprofit labor, and although it is impossible to judge, he may be a doctrinaire hardliner himself. His public rhetoric has consistently inclined toward traditional revolutionary principles, and nothing in his official biography suggests he could become Cuba’s Gorbachev to lead sweeping

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economic and political change. But Marrero Cruz had long experience in the tourism sector dealing with foreign investors and enabling for-profit enterprises. His elevation to the second most influential post in the government could signal the eventual advent of market-friendly economic innovations. However, the prospects for significant reform of the repressive one-party political system are remote. They would improve somewhat, and in tandem with economic liberalization, if Cuba’s new entrepreneurial middle class is allowed to proliferate and accumulate greater wealth. While Raúl lives, open, unfettered discussion of fundamental political change will likely remain suppressed. Even if he yields his two remaining levers of power, Raúl will retain influence, remaining bound by the myths of past revolutionary feats, essential tenets of Marxism-Leninism, and the primacy of the communist party. Like Khrushchev and Gorbachev, he intended to reform the system, not to topple it. And Díaz-Canel is aware how risky it would be to advocate genuine political reforms, say, by allowing opposition interests the right to assemble, disseminate views critical of the regime, or demand free and fair voting. Thus, in the short term, a Chinese- or Vietnamese-style economic opening – without significant political reform – will be more likely than the dawning of a truly democratic future. Over the longer term, a future Cuban leader unbeholden to the revolutionary generation of historicos may institutionalize and expand Raúl’s thaw by opening the political system to free participation, much as years later Gorbachev built on Khrushchev’s legacy in the Soviet Union. Journalist and author Jon Lee Anderson, who is well-connected in Cuban leadership circles, has observed, “the internal struggle over whether to have more democracy or continued dictatorship is well underway.”58

Notes 1 Randal C. Archibold, “Cuban Leader Proposes Term Limits in Sign of New Era,” The New York Times, April 16, 2011. 2 Raúl Castro became acting president in late July 2006 when his brother, Fidel Castro, required major surgery and was incapacitated. Fidel Castro did not recover sufficiently to resume power, and Raúl officially became president in February 2008. 3 Richard E. Feinberg, Cuba’s Economy after Raúl Castro: A Tale of Three Worlds (Brookings Institution, 2018): 2. 4 Feinberg, Cuba’s Economy after Raúl Castro. 5 Mark Franc, “Cash-Strapped Cuba Imposes New Restrictions on Imports,” Reuters, March 6, 2018. 6 Franc, Cash-Strapped Cuba Imposes New Restrictions on Imports. 7 Jorge J. Dominguez, “Introduction: Social Policy and Economic Change in Cuba,” in Social Policies and Decentralization in Cuba: Change in the Context of 21st Century Latin America, eds. Jorge I. Domínguez, María del Carmen Zabala Argüelles, Mayra Espina Prieto, and Lorena Barberia (Boston, MA: Harvard University’s David Rockefeller Center for Latin American Studies, 2017), 20. 8 “Cuba Campaign Takes on Free Health Care,” Associated Press, August 28, 2012. 9 Marc Frank, “Cuba Cuts Education Spending, Shifts Priorities,” Reuters, October 3, 2012. 10 Alejandro De La Fuente, “Black Cubans Will Get Left Behind, Again,” Miami Herald, June 30, 2017. 11 Sergio Diaz-Briquets, “Major Problems, Few Solutions: Cuba’s Demographic Outlook,” Cuba Studies, Vol. 43 (2015): 10. 12 De La Fuente, Black Cubans. 13 Michael Weissenstein and Andrea Rodríguez, “Raúl Castro Leaves Cuba with New Freedoms, Deep Problems,” Associated Press, April 16, 2018. 14 Andrea Rodríguez, “Graying of Population Puts Strain on Cuba’s Future,” Associated Press, August 8, 2012. 15 Rodríguez, Graying of Population. 16 William Taubman, Khrushchev:The Man and His Era (New York, NY: W.W. Norton, 2003), 383. 17 Taubman, Khrushchev:The Man and His Era, 306. 18 Taubman, Khrushchev:The Man and His Era, 306. 19 Taubman, Khrushchev:The Man and His Era, 263. 20 Taubman, Khrushchev:The Man and His Era, 274. 21 David Remnick, Lenin’s Tomb:The Last Days of the Soviet Empire (New York, NY: Random House, 1993), 51.

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22 Breaking with Fidel Castro’s practice of surrounding himself with a team of security guards, at least one of whom defected to the United States, Raúl chose his husky grandson, Raúl Guillermo Rodríguez, to be within arm’s-reach of him at all public appearances. 23 Dominguez, Introduction: Social Policy and Economic Change in Cuba, 6–7. 24 Dominguez, Introduction: Social Policy and Economic Change in Cuba. 25 Dominguez, Introduction: Social Policy and Economic Change in Cuba. 26 Marc Frank, “Cuban Economy Minister Pushes for Less State Role,” Reuters, March 8, 2010. 27 Leticia Martinez Hernandez, “Examina President cubano programa de empleo y de inversiones en el pais,” Granma, June 26, 2018. 28 ASCE News # 795, from EFE, February 20, 2017. 29 Marc Frank, “Havana Suspends New Licenses for Private Restaurants, Owners Fret,” Reuters, October 17, 2016. 30 “Cuba Pins Economic Hopes on Foreign Investment,” USA Today, November 9, 2014. 31 “Interview with Deborah Rivas,” Cuba Trade, November–December 2017. 32 Feinberg, Cuba’s Economy after Raúl Castro, 4. 33 Raúl’s son, Alejandro Castro Espín, was the principal Cuban negotiator. 34 Brian Latell, History Will Absolve Me: Fidel Castro: Life and Legacy (New York, NY: Rosetta Books, 2016). 35 Raúl Castro speech, April 19, 2018, Cubadebate. 36 Marguerite Jimenez, Cuba After the Castros (Washington Office on Latin America, 2018). 37 Granma, July 16, 2003. 38 Marc Frank and Nelson Acosta, “Cuba Names Prime Minister in Move to Lighten Presidential Load,” Reuters, December 21, 2019, quoting Cubadebate. 39 Frank and Acosta, Cuba Names Prime Minister. 40 “President Miguel Díaz-Canel Bermúdez addresses the UN General Assembly,” January 1, 2019. 41 Marc Frank, “Communist Cuba Seeks Improved Governance,” Reuters, January 17, 2019. 42 Speech by Raúl Castro, Granma, January 1, 2019. 43 Jon Lee Anderson, “Cuba’s Next Transformation,” The New York Times, January 5, 2019. 44 Nora Gámez Torres, “Cuba Could Have a New Government Soon if Draft Constitution Takes Effect,” Miami Herald, January 5, 2019. 45 Gámez Torres, Cuba Could Have a New Government Soon. 46 Nora Gámez Torres, “After 60 Years of Revolution in Cuba, Cracks in the Leadership Emerge,” Miami Herald, December 27, 2018. 47 Gámez Torres, After 60 Years of Revolution in Cuba. 48 “Llega Cuba a cinco millones de lineas moviles activas,” Granma, April 12, 2018. 49 Ben Rhodes, The World as It Is: A Memoir of the Obama White House (New York, NY: Random House, 2018), 264, 287. 50 Yoani Sánchez, “Al Grito de ‘¡Descarados!’ y ‘¡Mentirosos!’ reciben en Regla a la comitiva de Díaz-Canel,” 14yMedio, February 2, 2019. 51 Sánchez, Al Grito de. 52 Sarah Marsh, “Independent March in Havana Believed First for the Communist-Run Cuba, Organizers Say,” Reuters, April 7, 2019. 53 Sarah Marsh, “Cuban LGBT Activists Defy Government, Hold Unprecedented Indie Parade,” Reuters, May 11, 2019. 54 Marsh, Cuban LGBT Activists Defy Government. 55 Hal Klepak, “The Revolutionary Armed Forces: Loyalty and Efficiency in the Face of Old and New Challenges,” in A Contemporary Cuba Reader: Reinventing the Revolution, eds. Philip Brenner, Marguerite Rose Jimenez, John M. Kirk, and William M. LeoGrande (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), 79. 56 Hal Klepak, Cuba’s Military, 1900-2005: Revolutionary Soldiers during Counter-Revolutionary Times (New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 80. 57 Alvaro Alzugaray Treto, “Continuity and Change in Cuba at Fifty: The Revolution at a Crossroads,” in A Contemporary Cuba Reader:The Revolution under Raúl Castro, eds. Philip Brenner, Marguerite Rose Jimenez, John M. Kirk, and William M. LeoGrande (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015), 42. 58 Anderson, Cuba’s Next Transformation.

11 VENEZUELA The Erosion of Security Capacity John Polga-Hecimovich 1

Venezuela exhibits dramatically low security capacity for a country not at war. The autocratic government no longer holds a monopoly on the legitimate use of force across its national territory, fails to enforce border control, and offers little protection to its citizens from organized criminal groups or street crime. Moreover, its ability to carry out these functions has fallen markedly since the early 2010s, as a consequence of the country’s unprecedented economic collapse and the central government’s reliance on non-state actors to govern. Worryingly, Venezuela appears to have evolved from a weak state in the early 2010s into a failing one by 2021. The country is beset by threats. Although it has long been one of the most violent countries in the world, things have gotten worse, as it suffered what is probably the world’s highest homicide rate between 2017 and 2019.2 Further, the economic and political crises under the Nicolás Maduro government (2013–present) have weakened state security forces’ operational power and territorial presence while simultaneously incentivizing and empowering non-state organizations. Consequently, many of these irregular groups have filled or displaced the state and its security apparatus in urban and rural areas. Dozens of foreign non-state armed actors operate in the country as well, including insurgent groups like the National Liberation Army (Ejército de Liberación Nacional or the ELN), dissident structures of the demobilized Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia or FARC), Colombian paramilitary groups, and Brazil’s First Capital Command (Primeiro Comando da Capital or PCC).3 Worse, Venezuela’s Bolivarian National Armed Forces (Fuerza Armada Nacional Bolivariana or FANB) has shown itself, at best, unwilling or incapable of combating these groups, and at worst, has collaborated with them. The country’s weak administrative capacity also contributes to citizen uncertainty. Massive shortages of basic necessities have resulted in a humanitarian crisis and public health epidemic. Low vaccination rates have led to the return of previously eradicated diseases such as polio and diphtheria, and the collapse of the public school system has forced teachers to emigrate and students to look for work or food.4 At the same time, oil production, the country’s economic engine, has collapsed to levels not seen in more than 70 years.5 Indeed, Venezuela’s socioeconomic decline in recent years is unprecedented. As a result, studies suggest that at least 82 percent of Venezuelans now live below the poverty line.6 Tragically, these conditions have resulted in the world’s largest refugee crisis.7 Further, the Venezuelan state has not merely failed to combat threats to its power but has done so, in part, by consciously abdicating its role as sovereign and delegating power and DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-12

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territorial control to pro-government paramilitary groups, criminal gangs, and other predatory non-state actors throughout the 2000s and 2010s.8 These decisions, in turn, reflect weaknesses in governance as well as misguided government policies. Low state capacity and the specter of state failure have numerous consequences. Domestically, the dramatic fall in security capacity threatens citizens’ well-being, the state’s ability to guarantee public security and national defense, and even the country’s sovereignty, as the central government’s territorial control increasingly fragments. Similarly, state weakness and the absence of a monopoly over the legitimate use of force may also threaten regional order, from impeding the demobilization of guerrillas in Colombia to challenging other governments to integrate waves of displaced migrants to facilitating the spread of disease. Weak state capacity also poses a test to any re-democratization process. As Marcella, Pérez, and Fonseca argue in the introductory chapter to this volume, much of the academic discussion on Latin American democracy focuses on the quality of procedural and substantive performance while overlooking the role of state capacity and security. Yet, high levels of crime and corruption pose a risk to fragile state institutions and civil society, and consequently, to democracy. Unlike other countries in this volume, Venezuela is not a liberal democracy. As such, weakened sovereignty and low-security capacity are impediments to successful and enduring re-democratization. This chapter begins by defining and assessing state and security capacity and differentiating strong, weak, and failing states. Venezuelan security capacity is then evaluated across four different dimensions – external threats, internal threats, human security, and the rule of law and courts – to provide evidence of the Venezuelan state’s increasing inability to control its borders, guarantee its citizens’ safety, or even exercise a monopoly on the use of force within its territory. The third section argues that part of the decline in state security capabilities owes to the government voluntarily surrendering some of its security functions to non-state actors. Following this, the primary threats to public security and national defense that extreme state weakness poses are described, focusing on the implications for domestic and regional security and the challenges this poses to re-democratization.

State Capacity The meaning of state capacity varies considerably,9 but it generally refers to the ability of the state to effectively exercise authority and implement policy throughout its national territory or to administer the provision of some basic set of services.10 Robert I. Rotberg argues that strong states can be distinguished from weak ones, and weak states from failing, failed, or collapsed states according to how effectively they deliver these crucial services.11 In this hierarchy of public goods, the first and most critical is security. One of the state’s primary functions is to protect its citizens: to eliminate external rivals and prevent cross-border invasions and infiltrations, to eliminate domestic threats to or attacks on the state, to prevent crime and any related dangers to domestic human security, and to enable citizens to resolve their disputes with the state and their fellow inhabitants without recourse to arms or other forms of physical coercion. According to Rotberg, the delivery of a range of other desirable services – secondary goods – only becomes possible when a reasonable measure of security has been sustained. These include health care; education; roads, railways, harbors, and other physical infrastructure; communications and telecommunications infrastructure; a trustworthy monetary and banking system; an institutional context within which citizens can pursue entrepreneurial goals; the promotion of civil society; and methods of regulating the sharing of the environmental commons. Together, this bundle of goods establishes a set of criteria to classify nation-states as strong, weak, or failed.

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Briefly, strong states control a monopoly on the use of force across the entirety of their territories and deliver a full range of high-quality goods to their citizens. On the other hand, weak states are tremendously varied and may, in some cases, combine fragile governance structures with substantial regional influence and wealth. A subcategory of a weak state is a failing state, in which: Public facilities become increasingly decrepit and neglected. Teachers, physicians, nurses, and orderlies are paid late or not at all, and absenteeism increases. Textbooks and medicines become scarce. X-ray machines break down and are not repaired. Reports to the relevant ministries are ignored. Citizens, especially rural parents, students, and patients, slowly realize that the state has abandoned them to their own devices and to the forces of nature.12 It follows that in these scenarios, the coercive power of the state is so weak that it can no longer ensure the security of its borders or territory, may be weaker than internal rivals in some parts of the country, and rarely, if ever, delivers political goods. Lastly, a failed state is one where opposition movements have destroyed the central government but have been unable to reconstitute a new order, leaving no entity with a monopoly on violence. In all cases, analyses must make a crucial distinction regarding the two dimensions of state capacity that Rotberg highlights: that between coercive state capacity (i.e., a monopoly on violence) and infrastructural capacity (i.e., administrative effectiveness). Although this chapter focuses on security capacity, Venezuela fares poorly along both dimensions, probably placing the country in the “failing” category, with the real risk of becoming a failed state.

Dimensions of Security Capacity Security is the most critical public good that a state provides, and it refers to the state’s ability to (1) defend itself from external threats, (2) eliminate internal rivals and domestic threats to the state, (3) protect citizens from crime and any related dangers to domestic human security, and (4) adjudicate citizens’ disputes without recourse to arms or other forms of physical coercion. In Venezuela, security capacity along all of these categories decreased markedly throughout the 2000s, reaching its nadir under the Maduro government. This is borne out by the data. In their 2015 analysis of 23 countries in the Americas, Luna and Soifer found the Venezuelan state had the poorest territorial reach of any state.13 As shown here, things have worsened considerably since that time along all four subdimensions, dragging the country from a weak state to a failing one.

External Threats Defense from external threats rests with the Venezuelan Armed Forces (FANB). Based in part on troop numbers, equipment, and budget, the Global Firepower Index ranked the FANB the 41st-strongest military out of 138 countries in the world in 2020.14 Nonetheless, this ranking belies significant changes since 1999 – and especially since 2013 – that have conspired to weaken operability and performance of the military, including a decrease in cohesion, increasing top-heaviness, politicization, intimidation of the rank and file, fragmenting of the overall command, and desertions.15 As such, the FANB no longer possesses the capacity to defend its borders fully or repel many external threats. Even small operations have gone awry. To wit, in April 2020, the ANBV Naiguatá, a Venezuelan naval patrol vessel, opened fire and then rammed the RCGS Resolute, a Portuguese-flagged cruise ship, near the Caribbean island of La Tortuga.

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Embarrassingly for the Venezuelan Navy, the ice-breaking Resolute and its strengthened hull suffered only minor damages, while the Naiguatá sank.16 Venezuela also suffers from extremely weak border security. The Army and the Bolivarian National Guard (Guardia Nacional Bolivariana or GNB) are largely unable – or unwilling – to regulate the flow of irregular armed groups, contraband, and especially large numbers of migrants who regularly cross the borders with little transparency or control. Between Venezuela and Colombia, smugglers and migrants use hundreds of informal crossings called trochas to move back and forth, or in other cases, simply bribe Venezuelan officials. Meanwhile, Brazil’s notorious PCC, the country’s largest criminal organization, has increasingly gained a foothold in Venezuela’s Bolívar state and is invested in the trafficking of narcotics, arms, and humans between Venezuela and Brazil.17 There are even fewer maritime controls to stop human trafficking between Venezuela and Trinidad and Tobago.18 Worse, sometimes, the military itself is involved in this smuggling; some Venezuelan military cells and corrupt officers are responsible in conjunction with Colombian groups for the purchase, storage, and movement of cocaine from Colombia to Venezuela and onward.19 Beyond capacity, the Venezuelan government has shown a selective will to confront external threats to its sovereignty. This is especially true with Cuba. Ex-President Hugo Chávez (1999– 2013) shared an ideological kinship and friendship with Fidel Castro, and the two leaders signed a number of bilateral cooperation agreements in 2000. But after a failed coup against Chávez in April 2002, the nature of this relationship changed, and the Venezuelan leader began to seek the Cuban government’s strategic political and security assistance. Specifically, Chávez turned to the Cuban intelligence service to help him fortify power and stave off internal opposition. If anything, this dependency has grown over time, as Cuban intelligence officers embedded in the FANB have helped maintain the Maduro government in power since 2013 in exchange for Venezuelan oil.20 This situation points to a willing erosion of sovereignty on the part of the Venezuelan government. Chávez and now Maduro have shown a similar tolerance for Colombian guerrillas within their national borders that also now threatens the state. As early as the late 1990s, Chávez permitted the FARC to establish training camps in the western border states of Zulia, Táchira, and Apure, while it was engaged in (unsuccessful) peace talks with the administration of Colombian President Andrés Pastrana. Chávez even ordered Venezuelan military officers to provide logistical support to FARC guerrillas launching raids into Colombia.21 At that time, Venezuela possessed the military force, organization, and resources to combat these groups. However, since the peace agreement was signed between the FARC and the Colombian government in 2016, Colombian armed groups in Venezuela have multiplied, grown in strength, and fanned out from the border states into the interior, especially the states of Amazonas and Bolívar.22 In addition to drug trafficking, extortion, and smuggling, these groups are heavily involved in the illegal mining of gold and other minerals.23 In other places, non-state armed groups usurp state functions: In 2017, local non-governmental organization (NGO) Fundación Redes denounced three Venezuelan FM radio stations in Táchira, Apure, and Barinas that allegedly served as platforms for the ELN,24 as well as the explicit (and officially sanctioned) involvement of the ELN in distributing government-sponsored food rations to citizens.25 In Apure state, Human Rights Watch has documented how the ELN and the Martín Villa 10th Front, a FARC dissident group, impose their own rules and enforce compliance through coercion, enacting punishments for noncompliance that range from fines to killings. The 2020 report quotes a police officer who suggested that in rural border areas, the guerrillas had effectively become a police force.26 Given their penetration, non-state armed actors represent an active threat to Venezuelan sovereignty that even an engaged military would have great difficulty dislodging.

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Internal Threats Even more than foreign powers, Venezuela is beset by internal threats to its sovereignty, including pro-government colectivos (collectives) and numerous organized criminal groups, like the often intertwined pranes (prison gang leaders), megabandas (megagangs), and sindicatos (syndicates). In most cases, these groups have actively preyed on the state’s absence or displaced the state in urban and rural areas. In other cases, such as with the Venezuelan penitentiary system and certain violent urban areas, the government voluntarily ceded sovereignty to groups it could not control. Often referred to as a single, coherent actor, colectivos represent a wide variety of groups, some of which have long exercised influence and carried out social functions in their communities and offered protection against local criminal gangs, especially in the slums and low-income neighborhoods of Caracas, where they act as a state within a state or serve a coercive function at the behest of the state. Of course, it is important to recognize that their level of support and motives vary greatly. Velasco maintains that there are three types: a long-standing and rather autonomous set that traces its origins and inspiration to the guerrilla movements of the 1960s; a second set of groups that formed between 2007 and 2012 that is ideologically committed to twenty-first-century socialism and loyal to Chavismo; and so-called disguised collectives, groups made up of special forces and police units that sprang up during the protest cycle of 2014 and who act in name and tactics like armed civil groups, dress as civilians, and ride in motorcycle groups.27 Depending on the group, colectivos may perform public safety, intelligence, and repressive functions in conjunction with state security forces, and in some areas, they even control highly lucrative food sales. Since the mid-2010s, however, colectivos are most notorious for their role as para-police or para-military forces, committing violence against anti-government demonstrators. Journalists and film evidence document colectivo members killing and beating protesters, destroying vehicles, vandalizing homes and businesses, and even impeding opposition politicians from entering the country’s National Assembly.28 A second internal threat to sovereignty consists of organized gangs, especially megabandas and sindicatos. The megabandas are criminal organizations of 50–200 members that engage in drug trafficking, extortion, and kidnapping in primarily urban areas. Unlike traditional gangs, they are based on the criminal model developed in Venezuela’s penitentiary system, where prison leaders called pranes hold sway over hierarchically organized structures.29 Furthermore, megabandas are controlled from within prisons by pranes and tend to be much more heavily armed than a typical gang, relying on such weapons as assault rifles and fragmentation grenades. Moreover, as the government’s pursuit of infamous pran Wuileisys Acevedo (aka “Wilexis”) in the slum of Petare in April and May 2020 demonstrates, some communities retain greater loyalty to these gangs and their leaders than the state itself. Similarly, sindicatos challenge the state in southern Venezuela’s rugged mining arc (Arco Minero), home to vast mineral resources, including bauxite, coltan, diamonds, and, especially, gold.30 Despite its economic importance and supposed oversight by the military, an estimated 91 percent of the region’s gold is mined illegally.31 The sindicatos, which controlled illegal mining before the government opened the Arco Minero, now also extort local communities, business owners, and miners, usually demanding payment in gold. There are other dangers, including the ELN’s growing presence, which since 2018 has resulted in intensifying violence in the region. These groups have increasingly preyed on the state’s absence, fissures, or weakness, providing them with power and economic stakes and directly threatening the country’s long-term stability. Reflecting these challenges, Venezuela’s “monopoly on use of force” indicator from the Bertelsmann Transformation Index has decreased from 8 (1–10 scale, where 10 is the highest) in 2006 to 4 by 2020 (see Figure 11.1). As two of the four constituent elements of Venezuela’s

162  John Polga-Hecimovich

FIGURE 11.1 

Stateness and constituent components

Source:  Bertelsmann Transformation Index 2020.

“stateness” score, “monopoly on use of force” and “basic administration” both drag down the latent stateness variable, especially from 2016 to 2020. Venezuela’s 2020 score places the country lowest in the Americas and lower than all but nine other countries in the world out of a sample of 137. Similarly, Figure 11.2 illustrates how institutionalized government presence across Venezuelan territory has fallen. Overlaying Venezuela’s “state authority over territory” score from the “Varieties of Democracy” dataset over those from the rest of Latin America shows how the percentage of territory the state effectively controls has declined over 20 years. It went from 91 percent before Chávez came to power to 88 percent during his time in office and has dropped to nearly 85 percent under Maduro. In 2019, it was ranked 17th from the bottom,

FIGURE 11.2 

State authority over territory in Latin America (2000–2020)

Source:  Variety of Democracy v11.

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before rising slightly in 2020. This is not just an academic concern: Ungoverned spaces pose threats to national and international security, as they can attract and sustain illegal activity from street criminals, organized criminal groups, and even terrorists.32

Human Security Following a troubling inability or unwillingness to confront external and internal rivals to state sovereignty, Venezuelan security forces have also failed to protect citizens’ physical integrity. Between 1990 and 2012, Venezuela’s violent death rate quintupled, with homicide rates increasing precipitously after Chávez came to office, and kidnapping – especially the short-term “express kidnapping” – becoming increasingly common.33 Despite a lack of official statistics, which the government fails to collect or withholds, Venezuela likely suffers one of the highest homicide rates in the world, with the number of murders probably more than doubling since 1999.34 In 2017, there were 26,616 homicides in Venezuela, a rate of 89 per 100,000 inhabitants, according to the Venezuelan Violence Observatory (Observatorio Venezolano de Violencia or OVV). This marked a 3 percent decrease from 2016, yet still left Venezuela as the second most violent country in the world to El Salvador.35 Although the numbers dropped to 16,506 homicides and a rate of 60.3 per 100,000 in 2019, the OVV speculates that this reflects the deterioration of living conditions, massive emigration, and possibly lower police-reporting numbers.36 State security forces have consistently proven incapable of meeting the challenges of these security problems and instead may be a cause of the country’s weakened security capacity. In fact, Venezuela fared the worst of 23 countries in a 2014 Americas Barometer survey question asking respondents to estimate how long it would take the police to arrive at their home if called to respond to an emergency. In it, 44 percent of Venezuelan respondents said that, in the case of a crime or emergency, either police would take more than 3 hours to appear or did not exist – the lowest of the five possible options for respondents.37 Nor does the public trust state security forces. As Figure 11.3 shows, according to public opinion survey data from the Latin American Public Opinion Project (LAPOP), in the 2016–2017

FIGURE 11.3 

Trust in national police

Source:  Latin American Public Opinion Project 2017.

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cycle, nearly 40 percent of respondents had “no trust at all” in the national police, while just 8 percent had “a lot” of trust. This should not be surprising: police are poorly trained, have inadequate equipment, and carry out extrajudicial killings, kidnapping, and arbitrary detentions. In 2012, the then-Minister of the Interior and Justice, Tarek El Aissami, even speculated that police were responsible for one of every five crimes in the country. In all cases, impunity remains the norm, as prosecutors charged individuals for their alleged abuses in less than 4 percent of the cases investigated in 2011.38 If anything, government policies have exacerbated state security abuses and citizen mistrust. This internal state security apparatus includes the GNB, the Bolivarian National Police (Policía Nacional Bolivariana or PNB) and its Special Action Forces (Fuerzas de Acciones Especiales or FAES), the Bureau for Scientific, Criminal, and Forensic Investigations (Cuerpo de Investigaciones Científicas, Penales, y Criminalísticas or CICPC), the Bolivarian National Intelligence Service (Servicio Bolivariano de Inteligencia Nacional or SEBIN), and the Directorate General of Military Counterintelligence (Dirección General de Contrainteligencia Militar or DGCIM). As the United Nations’ (UN) 2019 report on human rights in Venezuela notes, the GNB and PNB have been responsible for excessive use of force in anti-government demonstrations since at least 2014, while the FAES – a rapid-response unit created in 2017 – and the CICPC are allegedly responsible for numerous extrajudicial executions in security operations.39 Meanwhile, the SEBIN and DGCIM intelligence services are credibly accused of arbitrary detentions and the ill-treatment and torture of political opponents and their relatives. Between 2015 and 2017, security forces, including the PNB, GNB, SEBIN, CICPC, and state police, conducted hundreds of operations, including sweeps through low-income communities, as part of a program known as the “Operation to Liberate and Protect the People” (Operación de Liberación y Protección del Pueblo). Although these sweeps are ostensibly meant to combat criminal gangs or paramilitary groups, Human Rights Watch has found “considerable evidence” that the security forces themselves are guilty of committing serious abuses, including extrajudicial killings, arbitrary detentions, forced evictions, destruction of homes, and the arbitrary deportation of Colombian nationals.40 A UN report found that police and soldiers killed at least 505 people between July 2015 and March 2017 and asserted that security forces were conducting a “campaign of extrajudicial murder” under the guise of crime-fighting operations.41 Indeed, the OVV found that, of the 26,616 homicides registered in 2017, nearly 20 percent (5,335) came at the hands of the police or the security apparatus.42 Human Rights Watch reported that, between 2016 and 2019, Venezuelan police and security forces killed 18,000 people in instances of alleged “resistance to authority.” The low effectiveness of public security forces and the weak rule of law means that Venezuelans have had to look elsewhere to guarantee their safety. Those who can afford it have turned to private security forces. According to Ungar, private security in Venezuela grew an estimated 509 percent in the early 2000s as violence and crime increased.43 At the same time, armored car companies in the country grew from just 1 in 1999 to 22 by 2011.44 This growth is a red flag for low-security capacity since it reflects societal actors’ perceptions about the extent of the threat to their safety and their attempt to secure what the state has failed to provide. In other cases, communities have turned to self-defense groups, colectivos, and vigilantism to combat violent crime and “take back” security. There are other worrying signs. Civilian lynchings began to appear in the 1990s but occurred only sporadically until around 2015 when the OVV recorded 20 of them.45 In 2016, however, that number spiked to 126, as angry crowds attacked suspected murderers, rapists, and even petty criminals.46 As with the growth in private security, a belief in or reliance on non-state “street justice” against criminals is a direct reflection of the weakness of the state and its inability to confront rampant insecurity.47

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Rule of Law and Courts Lastly, the high degree of impunity that state security forces enjoy and the justice system’s failure to hold them accountable for their abuses suggests that the rule of law has virtually disappeared in Venezuela – or is wielded as a political tool by the government.48 The Office of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights’ 2019 report on human rights in Venezuela found that: Institutions responsible for the protection of human rights, such as the Attorney-General’s Office, the courts and the Ombudsperson, usually do not conduct prompt, effective, thorough, independent, impartial and transparent investigations into human rights violations and other crimes committed by State actors, bring perpetrators to justice, and protect victims and witnesses.49 There is little legal recourse for citizens since the court system is slow, corrupt, and inefficient, and suffers from a severe case backlog. Moreover, beginning with Chávez and continuing with Maduro, the government has filled the Supreme Court (Tribunal Supremo de Justicia or TSJ) with pro-government loyalists. The TSJ’s Judicial Commission, in turn, possesses the power to appoint and remove lower court judges, effectively politicizing them. The numbers reflect the weak rule of law and the poor quality of justice. Using data from the Varieties of Democracy dataset, Figure 11.4 shows how far the rule of law fell between the 1990s and early 2000s. The slope has also fallen in recent years as the values approach zero, falling from 0.01 to 0.008 between 2018 and 2020. Likewise, in the World Economic Forum’s Global Competitiveness Report 2019 for judicial independence, Venezuela ranked last out of the 141 countries surveyed, consistent with its rankings throughout the 2010s.50 Citizen disillusionment is also high. In LAPOP’s 2016–2017 survey wave, 55 percent of Venezuelan respondents had no confidence that the judiciary would punish a hypothetical guilty party, while just 11 percent had “a lot” of confidence. In that same survey, only 7 percent of respondents were convinced that the courts guaranteed a fair trial, with 30 percent answering, “not at all.” In sum, the rule of law is weak, while impunity for criminals is high.

FIGURE 11.4 

Rule of Law Index in Venezuela (1990–2020)

Source:  Variety of Democracy v11.

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The State’s Voluntary Abdication of Power It is easy to imagine state failure as the result of internal conflict or civil war, natural or environmental disaster, or economic crisis. However, Rotberg argues that state failure is largely human made, not the consequence of some exogenous shock.51 He notes that failing and failed states share institutional fragilities and structural flaws but that these problems are nearly always exacerbated by leadership errors. This appears to be the case in Venezuela, where the erosion of security capacity is the product of the country’s (human-made) economic crisis as well as a deliberate government strategy to delegate security and administrative functions to non-state actors.52 In other words, weak security and administrative capacity in Venezuela are partially consequences of the state voluntarily relinquishing those functions in what Gan Galvis calls the “state promotion of civilian armed groups.”53 The emergence of pranes and megabandas is one example. Faced with the inability of prison authorities to properly control (and even protect) inmates in its overcrowded and brutal prison system, Penitentiary Minister Iris Varela (2011–2017; 2018–2020) handed over de facto control to incarcerated gang leaders known as pranes with the understanding they would keep violence to a minimum and prevent disorder within the penitentiary system.54 Consequently, pranes became responsible for managing the prisons’ black markets and overseeing the internal order among inmates. To an even greater degree than other inmates, pranes can easily obtain weapons and luxury goods such as televisions or throw extravagant parties. This pran system represents a clear abrogation of the state’s responsibility and a rescission of its monopoly on the use of force. Similarly, the government has relinquished its right to the use of force in other places, such as the “Peace Zones” (Zonas de Paz). In response to rising homicide rates and increased urban street violence, Deputy Minister of Internal Policy José Vicente Rangel Ávalos negotiated a tenuous truce between state security forces and armed gangs in September 2013 by denominating these special geographical areas.55 Since state security forces had supposedly become instrumental in driving violence in those places, the government – or at least Rangel Ávalos – thought that voluntarily withdrawing these forces would decrease conflict. Consequently, the police and military could not enter these areas unless they had a specific court order, ceding the use of force to criminal or vigilante groups.56 Unsurprisingly, criminal groups began using these zones as places to hide kidnap victims, engage in racketeering, and pursue their criminal activities. They also grew in strength and geographic coverage until some extended their criminal operations to places that were not even protected by the ministerial program.57 And while the government did not create colectivos or sindicatos, many are empowered by or operate in tandem with state actors. The case of colectivos is instructive. After the 2002 coup that briefly ousted him from power, Chávez made key changes to the state security apparatus to act as a counterweight to the military, including removing the state’s monopoly on carrying arms and devolving state functions to collectives through training, weapons provision, and even financing.58 Acting as a militia in defense of the government’s Bolivarian revolution, the colectivos then served as shock troops for the government while simultaneously gaining greater autonomy. In 2020, the government reportedly turned to civilian collectives to help enforce the COVID-19 quarantine in some urban areas.59 The government also aids criminal groups in the Mining Arc. After Maduro formally opened this territory for extractive industries in 2016, the area has become a hub for illegal mining, often with implicit or explicit government consent. Indeed, Maduro has used the Army and GNB to legitimize otherwise criminal mineral extraction, using state security to collaborate with criminal groups to mine, process, and transport minerals to places like Turkey and the United Arab Emirates.60 Some of the profit from this mineral extraction and trade goes to the

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FANB, while another part provides the government the money needed to circumvent international financial pressure. In other words, the Venezuelan government depends, in part, on this illicit industry and non-state armed actors to stay in power. In sum, the state is not only incapable of meeting security threats and possesses increasingly limited control over its territory but, in some cases, may depend on these non-state actors to maintain its own hold on power.

Threats to Public Security and National Defense This evidence suggests that Venezuelan state capacity is so low, it can no longer ensure the security of its citizens, borders, or large parts of its territory. As such, even an economically stable, democratic government would have a hard time confronting the myriad security challenges the country faces. First, threats to public security are likely to remain extremely high. Without adequate policing and the rule of law, violent street crime will continue to plague the everyday life of Venezuelans. Second, domestic organized criminal groups will attempt to expand their reach in ungoverned spaces and, in some cases, violently confront one another. Controlling and displacing these groups – especially the colectivos – will present a Herculean task for the state. Similarly, foreign groups like Colombian guerrillas and paramilitaries or even Brazilian narco-trafficking groups will aim to expand their territorial presence and criminal activities in Venezuela, increasing the likelihood of violent confrontations with Venezuelan organized crime. Under such circumstances, even the most well-organized government would have difficulty delivering political goods and services to its constituents – from electricity, water, gasoline, and education, to medical services during a global pandemic. COVID-19 represents a dire threat for Venezuela, which already suffers massive shortages of medicine and medical supplies.61 The first domestic threat is unorganized criminality and violence. Economic crisis and poor policymaking have weakened the state, strengthened illegal economies, and fed the growth of criminals engaged in homicide, extortion, kidnapping, and drug and contraband trafficking. The level of street crime poses a constant risk to citizens. In 2019, the Mexican NGO, Citizen’s Council for Public Security and Criminal Justice (Consejo Ciudadano para la Seguridad Pública y la Justicia Penal), listed three Venezuelan cities among the world’s top ten most dangerous: Caracas was third, with Ciudad Guayana and Ciudad Bolívar listed as numbers seven and ten, respectively.62 Unsurprisingly, Venezuela placed third-to-last of 142 countries in the Gallup 2020 Global Law and Order Index, ahead of only Gabon and Afghanistan, with its citizens being the thirdleast likely people in the world to feel safe walking alone at night (29 percent) and to trust local police (28 percent).63 Shockingly, both of these are improvements from the 2017 report, which reported the lowest scores (12 percent and 14 percent, respectively) that Gallup had measured worldwide since 2005. Things are so bad, in fact, that in 2017, the head of the Venezuelan Armed Forces’ Strategic Operational Command ordered soldiers to avoid such things as traveling at night, using cellphones in their cars, and showing their military IDs.64 In short, street crime is a constant threat to public security that threatens to deteriorate further. Second, low-security capacity provides incentives for the growth of organized crime. Charles Tilly argued that the state is a type of “protection racket” in which citizens voluntarily relinquish certain rights and pay taxes in exchange for protection from other citizens and external threats, as well as things like contract enforcement.65 In the absence of a strong sovereign – or in ungoverned spaces where the state is weak, ineffective, corrupt, or simply absent – other domestic rivals can fill that role.66 In this case, organized crime becomes another type of racket

168  John Polga-Hecimovich

that provides protection to citizens in the form of contract enforcement, dispute settlement, and competition deterrent.67 This is especially true of the aforementioned places where trust between the government and citizens is weak or nonexistent because of the corruption, absence, or ineptitude of government officials and state institutions. Taking control of or displacing these groups will not be easy, in part because of their numbers and firepower, and in part because of citizens’ distrust of the government and state security forces. The third threat to public security and national defense is the growth of irregular armed groups from Colombia and Brazil. The security breakdown in Venezuela means that the country offers guerrillas, paramilitaries, and drug traffickers safe haven, allowing them to survive, expand their reach, and sustain themselves economically. In the early 2010s, Colombian groups were largely confined to Venezuelan border states while Brazilian organized crime had not yet reached Venezuela. By 2020, more than two-dozen bands of irregular armed groups operated across the country, including dissident factions of the now demobilized FARC and rebels from the ELN in 13 of 23 Venezuelan states. In Amazonas and Bolívar, Colombian guerrilla groups arrived and “socially cleansed” mining zones previously controlled by Venezuelan criminal groups, like the sindicatos. As a result, these guerrillas are now heavily involved in the illegal mining of gold and other minerals in addition to drug trafficking, extortion, and smuggling.68 If low state security capacity persists in Venezuela, not only will criminal groups’ strangleholds on territory become stronger, but violent confrontations between them are likely to grow more common.

Risks to Regional Security In addition to the risk it poses to domestic security, low state capacity combined with high criminality and the minimal rule of law bode poorly for regional security. As the editors of this volume write, frailty in state capacity may create an inversion of the security dilemma in which state weakness resulting from the absence of the monopoly of force threatens regional or international order. In Venezuela’s case, the state’s inability to protect its citizens or its sovereignty means it is likely to become one of Latin America’s regional crime hubs. This would represent an obstacle to the full demobilization of Colombian guerrilla groups, and Colombia’s fragile peace and could also have a spillover effect on regional stability through such things as the massive migration and refugee crisis that has already spread across the region. First, a weak state is attractive to transnational organized crime and gives it a place to flourish. Roughly half of all illicit transactions in the world occur in countries experiencing a range of weak enforcement mechanisms, low levels of economic well-being, insufficient government capacity, and significant societal divisions.69 In these contexts, transnational criminal networks further erode state legitimacy by incentivizing corruption, infiltrating state structures, and competing with the state to provide services. Venezuela is a strategic transit zone for drugs, arms and ammunition, gasoline smuggling, and human trafficking. There is already evidence that the country has become a global center for cocaine and money laundering.70 The transit of illegal narcotics through the country affects production centers in Colombia – and to a lesser extent, Bolivia and Peru – as well as upstream transit markets and drug destinations, ranging from the Dominican Republic, Haiti, and Honduras to the United States and Europe.71 Criminal gangs in the form of both megabandas and sindicatos can use Venezuela as a springboard for illegal activities in neighboring countries as well, exporting violence and insecurity to Brazil, Colombia, and, increasingly, Guyana.72 Other types of transnational organized crime can include terrorist networks, including groups headquartered outside of the Americas, like Hezbollah.73

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Along these lines, the presence of dissident Colombian paramilitary and guerrilla groups in border areas is likely to have regional effects by impeding full demobilization and implementation of peace accords in that country. The Colombian government and the FARC signed a historic peace agreement in 2016 under which the guerrillas agreed to disarm. However, the ex-FARC members’ successful reintegration into civilian life has been rocky, and illicitly governed border states have become ideal places for dissident groups to retreat, reorganize, strengthen, and eventually cross back into Colombia. Venezuela’s economic depression may also strengthen supposedly demobilizing groups; news reports suggest that the ELN and the Popular Liberation Army (Ejército de Liberación Popular) have begun to recruit poor Venezuelans who often join out of economic necessity.74 This expansion could have disastrous consequences for the implementation of the accords and peace efforts. A third way in which Venezuela’s failing state threatens the region is through the difficulties associated with the massive migration of Venezuelans, including sex work and criminal activities, integration into the licit workforce and society, and providing social welfare to these refugees. The wave of emigration that began in 2014 has displaced at least 4.3 million people by the onset of the global pandemic in 2020, representing the fastest-escalating mass movement of people in Latin American history.75 The International Organization for Migration’s numbers in Table 11.1 illustrate the scale of Venezuelan migration, with the numbers of emigrants climbing from some 600,000 in 2015 and 2016, to nearly 1.3 million in 2017, to more than 4.3 million in 2018 and 2019. The recipient countries with the largest increases in migrants include Chile (288,000), Ecuador (330,000), Peru (853,000), and, of course, Colombia (1.4 million). The inflow of Venezuelans poses a significant challenge to regional governments, from providing social services to integrating migrants into formal economies. One 2018 survey suggested that 33 percent of Venezuelans in Colombia and 56 percent of Venezuelans in Brazil were unemployed, although more than 80 percent of employed respondents in these two countries indicated they worked in the informal sector.76 This is problematic insofar as commerce is unregulated, incentivizing illegality, which represents a form of tax evasion. Prostitution and crime have TABLE 11.1  Estimated Venezuelan migrant stock (2015–2019)

Country Canada United States Mexico Costa Rica Panama Ecuador Peru Chile Colombia Argentina Uruguay Brazil Trinidad and Tobago Dominican Republic Spain Portugal Italy TOTAL

2015

2016

2017

2018/2019

17,898 255,520 15,959 6,437 9,883 8,901 2,351 8,001 48,714 12,856 1,855 3,425 1,732 5,417 165,895 24,174 48,970 637,988

20,775 290,224 23,734 7,692 20,999 23,719 4,665 34,623 N/A 25,960 2,762 5,523 N/A N/A 180,289 N/A N/A 620,190

N/A 351,144 32,582 8,892 36,365 39,519 26,239 119,051 600,000 57,127 6,033 35,000 1,743 25,872 208,333 24,603 49,831 1,289,798

N/A N/A 46,072 25,700 94,400 330,414 853,429 288,233 1,408,055 145,000 8,589 168,357 40,000 28,500 323,575 N/A N/A 4,326,330

Source: International Organization for Migration (IOM). 2018; 2019. “Migration Trends in the Americas: Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela.” New York, NY: United Nations.

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already risen in border areas and parts of Colombia and Brazil with Venezuelan migrants and refugees, as the influx of people without residence permits and work visas has grown.77 This has fueled insecurity as well as local resentment. Mass migration from such a weak state can also threaten the health of vulnerable populations in receiving countries. Since medical shortages began in Venezuela, the country has suffered from low vaccination rates and the reemergence of previously eradicated diseases, like malaria, measles, diphtheria, tuberculosis, and polio.78 With thousands of Venezuelans fleeing the country daily, there is a risk that sick Venezuelans may “export” these highly infectious diseases to more countries in the region. Immigrants are less likely to use health services in their new countries, creating disease blind spots that make it harder to contain outbreaks. A Venezuelan measles outbreak spread to Brazil, Colombia, and Ecuador, which had an estimated 1,033 cases between them; all 798 cases investigated in Brazil were in the two states that border Venezuela.79 Clearly, the Venezuelan state’s weaknesses represent a threat not only to Venezuelans, but to other countries and populations as well.

Threats to Re-democratization Beyond security, low state capacity may pose an obstacle to re-democratization. There is no general theory of the relationship between the state and democracy.80 However, the conventional wisdom is the “no state, no democracy” proposition, which holds that a secure state is necessary before a country can enjoy democracy or economic development.81 The logic is that states endowed with a monopoly on the use of force over their territory, coherent institutions (e.g., a functioning bureaucracy), and the elements needed to construct a sound legal system can democratize more successfully than those without these tools. As such, many scholars suggest that democratization follows a sequence, whereby states first construct the ability to effectively exercise authority and implement policy throughout their national territory, build institutions, and then encourage competitive mass elections.82 For them, democratizing in the wrong sequence risks bloodshed in the short term and puts democracy at risk in the long term. Even the more cautious Thomas Carothers agrees that states require a minimal functional capacity and something resembling a monopoly of force before they can pursue sustainable, pluralistic political development.83 Empirically, this proposition has been borne out in ex-communist states,84 as well as Asia.85 In one large-N, cross-national analysis, Møller and Skaaning show that “stateness” is a necessary condition for the four democratic attributes of electoral rights, political liberties, the rule of law, and social rights and is especially critical in the case of the latter two.86 It may also impact the likelihood of regime change. Ham and Seim suggest that state capacity may be a crucial factor in conditioning the democratizing power of elections in authoritarian regimes.87 A dataset of 460 elections in 110 authoritarian regimes between 1974 and 2012 show that if the new incumbent has limited capacity to deliver public services and make policy changes after coming to power, sustainable democratic change is unlikely. Likewise, Cruz shows that high levels of common violence and crime in post-war Central America represent a threat and obstacle to democratization by eroding citizens’ support for new regimes and the legitimacy of the political system.88 The implications for transitologists in a place like Venezuela are grave and suggest that even a president wholly committed to democratic reforms may find it difficult to establish and sustain such a regime. Attempting re-democratization without first attending to the myriad weaknesses in the country’s state and security capacity may prove imprudent. Threats to state sovereignty posed by guerrilla groups, pranes, megabandas, and sindicatos, and the government’s inability to

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guarantee the protection of its citizens bodes poorly for political development. Venezuela, of course, is not starting from a tabula rasa like Afghanistan or Iraq in the 2000s. It was one of the hemisphere’s longest enduring democracies, from 1958 until the 2010s, but as low stateness undermined its democracy then, it undercuts re-democratization now. It will be important for politicians, policymakers, and foreign donors seeking to help rebuild Venezuela to focus on institution building and state capacity along with electoral democracy and social protection.

Venezuela’s Future Venezuela’s state security capacity is likely the lowest in the Americas and is perhaps lower than it has been at any point since the late nineteenth century. In many ways, the country may best be classified as a failing state at risk of becoming a failed or collapsed one. This has myriad negative implications for both the country and the region. Domestically, Venezuela’s security weaknesses reflect the state’s inability or unwillingness to control street gangs, organized criminal groups, and foreign guerrillas and paramilitaries – all groups whose continued existence and growth will further erode state capacity. Beyond Venezuela, state weakness threatens to turn the country into a regional crime hub, potentially impedes the demobilization of armed groups in Colombia, and has helped provoke a massive wave of migration that may cause problems throughout Latin America. Lastly, weak state capacity in Venezuela is not a threat to the survival of democracy, as it might be in places like Mexico or countries of the Northern Triangle, but rather an impediment to democracy’s recovery. This suggests that it will be necessary to build state and security capacity to ensure the protection of Venezuelan citizens, improve regional security, and better guarantee the success of re-democratization. Of course, successfully overcoming these weaknesses requires Venezuelan policymakers (and foreign governments and donors) to invest in reforming public security forces, commit to fighting irregular armed groups in poor urban areas and remote rural ones, and improve the quality of justice while insulating the judiciary from politics. Failing to regain a monopoly on the use of legitimate force across its territory will push Venezuela closer to places like Somalia or Afghanistan, where the state has collapsed, and regional warlords often wield more power than the central government.

Notes 1 The author would like to thank Ensign Rachel LaBuda for her research assistance and help in beginning this manuscript.The views expressed in this chapter are solely those of the author.They do not necessarily represent the views of or endorsement of the U.S. Naval Academy, Department of the Navy, Department of Defense, or U.S. government. This research is neither sponsored nor funded by any organization. 2 Lucia Newman, “Venezuela has ‘world’s highest murder rate,’” Al Jazeera, January 23, 2020; “Venezuela: Extrajudicial Killings in Poor Areas,” Human Rights Watch (September 18, 2019); Fatou Bensouda, “Statement on opening Preliminary Examinations into the situations in the Philippines and Venezuela,” International Criminal Court (February 8, 2018); UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, The Situation of Human Rights in the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela (New York: United Nations, 2019). 3 “Sin Dios ni ley: Un análisis de la situación de seguridad en la frontera colombo-venezolana,” Fundación Pares (February 2020): 7. 4 Stefano Pozzebon and Susan Scutti, “Is polio re-emerging in Venezuela nearly 30 years after eradication?,” CNN, June 11, 2018; Alexandra Ulmer, “One million unvaccinated Venezuelan kids vulnerable in measles outbreak: doctors,” Reuters, September 29, 2017. 5 Marianna Parraga and Alexandra Ulmer, “Crisis-hit Venezuela’s oil output plummets in 2017 to decades low,” Reuters, January 18, 2018. 6 Michael Reid (Bello Column), “Will Venezuela’s dictatorship survive?,” The Economist, March 9, 2017. 7 The World Bank, Venezuelan Migration: The 4,500-Kilometer Gap Between Desperation and Opportunity (Washington, DC: The World Bank, 2019).

172  John Polga-Hecimovich

8 John Polga-Hecimovich, “The Rise of Organized Crime in Venezuela under Chavismo,” in The Criminalization of the State:The Relationship Between States and Organized Crime, eds. J. D. Rosen, B. Bagley, and J. Chabat (Lanham, MD: Lexington Press, 2019). 9 The literature uses an abundance of terms to describe state capacity, including state strength, state fragility or failure, infrastructural power, institutional capacity, political capacity, quality of government or governance, and the rule of law. 10 Michael Mann, “The Autonomous Power of the State: its Origins, Mechanisms, and Results,” European Journal of Sociology 25, no. 2 (1984), 185–213. 11 Robert I. Rotberg, “Failed States, Collapsed States,Weak States: Causes and Indicators,” in State Failure and State Weakness in a Time of Terror, ed. R. I. Rotberg (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2003). 12 Rotberg, Failed States, Collapsed States,Weak States. 13 Juan Pablo Luna and Hillel David Soifer, “AmericasBarometer Insights: 2015,” in AmericasBarometer Insights (Nashville, TN: Latin American Public Opinion Project, 2015). 14 Global Firepower, 2020 Military Strength Ranking, https://www.globalfirepower.com/countries.asp. 15 Brian Ellsworth and Mayela Armas, “The Maduro mystery:Why the armed forces still stand by Venezuela’s beleaguered president,” Reuters, June 28, 2019. 16 “The Americas,Venezuela’s navy battles a cruise ship, and loses,” The Economist, April 11, 2020. 17 Sérgio Ramalho, “Maior facção da Venezuela tem núcleo em solo brasileiro agindo em Roraima,” UOL, September 10, 2019. 18 “Venezolanas son prostituidas en Trinidad y Tobago: ‘Me rompe el corazón’,” El Nacional, February 5, 2020. 19 “Cartel de los Soles,” InSight Crime, October 31, 2016. 20 Brian Fonseca and John Polga-Hecimovich, Two Nations, One Revolution: The Evolution of Contemporary Cuba-Venezuela Relations (Washington, DC: The Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, 2020). 21 Brian Fonseca, John Polga-Hecimovich, and Harold Trinkunas, Venezuelan Military Culture (Miami: Florida International University, 2016). 22 Moisés Rendón and Linnea Sandin, “Illegal Mining in Venezuela: Death and Devastation in the Amazonas and Orinoco Regions,” CSIS Briefs (Washington, DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, April 16, 2020). 23 International Crisis Group, Gold and Grief in Venezuela’s Violent South, Report No. 73, Latin America & Caribbean (Brussels: ICG, February 28, 2019). 24 “Emisoras de radio del ELN en Táchira, Barinas y Apure siguen funcionado,” El Nacional, August 10, 2017. 25 Karla Pérez Castilla, “El ELN distribuye cajas CLAP en las fronteras con autorización de Maduro,” El Nacional, February 6, 2018. 26 ‘Human Rights Watch (HRW), The Guerrillas Are the Police’: Social Control and Abuses by Armed Groups in Colombia’s Arauca Province and Venezuela’s Apure State (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2020). 27 Pablo Stefanoni, “Venezuela: ¿por qué no «bajan» de los cerros? Entrevista a Alejandro Velasco,” Nueva Sociedad, June 2017. 28 “AP, Colectivos atacan a diputados opositores en Venezuela en disputa por la sede de Asamblea Nacional,” El Universo, January 15, 2020. 29 Venezuela Investigative Unit, “Venezuela Prisons: ‘Pranes’ and ‘Revolutionary’ Criminality,” InSight Crime, September 2017. 30 International Crisis Group, Gold and Grief in Venezuela’s Violent South. 31 Bram Ebus, “Militarization and mining a dangerous mix in Venezuelan Amazon,” Mongabay, December 7, 2017. 32 Anne L. Clunan and Harold A. Trinkunas, eds., Ungoverned Spaces. Alternatives to State Authority in an Era of Softened Sovereignty (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2010). 33 Roberto Briceño León, “Tres fases de la violencia homicida en Venezuela,” Ciência & Saúde Coletiva 17, no. 12 (2012), 3233–3242. 34 León, “Tres fases de la violencia homicida en Venezuela.” 35 “Venezuela registra 26.616 asesinatos en 2017, según Observatorio de Violencia,” Diario Las Américas, December 28, 2017. 36 “Informe annual de violencia 2019,” Observatorio Venezolano de Violencia (OVV) (2019), https://observatoriodeviolencia.org.ve/news/informe-anual-de-violencia-2019/. 37 Luna and Soifer, “AmericasBarometer Insights: 2015.” 38 Human Rights Watch, “Venezuela” in World Report 2013 (New York, NY: Human Rights Watch, 2013). 39 UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, “Human Rights in the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela.” 40 “Unchecked Power: Police and Military Raids in Low-Income and Immigrant Communities in Venezuela,” Human Rights Watch, April 4, 2016.

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41 Report by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Human Rights Violations in the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela: A Downward Spiral with No End in Sight (New York, NY: UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, 2018). 42 “Venezuela registra 26.616 asesinatos en 2017,” infobae, December 28, 2017. 43 Mark Ungar, “The Privatization of Citizen Security in Latin America: From Elite Guards to Neighborhood Vigilantes,” Social Justice 34, no. 3–4 (2007), 20–37. 44 Virginia López and Tom Phillips, “Security firms fight tide of kidnappings in Venezuela,” The Guardian, November 18, 2011. 45 Ungar, “The Privatization of Citizen Security in Latin America.” 46 Andreina Aponte, “In Venezuela, lynchings kill one person every three days: report,” Reuters, December 28, 2016. 47 From the 2016–2017 LAPOP survey wave, 18 percent of Venezuelans strongly approved of vigilante justice, with only 35 percent strongly disapproving (Nashville: Vanderbilt University, AmericasBarometer 2016–17), https://www.vanderbilt.edu/lapop/ab2016.php. 48 Javier Corrales.. “Autocratic Legalism in Venezuela,” Journal of Democracy 26, (2015): 37–51. 49 UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, “Human rights in the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela.” 50 Klaus Schwab, The Global Competitiveness Report 2017–2018 (Geneva: World Economic Forum, 2017). 51 Rotberg, Failed States, Collapsed States,Weak States. 52 Polga-Hecimovich, The Rise of Organized Crime in Venezuela under Chavismo. 53 Natalia Gan Galavís, “Rule of Law Crisis, Militarization of Citizen Security, and Effects on Human Rights in Venezuela,” European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 109, (September 22, 2020): 67–86. 54 Javier Ignacio Mayorca, Las megabandas: Una aproximación a la insurgencia criminal venezolana, Monografías Visibilizando el Delito Organizado (Caracas: Asociación Civil Paz Activa, April 2016). 55 Daniel Pardo, “Cómo se vive en las zonas de paz de Venezuela bajo control de los ‘malandros’,” BBC Mundo, July 28, 2015. 56 The directive was not supported by any documents, but police chiefs confirmed that the Ministry of Interior verbally reiterated this order. Javier Mayorca, “The Origins of Organized Crime in Venezuela,” InSight Crime, March 14, 2016. 57 Mayorca, “The Origins of Organized Crime in Venezuela.” 58 Maria C. Werlau, “Venezuela’s Criminal Gangs: Warriors of Cultural Revolution,” World Affairs 177(2), (July–August 2014): 90–96. 59 Yohana Marra, “Gobierno de Maduro usa a las FAES, a militares y civiles armados para hacer cumplir la cuarentena en comunidades,” Crónica Uno, March 24, 2020. 60 Moisés Rendón and Linnea Sandin, “Illegal mining in Venezuela: Death and devastation in the Amazonas and Orinoco regions,” CSIS Briefs, April 16, 2020. 61 Pozzebon and Scutti, “Is polio re-emerging in Venezuela nearly 30 years after eradication; Ulmer, “One million unvaccinated Venezuelan kids vulnerable in measles outbreak.” 62 Consejo Ciudadano para la Seguridad Pública y Justicia Penal A.C., Las 50 Ciudades Más Violentas del Mundo 2018 (Mexico City: CCSPJP, 2019). 63 Gallup, Inc, 2019 Global Law and Order Report (New York, NY: Gallup, Inc., 2019). 64 Antonio María Delgado, “Crime is so bad in Venezuela that even soldiers were ordered to avoid driving at night,” Miami Herald, November 28, 2017. 65 Charles Tilly, Coercion, Capital and European States: AD 990–1992 (Oxford: Blackwell Press, 1992); Charles Tilly, “War Making and State Making as Organized Crime,“ in Bringing the State Back In, eds. Peter B. Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer, and Theda Skocpol (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 169–191. 66 Clunan and Trinkunas, Ungoverned Spaces. 67 Diego Gambetta, The Sicilian Mafia:The Business of Private Protection (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993). 68 International Crisis Group, Gold and Grief in Venezuela’s Violent South. 69 Rachel Locke, Organized Crime, Conflict, and Fragility: A New Approach (New York, NY: International Peace Institute, July 2012). 70 José de Córdoba and Juan Forero, “Venezuelan officials suspected of turning country into global cocaine hub,” The Wall Street Journal, May 18, 2015. 71 “Venezuela: A Mafia State?,” InSight Crime, May 2018. 72 Mat Youkee, “Guyana’s border towns threatened by violent gangs as Venezuela crisis deepens,” The Guardian, August 2, 2018. 73 Reports of these relationships appear to have been overstated. See Geoff Ramsey and David Smilde, “Fact checking Venezuelan passports-to-terrorists allegations,” InSight Crime, February 22, 2017.

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74 Felipe Fernández, “Colombian guerrilla groups recruit desperate Venezuelans to fill their ranks,” PanAm Post, July 4, 2018. 75 Luisa Feline Freier and Nicolas Parent, “A South American Migration Crisis: Venezuelan Outflows Test Neighbors’ Hospitality,” Migration Policy Institute, July 18, 2018. 76 Freier and Parent, A South American Migration Crisis.” 77 Anastasia Moloney, “Venezuelans sell sex and hair to survive in Colombian border city,” Reuters, June 10, 2018. 78 Pozzebon and Scutti, “Is polio re-emerging in Venezuela nearly 30 years after eradication?”; Ulmer, “One million unvaccinated Venezuelan kids vulnerable in measles outbreak.” 79 Pan American Health Organization, “Repuesta de la OPS para el mantenimiento de una agenda de cooperación técnica efectiva en Venezuela” (Washington, DC: PAHO, June 2018). 80 Sebastián L. Mazzuca and Gerardo L. Munck, “State or Democracy First? Alternative Perspectives on the State-Democracy Nexus,” Democratization 21, no. 7 (2014): 1221–1243. 81 Francis Fukuyama, “‘Stateness’ First,” Journal of Democracy 16, no. 1 (2005), 84-88; Edward D. Mansfield and Jack L. Snyder, “The Sequencing ‘Fallacy’,” Journal of Democracy 18, no. 3 (2007), 5-9; David Andersen, Jørgen Møller, and Svend-Erik Skaaning, “The State-Democracy Nexus: Conceptual Distinctions, Theoretical Perspectives, and Comparative Approaches,” Democratization 21, no. 7 (2014), 1203-1220. 82 Mansfield and Snyder, “The Sequencing ‘Fallacy’.” 83 Thomas Carothers, “The Sequencing Fallacy,” Journal of Democracy 18, no. 1, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace (January 10, 2007), 12-27. 84 Jessica Fortin, “Is There a Necessary Condition for Democracy? The Role of State Capacity in Postcommunist Countries,” Comparative Political Studies 45, no. 7 (December 5, 2011), 903-930. 85 Dan Slater, “Strong-State Democratization in Malaysia and Singapore,” Journal of Democracy 23, no. 2 (2012), 19-33. 86 Jørgen Møller and Svend-Erik Skaaning, “Stateness First?” Democratization 18, no. 1 (January 2011): 1–24. 87 Carolien van Ham and Brigitte Seim, “Strong States, Weak Elections? How State Capacity in Authoritarian Regimes Conditions the Democratizing Power of elections,” International Political Science Review 39(1) (June 2017): 49–66. 88 José Miguel Cruz, “Violencia y democratización en Centroamérica: El impacto del crimen en la legitimidad de los regímenes de posguerra,” América Latina Hoy 35, (January 2003), 19-59.

12 ARGENTINA Legality or Disobedience? Rut Diamint 

Introduction Thirty-five years ago, Argentina ended its history of military coups to enter a democratic period. The Argentine military, who had held an abhorrent record of authoritarianism and violence, was forced to abandon its leading role in politics. The process of democratization depended on the restoration of the rule of law. The armed forces were subjected to legal processes stemming from their human rights abuses during the “Dirty War” as well as significant budget and personnel cuts. Their power was diminished. But their influence on defense policy did not end. Argentina, compared to other countries in the region, would advance by enacting defense and democratic policies that safeguarded citizens’ rights by establishing a legal separation between defense and security. Despite standing out in state capacity for civilian control, the directives of defense policy have been relegated to the urgency of various political and economic crises.

Brief Historical Review Between 1930 and 1983, Argentine politics was conditioned by the armed forces, with the peculiarity that the only presidents who completed their term in that period were two generals: Agustín P. Justo (1932–1938) and Juan Domingo Perón (1946–1952). As in other Latin American countries, history was marked by weak elected governments, military dictatorships, dictators supported by elite guards, and civilian governments supervised by the armed forces.1 The military defined the political game from 1930 to 1983, with clear leadership from the Army. With the arrival of Juan Perón to the presidency, that unity was broken, not only among the whole of the armed forces but also within each branch. After the 1955 coup that overthrew Perón and installed a new military government, the armed forces were divided, insubordinate, and critical of both the government and their own authorities: “The military situation led to permanent disorder, which compromised the bases of the armed forces.”2 The following years were ones of great instability and multiple military dictatorships. The so-called National Reorganization Process was the most violent and repressive of all the military governments. In part, because of these events and the defeat in the Malvinas/Falkland Islands, democratic governments were able to undertake measures to limit military autonomy more DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-13

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boldly than other Latin American countries. Although Argentina has made the most progress in the civilian conduct of defense, the Ministry of Defense has not promoted a state policy in the area. Military governments had ended, but military power remained. Already in democracy, the urgency for democratic civil control, the economic crises, the pressure to obtain presidential re-election, and the ministerial teams’ lack of authority altered the effect of the reforms. National defense was relegated within state policies.

Demarcation between Defense and Security The concepts of defense and security admitted numerous changes related to post-Cold War realities. Traditional confrontations between the militaries of countries in conflict were relativized before the advance of internal wars. The developed countries focused their agendas on ethnic wars, the decomposition of states, and terrorism. At the same time, neighborhood rivalry gave rise to cooperation in Latin America, while the issue of narco-trafficking gained increased prominence. In this context, the traditional role of the Latin American armed forces lost relevance. It was no longer a question of guerrilla movements identified with Soviet or Maoist ideology (except in Colombia) to continue with the theory of the internal enemy. Neither did indigenous theory provoke a perception of the disintegration of the state. The United States, promoting a rearrangement of the armed forces, found a new enemy: narco-terrorism, to which it later added organized crime. This idea promoted by Washington did not have support in Argentina, where a majority consensus persisted about not overlapping the tasks of defense and public security.3 Legislation in accordance with these principles was imposed in 1988,4 but it was not until June 12, 2006, with the Decree of the National Executive Branch No. 727/06 that implemented the Defense Law, that the principle of separation of defense and public safety was enforced.5 The separation between defense and security was reiterated in the Directive of Organization and Operation of the Armed Forces, which stated, “The main mission of the Armed Forces, Military Instrument of National Defense, is to conjure and repel all State military external aggression.”6 This directive did not change the operational and institutional organization of the armed forces, which continued its traditional doctrine centered on the hypothesis of a neighborhood in conflict. The second legal instrument for the separation of both functions is the Internal Security Law 24059 of 1992, which generated the regulatory framework at the national level. This law coordinates the federal police, security, forces, and the provincial police. Regarding the internal organization, the law did not change the centralist, hierarchical structure with differentiated ranks between senior personnel (officers) and junior personnel (noncommissioned officers). Only the Airport Security Police, created in 2006, has a different model from the traditional forces. It is more flexible, with a unique structure. In recent years, the budget for equipment and staff expansion increased, although it is not public how those resources were distributed and the amount of the increase. The Security Ministry, created during President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner’s administration on December 10, 2010, is the body that defines the doctrine, deployment, equipment, and training of security forces, guaranteeing civilian supremacy over the police. Although the legal regulations and operational criteria are clear,7 the lack of coordination between the forces and the failure to share information and intelligence between these various agencies has been criticized. The National Intelligence Law complements the framework of reforms under a democratic criterion.8 The intelligence system is made up of three agencies: (1) the Federal Intelligence

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Agency (AFI), dependent on the Presidency of the Nation whose mission is the production of national intelligence,9 (2) the National Directorate of Criminal Intelligence under the Ministry of Security, and (3) the National Directorate of Military Strategic Intelligence (DNIEM), dependent on the Ministry of Defense. There is also a National School of Intelligence for the training of the Federal Agency of Intelligence staff. The AFI is the agency with the largest budget and the highest operational capacity. Changes made during the administration of President Alberto Fernández did not modify the institutional integration of the intelligence services; they only served to place staff loyal to the government. One of the major criticisms of the intelligence body is AFI’s spending discretion, despite its supervision by the Bicameral Commission for the Supervision of the Intelligence Bodies and Activities of Congress.10 Another question is about the partial declassification of secret documents. Several civil society organizations, such as the Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales and Chequeado or la Iniciativa Ciudadana para el control del Sistema de Inteligencia, have managed to modify, albeit tepidly, some contents of the AFI reform, thanks to prolonged social activism. Even though the law presents obligations regarding human rights, ethics, and transparency, the AFI has been questioned for the persecution of political leaders and scrutinizing legal cases. For its part, the DNIEM often transcribes press reports without taking advantage of the resources of military attachés abroad.

The Administration of the Defense and Security System A first point to consider is that coordination between defense, security, and intelligence systems is practically nonexistent. Officials are wary of providing information to other agencies. They prefer to act independently to collect individual achievements from political bosses. On the same issue, it is common to see that the decisions of each agency can be contradictory. A clear example of these contradictions is the well-known Nisman case, related to the sudden death in January 2015 of Federal Prosecutor Alberto Nisman. Nisman was about to file a complaint in the Chamber of Deputies against Cristina Fernández for an alleged cover-up of the 1994 attack on the Mutual Israeli Association of Argentina (AMIA) through a memorandum of understanding signed with Iran. The intervention of different forces, the opposing opinion of the gendarmerie, the federal police, and the AFI have continued, even with the change of government. The efficiency of the system is decimated by these internal struggles that sometimes only respond to personal ambitions.11 Add to this the continuous rotation of officials and their advisers, many of them without competence in the matter, who once they acquire specific technical skills, must leave their functions, the consequence of which is to “undermine the coherence … lose control … politicize previously professionalized agencies.”12 From the beginning of democratization, questions regarding the axis of defense did not go through a process to define its policy or determine its mission. The center of concern was placed on democratic civil control of the armed forces and implementing trials against the military dictatorship and the leaders of the armed guerrilla organizations. That profile, with ups and downs, was maintained until the administration of President Mauricio Macri.13 During the presidency of Carlos Menem, the idea of increasing the contribution of troops to United Nations (UN) peace missions emerged from the foreign ministry. Thus, from 1991 on, Argentina was the Latin American country that contributed the most troops to peacekeeping operations. “At the same time that it professionalized its members, Argentine participation allowed the country to be reintegrated alongside the western axis, showing commitment to international security. But starting in 1995 when the Argentine economic situation became difficult, the contribution to these operations decreased.”14 Appendix 12.1 shows Argentine participation in peacekeeping missions.

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The deployment has now been reduced, responding to budget cuts and a negative appreciation of the benefits of participating, which from mid-2014 onward reflects the thinking among ministerial authorities. The current composition of Argentine peace forces is 393 troops: Cyprus 304, Haiti 72, Colombia 11, Western Sahara 3, and the Middle East 3.15

The Eclipse of the Defense-Security Divide Since the Macri administration, the government has chosen to reform the defense decrees and authorize military participation in the fight against narco-trafficking. A Defense Review, published by the government of Fernando de la Rúa in 2001, served to reorient the defense profile to issues related to organized crime, contraband, and narco-terrorism. This project was closely linked to the thought of Horacio Jaunarena, the defense minister of that administration who had also held that position in the Alfonsín government (1983–1989) and would do so in the interregnum of Eduardo Duhalde (2002–2003). Jaunarena, convinced of the ideas emanating from the U.S. Southern Command, and himself a spokesman for the Army’s wishes, influenced a large part of the Radical Party leadership on the need to combat these new threats using the armed forces. The short period of his tenure and the crisis of 2001 did not lead to changes in defense policy and the structure of the forces. During the presidency of Cristina Kirchner, operations were authorized in 2011 to monitor and control air, river, and land spaces on the borders of northern Argentina, thus involving the military in internal order tasks. In 2013, the Army was empowered to control the northern border, a mission that legally corresponds to the National Gendarmerie. Through the operation “Escudo Norte” (Decree 1091/2011) and “Fortín II” (Resolution 590/2011), troops from the Air Force were used to patrol and monitor the border with Paraguay. In these police operations carried out by the military during the first half of 2015, the Argentine Army seized marijuana for the equivalent of 10 percent of what was seized by the National Gendarmerie and the Naval Prefecture.16 The 20 RASIT surveillance radars sent to the border for ground control in the provinces of Salta and Formosa in northern Argentina are, of course, not enough to monitor a border of 2,242 km. In 2016, through Decree 228/16, Macri declared a “public safety emergency.” This statement is consistent with one of three objectives formulated during his presidential campaign (zero poverty, ending narco-trafficking, and uniting Argentina). The concept of narco-trafficking coincides with what was expressed regarding Transnational Organized Crime by the United Nations.17 Likewise, Macri modified a trend that emerged with democratization to apply budget cuts to the defense sector. This was a measure to increase civilian control and correct the excesses in military spending self-assigned by the military dictatorship. Table 12.1 shows the percentage of GDP spent on defense from 1999 to 2016. The total number of members of the armed forces in 2016 was 79,845, which implies 18 military personnel for every 100,000 nationals. This level does not reflect citizens’ support

TABLE 12.1  Military budget – percentage of GDP

Country Argentina

1999

2000

2005

2009

2012

2015

2016

1.3

1.3

1.3

0.8

0.91

0.86

0.95

Source:  National Budget Office. According to the World Bank, in 2017, Argentina spent 0.865 percent of its GDP on defense.

Argentina 179 TABLE 12.2  Personnel of the armed forces, 2016

Officers Soldiers NCOs Total women Total men

Army

Navy

Air Force

6,089 19,557 22,721 6,817 41,550

2,519 1,307 14,131 3,276 14,681

2,520 1,926 9,075 3,616 9,905

Source:  Atlas Resdal 2016.

for militarism, but rather a failure of the political leadership to implement a rational reform that would include a significant troop reduction. Table 12.2 presents the distribution of personnel by level. Appendix 12.2 presents a differentiated table of the strength of the armed forces by grade. The 2016 Resdal Atlas states that the highest percentage of spending is on salaries and retirements and pensions, representing 83.2 percent of the total. There is a recurring inability of the Ministry of Defense to exercise significant political influence. The two ministers under Macri lacked preparation in this field, as did their closest team. Retired military officers named in leadership positions are those who contribute ideas of a strictly military vision.18  There is no methodology or systematic design. Legal changes do not satisfy the armed forces. The Chief of the General Staff of the Argentine Army, Lieutenant General Claudio Pasqualini, responded to the president’s demand for the troops to carry out security tasks, saying “they could do so if some regulations are modified in the future.”19 According to open-source information, the 6,000 soldiers deployed on the northern border of the Misiones and Salta provinces did not receive special training to fulfill their new tasks. 20

The Security Forces The public security system is composed of the federal police, the provincial police, the National Gendarmerie, and the Naval Prefecture, which were initially subsidiary forces of the Army and Navy, respectively.21 The functions of the National Gendarmerie, a militarized security force, include border control, clandestine migrations, contraband, terrorism, narco-trafficking, infractions of interjurisdictional freight transportation and passengers, and deterioration of the environment. The Naval Prefecture (Prefectura Naval Argentina) is the security police for maritime and river navigation. It is also concerned with the preservation of the environment and illegal fishing. The fourth national force is the Airport Security Police, created in 2005, the mission of which includes security at airports, protecting national and international civil aviation and controlling criminal activities at airports. The Internal Security Law 24,059 also created the Internal Security Council to coordinate the federal security forces, which has not intervened with the forces. Both the federal and provincial police were subordinate to political leadership. Their autonomy was relative. During the last military dictatorship, the police were the executive arm of many atrocities under the command of the armed forces. They were granted immunity, a condition that would lead to a widespread practice of arbitrariness. Already in democracy, attempts were made to exercise greater political control over the police. However, it was not an easy task, first, because they had become accustomed to the impunity granted by the military dictatorship.

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Second, that same legacy had contributed to the transformation of small illegalities into the widespread corruption of its members. The third challenge was corporate resistance to interference by civil authorities. More recently, with the crisis of insecurity as reported in the press,22 security has become one of the central concerns of Argentine citizens. This does not necessarily reflect the information provided by the Ministry of Security that computed 1,568,084 criminal cases in 2015, 1,502,676 for 2016, and 1,493,733 in 2017, for a total population of 44,044,811 inhabitants.23 Likewise, that same ministry report indicates that 85.1 percent of the country’s population considers insecurity in their city of residence to be a “quite or very serious” problem. The report states that during 2016, 13.6 percent of the country’s homes suffered at least one crime of robbery or theft and that most of the crimes (61.6 percent) occurred at night.24 Compared with other Latin American countries, Argentina is in the group with the lowest homicide rate, along with Bolivia, Chile, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Peru, and Uruguay, where common crime prevails rather than organized crime and gangs.25 A peculiarity of these police forces is that they have developed intelligence and data analysis capabilities at a higher level than the military. In complex crime cases, and because of their regional distribution, they have the best response capacity and the best information to combat organized crime, narco-trafficking, and smuggling. According to official data, the seizure of marijuana reached 185,000 kg, and arrests accounted for 87 per day between 2015 and 2018; 8,522 kg. of cocaine were also found. Although the data has been questioned,26 the gendarmerie increased its work aimed at controlling narco-trafficking. Overall, the national security forces have more troops than the armed forces, as can be seen in Table 12.3. Also, it is difficult to differentiate the costs of each institution in relation to its specific functions. The police forces have been the subject of concern because of corruption and practices contrary to democratic legality. According to the Center of Legal and Social Studies Records, between 1996 and the first half of 2018, at least 180 people died in the metropolitan area of Buenos Aires in situations where a member of the security forces used lethal force in personal conflicts that did not respond to their role.27 Indeed, most of the complaints refer to the excessive use of force. The Bertelsmann Stiftung report takes up these same doubts: The excessive use of force by police and other security forces has been reported as a recurrent problem … The Argentine military and the police are hesitant to government enforcement of human rights, and national and provincial governments have been unable to change the prevailing culture in the security forces, with repeated failures to reform police forces known to be corrupt and complicit in criminal activity. 28 TABLE 12.3  Members of the security forces

Strength

Number

National Gendarmerie Argentine Naval Prefecture Airport Security Police Argentine Federal Police Total

36,384 22,272 4,287 26,858 89,801

Source:  Ministry of Security, https://estadisticascriminales. minseg.gob.ar/,and see also https://www–casarosada– gob–ar.accesible.inclusite.com/2-uncategorised/399 26-seguridad-y-narcotrafico.

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The governments of presidents Nestor and Cristina Kirchner assumed a position advocating greater protection from crime. Since 2015, Macri’s government took a position adverse to social protest and public mobilization as forms of expression against the authorities,29 accentuating the repressive nature of the security forces. The Minister of Security of Macri’s administration showed a more intransigent profile of ministerial leadership. The minister’s appearances in the media were numerous, giving a perception of efficiency. Expressly, the Minister of Security of the Macri government said, We are going to reverse the burden of proof. … Until now, the police officer who was in a confrontation was in prison … We are changing the doctrine and there are judges who do not understand it. We are going to take legitimate defense for police cases.30 Internal security in the country has become more challenging for the authorities.31 As reflected in the Bertelsmann Stiftung report, “Organized crime related to narco-trafficking has grown significantly over the last decade, as Argentina not only became the second-largest cocaine market in Latin America behind Brazil, but also a transit point for drugs to West Africa and Europe.”32 Known experiences show poor coordination of actions, collateral effects on the human rights of citizens, and a delay in improving the police forces. From the perspective of this work, the solution is not to cover up the problem with the military. This would have a double negative effect. On the one hand, it would impede the improvement of the capacities and education of the security forces.33 On the other hand, it would weaken the legal system built into the democracy that maintained the differentiation between military and police functions. Instead of building state capacity, it would damage existing agencies. Based on a diagnosis that defines the defense system as outdated, without investment and with a territorial deployment focused on old threats, Macri justified updating the doctrine and military plans, adding the armed forces to the fight against narco-trafficking. Decree No. 683/2018 established, “attacks are not only of a military state nature, but also sometimes manifest themselves in other ways that, without ceasing to originate abroad, take place in our territory and/or have effects on it.”34 This justifies the need for new roles and functions due to the evolution of the security and defense environment. Ciudad del Este, the triple border between Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay – also known as the Tri-Border Area (TBA) – is a haven for smugglers and terrorists linked to the bombings of the Israeli Embassy and the AMIA in Buenos Aires. Since 1996, the three countries have formed a Tripartite Security Command to combat transnational crime. After the September 11, 2001 attacks in the United States, in 2002, Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, and the United States created the “3 + 1 group” to strengthen security in the region. In 2015, an Interpol office opened in the TBA, based in Argentina. It is the confirmed epicenter of illegal commercial activities, but there are no clear indications of operational terrorist activities. Macri said the Argentine armed forces are idle and that it is necessary to put them to work on the issues that generate the greatest concern.35 And evidently, the failure of his other two campaign proposals leaves security as the only space in which he could show relative results, without measuring the institutional cost this policy entails.

Current Defense Problems Since the Menem administration, Argentina has stated that it has no hypothesis of conflict. The traditional rivalry with Brazil was mitigated by commercial (the South American Regional

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Economic Organization or MERCOSUR) and political (Union of South American Nations or UNASUR) agreements. Relative distrust was maintained, and commercial competition persisted between both nations, but no politician expressed that the differences could lead to a military confrontation. With Chile, progress was made in closer cooperation using institutionalized mechanisms for dialogue and conciliation. Both countries formed a combined force for UN peacekeeping operations, the Southern Cross brigade. Since the beginning of the twentieth century, the other neighboring countries (Bolivia, Paraguay, and Uruguay) have not been viewed as a threat to Argentine integrity. In this context, democratic governments have expressed they are facing uncertainty, and, consequently, the military instrument lacks clear definitions. In recent years, another type of danger has arisen, referring to the information revolution, the increase in interconnection and massive data transmission, and, concomitantly, the cybersecurity threat. The cadres of officers have resisted the globalization of information since they see it as “a deliberate strategy of the powerful to extend their influence and culture.”36 Among the sectors related to the armed forces and groups internal to them, it is considered a danger due to the internationalization of empty sovereign spaces. The Ministry of Defense has included cyberdefense as a mission of the armed forces, along with traditional territorial defense operations and subsidiary participation in UN peacekeeping missions, generating regional mutual-trust measures, cooperation in the event of disasters, and election supervision.37 The Institute of Scientific and Technical Research for Defense38 has teams investigating these issues. The results do not seem very encouraging if the appreciation of Colonel Mato is taken into account. “The armed forces will have a big problem in which neither their staff nor their boss (whom the staff advises) are unaware (as they have not investigated) what is the technology available to your opponent, or against which operations should be planned.”39 It also states, “Until 2014, our Armed Forces hardly performed computer security and information security practices.”40 The research and development budget for defense and cybersecurity for the National Defense of 2018 was US$4,675,295. The Defense Ministries of Latin America are still precarious agencies. To a large extent, they do not have specialized personnel who can discern with precision how the rules in the use (or misuse) of these technologies will be allowed, nor what levels of responsibility are assigned to each operation. Likewise, in defense, a market opportunity has been perceived in the UNVEX area for unmanned vehicles. In April 2018, the Fourth International Meeting of UNVEX was held in Santiago de Chile, where the State Aircraft Factory of Argentina presented its vehicles. Likewise, and in line with the proposal that emerged from the Brazilian War School, it is believed that future conflicts would be over natural resources of strategic value.41 The securitization of natural resources that figure as the main threat as defined under the Consejo Suramericano de Defensa de UNASUR (CDS) has lost force parallel to the demise of UNASUR. UNASUR was a promise that never achieved results. Some with unrealistic expectations viewed the organization as the realization of regional integration. UNASUR was empowered by personal relationships between presidents identified by a mild leftist model and disapproval of U.S. policies. Despite the beautiful building built in the Ciudad Mitad del Mundo in Ecuador, UNASUR did not generate regional guidelines for action. It was more about rhetoric and symbolism than concrete politics. With the presidential changes, the body stagnated. Of its 12 councils, the CDS was the most active. However, none of its directives modified national defense policies. Its stagnation derives mainly from the absence of institutionalization. The different military doctrines of each country, the political crises in Brazil, and a residual distrust between various nations in the region also contributed.

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When Macri assumed the presidency, to differentiate himself from previous administrations, MERCOSUR was privileged as a regional body, without any tangible results. In January 2019, Iván Duque, the president of Colombia, proposed – with the support of the Chilean President Sebastián Piñera – to create the Forum for the Progress and Development of South America, “a South American coordinating body for public policies in defense of democracy, the separation of powers, the market economy,”42 led by right-wing governments rather than the Bolivarian axis. Directiva de Política de Defensa Nacional, promulgated by Decree 1714 of the year 2009, established that Argentina would adopt a security model defined as “defensive,” as opposed to one projecting power into third states. Neither Argentina’s external regional situation nor its domestic problems would justify the use of the military in police tasks. During 2018 and linked to the G-20 organization, the Argentine government acquired 12 Beechcraft T-6C Texan IIs, 8 of which had already been tested in Argentina.43 The initial list reported by the government included the purchase of 60 helicopters and 182 Strykertype tanks, used by the U.S. and Israeli armies, 12 F-16 Fighting Falcon fighters, and 24 Texan T-6 fighters, used for pilot training. The Argentine state acquired five French Super Etendard SEM aircraft modernized by French Naval Aviation; two of four Israeli Shaldag artillery boats were purchased from Israel. Likewise, equipment was modernized, and antiaircraft weapons systems were purchased. Linked to the expenses for the G-20 meeting, Great Britain lifted the embargo on the sale of arms to Argentina, which even restricted the sale of equipment that had a British component, even if assembled in a third country. In July 2018, eight U.S. Air Force Special Operations Command members arrived in the country to train police and gendarmes. Regarding the changes in the training of military and security forces, the announcements did not materialize. Macri reported that joint units would be made up of military personnel from the Army, Navy, and Air Force, and the closure of some barracks that still maintained a similar deployment to 60 years ago. However, except for the measures aimed at providing security for the G-20 event, there were no doctrinal or training changes for the armed forces. To increase the effectiveness and efficiency of the military – and thus improve the safety of soldiers – the armed forces in developing countries are supplied with light machine guns, infrared sights, helmet displays, individual satellite navigation systems, bulletproof vests with ceramic plates, devices for detection of mines, and laser weapons. Further, a greater capacity for movement is sought, including logistical support on mobile platforms, extending interoperability between forces. A central aspect of the reforms undertaken in developed nations is to improve education and the training of personnel. Of course, this model implies a greater investment than is within current Argentine economic possibilities, and it is not a demand of the citizens. A rational decision is to plan according to this model and that each change, acquisition, material, and human resource is oriented to that ideal plan. Unfortunately, this is not what is done. Several civilian members of the armed forces denounced the obsolescence of military equipment.44 Others attributed it to the disappearance of the submarine San Juan,45 an error of interpretation since it was mainly caused by disastrous autonomous decisions of the Navy. There was no actual planning for “The Argentine military has embarked on an ambitious path toward modernizing its military materiel.”46 However, the notion of a disarmed country is a biased argument. Although the equipment has not been modernized at the rate of neighboring countries, Argentina accumulated an experience that no other Latin American country has had. In 1982, the nation faced one of the world’s major powers in the Malvinas/Falklands War. This

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conflict has nurtured the preparation and analysis of errors, making up for the lack of equipment with extraordinary learning and training. On the other hand, it is assumed that military intervention in security will overcome social distrust toward the police. The suspicions about the police’s efficacy and ethics are widespread among citizens, and numerous marches are organized to protest excesses by the police forces. According to a survey by the newspaper El Cronista Comercial, trust in the police reaches 18.9 percent, while a year earlier, a report by the newspaper Ámbito Financiero published that 79 percent of citizens do not trust the police. An Inter-American Development Bank report places citizen trust in the police at 25 percent.47 Argentina is not a country that feels threatened by other states. Its geographical location places it on the edge of the continent. In the rhetoric of some leaders, thinking about defense was expressed imprecisely as “hybrid warfare,” “strategic uncertainty,” “military capabilities,” and “strategic vigilance,” realizing that conflict hypotheses no longer motivate military action,48 without first formulating a unified strategy. The increase in crime is an official and citizen concern. If the consensus created by the Defense Law prevails, the authorities would be obligated to improve both public security work and coordination with the immigration, justice, finance, and customs agencies. However, the national audit carried out between 2002 and 2012 shows the enormous shortcomings of the Argentine state: When a state renounces control at the points of exit and entry to the country, and in this way facilitates the traffic of illegal, dangerous or harmful products; when there is no articulation between customs and security forces; when the advance of federal crimes such as drug trafficking is not prevented or stopped and when the movement or settlement of immigrants is guaranteed without verifying antecedents or for clientelistic purposes, this structural neglect has a plurality of negative consequences for health and safety and fracture strongly the social fabric.49 In sum, the armed forces are not a solution to the problems raised by crime. They reflect the flaws of the state institutions that fail to fulfill their functions and do not rectify them or evolve, even when the deficiencies are pointed out.

Public Policies and Their Impact on Democratic Security Is there a bad defense policy or a bad policy in general? Countries that have gone through long periods of democratic breakdown, and a society not accustomed to respect the rule of law, often have def iciencies in managing public policies. 50 Consider this statement by Geddes: “Discussions of the state usually assume that states behave as unitary actors. In reality, they often do not.” 51 In the f ield of defense, this is more notorious since it has always been a secret resource and a corporate safeguard. Statehood in Latin America is weak. Historically, formal institutions in Latin America have often been “born weak,” or “out of equilibrium.” 52 The state is no worse at def ining effective defense or security policies than in other f ields of public administration. But although bad education or health policies affect the population to a greater extent, there is a difference. Police and military forces have a monopoly on the use of force. It is a powerful exclusive prerogative. In addition, legislative and citizen control are often shockingly low over decisions and spending of the police and military.

Argentina 185

The military issue was never fully resolved nor understood as the consolidation of democratic civilian control of the armed forces. Neither was there a redefinition of the military’s role nor a thorough reorganization of the police. The coercive use of the armed forces in internal conflicts leads to illegality and has a negative effect on the creation of state capacity. Military autonomy is minimal, but in the absence of an express order, a tradition of solving defense matters within the armed forces persists. The military assumes decision-making authority when the ministry fails to do so decisively. The neglect by civilians does not represent a coup, but it does weaken ministerial authorities. The effective governance of defense, understood as the real capacity to establish the regulations, education, training, equipment, and operation of the military, results from incongruous policies from government to government. Even within the same administration, a patchwork of policies has sometimes been produced that generated criticism from officials and tension between executive agencies. State security is certainly affected by non-state actors. While non-state actors do not necessarily undermine sovereignty and territorial integrity, they put critical infrastructures such as transportation, communications, and energy at risk. The response in a democracy cannot be to avoid regulations and institutional structures. However, the Argentine state responds to these risks in an improvisational manner. The use of the armed forces to prevent or disrupt these dangers not only increases improvisation but represents incompetence and the dereliction of duty by civilian officials. Such behavior ultimately weakens democracy and threatens citizens’ rights.

APPENDIX 12.1 Argentine participation in UN peacekeeping missions Mission UNTSO MINURSO UNAVEM ONUCA UNTAC UNPROFOR ONUMOZ UNIKOM UNFICYP UNPREDEP UNMOP UNMIK UNMEE MNUC UNCRO UNTAES UNPREDEP UNPF UNAMIR UNMIH MINUSTAH

1990– 1993

1994– 1997

1998– 2001

2002– 2003

2004– 2005

2006– 2007

2008– 2009

2010– 2011

2012– 2013

2014– 2015

22

20 17 7

13 3

8 2

6 2

10 2

11 5

8 6

6 6

3 3

267 1655 2 4 2 1

164 765

741

590

588

525

528

290

1 1

2

2

2

30 61 4 1783 48 28

2 1765 48 180 1547 2 2

81

480 154 3 1 16

744

1124

1117

1273

1294

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APPENDIX 12.2  Armed forces personnel Army Lieutenant General Division General Brigadier General Colonel Lieutenant Colonel Major Captain Lieutenant First Lieutenant Sub-Lieutenant NCO Major Main NCO Assistant Sergeant Sergeant Frist Grade Sergeant Corporal Corporal First Grade Volunteer First Grade Volunteer Second Recruit Military Chaplain – CNL Military Chaplain – MY Auxiliary Chaplain – VCOM Auxiliary Chaplain – CAP Cadet Subtotal

2 3 41 713 945 775 1,139 1,168 914 971 1,792 2,905 2,093 1,384 2,974 6,553 4,243 6,470 14,245 1,285 2 10 6 65 749 51,309

Navy Almirante Vice Admiral Naval Captain Frigate Captain Corvette Captain Naval Lieutenant Frigate Lieutenant Corvette Lieutenant Midshipman NCO Major Main NCO NCO 1st. 2.389 2nd NCO. 2.090 Corporal Frist Grade Corporal Second Grade Sailor First Grade Sailor Second Grade Chaplain Petty officer Subtotal

1 3 400 374 469 516 449 201 198 535 1 2,391 2,090 4,910 2,580 950 820 19 1,434 13,368 Air Force

Brigadier General Brigadier Major Brigadier Commodore Vice-Commodore

2 5 35 341 318

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APPENDIX 12.2  (Continued) Major Captain First Lieutenant Lieutenant Ensign Major NCO Principal NCO Assistant NCO Auxiliary NCO Corporal First Corporal Volunteer First Grade Volunteer Second Grade Chaplain Cadet Applicant Subtotal TOTAL

271 433 640 216 264 1,045 1,276 1,029 898 1,700 2,888 838 1,161 1 226 200 13,837 78,514

Source: Administrative Decision No. 338/18, Chief of Staff Marcos Peña and Minister of Modernization Andrés Ibarra.

Notes 1 Alain Rouquié, Military power and political society in Argentina (Buenos Aires: Emecé, 1982), 11–18; Robert A. Potash, The army and politics in Argentina, 1945–1962 (Perón to Frondizi) (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1980), 233–236 and 274–281; Darío Cantón, The Politics of the Argentine Military: 1900–1971 (Buenos Aires: XXI Century, 1971), 22–23. 2 Miguel Ángel Scenna, Los Militares (Buenos Aires: Editorial de Belgrano, 1980), 60–62. 3 See: “Involucrar a las fuerzas armadas en seguridad interior es desprofesionalizarlas,” CELS Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales, May 31, 2018; Ricardo Laleff Ilieff, “La esfera interfuerzas en Argentina. Notas sobre el estudio de la problemática militar,” Íconos. Revista de Ciencias Sociales (May 2013): 131– 144; “Involucrar a las Fuerzas Armadas en seguridad interior es desprofesionalizarlas y poner en riesgo su gobierno civil y los derechos humanos,” Documento Conjunto Grupo Convergencia XXI Instituto Latinoamericano de Seguridad y Democracia - CELS Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales (Buenos Aires: CELS, June 2018). 4 Defense Law No. 23,554 of April 1998. This law repeals Law 16,970 promulgated by the dictatorship of General Juan Carlos Onganía in October 1966.Through it, the National Defense system was systematized and a council was created of National Defense. The Ministry of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the Armed Forces were jointly strengthened. 5 Article 1 indicates: “Aggression of external origin” shall be understood as the use of armed force by a state against the sovereignty, territorial integrity, or political independence of our country, or in any other way that is incompatible with the Charter of the United Nations." Decree 727/06. Regulation of Law No. 23,554. Basic principles. Competence of the National Defense Council. Powers of the Ministry of Defense. Joint Chiefs of Staff of the Armed Forces. Armed forces. Complementary Provisions,  Law of National Defense Law 23.554/88, Collection of Parliamentary Debates of National Defense (Argentine Ministry of Defense, 2010), 406. 6 “Directiva de organización y funcionamiento de las Fuerzas Armadas,” Colección de Debates Parlamentarios de la Defensa Nacional (Buenos Aires: Ministerio de Defensa Argentino, 2010), 411. 7 Daniel Garibaldi, La seguridad interior y sus ausencias (Buenos Aires: El Aleph, 2004). 8 Law No. 25,520, which had broad consensus in Congress and was enacted on November 27, 2001, while its regulatory Decree No. 950 was promulgated on June 5, 2002, 11 years later. Likewise, in 1998, Law 24948 for the Restructuring of the Armed Forces was enacted to modernize the military structure, establishing criteria for military refitting and financing the armed forces. However, this regulation has not been regulated to this day. 9 The Federal Intelligence Agency was created by Law 27,126, March 3, 2015.

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10 President Mauricio Macri approved Decree No. 656/16 that restores the secrecy of intelligence actions. It represents a democratic setback and a reduction in the functions of the Bicameral Commission. 11 “Enterate cómo funciona la AFI y por qué se parece a la exSIDE,” El Intransigente (Buenos Aires, July 20, 2015); “Carrió quiere derogar la AFI y separar las funciones de inteligencia e investigación,” TN, August 8 2018; “Modifican el estatuto de AFI para evitar superposición de cargos, funciones y responsabilidades,” El Cronista Comercial, May 9, 2016; Sabina Frederic, “La politización del trabajo policial en Buenos Aires. Gendarmes y policías locales frente al policiamiento de proximidad,” Trabajo y Sociedad No 31 (July 2018). 12 Barbara Geddes, Politician’s Dilemma: Building State Capacity in Latin America (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1996), 171. 13 With the Macri government, trials of the military for human rights abuses continued. In August 2016, 38 former military officers were convicted for their roles in the military dictatorship; 28 were sentenced to life in prison. 14 Centro Educativo de las Fuerzas Armadas, Evergisto de Vergara, “Causas para participar en operaciones de mantenimiento de la paz,” Visión Conjunta, No 15. Año 8 (2016): 22. 15 “Deployment of Argentine Peace Forces in the World,” Peace Operations Department of the Operational Command of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the Armed Forces, http://www.fuerzas-armadas.mil.ar/ONUMapa.aspx#1, accessed June 15, 2018. 16 Diego Gorgal, “Las políticas de seguridad del kirchnerismo: Relato versus realidad,” LaPolíticaOnline, November 19, 2015. 17 The Globalization of Crime. A Transnational Organized Crime Threat Assessment, UN Office on Drugs and Crime (New York, NY: UNODC, 2010), 19. 18 For example, the military’s Hugo Patricio Pierri was appointed Undersecretary of Strategic Planning and Military Policy, and Jorge García Mantel was appointed Director of Planning. 19 “El jefe del ejército le respondió a Macri por la seguridad: ‘Podríamos ayudar en el futuro,’” TN, May 29, 2018. 20 Mariano de Vedia, “Envían tropas militares a la frontera norte para colaborar en el combate al narcotráfico,” La Nación, June 13, 2018. 21 Osvaldo Barreneche and Diego Galeano, “Notas sobre las reformas policiales en la Argentina, siglos xix y xx,” Ministerio de Seguridad de la Nación (Buenos Aires: Cuaderno, 2008), 88. 22 “Detuvieron a 15 policías por matar a un joven y fingir un enfrentamiento,” Clarín, February 3, 2016; “La ’mano de obra desocupada’ sigue ocupada,” Página 12, September 25, 2006; Federico Rivas Molina, “La corrupción de la policía argentina devora a sus jefes,” El País, May 30, 2017. 23 Government of Argentina, Ministerio de Seguridad, “Estadísticas criminales de la República,” https:// www.argentina.gob.ar/seguridad/estadisticascriminales, accessed on June 14, 2018. 24 “Encuesta Nacional de Victimización 2017,” Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Censos (INDEC) and Ministerio de Seguridad (Buenos Aires): 8–9, https://estadisticascriminales.minseg.gob.ar/reports/ env2017.pdf, accessed on June 14, 2018. 25 UN Development Programme, Informe Regional de Desarrollo Humano 2013–2014. Seguridad Ciudadana con rostro humano: diagnóstico y propuestas para América Latina (New York, NY: UNDP, November 2013), 48, 76. 26 Matías Di Santi and Victoria Leiva, “Las incautaciones de drogas son récord,” Chequeado, March 1, 2018. 27 “Letalidad policial fuera de servicio: el ministerio de seguridad debe intervenir,” CELS, October 1, 2018. 28 Bertelsmann Stiftung, “BTI 2018 | Argentina Country Report,” 2018: 11. 29 Gastón Chillier, “Prólogo. En defensa de los acuerdos fundantes de la democracia,” Derechos humanos en la Argentina. informe 2017, CELS, December 2017. 30 “Bullrich:‘Cambió la doctrina, la policía no es culpable en un enfrentamiento’,” La Capital, February 6, 2018. 31 Daniel Pardo, “Qué es la ‘nueva doctrina’ de seguridad de Mauricio Macri y por qué genera preocupación en Argentina,” BBC Mundo, February 12, 2018; Juan José Domínguez, “Macri endurece su política de seguridad y pone a Bullrich en el centro de la gestión,” La Voz, January 8, 2019. 32 Bertelsmann Stiftung, “BTI 2018 | Argentina Country Report,” 2018: 6. 33 Both at the national level and in the community Police of America (AMERIPOL), is promoted to strengthen scientific technical training, without visible improvements. 34 Boletín Oficial, Decreto No 683/2018, July 24, 2018. 35 “Mientras allegados a Macri confiesan que éste no sabe qué hacer con los militares, toda España, con el Rey a la cabeza, rindió tributo a sus Fuerzas Armadas,” Tiempo Militar, May 26 2018; Carlos Pagni, “Estudian que las fuerzas armadas intervengan en seguridad,” La Nación, May 24, 2018. 36 “El instrumento militar argentino en el nuevo escenario mundial,” Comité de Estudios de Estrategia Military Organización Superior, Cuaderno Académico No 1 (August 2006): 5.

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37 The UN Democracy Fund (UNDEF) is financing a Cyberdefense Observatory project at the University of National Defense in Argentina through the Joint Warfare School, associated with the University’s Faculty of Informatics de La Plata, with the undersecretary of cyberdefense of the Ministry of Defense, the General Mosconi Study Center, the Higher School of Air Warfare, and the Aerospace Studies Center. The topics to be investigated include cyberwar, cyberdefense, cybersecurity, cybercrime, and cyberterrorism. 38 The Institute of Scientific and Technical Research for Defense is a member of the Inter-Institutional Council for Science and Technology, created by Law No. 25,467. It is a national research and development body of various areas of knowledge and is financed through subsidies from national and international science and technology organizations. It has joint centers with the National Council for Scientific and Technical Research. 39 CM (r) R. Mato Ex J.E.M. Comando de Ciberdefensa, “El ciberespacio, un aspecto a tener en cuenta en el planeamiento militar,” Boletin OAC, Observatorio Argentino del Ciberespacio, July 2018. 40 CM (r) R. Mato, “El ciberespacio.” 41 The twelve UNASUR countries together possess large amounts of mineral reserves (in percentages of the world total): lithium (65 percent), silver (42 percent), copper (38 percent), tin (33 percent), iron (21 percent) and bauxite (18 percent), as well as high oil reserves. In addition, it has a third of the world’s renewable water resources, biodiversity, and arable land. Source: UNASUR: “Hacia una estrategia regional para el aprovechamiento de los recursos naturales,” Carta Mensual, INTAL, No 202 (June 2013). 42 ¿Qué busca Duque al promover creación de Prosur en cambio de Unasur?” El Tiempo, January 15, 2019. 43 “Los Texan II adquiridos a EEUU realizan su primer vuelo en Argentina,” Infodefensa, October 29, 2018. 44 Mariano Bartolomé, “La Defensa es una asignatura pendiente del actual Gobierno,” El Economista, November 23, 2018. 45 Benjamín Gadean and Kathy Lui, “As It Reengages with the World,Will Argentina Rebuild Its Military to Resume Its Historic Global Role?” (Washington, DC:Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, May 14, 2018). 46 Gadean and Lui, “As It Reengages with the World.” 47 “Cuáles son las instituciones en la que más confían los argentinos,” El Cronista Comercial, September 26, 2017; Xavier Ibarreche, “El 79% de los argentinos desconfía de la Policía y demanda mejor entrenamiento,” Ámbito Financiero, October 4, 2016; “Seguridad Pública Argentina,” Departamento de Seguridad Pública, Organización de Estados Americanos (2008): 81, https://www.oas.org/dsp/documentos/Publicaciones/Seg%20Pub-%20Argentina.pdf; Laura Jaitman and Sebastián Galiani, “¿Es la falta de confianza en las policías en América Latina y el Caribe una anomalía?,” Inter-American Development Bank blog, 2016. 48 Rosendo Fraga, “¿Qué es la ‘guerra híbrida’?,” NuevaMayoria.com, March 14, 2018, http://www.nuevamayoria.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=5520&Itemid=30; Alfredo W. Forti, “La Argentina y los avances hacia una visión compartida de defensa en Unasur,” Voces en el Fénix 6 no 48 (September 2015): 40; Ángel Pablo Tello, “Nueva Visión Estratégica,” Relaciones Internacionales Vol. 11, Núm. 23 (2002). 49 Leandro Despouy, “Una década al cuidado de los fondos públicos. El control de aduanas y fronteras,” Informe sectorial del Presidente de la Auditoría General de la Nación, 2014: 15. 50 Francis Fukuyama, “Do Defective Institutions Explain the Gap Between the United States and Latin America?,” The American Interest, November 1, 2006; Leonardo Morlino et al., The Quality of Democracies in Latin America (Stockholm: International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance, 2016), 105–110. 51 Barbara Geddes, Politician’s Dilemma, 7. 52 Steven Levitsky and María Victoria Murillo, “Building Institutions on Weak Foundations: Lessons from Latin America,” in Reflections on Uneven Democracies:The Legacy of Guillermo O’Donnell, eds. Daniel Brinks, Marcelo Leiras, and Scott Mainwaring (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014), 194.

13 CHILE A Secure Democracy G. Alexander Crowther

Introduction Chile sees itself as distinct from other Latin American countries. Unlike most Spanish colonies, Chile was settled by family units. This, combined with geographic isolation, allowed it to develop differently than most of Latin America. Two big differences are the relatively apolitical nature and the professionalism of the military. Another important legacy is that the elites and the general populace usually agreed on what both internal and external security should look like. Chileans are proud of their security institutions. The national police handled internal security, while the military provided for external security. The military had two additional roles: internal defense when other structures were overwhelmed and guaranteeing the existence of the state.

The Chilean State The colonial era was marked by constant warfare between the Araucanian Indians and the Spanish, which had a lasting impact on national identity.1 Independence was achieved through the use of military power in alliance with Argentine forces. Unlike other countries mentioned by Miguel Angel Centeno, Chilean national identity and infrastructure emerged according to the Charles Tilly model, as the result of wars with neighbors in the nineteenth century.2 Successful wars with Bolivia, Peru, and Spain added to the national mythology of exceptionalism and guaranteed the military a solid role in the country. The military took sides in political infighting three times: in 1891, the navy backed the victorious Congress against the president; in 1924, the army intervened; and in 1932, the navy mutinied. However, the military generally avoided intervention and, until 1973, had a reputation of subordination to civilian authorities. Overall, the agreement held until the Cold War frictions of the 1960s. This led to the third military intervention, the coup of 1973 when the armed forces overthrew President Salvador Allende and ruled until 1990. This gave the armed forces the upper hand over civilian leaders and a reputation for human rights violations. Since 1990, the armed forces have sought to rid themselves of the bad reputation. Today, the Chilean armed forces see themselves as politically neutral and do not manifest any interest in running the country again. Chileans have succeeded at creating a very professional force, which the 2019 The Military Balance called “professional and capable, if compact.”3 Unfortunately, unaddressed frictions from 1973 re-emerged in 2019, and DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-14

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2020 saw Chile trying to decide the future of the political system, economy, and the role of the security services. In the evolution of the state, there was consensus between the elites and the people regarding national security priorities: protect the population from the Araucanian Indians, protect the prosperity of Chileans (mainly by protecting the coast and merchant fleet), and guard the borders. The military delivered security in three wars: War of the Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation (1836–1839): This conflict created a close connection between the military and Chilean national identity. The troops returned to Chile and were received by the citizenry with a new anthem that reflected this identity. The combat performance of the roto Chileno,4 a soldier from the lower class, became enshrined in national identity, thereby cementing the notion that the Army derived from the people in arms. This is an important factor in the worldview of the troops.5 The two major lessons learned from this war were that (1) because Chile had the only standing army in South America, they had an advantage on the battlefield, and (2) naval supremacy was a requirement for victory.6 The other result was the confirmation that the military was “obedient to civil authority and designed to defend as well as maintain order.”7 War with Spain (1865–1866): Spain never recognized Peru’s independence and posted a fleet off the coast of South America. Spain bested the Chilean Navy, which was in a “state of disrepair,”8 and the Spanish fleet shelled the major port of Valparaiso in March 1866, causing significant damage to the economy. The merchant fleet was nearly destroyed.9 The main lesson learned was that command of the sea was vital. From that time, military strategy has focused on dominating the southeastern Pacific. The War of the Pacific (1879–1884): The War of the Pacific against Bolivia and Peru constituted the defining event of Chilean regional international relations. After six months, the Chileans gained control of the seas and launched the combined army-navy campaign up the west coast, using what the U.S. Marine Corps would later call “Operational Maneuver from the Sea.”10 They arrived in Lima, Peru, in January 1881 and decisively won the war. The result was the consolidation of national beliefs forged in previous wars, particularly the feeling that they were a people in arms focused on democracy. In the wake of these wars, civil-military relations meant the military obeyed whoever was in charge and protected the state from internal threats. The only major disagreement was over who represented legitimate power. This led to violence several times between the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, with rebellions in 1851 and 1859. These uprisings led to more inclusive policies that resulted in considerable amounts of economic and social development. In 1891, a civil war between the president and Congress took place. Most of the army supported the president, while most of the navy supported Congress. Congress won and dominated the political system until 1931. The navy became “the preeminent military service within Chile.”11 After this, the military recognized civilian authority, mainly due to executive strength, civil-military homogeneity, and officer-class cohesion.12 The army intervened in 1924, and the navy mutinied in 1931 as part of a communist-inspired and Depression-caused uprising, which required army intervention. Frederick Nunn discusses the fact that although Chile has not been to war since 1883, this has not weakened the Chilean armed forces: A martial tradition prevailed. Triumphant twice in the nineteenth century against her Andean neighbors and successful in stifling indigenous resistance to southern frontier expansion, Chile held her army in esteem. The fact that Chile was surrounded on all sides by potentially hostile states helped to perpetuate the national belief in a need for military strength … Chile was involved in all the tension zones of the continent, so the belief that a strong army was indispensable never vanished entirely from Chilean minds.13

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State Capacity State capacity “(G)enerally refers to the ability of the state to effectively exercise authority and implement policy throughout its national territory or to administer the provision of some basic set of services.”14 Since independence, Chile has had a relatively strong state, though it remained class-based well into the modern period. Unlike many Latin American countries, Chileans paid enough taxes to resource the military. One of the most important measures of state capability is security capacity. Chile has enjoyed internal and external security capacity since independence. Human security is a concept first mentioned in the United Nations (UN) Development Programme’s Human Development Report of 199415 and consists of seven types of security: economic, food, health, environmental, personal, community, and political. Taken together, they provide a perspective of the elements state security capacity should include. Chile has done well in all of these areas. Several of these security categories make up “national security,” which is what the security services provide. Put another way, national security is a subset of human security. Personal security is usually the province of the police on a daily basis but can be seen as a defense duty if looked through the prism of preventing attacks on the population. Community security is certainly part of national security, while political security can be seen as part of national security because the military defends the polity. The following section examines the dimensions of security capacity: threats, missions, size and quality of personnel, equipment, readiness, budget, and the relationship between the military and the Ministry of Defense.

The Ministry of National Defense Although several organizations are involved in national security in Chile, the Ministerio de Defensa Nacional is the overarching organization responsible for “aiding the President’s management of national defense policy.”16 The leading organizations under the ministry are the Armed Forces’ Joint Staff, the army, navy, and air force. Other organizations include the Air Force Aerial Survey Service, the Military Geographic Institute, the General Directorate of Civil Aviation, the General Directorate of National Mobilization, Civil Defense, the General Directorate of the Maritime Territory and Merchant Marine, the Navy Hydrographic and Oceanographic Service, military factories, shipyards and workshops, and the National Aeronautical Company. A civilian minister sits atop this structure with a defense undersecretary and an Armed Forces’ undersecretary.17 There is also a joint staff. It was formed on April 13, 1960, by Decreto No 373, which changed the “Armed Forces Staff” to the “National Defense Staff.”18 The Ministry of Defense was organized on February 4, 2010, via Law No 20.424, the “Organic Statute of the Ministry of National Defense,”19 which gave the ministry the responsibility of conducting operations in conformity with the instructions of the president of the republic. This was a big change as the services had previously conducted operations for the president. The arrangement guarantees friction between the services and the ministry, as in the United States when the Department of Defense was created in 1947, or in the wake of the Goldwater-Nichols Act in 1986, which greatly strengthened the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Chilean Joint Staff received its version of Goldwater-Nichols legislation that empowered it vis-à-vis the services in 2010, the same time that the ministry was created. The joint staff has the mission to advise the ministry of military issues that are strategic and joint, execute the strategic operations of the armed forces, and coordinate international cooperation.20 Although these changes were expected to produce friction between the various defense organizations, the Ministry of National Defense, the Joint Staff, and the Armed Forces have matured and working relations are good. The military’s campaign to leave the Pinochet era

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behind them has provided motivation to conform to the new laws and subordinate themselves to civilian leadership, while the services have increased the quality of the people they send to the joint staff. This, together with a division of labor between the three groups, has minimized friction and led to collaboration.

Threats to National Defense and Military Strategy As discussed above, traditional security missions include dealing with the indigenous, deterring neighbors on land and sea, and securing the coast and maritime areas. Chile was unique among Latin American states in building a solid, capable navy, even though it took the trauma of losing the 1865 war with Spain to convince Chileans to resource a navy. Chilean strategy to cope with these challenges was simple – be ready to fight anyone, anytime. The constant threat of the Araucanians in the south forced Chile to maintain a land force; securing maritime trade required a maritime force. Historically, the military has been a strong defender of the state. Although cleavages in Chilean society manifested themselves several times through violence and military control, until 1973, the role of the military had supported the norm of strong civilian leadership. The integration of all classes in the military and their impressive performance in regional wars have had a positive impact on nation-building and the formation of culture and society. This allows Chile to cleave more toward the Tilly European model 21 of the state consolidating bureaucratic control over its territory and society and building a military that supports the state. This contrasts with the Latin American model discussed by Centeno, where a weak state competes with its own military for access to societal resources, creating tensions and not acting as a unifying force.22 Deterrence by readiness worked until 1973 when the military was faced with a new challenge. It responded with a new strategy, discussed later in the section that addresses the 1973 coup d’état. The 1960s saw the development of the “National Security Doctrine” as developed by the Escola Superior de Guerra, the joint Brazilian war college and the equivalent of the U.S. National War College. In the early 1970s, Chile was one of only three countries in Latin America ruled by civilians (the others were Colombia and Costa Rica). This changed in 1973 when the military overthrew Allende. As the War of the Pacific was the defining event for Chile’s regional international relations, 1973 was the defining moment of internal politics in general and civil-military relations. The strategy the military leaders pursued was to decapitate the government, installing a technocratic system dominated by the military. For several years, the military focused on the internal threat. In the wake of military success extinguishing the perceived threat from the left, missions returned to the status quo ante – providing external security. The military ensured it would keep an eye on internal security by integrating the Carabineros police body into the Ministry of Defense in 1974.

Missions of the Armed Forces – Domestic and International In 1973–1990 – the wake of military rule – the armed forces returned to the mission of defense against external threats. The main addition was international missions. The government, the Ministry of Defense, and the armed services all saw the globalization trend and realized that Chile would be better off adjusting to the institutional impact of globalization. The Ministry of Defense deployed personnel in support of peacekeeping missions, particularly UN operations. In 2020, Chile had 15 soldiers deployed to Bosnia and Herzegovina in support of European Forces in Operation Althea, 12 in Cyrus as part of the UN Peacekeeping Force in Cyprus, 2 in

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India and Pakistan in the UN Military Observer Group India-Pakistan, and 3 in the Middle East as part of the UN Truce Supervision Organization.23 The largest deployment, however, was to Haiti as part of the UN Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH). Chile was involved in Haiti before MINUSTAH was formed, having deployed alongside Canada, France, and the United States to get things under control until the UN took charge. Originally envisioned as a 90-day mission, it lasted 120 days. The day that U.S. Army General James T. Hill, the commander of U.S. Southern Command, started to form the Multinational Interim Force-Haiti (MIF-H) in early 2004, he called the Chileans, who responded that they were warming up their C-130s and getting ready to go. Hill asked the Chileans to wait three days before they departed to coordinate with the arrival of U.S. forces. The Chileans quickly earned a reputation for solid performance and provided security to the most important MIF-H assets, including the airfield in Port-au-Prince.24 The Chileans remained there until June 2017.25

Threats to Chile Chile does not face conventional external threats. Its significant threats come from unconventional, nonmilitary sources, including cyber operations and drug trafficking. The 2017 “Book of the National Defense of Chile” is the Ministry’s most recent white paper.26 It discusses Chilean capabilities in detail but does not provide a definitive list of threats to Chile as it has moved from threat-based to capability-based planning.27 It identifies the top priority as preserving the independence and sovereignty of the country as well as the integrity of national territory.28 It states that risks and threats come from economic, social, political, and environmental sources.29 It also identifies four new global challenges for security and defense: climate change, cyberspace, outer space, and science, technology, and innovation.30 It also mentions four sets of regional dynamics that must be taken into account: The Pacific Basin, Europe, Africa, and the Middle East.31 The 2017 white paper identified a series of national defense objectives:32 • • • • • • • • • • •

Preserve the independence and sovereignty of the country. Maintain the integrity of national territory. Contribute to the creation of conditions for fundamental external security to achieve the common health of the nation. Support the external policies of Chile. Contribute to the maintenance and promotion of international peace and security in accord with national interests. Contribute to national development and cooperate with the achievement of other state capacities. Contribute to the preservation of Chile as a democratic republic and a rule of law country. Contribute to the maintenance of the cultural and historical legacies of Chile. Contribute to activities the state performs to fortify the commitment of the Chilean people to defense. Participate in the civil protection system, contributing to the response to emergencies and catastrophes, particularly regarding the protection of the population at risk. Contribute to the physical integrity of the borders and isolated and special areas as well as the social and economic development of local communities in those areas.

Chile’s conventional opponents are its neighbors’ militaries: Argentina, Bolivia, and Peru. They are not a threat to Chile. First, all three of these neighbors have a great deal of respect

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for the Chilean military. Second, diplomacy and the passage of time have resolved several of the issues. For Peru, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) resolved the Chilean-Peruvian Maritime Dispute of 2006, demarcating the two nations’ sea border in 2014. This removed the final disagreement between the two states. Chile and Argentina have been working for decades to diminish frictions. In 1984, Argentina and Chile signed the Treaty of Peace and Friendship, which delineated the border.33 They followed this with the 2010 Treaty of Maipú, which finalized the last of the border issues. 34 The two militaries have also participated in efforts to create closer relations. For example, in 2005, the Argentine Navy placed cadets on the Chilean training sailing ship La Esmeralda,35 and the two countries also formed a binational peacekeeping brigade.36 They have continued to exercise peacekeeping operations together as recently as 2019.37 Bolivia remains the one international relations complication for Chile and the only potential conventional threat. There are several reasons for this. First, Peru and Argentina never lost large parts of their territories, whereas Bolivia de facto lost access to the Pacific Ocean in 1880 and de jure ceded that access to Chile in a 1904 treaty. This makes the stakes for Bolivia much higher. Second, Bolivian President Evo Morales is a populist acolyte of the late Hugo Chávez who copied Chavez’s confrontational style of foreign relations as a technique for campaigning and ruling. Morales was able to take a “go-for-broke” attitude toward Chile; he had nothing to lose since the worst-case scenario is the status quo with Bolivia not having a coastline. Although Chile could deter the Bolivian armed forces in a conventional conflict, Chile has no motivation to reignite armed conflict with its neighbor. The most recent event impacting relations between the two countries happened in 2018 when the ICJ ruled that Chile could not be forced to negotiate with Bolivia over the return of territory.38 The white paper talks specifically about the diminishing perception of a threat among the various Latin American states and refers to the area as a “Zone of Peace.”39 However, it acknowledges that the main mission of the armed forces is to maintain political independence and Chile’s territorial integrity, defending the population from the use of force or the threat of the use of force by international actors.40 This leads to other mission areas for the armed forces to support Chile’s foreign policies and focus on “human security.”41 These additional missions include helping other agencies protect the border, combating drug trafficking, considering climate change, promoting international stability, participating in the country’s presence in the Antarctic, countering terrorism, and cyber operations. Immigration and border protection are a priority. Although the military traditionally has provided a deterrent to prevent forces from other countries from crossing the borders, this too is changing. The same law that allows the military to support border control in drug trafficking and organized crime is also expanding, so the military “will be able to control trafficking of migrants and others through unauthorized border crossings” in the north of Chile.42 This is because “illicit trafficking of migrants and human trafficking increased by more than 25 percent between 2019 and 2020.”43 Although this mission is not traditional border deterrence, it fits with initiatives promulgated in countries like El Salvador, where the military is deployed to prevent border crossings and can be seen by the armed forces as a logical extension of its mission set. Maritime interests and resolving border conflicts are two other areas related to immigration and border protection. These, by their very nature, involve the military deeply. Maritime interests are usually handled by a coast guard equivalent, which is part of the navy. In addition to the traditional naval missions of security and supremacy, tasks include protecting human life at sea, protecting marine resources and their environment, providing both hydrographical and weather forecast services, representing Chile at the International Maritime

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Organization, operating the national tsunami warning system, and providing a presence of the state at sea, ports, lakes, and navigable rivers,44 all of which are traditional coast guard missions. This can be seen as an outgrowth of the time when the navy was the predominant arm of the military, the only navy in Latin America to achieve that status. It continues to vie for that status. Resolving border conflicts is the last of the border missions that Chileans consider important. The primary responsibility for addressing these lies with the executive and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; the military plays a supporting role by backing up both. The Chilean government takes drug trafficking very seriously. The main action arm is the Fiscalía or Attorney General, part of the Public Ministry.45 It pursues narco-trafficking through the “Illicit Narcotics Trafficking and Psychotropic Substances Unit,”46 which reports directly to the equivalent of the Attorney General,47 with national and regional attorneys prosecuting cases. In its 2020 report, the Fiscalía mentions that marijuana smuggling from Colombia is up while marijuana trafficking from Paraguay is down. It also notes that cocaine is down, which runs against global trends. Maritime trafficking is on the rise, as is armed violence attributable to Chilean narco-trafficking. The creation of synthetic drugs within Chile (as opposed to imported) is also on the rise. They also noted a particular challenge provided by social “explosions” and the impact of COVID-19, which makes attacking narco-trafficking more difficult.48 Although Chile views this as a national security challenge, it does not use the military in counternarcotics missions, much like the United States, making it quite different from countries like Mexico, where the military is intimately involved in combating narco-trafficking. This is changing, however. In 2019, President Sebastián Piñera signed legislation that allows the military to “support border control in the areas of drug trafficking and organized crime.”49 This fits with the overall rubric of involving the military in nontraditional missions supporting national security. Climate change is another critical national security concern. Chile is on the front lines of this issue, with glaciers in the Andean region disappearing and leaving industries like tourism and fishing vulnerable. In January 2021, the Chilean government unveiled a climate change bill “designed to decrease the negative impacts of climate change in Chile and make Chile carbon neutral by 2050.” The bill also incentivizes “environmental donations by companies and individuals to protect, care for and conserve the environment, and to promote climate action projects.”50 The new legislation gives the Ministerial Council for Sustainability new powers and expands membership to include the education and science ministries.51 Although the Ministry of Defense is not included in the council, these policies will impact the military. Although other sectors, such as mining, probably create more concerns about sustainability, military platforms such as armored vehicles, aircraft, and maritime assets have a carbon footprint. This will be a challenge for the military. Investing in other states, attracting technology companies, free trade, and projection in the Asia-Pacific area are economic matters that link with a series of political ones: promoting democracy in other countries, integration with Latin America, and supporting peace missions. Together they link to the Chilean strategic goals of creating wealth and enjoying political stability. Like the United States, Chile emphasizes trade; therefore, investment in technology, trade, and projection into the Asia-Pacific all improve the economic element of national power and bring prosperity to the state. Promoting democracy and supporting peace missions further stability, which increases trade opportunities. Integration with Latin America supports democracies such as Colombia and allows Chile to access free trade associations. The one priority that may seem unusual to other states is the “Presence in the Antarctic” priority. Chile believes its National Antarctic Policy has “profound historical roots.”52 This policy has eight pillars:

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1. Protect Chile’s sovereign rights in the Antarctic. 2. Consolidate a position of leadership and influence in the Antarctic Treaty System. 3. Protect and promote the Antarctic environment. 4. Improve in Antarctic social and natural sciences. 5. Improve and protect the Magallanes and Antarctica Chilean region. 6. Facilitate the improvement of economic activities permitted by the Antarctic Treaty System. 7. Fortify the Chilean national conscience and identity. 8. Perfect Chilean Antarctic national institutions and legislation to facilitate the implementation of the National Antarctic Policy. None of these priorities is specifically focused on the military, indeed Chilean efforts in the Antarctic have a separate organization, the Chilean Antarctic Institute (Instituto Antártico Chileno), founded in March 1979.53 However, the military is involved, if only because the armed forces own much of the infrastructure (e.g., aviation and maritime platforms) required to support Antarctic operations. Additionally, it provides personnel support to Antarctic missions. The armed forces are deeply involved in dealing with the terrorism and the cyber threat. Organizations that participate in counterterrorism operations include the National Intelligence Agency (Agencia Nacional de Inteligencia or ANI), the Armed Forces, and two police bodies: the Carabineros and the Investigative Police of Chile (Policía de Investigaciones de Chile or PDI).54 Typically, the police forces have the lead for internal counterterrorism operations, and the military leads for external ones. However, the armed forces have the capability to support the ANI and the police in higher end counterterrorism operations. The army’s special operations forces can lend a hand, while the navy and marine corps have sole responsibility for maritime counterterrorism operations in national and international waters. Although Chile is not part of the standard global movement routes for terrorists, international and domestic terrorist organizations are present. Cyberattacks are a threat to the economic dimension of national security. Attracting technology companies implies that Chile has competent cybersecurity. Technology companies would not choose to go to a country without a certain level of security. Also, Chile’s 82 percent internet penetration rate55 demonstrates that each of its priority areas is supported by cybersecurity. This was brought home to Chileans in 2018 when North Korean hackers got into the interbank system (the national version of the global Society for Worldwide Interbank Financial Telecommunication known as the SWIFT system), getting away with US$10 million before the bank could shut things down.56 The government takes cyber threats seriously. In April 2015, Chile stood up the Interagency Committee on Cybersecurity. The Ministry of the Interior chairs the committee, while the ministries of defense (MOD), foreign relations, the presidency, justice, the economy, telecommunications, and ANI are voting members, and the treasury ministry is an invited member.57 The Interagency Committee has four main functions: to promote the security and liberty of people in cyberspace, protect national security, promote collaboration and coordination, and manage the risks of cyberspace.58 The Inter-American Development Bank and the Organization of American States noted the Government of Chile formed a pair of cyber organizations; one to coordinate under the Ministry of Defense and the other for industry and strategic sectors that worked with the Ministry of the Treasury in 2018,59 when the government developed a National Policy for Cybersecurity.60 It also formed the interagency Computer Security Incident Response Team or CSIRT, a member of the hemispheric CSIRT coordination group, CSIRT Américas. The CSIRT is composed of people from the Comptroller General of the Republic, the Central Bank of Chile, the Armed

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Forces, the Forces of Order and Public Security (e.g., the Carabineros and others from the Ministry of the Interior), regional governments, municipalities, and some public businesses.61 These activities demonstrate that Chile has successfully focused on cybersecurity and the Ministry of Defense is integrated into this area. In general, this is a growth area for governments and will prove to be one for the Chilean armed forces. Although Chile has only one conventional threat for the military to focus on, the Chilean people perceive a series of other threats. The military is involved at least peripherally in most of them, and the government sees an increased role for the military in nonconventional threats. This mission set will continue to expand. The military will cooperate with civilian authorities as long as resources continue to flow and civilian leaders emphasize conventional readiness.

Size and Quality of Personnel, Equipment, Readiness The Chilean military is small but well equipped and professional. The Military Balance for 2019 called the Chilean military “professional and capable, if compact.”62 The Military Balance for 2020 notes that the active armed services have more than 77,000 people. The army has more than 46,000, the navy almost 20,000 (including the marine corps), and the air force a little more than 11,000. This is roughly the same size as Canada’s military, which has 66,000 active-duty service members.63 This small size is significantly augmented by being well equipped. The army has more than 240 Leopard tanks, the navy has four submarines and eight surface combatants, and the air force has almost 60 F-5E and 10 F-16 aircraft together with the Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile. This is the same type of equipment fielded by various NATO countries. Resourcing levels for the Chilean military were not driven by the military-led government (although it certainly did not hurt) because elites had agreed from the mid-1850s to resource the armed forces adequately. To achieve the strategic objective of dominating the southeastern Pacific via deterrence through readiness requires sufficient resources. The three ways to resource the armed forces are investing in human resources, providing appropriate equipment, and sound budgeting. The armed forces focus on human resources and provide a substantial amount of professional military education for personnel, from basic training through the war college. In addition to modern equipment, Chile has invested in the infrastructure to develop, produce, and maintain that equipment through organizations subordinate to the Ministry of National Defense: military factories and workshops, naval shipyards and workshops, and the Chilean National Aeronautical Company. The armed forces budget has remained stable for years, which was one of the armed forces’ main goals in the wake of the military government’s end in 1990. According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute: Chile’s 1958 Restricted Law on Copper (Ley Reservada del Cobre) required the state-owned National Copper Corporation (Corporción Nacional del Cobre, or Codelco) to transfer a certain share (10 per cent since 1973) of revenues from its copper exports to pay for arms acquisitions and equipment maintenance for the armed forces. These transfers were significant, corresponding to roughly one-quarter of Chile’s military expenditure.64 This all came to an end in 2019 when the legislature voted to cease the set-aside for the military. Although this ended the Copper Law, it did not end sufficiency in resourcing the military. Because this is recent, the result of the legal change has yet to play out. One can predict there will be disagreements at the political level between political parties regarding funding levels.

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According to the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, the budget was 1.9 percent of gross domestic product (GDP) between 2015 and 2018 and then dipped to 1.8 percent of GDP.65 Although every military always wants more funding, this is comparable to other states with security challenges. This percentage of GDP is similar to several NATO members: Norway spends 2.03 percent, Bulgaria 1.93 percent, Turkey 1.91 percent, Montenegro 1.91, Croatia 1.87, and Slovakia 1.86 percent. Indeed, Chile spends more as a percentage of GDP than fellow Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development members Canada, Germany, Italy, and Spain.66 These all add together to provide a strong capability for national defense.

Rule of the Police Although the military was tasked with internal security in times of emergency, Chile has always had some police force to perform this mission on a daily basis. This resulted from relative wealth, which allowed the Chilean state to pay for a competent justice system, including the police. The early twentieth century saw the development of the other security services within the national police. In 1927, President Carlos Ibáñez del Campo merged the Policía Fiscal with the Policía Rural and combined them into the existing Corps of Carabineros to form the Carabineros of Chile.67 Six years later came the PDI, which rounded out the national security structure,68 with powers split between the ministries of defense and the interior until 1974 when the national police organs were brought under the Ministry of Defense. This lasted until 2011 when the Carabineros were placed under the control of the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security. The Carabineros have three roles: preventive (security, via their presence throughout Chile), investigative, and the control of public order.69 Moving the Carabineros to the Ministry of the Interior allowed a return to the traditional national agreement on security: the police focus on internal security, while the military focuses on external/international security and provides backup to internal security in case of emergency.

The 1973 Coup d’Etat – A Challenge to the Chilean Political System; the Pinochet Era On September 11, 1973, the military carried out a coup d’état against the Allende government. The military formed a government and purged society of elements they felt were inimical to the country. They went on to govern until 1990 when they handed power to civilians. The impact of these events has still not worked its way out of Chilean political life.

Context In the 1970 presidential election, socialist candidate Allende received a plurality of 36 percent of the votes cast. In accordance with Chilean law, Congress had to choose the president when no one won outright. Traditionally the candidate with the highest number of votes was chosen, so Congress chose Allende. General René Schneider, the commander in chief of the Chilean Army at the time of the election and a constitutional loyalist, “reaffirmed that the Chilean Armed Services, which had not attempted a coup since 1931, would refrain from doing so.” 70 Allende publicly assured the military that “he would respect their autonomy and the Constitution.” 71 According to Frederick Nunn, the Chilean armed forces adhered to their constitutional mandate and had no particular ideology.72 The 1990 Report of the Chilean National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation (henceforth the Truth Commission) points out that Chile had a long tradition of democratic institutions

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and respect for the rule of law. However, in the 1960s, increasing political polarization led to growing intolerance and divisions among different sectors of society. This polarization was sharply exacerbated during the Allende administration’s failed socialist experiment. The 1973 coup was the culmination of this process. Chileans were deeply divided about this outcome. Some considered it an inadmissible violent interruption of democratic rule; others believed it was an inevitable move to prevent an impending civil war.73 Although the military had declared it would support Allende in 1970, by 1973 – from the military point of view – Allende was arming the workers to take out the military. Additionally, as Collier and Sater contend, “the conservative opposition signaled its disdain for the military, insulting the officer corps and casting doubts on their intelligence, while the left denounced the officers, exhorting the enlisted men to mutiny, and called for workers’ militias to replace the professional armed forces.” 74 Arturo and Samuel Valenzuela identified four main political groups: the maximalist left, the gradualist left, the center, and the right. Each had its distinct point of view: The basic concern of the Left is to explain why the construction of a Socialist society, with a radical redistribution of power and wealth, was not possible in Chile. The Center, by contrast, is more concerned with explaining why Chile’s vaunted democratic institutions, which made of Chile a model in Latin America, crumbled. In turn, the Right seeks to explain how it is that a nation, proud of its national and military traditions, came to be threatened from within by an alien movement and ideology.75 This, however, did not mean that all of the armed forces supported a coup. Some stayed loyal and saw themselves become targets of orchestrated plans to eliminate those supporting Allende. In 1970, before Allende took power, the aforementioned General Schneider was assassinated at gunpoint in a botched kidnapping attempt.76 In 1973, his successor, General Carlos Prats, went into exile after the coup only to suffer the same fate, killed in the streets of Buenos Aires by a bomb planted in his car. When the military felt it could not ignore this situation any further, they performed a coup and took control on September 11, 1973.

Outcome Despite the military coups early in the twentieth century, the armed forces had mainly steered away from hands-on statecraft. The 1973 golpe changed its tactics, with far-reaching political consequences. Under Army General Augusto Pinochet, the armed forces conceptualized its approach as a new military-political mission: to reshape and restructure Chilean society. The 17 years of military government (1973–1990), regardless of one’s political perspective, brought order together with a developing economy but also saw human rights violations committed by military personnel. In June 1974, the government created the National Intelligence Directorate (Directorio de Inteligencia Nacional or DINA), bringing together intelligence personnel from across the armed forces. Three days later, it issued the Statute of Governmental Junta, which made Army General Augusto Pinochet its leader with no time limit and without the possibility of recall.77 The Ministry of Defense also took over the PDI and the Carabineros, ensuring that all security services answered to one leader. These two legal and organizational changes allowed the military government to purge elements of society. The Truth Commission78 identified 3,428 cases of disappearance, killing, torture, and

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kidnapping. Moreover, most of the forced disappearances committed by the government took place between 1974 and August 1977 as a planned and coordinated strategy. The Intelligence Directorate was responsible for a significant amount of political repression during this period.79 With most of the opposition neutralized and due to “very strong national and international political pressure,” the government dissolved DINA in August 1977,80 following up with an amnesty law decreed in 1978 and a new constitution in 1981. The amnesty had the effect that all human rights violations but one81 committed prior to the date of the decree would not be prosecuted.82 The constitution, approved by a “managed plebiscite” in 1980,83 secured the military’s position in the short term and played a major role in the transition back to civilian rule. Although amended, this constitution continues as a point of contention for Chileans who reject the legacy of military rule. In Chile and abroad, political killings, “disappearances,” and torture came to be considered the worst abuses of the military regime. It certainly committed many other human rights violations, including massive arbitrary imprisonment and exile as well as attacks on other civil liberties.84 Less divisive (but still rankling) were the economic policies of the Pinochet era. The economic system was created and developed by pro-neoliberal civilians known as “The Chicago Boys,” a group of Chilean economists who studied at the University of Chicago and redesigned the economy. This was a very pure form of capitalism that, depending on one’s point of view, either made Chile a star economic performer or left behind segments of society and increased inequality. This is still a point of contention 30 years after the end of the Pinochet regime. After returning to civilian rule, Chile promulgated four commissions: a truth commission, one for reparation to the victims, and two commissions on torture. The Valech Commission is the official truth and justice commission investigating gross human rights violations during the dictatorship. It produced the initial “Truth Commission” report in 1991 and a second iteration a decade later in 2011, an expanded remit. The numbers tend to differ only slightly since new statistics were released, as novel innovations to transitional justice policy were considered when reviewing judicial cases. This discussion continued to consider Chile’s evolving political and socio-legal dynamics, including pressure from civil society, reforms to the judicial branch, and an overall revamped approach to transitional justice.85 The 2011 version updated the data, finding that 3,216 persons had disappeared or been assassinated, while 38,254 persons survived political prison and/or torture.86 For the Chilean military identity, the end of military rule identified three essential aspects: the need to preserve the apolitical nature of the armed forces, the consecration of their functions and missions based on the Chilean Constitution, and the indoctrination of respect for human rights and international humanitarian law at every level of military education. Certainly, the shadow of this iron-fist approach still haunts the military and those around them in the twenty-first century.

The End of Military Rule The constitution promulgated in 1981 contained a requirement for a plebiscite. In late 1988, the Chilean people voted to return to civilian leadership. The military respected the plebiscite and turned over power after the election. Unlike militaries in other countries who left power in a position of significant weakness, the Chilean military left power from a position of strength and substantive corporate privileges, leaving behind a civilian government and an emerging economy. As part of the transition, the military ensured it would not be prosecuted for events in the wake of the golpe through both the amnesty law and restrictions in the constitution. As the Truth Commission said:

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The armed forces considered the amnesty and its effects as a settled affair and were most worried about the prospect of widespread prosecutions. They were convinced that in 1973 they had been the last institutional bastion which managed to save the country from drifting into communism. Their argument was that prosecutions would undermine their position, dangerously depriving the country from the safeguard they represented in case of a new drift towards socialism which could never be ruled out. Further, they felt they had, in an orderly fashion, returned an economically dynamic Chile to democratic rule and that any undesirable costs paled in significance. Thinly veiled warnings that the armed forces would not tolerate a repeal of the amnesty decree were repeatedly made before and after President Aylwin was inaugurated.87 This is an excellent example of Chilean societal cleavages that remain. Individuals and groups who ruled at the time have not been able to regain trust across political circles, especially from those who suffered the most during the dictatorship, such as left-wing political and societal groups and victims of exile, torture, violence, and the families of those assassinated. According to Brian Loveman, there were both staunch supporters and intense opponents to the military government, and each group suffered from internal factionalism and ideological and policy disagreements.88 Opposition to all means of Pinochetismo – which included specific individual policies, his physical presence, the 1980 constitution, adoption of a fervent form of capitalism, privatization of many resources, and other dictatorship-related events – are still topics that cause hot-blooded societal and political confrontation. Overall, the Pinochet era is the most important event in modern Chilean history. The military not only intervened in politics but also stayed to govern the country. The military has sought to leave the era behind. In 2004, the commander in chief of the Chilean armed forces also declared in a speech entitled, “Army of Chile – the End of a Vision,” that torture was unethical and they should not have participated in these activities.89 The modern security structure is the immediate successor of the military that ruled. Several changes were made, but some policies remained from the Pinochet era. The first was the Copper Law, which guaranteed the military 10 percent of the sales of CODELCO, the Chilean National Copper company, which ensured a continued smooth flow of resources to the security services. The second was to ensure the continuity of the amnesty law decreed in 1978, which pronounced that all human rights violations but one90 committed prior to the date of that decree would not be prosecuted.91 This produced a dynamic tension. The military sought to subordinate itself to civilian rule while maintaining certain privileges, which is a normal phase during transitions from military to civilian governments and only problematic if relations do not continue to mature. Slowly but surely, politicians have done away with these privileges, leaving the Chilean military in a position that adheres to the Huntingtonian paradigm of subordination to civilian leaders.92 After the end of military rule, civilian political groups had to develop professional sophistication regarding defense and military affairs. Military dictatorships actively prevent civilians from knowing anything about national security decision-making, much less allow them to participate in the process. In this, the Chileans were lucky. Not only did the William J. Perry Center for Hemispheric Defense Studies specialize in teaching incipient MODs how to be an MOD, but Chile also had a consensus that the center-left would lead the way, which provided civilian political stability. As mentioned in a previous chapter: The reshaping began in 2001 when President Ricardo Lagos’ government began planning to modernize the MOD. The combination of civilian and military expertise and leadership, such as General Emilio Cheyre (2002-2006) and General Oscar Izurieta

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(2006-2010), commanders in chief of the Army, along with Minister of Defense (20022004) and President Michelle Bachelet (2006-2010, 2014-2018).93 The security services were adequately resourced. The percentage of GDP aligned toward the military stayed steady at roughly 3 percent between 1990 and did not stabilize below 2 percent until the 2010s, as the Copper Law remained in force until 2019.94 Legal frameworks were also adequate. Political leaders modified the constitution several times and promulgated other laws that affected national security. As mentioned in the Marcella chapter, Piñera’s administration began implementing enabling legislation in 2010. This legislation, Ley No 20.424 or the Ley reorganiza el Ministerio de Defensa, established the Ministry of National Defense and the Joint Staff. The law also clearly stated that the president has the authority over all external security and the ministry is the supreme body for the administration of national defense.95 This was followed by legislation in 2011 that pulled the police services out of the Ministry of Defense and put them back into the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security.96 Overall, the legal structure has always allowed for national security. It has been updated since 1990 to bring the military further under the control of its civilian leaders and has returned the military/police relationship to that of before 1974, in which the military manage external security and the national police handle internal security, except in the case of insurrection or disaster, which is the same system the United States uses. This happy state of affairs was considered the norm before 2019. The center-left and centerright alternated in power. Both continued their security policies, with a separation between the police and military and civilian primacy over the military by the Ministry of National Defense.

Events of 2019 In 2019, Chile saw a spontaneous social protest of great magnitude that created widespread manifestations of violence that were very destructive together with massive peaceful demonstrations. These gave life to new political, social, and economic demands. This series of incidents is a symptom of the societal chasms remaining from the 1970 to 1990 period of Allende and Pinochet. The armed forces will continue to have a bad reputation among a minority of Chileans due to the events detailed in the section about the Pinochet era. This is despite the fact that no one is left in the armed forces that served in the years between 1973 and 1977 and that only very senior people served during the 1990 transition. On October 4, 2019, the Public Transport Expert Panel announced a US$0.04 rise in metro fares. Three days later, people started jumping metro entrance barriers. Evasions gained momentum, and people started destroying turnstiles and other infrastructure on October 17.97 By October 25, 1.2 million people participated in a demonstration in Santiago.98 The government responded by decreeing a state of emergency. As part of that emergency, the chiefs of the armed forces were appointed to manage order and security in different regions throughout the country. Although this is legal and has been used before during natural disasters, some felt the use of the armed forces was inappropriate as there was no military solution to the social conflict with violent demonstrations. The military cannot use its standard tools (the weapons of war) to avoid damage; additionally, this would add a new element of direct violence that could escalate the situation. What was remarkable about these events was that the military commanders always took these aspects into account and acted with extreme caution as a stabilizing force. The twenty-first century Chilean Army, in particular, sees itself as part of the people and therefore refused to consider the public in the streets as an enemy. Across Latin America, the military has recently (often reluctantly) returned to the forefront of politics, usually called by leaders facing societal crises.99 Generalized discontent in Santiago

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was triggered by a rise in metro fares that quickly escalated across the country into a national demand for justice and solidarity in light of an abusive neoliberal economic model, inequality, poor quality public services, and a generalized feeling against the way the country was run.100 The Piñera government imposed a curfew to stop serious arson and looting incidents following a massive wave of social protests that left at least 19 people dead. He deployed the armed forces into the streets of Santiago and other cities in the country. The military took to the streets wearing full combat armor and carrying weapons. The move caught many by surprise and reminded people of scenes not seen since the military dictatorship. Many Chileans challenged the state of emergency and the curfew by staying in the streets despite the helicopters, light tanks, and the rapid deployment of more than 8,000 soldiers. In a televised message on October 19 that shocked the nation, Piñera declared, “we are at war against a powerful enemy.”101 Army General Javier Iturriaga, the former commander of the Army’s Special Operations, Chilean Defense Attaché in Brazil, Chief of Operations for the Army, and commander of the Army Education and Doctrine Command, was named Commander in Chief of the Metropolitan Region Garrison, (the equivalent of the commander of Joint Task Force-National Capital Region in the United States), during the nine days of the state of emergency. He reported directly to the Minister of Defense Alberto Espina. Reporters asked him the second day if he shared the president’s assessment of the events. Iturriaga showed a more reflective posture and declared that he “was not at war with anyone,” which lowered tension and opened the possibilities for greater political dialogue allowing for the gradual elimination of curfews.102 Soon after, Piñera’s approval rating dropped from 29 percent to 14 percent, an all-time low for a president in the democratic era. The iron-fist response of the state through policing bodies (the Carabineros de Chile and the PDI) and the military marked a turning point. According to the National Human Rights Institute, more than 11,000 civilians were injured in the first seven weeks of the protests. Of that number, 1,980 were injured by firearms, mostly by rubber bullets causing severe eye and facial trauma. Another 1,940 were hit by tear gas canisters or reported fractures, injuries, and wounds caused by the police or the military.103 After the events of 2019, Chile asked the UN to investigate and determine if any human rights violations had occurred. This was a project similar to the Truth Commissions after the Pinochet era. The Office of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) announced that a team would visit Chile in response to Chilean parliamentarians who had requested a mission. Piñera extended an invitation to the OHCHR on October 24, 2019. The mission identified several societal problems, including deep inequality (despite relative wealth) together with “discrimination against women, indigenous peoples and LGBTI people.”104 They found “violations of international norms and standards on the use of force” where the police used nonlethal force when the demonstration was peaceful, or used chemical irritants to disperse nonviolent protests. They identified 11 cases of “arbitrary deprivation of lives and/or other unlawful deaths involving State agents,” four of whom died due to “actions involving State agents,” two people died in police custody, and the rest died during social protests. The Ministry of Justice identified 4,903 injured people105 who suffered from “injuries, including ocular injuries from the use of pellets and other devices,” while the UNHCR confirmed 3,449 injured people.106 The UN also identified 133 cases of torture and ill-treatment; 24 cases of sexual violence against women, men, and adolescent girls and boys within the context of the protests; and a backlog that created long waiting periods for access to health care. Although the events of 2019 ended fairly quickly, the impact continues to affect society and the security services. On October 25, 2020, Chile held a referendum: 78 percent voted for a constitutional convention to write a new constitution.107 During this same period, the left called for the Director-General of the Carabineros, Mario Rozas, to be held responsible

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for the violence that the UNHCR had identified. Then in November, police officers shot and wounded two minors at a residence for troubled children and adolescents in the southern city of Talcahuano.108 This occurred while the national police were conceptualizing and executing the Reforma de Carabineros to address accusations of excessive force in 2019. Elections for a new Constitutional Assembly were held in May 2021. The results were a blow to the traditional political elites. The ruling parties failed to obtain a third of the seats needed to veto initiatives that could challenge their hold on political and economic power. Out of the 155 members, 47 are independents without a political trajectory, and 17 represent indigenous groups. The far-left obtained 28 seats and the center-left 25. In a victory for gender equity, the women will occupy half of the seats, and LGBTQ+ Chileans also will be represented.109 While the fragmentation of the Assembly will make it difficult to reach consensus on key provisions of the new constitution, the diversity opens the door for significant input from previously excluded sectors of Chilean society.

Conclusion Chile had a remarkable consensus on what national security looked like until 1973 when the military ousted Allende and ruled until 1990. Since 1990, everyone thought the unanimity had returned. The events of 2019 put that theory to rest. Now Chile will have a new constitution, and the national police are under pressure to avoid future excessive use of force. The military, meanwhile, managed to escape most charges of abuse in the UNHCR report on the activities of 2019. However, the end of the Copper Law does away with their guarantee of resources, and no one knows how the new constitution will treat them.

Notes 1 The Spanish soldier who fought in the campaign against the Indians in the sixteenth century is immortalized in the famous epic poem by Alonso de Ercilla, La Araucana. 2 Miguel Angel Centeno, Blood and Debt: War and the Nation-State in Latin America (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002); Charles Tilly, Coercion, Capital, and European States: AD 990– 1992 (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 2000). 3 International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance (London: Routledge, February 15, 2019), 387. 4 Horacio Gutiérrez, “Exaltación del mestizo: La invención del Roto Chileno,” Revista Universum 1, no. 25 (I Sem 2010): 122–139. 5 Frederick M. Nunn, The Military in Chilean History (Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press, 1976), 49. 6 Robert L. Scheina, Latin America’s Wars,Volume I:The Age of the Caudillo, 1791–1899 (Sterling,VA: Potomac Books, 2003), 139. 7 Nunn, The Military in Chilean History, 49. 8 Nunn, The Military in Chilean History, 335. 9 Simon Collier and William F. Sater, A History of Chile, 1808–1994 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 118. 10 Department of the Navy, U.S. Marine Corps, Operational Maneuver from the Sea (Washington, DC: USMC, 1996). 11 Scheina, Latin America’s Wars,Volume I, 404. 12 Scheina, Latin America’s Wars,Volume I, 92. 13 Frederick M. Nunn, Yesterday’s Soldiers: European Military Professionalism in South America 1890–1940 (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska, 1983), 84. 14 Michael Mann, “The Autonomous Power of the State: Its Origins, Mechanisms, and Results,” European Journal of Sociology 25, no. 2 (1984), 185–213. 15 Human Development Report 1994: New Dimensions of Human Security (New York, NY: UN Development Programme, 2013), 24. 16 Ministerio de Defensa Nacional de Chile, website landing page, accessed June 16, 2019, https://www.gob.cl/ ministerios/ministerio-de-defensa-nacional/.

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1 7 Ministerio de Defensa Nacional de Chile, website landing page. 18 Estado Mayor Conjunto, Historia Estado Mayor Conjunto, accessed May 18, 2019, https://www.emco.mil. cl/?page_id=32. 19 Estado Mayor Conjunto, Organización Actual, accessed May 18, 2019, https://www.emco.mil.cl/?page_id=19. 20 Estado Mayor Conjunto, Misión, accessed May 18, 2019, https://www.emco.mil.cl/?page_id=17. (The author spent a week in Chile in 2010 discussing joint issues such as training, operations, and logistics with the Chilean Joint Staff as it embraced its new mission set.) 21 Tilly, Coercion, Capital, and European States. 22 Centeno, Blood and Debt:War and the Nation-State in Latin America. 23 IISS, The Military Balance: 411. 24 The author was the Deputy Director of the International Cell at U.S. Southern Command for the Multinational Interim Force in Haiti, which included a Chilean element. 25 Government of Chile, Ejército de Chile, Ceremonia de Reconocimiento y Cierre de Operaciones de Paz en Haití, June 14, 2017. 26 Government of Chile, Libro de la Defensa Nacional de Chile, 2017, https://www.defensa.cl/temas-de-estado/ libro-de-la-defensa-nacional-de-chile-2017/. 27 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 110. 28 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 99. 29 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 74. 30 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 76. 31 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 84. 32 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 99. 33 Argentina-Chile Treaty of Peace and Friendship, November 29, 1984, https://web.archive.org/ web/20070927081439/http://www.difrol.cl/Paz-Amistad-4.htm. 34 The Treaty of Maipú for Integration and Cooperation Between the Republic of Chile and the Argentine Republic, October 30, 2009, https://web.archive.org/web/20110707010325/http://www.difrol.cl/index2. php?option=com_docman&task=doc_view&gid=218&Itemid=24. 35 The author visited the Esmeralda in Miami during a port visit in 2005. 36 “Argentina, Chile form U.N. brigade,” The Denver Post, December 28, 2005. 37 Government of Argentina, Fuerza Conjunto Combinada "Cruz del Sur," https://www.argentina.gob.ar/ misiones-de-paz-de-la-armada-argentina/fuerza-conjunto-combinada-cruz-del-sur. 38 “World Court: Chile not forced to negotiate over Bolivia sea access,” Reuters, October 1, 2018. 39 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 93. 40 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 96. 41 Libro de la Defensa Nacional, 101. 42 Government of Chile Press Release, President Signs Decree Allowing Armed Forces to Support Efforts to Curb Human Trafficking,” January 12, 2021. 43 Government of Chile, President Signs Decree Allowing Armed Forces to Support Efforts to Curb Human Trafficking. 44 Chilean Navy, Naval Forces and Resources of The Navy, June 6, 2017, https://www.armada.cl/armada/ chilean-navy/what-we-do/naval-forces-and-resources-df-the-navy/2017-04-06/122706.html. 45 Government of Chile, Fiscalía website, Quienes Somos, accessed March 16, 2019, http://www.fiscaliadechile.cl/Fiscalia/quienes/index.jsp. 46 Government of Chile, Fiscalía website, Unidad Especializada en Tráfico Ilícito de Estupefacientes y Sustancias Sicotrópicas, accessed March 16, 2019, http://www.fiscaliadechile.cl/Fiscalia/quienes/fiscaliaNac_unidades_especializadas.jsp. 47 Government of Chile, Fiscalía website, Organizational Chart, accessed March 16, 2019, http://www. fiscaliadechile.cl/Fiscalia/quienes/organigrama3.jsp. 48 Government of Chile, Fiscalía website, Observations on Narcotrafficking 2020, May 2020, http://www. fiscaliadechile.cl/Fiscalia/quienes/observatorio_narcotrafico_informe_2020.pdf. 49 Government of Chile, President Signs Decree Allowing Armed Forces to Support Efforts to Curb Human Trafficking. We are Committed to Putting Our House In Order to Better Protecting Our Borders and to Combating Illegal Immigration. 50 Government of Chile Press Release, Government Unveils Climate Change Bill Designed to Decrease the Negative Impacts of Climate Change in Chile, January 16, 2021. 51 Government of Chile, Government Unveils Climate Change Bill. 52 Government of Chile, Política Antártica Nacional, January 10, 2017, https://minrel.gob.cl/minrel_old/site/ artic/20121010/asocfile/20121010172919/pol__tica_ant__rtica_nacional_2017.pdf. 53 Instituto Antártico Chileno, Mission and Objectives, accessed January 10, 2017, https://www.inach.cl/ inach/?page_id=10963.

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54 The Counter Extremism Project, Chile: Extremism and Counter-Extremism, accessed May 18, 2019, https:// www.counterextremism.com/countries/chile. 55 Statista (website), Countries with the Highest Internet Penetration Rate in Latin America and the Caribbean as of January 2020, by Region, accessed May 20, 2019, https://www.statista.com/statistics/976506/ internet-users-share-population-latin-america-country/. 56 “Bank of Chile trading down after hackers rob millions in cyberattack,” Reuters, June 11, 2018. 57 Government of Chile, Comité Interministerial sobre Ciberseguridad (CICS), accessed May 20, 2019, https:// www.ciberseguridad.gob.cl/el-cics/. 58 Government of Chile, Cybersecurity Objectives, accessed May 20, 2019, https://www.ciberseguridad.gob. cl/objetivos/. 59 Inter-American Development Bank and Organization of American States, Ciberseguridad: Riesgos, Avances y el Camino a Seguir en América Latina y el Caribe (Washington, DC: IDB and OAS, 2020), 75. 60 Government of Chile, Política Nacional de Ciberseguridad: 2017–2022 (Santiago: Biblioteca del Congreso Nacional de Chile, July 2018). 61 Government of Chile, CSIRT website, accessed May 20, 2019, https://www.csirt.gob.cl/. 62 IISS, The Military Balance, 387. 63 U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, World Factbook, Canada, accessed February 23, 2019. 64 Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, Ending Off-Budget Military Funding: Lessons from Chile, December 16, 2019. 65 U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, World Factbook, Chile, accessed February 23, 2019. 66 NATO Press Release, Defence Expenditure of NATO Countries (2013–2020), October 21, 2020. 67 Carabineros webpage, Historia Institucional, accessed November 16, 2019, https://carabineros.cl/secciones/ historiaInstitucional/. 68 PDI webpage, Historia Institucional, accessed November 16, 2019, https://www.pdichile.cl/ instituci%C3%B3n/nosotros/historia. 69 Carabineros webpage, Carabineros en Cifras, accessed November 16, 2019, https://carabineros.cl/secciones/carabCifras/magazine/pdf/carabcifras_2019.pdf. 70 Robert L. Scheina, Latin America’s Wars Volume II: the Age of the Professional Soldier, 1900–2001 (Sterling, VA: Potomac Books, 2003), 319. 71 Nunn, The Military in Chilean History, 266. 72 Nunn, The Military in Chilean History, 265. 73 U.S. Institute of Peace (USIP), Truth Commission: Chile 90 (Santiago: National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation, 1990), 7. 74 Simon Collier and William F. Sater, A History of Chile, 1808–1994 (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 353. 75 “Libraries and Archives,” Latin American Research Review (1968): 157. 76 Luba Z. Qureshi, Nixon, Kissinger, and Allende: U.S. Involvement in the 1973 Coup in Chile (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2009). 77 Hugh M. Hamill, Caudillos – Dictators in Spanish America (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1992), 328–329. 78 USIP, Report of the Chilean National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation, October 4, 2002. 79 USIP, Report of the Chilean National Commission. 80 Hamill, Caudillos – Dictators in Spanish America, 328–329. 81 The 1976 assassination of Orlando Letelier in Washington, DC, was the single human rights violation that would be prosecuted according to the Chilean amnesty law decreed in 1978. 82 USIP, Truth Commission: Chile 90, 9. 83 Brian Loveman and Thomas M. Davies, Jr., eds., The Politics of Antipolitics: The Military in Latin America (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1997), 269. 84 USIP, Report of the Chilean National Commission, 7. 85 Cath Collins, “Truth-Justice-Reparations Interaction Effects in Transitional Justice Practice: The Case of the ‘Valech Commission’ in Chile,” Journal of Latin American Studies 49, no. 1 (2017): 55–82. 86 Instituto Nacional de Derechos Humanos, Análisis inicial del segundo Informe Nacional sobre Prisión Política y Tortura – ‘VALECH II, Universidad Diego Portales, 2011. 87 USIP, Truth Commission: Chile 90, 9–10. 88 Brian Loveman, Military Government in Latin America, 1959–1990, Oxford Bibliographies (2014). 89 General Juan Emilio Cheyre, Commander in Chief of the Army, “The army and the end of a vision,” Daily La Tercera, November 2004. 90 The 1976 assassination of Orlando Letelier in Washington, DC, was the single human rights violation that would be prosecuted according to the Chilean amnesty law decreed in 1978. 91 USIP, Truth Commission: Chile 90, 9.

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92 See Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State – The Theory and Politics of Civil-Military Relations (Boston, MA: Belknap Press [an Imprint of Harvard University Press], September 15, 1981). 93 Tristan Dreisbach, Civilians at the Helm: Chile Transforms its Ministry of National Defense, 2010–2014 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, Innovations for Successful Societies, November 2015), 4. 94 Carlos Solar, Javier Urbina, and G. Alexander Crowther, Chilean Military Culture 2020 (Miami: FIU, 2020). 95 Government of Chile, Estado Mayor Conjunto: Historia, accessed November 13, 2019, https://www.emco. mil.cl/?page_id=19. 96 Government of Chile, Ministry of the Interior and Public Security, accessed November 13, 2019, https:// www.gob.cl/en/ministries/ministry-of-the-interior-and-public-security/. 97 United Nations, Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights Mission to Chile, 30 October to 22 November 2019 (Geneva: UNHCR, December 13, 2019), 5. 98 UN, Report of the UNHCR Mission to Chile, 6. 99 Max Fisher, “‘A very dangerous game’: In Latin America, embattled leaders lean on generals,” The New York Times, November 1, 2019. 100 “Piñera’s Pickle,” The Economist, November 2, 2019: 43–44. 101 UN, Report of the UNHCR Mission to Chile, 22. 102 Sebastián Palma and Sebastián Labrín, “El regreso del general Iturriaga a los cuarteles,” La Tercera, November 1, 2019. 103 Instituto Nacional de Derechos Humanos, Informe Anual Situación de los Derechos Humanos en Chile 2019 (Santiago: INDH, December 3, 2019). 104 UN, Report of the UNHCR Mission to Chile, 4–5. 105 Of the 4,903 people injured in the events of 2019, 1,313 were civilians and 2,792 were police officers. 106 According to the UNHCR, of these, 51 sustained injuries from live ammunition, 1,554 from rubber pellets, 198 from shots from unidentified firearms, and 180 from pellets. Around 1,466 people suffered injuries from beatings, gas inhalation, and other causes. 107 “Jubilation as Chile votes to rewrite constitution,” BBC News, October 26, 2020. 108 “Chile’s police chief resigns amid allegations of human rights abuses,” Reuters, November 19, 2020. 109 Dave Sherwood, Fabian Cambero, and Aislinn Laing, “Chile’s govt in shock loss as voters pick independents to draft constitution” Reuters, May, 16.2021; Javier Sajuria and Julieta Suarez-Cao, “Chile elected delegates to draft a new constitution — and it’s not tilted toward the elites,” The Washington Post, June 24, 2001.

CONCLUSION Gabriel Marcella, Orlando J. Pérez, and Brian Fonseca

Democratic governance is under assault from several directions in Latin America. The region faces security problems that are extensive, complex, and highly destructive. Some problems are long-standing and systemic, such as corruption, weak institutions, and economic inequality. Other problems stem from these structural deficiencies and include high crime rates, illicit trafficking, weak civil society, and a crisis of representation. Of course, now the region must contend with the devastation caused by COVID-19. The 2020 global pandemic hit Latin America particularly hard and is likely to be the most consequential consideration impacting hemispheric security in the near term. Latin America has become the region with the highest number of confirmed cases globally.1 COVID-19 is further exposing the fragility and inadequacy of institutional capacities to deliver on the public good. The Fall 2019 protests that erupted in Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru occurred because of several years of economic stagnation, the inability to meet middle-class expectations, and growing distrust in the democratic institutions tasked with improving the lives of citizens. The prevailing socioeconomic and political fissures made worse by the pandemic will further test Latin American resilience by increasing social and political instability and pushing countries deeper into democratic crisis. Increasing state fragility could lead to calls for populist and authoritarian-leaning leaders (from the left or the right) outside of the traditional political establishment and undermine preferences for democratic governance in the long term. Authoritarian-inclined leaders will likely lean on military institutions to govern and further push militaries into nonmilitary missions, including roles in domestic politics. This is, again, raising important questions about the balance of institutional authority between civilians and the military. This volume brought together academics and practitioners to analyze state capacity in the context of the region’s problems with democracy and security. The institutional capabilities of various states fall short of the ability to achieve sustainable security under the principles of democracy. The first part of the book focused on four key institutional structures: the police, prison system, judiciary, and armed forces. Each institution is essential for developing state capacity around security, and its operationalization can strengthen or weaken democracy. Police forces in most of Latin America have traditionally been underdeveloped compared to other security forces. Historically subordinated to the armed forces, many countries sought to separate police and armed forces as part of the democratization process that resulted from the end DOI: 10.4324/9780429291258-15

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of military rule. The process of building and equipping police forces has advanced in varying degrees across the region. Among the most significant reforms are the efforts to establish community policing models that attempt to integrate police forces within neighborhoods to create a stronger bond with the citizens living and working in that area. Unfortunately, as described in Lucía Dammert’s chapter, reform, resources, and capabilities have lagged behind the ability to deal effectively with rising crime rates. Therefore, in many countries, police remain underfunded and lack the necessary tools to handle the problems of insecurity effectively. The correctional system is an important element of establishing security. The ability to punish but also to rehabilitate persons who violate the law is a crucial social function in civilized societies. Jonathan D. Rosen’s chapter explains how prison systems in Latin America remain overcrowded and mired in regressive correction policies that further repression and punishment. Few countries have modernized their correctional systems, and most prisons promote rather than ameliorate criminal activity. As part of the processes of democratization, Latin American states have made significant advances in strengthening the judicial system. Mark Ungar’s chapter focuses on three aspects that represent critical factors in determining the strength of the judiciary: independence, authority, and effectiveness. Ungar reflects on the extent to which the judiciary reforms across many countries in the region have improved all three characteristics. However, as Ungar points out, significant deficiencies remain. Judicial independence is still mediated by a strong executive and the interference of elite sectors. Judicial actors remain weak in relation to other state institutions, and their effectiveness is reduced by antiquated legal procedures, a lack of resources, and inadequate training. Finally, Gabriel Marcella’s chapter on the armed forces and ministries of defense lays out the significant but insufficient reforms in civil-military relations across the region. Traditionally subordinate to the military, ministries of defense have become more independent and civilian-led in many countries, and the armed forces have reduced – although not eliminated – their political influence. Marcella’s chapter reminds us, however, of the need for additional civilian capacity in defense and national security. Part II of our volume presents eight case studies that reflect the gamut of outcomes across the region regarding democratization and security. Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Cuba, Mexico, Peru, and Venezuela are key countries for understanding the advances and deficiencies in democratic governance and establishing security across the region. Some reflect either the advances in establishing and improving stable democracies with improved levels of security, such as Argentina, Chile, and Colombia. Other cases illustrate how state capacity has collapsed, such as Venezuela, or remain weak or contested, like Brazil, Mexico, and Peru. Cuba represents a unique case that illustrates the transformation of state capacity in a nondemocratic environment. Democracy requires political legitimacy generated by popular support for democratic values and respect for the rules governing the political system. Unfortunately, Latin America has experienced significant levels of democratic “backsliding” in the last decade. Such backsliding is reflected in the rise of populism, executive authoritarianism, and violence. In the context of executives exceeding their authority, militaries have again been called to play a mediating role which, in some cases, such as Peru and Venezuela, has distorted civil-military relations and potentially further undermined democratic governance. Evidence from the AmericasBarometer surveys indicates an erosion of public support for democracy and an increase in support for authoritarian measures. The 2018 data reveals that “support for executive coups is highest among the least educated, poorest, youngest, and male individuals.”2 Satisfaction with democracy continues to decline. The AmericasBarometer report for 2018 concludes, “Given the link between public opinion and democratic stability, the stagnation of public support for democracy in the

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region is troubling.”3 Institutionally, survey results show the armed forces continue to receive the highest levels of trust among state institutions. The police, judiciary, and political institutions receive significantly less support. Trust reflects a basic attitude that a particular institution is performing its functions effectively and meeting the public’s expectations. Without trust, institutions lack the ability to withstand scandals or successfully promote their mission in intra-bureaucratic conflicts over policy or budget. The connection between lack of trust and resources creates a vicious cycle that can affect an institution’s effectiveness in the long term. Weak institutions that engender low levels of trust might get less funding, which, in turn, weakens them further. National police institutions in Latin America are routinely caught in this cycle vis-à-vis the military from which they have a difficult time recovering. The gap in trust between the armed forces and the police affects the context within which resource battles between security agencies are carried out. In countries where the police are viewed as deficient because of corruption or ineffectiveness or both, the distribution of resources will tend to follow public opinion in that political leaders will want to be seen supporting those institutions that are “popular.” This phenomenon then creates a dynamic in which the police are starved for resources and thus are less able to develop institutional competencies that would increase their effectiveness, and thus trust levels. High levels of trust relative to other state institutions promote the armed forces as all-purpose institutions used to fill the capacity gaps within the state apparatus, not just in terms of security but potentially in other areas as well. Increasing rates of crime and violence, low levels of trust in the police, and high levels of confidence in the military tend to promote the use of the armed forces in domestic security missions. While national constitutions often provide for the use of the military in exceptional circumstances to assist law enforcement agencies, the fact is that in many Latin American countries, domestic security missions have become routine and integral to the implementation of “mano dura” policies.4 At its core, “mano dura” necessitates curtailing individual rights and empowering security forces, both military and police. Beyond militarizing the police, this approach involves lengthening prison sentences, suspending due process guarantees and other protections for alleged criminals, and aggressively arresting youths suspected of gang membership. The evidence shows these strategies do not disrupt criminal activity; instead, gangs and other criminal networks have increased their level of organization, technological sophistication, and international links. Ultimately, the militarization of the police engenders a vicious cycle of repression, crime, and institutional weakness that together serve to increase violence and undermine democratic governance. Given the challenges posed by insecurity, Latin America becomes a laboratory for building state capacity in the twenty-first century. Recovery from COVID-19 is likely to be slow, incremental, and hesitant at best and will prove to be a critical juncture for the region. Criminal groups and non-state armed actors are increasingly entrenched in many communities and serve as an alternative form of government. Therefore, it will be extremely difficult to remove them without negotiations with criminal groups – an act likely to strengthen them. Additionally, the region remains vulnerable to natural disasters and other environmental hazards, and the impact of disruptive technologies. The confluence of these security issues will likely dominate the security agenda in the years to come. The implications for civil society, policymakers, the international community, and scholars are clear: A long-term integrated effort of institution-building focused on democratic security is imperative. The process must start by establishing trust between civilians and the military within the framework of cooperation for security. In the twenty-first century, the threats to national defense and public security, such as international crime, hybrid warfare, and climate change, are of the kind and frequency that will require the collaboration of civilian and military talents while maintaining civilian authority over policy formulation. Conventional cross-border

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state-to-state warfare is highly remote; military forces are more likely to perform support missions to civil authority within the national borders, at times in collaboration with neighboring countries. Both sides must build bridges of communication and establish mutual confidence based on professional competence and commitment to democratic principles. In a democracy, civilians direct the military to conduct operations, reserving for the military enough autonomy to recruit, organize, educate, train, and lead the armed forces. This requires civilians to have professional expertise in all aspects of national defense and security, the legal authority to lead, and the opportunity to occupy positions of high responsibility in the national security decision-making infrastructure, such as ministries of defense. In advanced democracies, civilian authority and expertise are the general rule, although there are always tensions between the two estates and cultures. In Latin America, civilians do not contribute robustly to national defense, for reasons touched upon in the book, especially the military’s reluctance to yield power to civilians. Currently, the bulk of professional expertise resides in the military, with slow improvement on the civilian side and growing academic sophistication in security and defense matters. The playing field is uneven. The book’s various chapters demonstrate the challenge of simultaneity, the need to tackle insecurity by constructing effective and accountable military and police forces while enhancing democracy. This is no easy task. Everything must be done as soon as possible. Personnel must be trained and equipped adequately, imbued with respect for the rule of law, and effectively led and deployed. Strategies must be developed and implemented; corruption and partisan political manipulation rooted out. Civic society must mobilize to support the national effort. All of this takes time, resources, and difficult political decisions at a time of fiscal austerity, given the immense human and economic costs of the COVID-19 pandemic. In building state capacity, thorny legal and institutional issues fraught with intense political debate must be sorted out; for example, jurisdictionally, what is the military’s proper role in dealing with high-intensity crime when the police are inadequate for the task? What adaptations must the police and military make to deal with such complex security challenges? How can the laws be adapted to define institutional boundaries clearly and respond to the reality of intense insecurity? Assuming all of this is done, without professionalization and adequate resources in personnel, equipment, and training, such efforts will bear little fruit. Governments should embrace a “whole of nation” approach to strengthen democratic institutions and security that includes broader elements from society, including civil society, academic institutions, the media, and the private sector. For example, the academic community can and must contribute to building democratic state capacity. Heretofore, the bulk of research on civil-military relations deals with who has more political power. It’s a central question of the democratic transition underway in the region. Yet, this focus overlooks the need to also view civil-military relations as the process that determines how legitimate force is used. Future research needs to mine the rich vein of how power is organized and how to use it to support democracy. Accordingly, collaborative efforts between civilian academia and professional military educational (PME) institutions should be encouraged. There are several PMEs across the hemisphere that actively bring civilians and uniformed military personnel together to conduct research and deepen knowledge about prevailing and emerging security issues. Additionally, some PMEs incorporate academics from civilian academic institutions. There is a need to go in the other direction too. Civilian academic institutions should consider affording some space to PME faculty and transitioning the military to work alongside civilian academics. This can help build meaningful connections between civilian and military thinkers and educators and encourage a shared understanding of the pervasive governance and security issues threatening democratic stability.

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Finally, there is a tremendous need for greater multilateral engagement across the region. There is a convergence around key governance and security challenges that provides fertile ground for cooperation among nations. Take, for example, the Declaration on Security in the Hemisphere adopted by the Organization of American States in October 2003.5 The declaration outlined a common set of issues ranging from corruption to illicit trafficking to weapons proliferation. Since the declaration, other important converging concerns have risen, such as climate change, inequality, and social inclusion.6 Latin American countries must find innovative ways to work together to build and encourage democratic resilience, particularly against assaults on democratic governance from within the region and from rising autocracies with reach into Latin America.

Notes 1. Daniela Desantis and Javier Leira, “Latin America Leads World in Coronavirus Cases, Reuters Count Shows,” Reuters, July 26, 2020. 2. Elizabeth J. Zechmeister and Noam Lupu, eds., Pulse of Democracy (Nashville, TN: LAPOP, 2019), 11. 3. Zechmeister and Lupu, Pulse of Democracy, 23. 4. Orlando J. Pérez, “Gang Violence and Insecurity in Contemporary Central America” in Murder and Violence in Modern Latin America, eds. Eric A. Johnson, Ricardo Salvatore, and Pieter Spierenburg (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013); Jose M. Cruz, “Pandillas y capital social en Centroamérica,” in Maras y pandillas en Centroamérica. Pandillas y capital social, Volumen II, eds. ERICK, IDESO, IDIES, and IUDOP (San Salvador: UCA Editores, 2004), 277–326; Caroline Moser, Ailsa Winton, and Annalise Moser, “Violence, Fear, and Insecurity among the Urban Poor in Latin America” in The Urban Poor in Latin America, ed. Marianne Fay (Washington, DC: The World Bank, 2005); Joseph S. Tulchin and Meg Ruthenberg, “Toward a Society Under Law” in Toward a Society Under Law: Citizens and Their Police in Latin America, eds. Joseph S. Tulchin, and Meg Ruthenberg (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, 2006). 5. Organization of American States, Declaration on Security in the Americas, 2003. 6. Frank O. Mora and Brian Fonseca, “United States Policy in the Hemisphere Influencing the State and Beyond,” Prism 5, no. 4 (2016), 69–87.

INDEX

Acapulco 61, 64 Acevedo, Wuileisys (aka “Wilexis”) 161 Administrative Department of Security see Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad Agencia National de Inteligencia (Chile) 197 agro-industry 18 Alfonsín, Raúl 41, 115–116, 178 alternative dispute resolution 46 alternative sentencing 46 Altiplano prison 61 Alzugaray Treto, Alvaro 154 Amazon Basin 68 Amazon Military Command 68 Amazonia Azul 118 American Convention on Human Rights 45, 133 Amnesty Law(s): Brazil 114–115, 125; Chile 42, 201, 207; El Salvador 42; Peru 132–133 ANBV Naiguatá 159 Angola 14 Araucanian Indians 190–191 arbitrary detentions 164 arbitration 46–47 Arco Minero see Mining Arc Argentina 4, 9–10, 14, 22, 28–29, 31, 175–185, 210; drug-related crimes 56; humanitarian assistance by military 68; judicial processes 40–43, 47, 49; ministry of defense 68–69; relations with Brazil 113, 116, 118; relations with Chile 194–195; supreme court 45, 48 armed forces 2–4; Argentina 175–179, 181–185; Brazil 70–71, 112–120; Chile 71, 190–204; Colombia 69–70; Cuba 151, 153; Mexico 96–107; missions and roles 67, 76; participation in MINUSTAH 120; personnel levels and budget expenditure 72–74, 178–180, 186–187; Peru 128–141; subordination to civilian control 66, 69; use in extra-territorial conflicts 69;

use in policing functions 27, 45, 75, 120–121; Venezuela 159; see also military arms trafficking 21, 50 assassins 16 Attorney General 13, 41, 43, 60–61, 64, 107, 109, 196 authoritarianism 15, 52, 99, 123, 128, 141–142, 175, 210 Ayacucho 130–131, 133, 139, 142–143 Aymara 48 Azevedo e Silva, Fernando 68 Bachelet, Michelle 71, 78, 203 Bajo Aguán (Honduras) 18 Barrio 18, 17, 20, 57–58 Belaúnde Terry, Fernando 128, 130–131 Belize 17–18, 72–73, 106 Bicameral Commission for the Supervision of the Intelligence Bodies and Activities of Congress (Argentina) 177, 188 body cameras 36 Bogotá 36, 39, 57, 63, 77, 81, 95 Bolívar 160, 167–168 Bolivarian National Armed Forces (Venezuela) 157, 159–160, 166; see also FANB Bolivarian National Guard (Venezuela) 160, 164, 166; see also GNB Bolivarian National Intelligence Service (Servicio Bolivariano de Inteligencia Nacional) (Venezuela) 164; see also SEBIN Bolivarian National Police (Venezuela) 164 Bolivia 14, 19, 28, 31; constitution 51; homicide rate 180; judicial processes 46–48, 56; military humanitarian assistance 68; military personnel and budget 72–73; ombudsman agency 41; relations with Argentina 182, relations with Chile 190–191, 194–195; transit of illegal drugs 168 Bolsonaro, Jair 14, 121–123

Index 215

Brazil 4, 9–12, 14–15, 17–18, 20–22, 210; ­civil-military relations 110–123; cybercrime 67; drug consumption 29; judicial processes 43, 47, 49–51; military 68, 70–73, 75; police 31–32, 34, 36; Primeiro Comando da Capital 157, 160; prisons 55–56; relations with Argentina 181–182, 210; relations with Venezuela 168–170 Brazil’s Integrated Border Monitoring System 118 Brazil’s Military Police 32 Brazil’s National Council of Justice 42, 52 Brazilian War School 182 bribery 14, 24, 29, 49 Brown v. State of Maryland 45 Buenos Aires City Police 33 Bureau for Scientific, Criminal, and Forensic Investigations (CICPC) (Venezuela) 164 Cachiros 13 Calderón, Felipe 16, 60–61, 96, 98, 100 Calha Norte Project 114 Cali 13, 20, 23 campesinos 18 Canada 19, 169, 194, 198–199, 207 Carabineros de Chile 5, 32, 193, 197–200, 204 Carchi 75 Cárdenas, Cuauhtémoc 99 Cárdenas, Lázaro 99 Cardoso, Fernando Enrique 70, 111, 117–118, 126 cartels 25, 49–50, 60, 64, 85 Castro Espín, Alexandro 149, 156 Castro, Fidel 145, 147, 149–152, 160 Castro, Raúl 4, 145–156 Ceará 47 Center for Arbitration and Conciliation (Bolivia) 47 Center for Investigation and National Security (CISEN) (Mexico) 101 Center for the Defense of the Internal Order (CODI) (Brazil) 113–114 Central America 2, 9, 11–12, 17–18, 20–21, 25, 29, 37, 44–45, 50, 62–63, 75, 170, 213 Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales 177, 187 Centro de Investigación y Educación Popular (CINEP) (Colombia) 84–86, 90–91 Charles Tilly European model 190 Chávez, Hugo 40, 47, 160, 162–163, 165–166, 195 Chavín de Huántar 132, 143 Chavismo 161, 172–173 Chepe Diablo see Salazar Umaña, José Adán Chequeado or la Iniciativa Ciudadana para el control del Sistema de Inteligencia 177 Cheyre, Emilio 71, 201 Children’s counseling centers 47 Chile 4, 9–10, 12, 15, 18–19, 22, 190–210; administration of justice 46–48; homicide rates 180; judicial independence 41–42; migrants from Venezuela 169; military 68, 71–73; police 28–29, 31–32, 36–37; relations with Argentina 182, 190–210

Chilean Antarctic Institute (Instituto Antártico Chileno) 197 Chilean National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation see Truth Commission (Chile) CICIG (International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala) 26, 49 Cienfuegos, Salvador 97, 107 Científicas, Penales, y Criminalísticas 164 citizen access 3, 40 Citizen’s Council for Public Security and Criminal Justice (Consejo Ciudadano para la Seguridad Pública y la Justicia Penal) 167 Ciudad Juarez 15, 24 cocaine 20, 28–29, 50, 131, 133, 143, 160, 168, 173, 180–181, 196 colectivos 161, 164, 166–167, 172 Collor de Mello, Fernando 111, 116–118, 124 Colombia 2–3, 9–10, 17–21, 81–93, 99, 129, 193, 196; Argentine peacekeeping in 178; captured states 12–15; civil-military relations 66, 68–78; dispute resolution 46–47, 51; guerrillas 158; human rights 83–88, 90–91, 93; international humanitarian law training 141–142; irregular armed groups 168–172; judicial processes 41, 44; organized crime 49; participation of Mexican military in peacekeeping 104–105; police 28, 31–32, 36; prisons 56; 2009 protests 209; smugglers 160 Comando Vermelho 20, 22 Comayagua 45, 52 Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación (CVR) (Peru) 133, 135, 137–138 Comités de Autodefensa (CADs) 132–134, 143 commercial arbitration 47 community policing 34, 39, 50, 210 community service 46 conciliation 46–47, 182 consumer arbitration 47 consumer defense agencies 47 consumer protections see consumer arbitration; consumer defense agencies contraband smuggling 20–21 convertible pesos (CUCs) (Cuba) 149 Coronavirus 5, 14, 22, 66, 213; see also COVID-19 Corporación Transparencia por Colombia 91 corruption 2–3, 9–16, 20, 23–24, 32–38, 40, 42, 48–50, 54–55, 57–58, 60–61, 63, 70, 81–84, 91–93, 97–98, 100, 106, 111, 117, 121–124, 142, 146, 158, 168, 180, 209, 211–213 Corruption Perception Index 48 Costa Rica 10, 15, 28, 31, 41, 43, 46, 48, 56, 73, 169, 180, 193 counterinsurgency 4, 69, 87, 94, 128–142, 144 counterterrorism 30, 197 courts: agricultural-environmental (Tribunales Agroambientales) 51; civil 47; commercial 47; criminal 45 COVID-19 1, 9–10, 16, 26, 66, 76, 97, 101–103, 122–123, 166–167, 196, 209, 211–212

216  Index

crime 2–3, 12–14, 17, 20–40, 43–46, 49–51, 53–64, 66, 75, 77, 82–83, 94, 96, 98–100, 104–106, 108, 120–121, 126, 157–159, 163–164, 167–173, 176, 178, 180–181, 184, 188, 195–196, 209–212 Crime Control Television Systems (CCTVs) 35 criminal enterprise 13; see also crime CSIRT Américas 197 Cuba 4, 72, 145–147, 149–156, 160, 172, 210 Cuban intelligence service 160 cuentapropistas 145–147, 149, 152 cyberattacks 67–68, 197 cybercrime 28, 189 cyberdefense 67, 182 cybersecurity 77, 197–198, 207; see also cyberattacks; cyberdefense

environment 3–5, 40, 44, 50–51, 53, 78, 111, 113–115, 117, 119–122, 179, 181, 195–197, 210 Escobar, Pablo 15, 21, 29 Escola Superior de Guerra (Brazil) 110, 193 Escuela Superior de Guerra de Colombia 67 Esguerra, Juan Carlos 92 Esmeraldas 75 Etchegoyen, Sérgio 70 exports 18, 70, 198 expropriation 18 extortion 16–17, 20–22, 36, 50, 59, 160–161, 167–168 Extrajudicial Conciliation and Alternative Mechanisms for Conflict Resolution (Peru) 47 extrajudicial killings 16, 164, 171

Defensoría del Pueblo 41, 47 delegative democracy 52 Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad 92 Department of Information Operations – Center for Internal Defense Operations (DOI/CODI) 113 Departments for Political and Social Order (Brazil) 144 Detachment for Intelligence Operations 114 Díaz-Canel Bermudez, Miguel 145, 149–151, 153–155 Dimension 22 initiative 118 Dinant Corporation 18 Directiva de Política de Defensa Nacional (Argentina) 183 Directorate General of Military Counterintelligence (Dirección General de Contrainteligencia Militar) (DGCIM) (Venezuela) 164 Dirty War (Argentina) 175 Divisões de Segurança e Informações 114 domestic violence 17, 30, 45 Dominican Republic 14, 21, 68, 72–73, 168–169 drones 60, 67, 76 Drug Trafficking Organizations (DTO) 12, 24–25, 60–62; see also narco-trafficking Duarte, Javier 14

F-39 GRIPEN fighter 118 Faixa de Fronteiras 114 Falkland Islands 175 FANB 157, 159–160, 166 Federal Intelligence Agency (AFI) (Argentina) 177 femicide 17, 29 Fidelistas 145 Figueiredo, João 114–116, 125 First Capital Command (Brazil) 157 Flores, Francisco 58 FMLN 142 forced evictions 164 forced labor 21 forensic evidence 42, 143 Forum for the Progress and Development of South America 183 fossil fuels 18 Franco, Itamar 111, 117 Frente Farabundo Martí para la Liberación Nacional 59; see also FMLN Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias (FAR) (Cuba) 153–154 Fujimori, Alberto 40, 49, 128, 132, 134–135, 141 Full Stop Law 42

Ecuador 9–10, 12, 14–15; cybercrime 67–69; drug trafficking 28; judicial system 45–48, 51, 53; migrants from Venezuela 169–170; military personnel and budget 72–73; mining 18–19; police 31, 36–37; refugees 21; relations with Peru 131, 133; 2009 protests 209; UNASUR headquarters 182; use of military for domestic security 75–77 Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN) 100 “El Chapo” Guzmán 16, 21, 29, 61, 97; see also Guzmán, Joaquín “El Chapo” El Mozote massacre 42 El Salvador 3, 11–13, 15, 17, 21, 25, 27, 31, 33, 42, 45, 54–59, 62–64, 68, 72–73, 78, 142, 163, 195 El Tambor mine (Guatemala) 19 embezzlement 14

gangs 11, 13, 15–17, 20, 22, 26, 45, 50, 54–59, 62–64, 67, 91, 158, 161, 164, 166, 168, 171, 173, 180, 211; see also maras García, Alan 14, 131–132, 143 Garifuna 18 Geisel, Ernesto 112–114, 122 GNB 160, 164, 166 governance 1–4, 9–11, 13, 15, 17, 19–23, 25–26, 52, 68–70, 75–77, 83, 94, 96, 108, 111, 115–119, 124, 156, 158–159, 172, 185, 209–213 Grupo de Administración Empresarial, SA (GAESA) (Cuba) 154 Guatemala 11–12, 14–15, 17–19, 21–22, 24–27, 29, 31, 33, 43, 45, 48–50, 56, 58, 68, 72–73, 78, 106 Gustavo Aníbal Giraldo Quinchía “Pablito” 92 Guyana 72–73, 168, 173

Index 217

Guzmán, Abimael 132 Guzmán, Joaquín “El Chapo” 16, 21, 29, 61, 97 Hernández, Joaquín 99 Hernández, Juan Antonio 13 Hernández, Juan Orlando 13, 40 heroin 21, 61, 64 Hezbollah 168 Historicos (Cuba) 150, 155 Holguín 150 homicide 15, 17, 20, 28, 44–45, 54, 62–63, 84–85, 157, 163, 166–167, 180; see also murder rate Honduras 12, 17–19, 21, 23, 25, 31, 35, 39–41, 45–46, 49, 51–54, 56, 58, 68, 72–73, 168 Houses of Justice 47 Huancayo (Department, in Peru) 130 human rights 3, 16, 18, 33, 35, 37, 42, 44, 46, 50, 54, 59, 61–62, 98, 106–107, 128–133, 135–140, 147–148, 154, 160, 164–165, 175, 177, 180–181, 190, 200–202, 204 human smuggling 21 humanitarian assistance 67–68, 71 hybrid authoritarian democracies 41 hybrid warfare 67, 77, 184, 211 hyper-presidentialism 41 Ibáñez del Campo, Carlos 199 Imbabura 75 independence 3, 40–42, 44, 46–47, 52, 83, 93, 165, 187, 190–192, 194–195, 210 Índice de Transparencia Nacional (ITN) 91–93 indigenous justice 46, 48 infrastructure 10, 14, 19, 21, 33, 35, 67–68, 74, 158, 190, 197–198, 203, 212 Inspectorate General of Military Police (Brazil) 114 Institutional Conciliation Centers 47 Instituto Nacional de Ciencias Forenses (INACIF) 50 insurgency/insurgencies/insurgents 4, 9–10, 67, 100, 113, 128–134, 137–140, 143, 146 Inter-American Court of Human Rights (ICHR) 41 Inter-American Development Bank (IADB) 35, 67, 184, 197 international humanitarian law 129, 142, 144, 201 Investigative Police of Chile 31, 197 Izurieta, Oscar 71, 202 Jalisco Cartel New Generation ( JCNG) 16 Jamaica 17, 21, 72–73 Jarrín, Oswaldo 68 Jobim, Nelson 70 Joint Strategic Command 71 judicial councils 41 judicial police 46 Jungmann, Raúl 75 Junín (Peru) 133 kickback(s) 111 kidnapping 16, 98, 161, 163–164, 167, 200–201

kingpins 22, 57, 60 Kirchner, Cristina Fernández de 41, 49, 176–178, 181 Kirchner, Néstor 42, 49, 181 Kuczynski, Pedro Pablo 49 Lagos, Ricardo 71, 202 land displacement 18 land disputes 17 land distribution 17–18 Latin American Public Opinion Project (LAPOP) 62, 163 Lava Jato scandal 14, 49–50, 111, 121, 124 Ley reorganiza el Ministerio de Defensa (Chile) 203 Lloreda Caicedo, Rodrigo 70 López Obrador, Andrés Manuel 4, 96–97, 100–101, 105, 107 Lorenzana trafficking family 21 Lula da Silva, Luiz Inàcio 14, 70, 111, 124 lynching(s) 164 Machado Ventura, José Ramón 150–151 Macri, Mauricio 74, 177–179, 181, 183 Maduro, Nicolás 47, 146, 157, 159–160, 162, 165–166 Malvinas, 67, 69, 175, 183; see also Falkland Islands Mangabeira Unger, Roberto 70 mano dura 45, 57–58, 62–64, 211 Maoist 130, 176 Maranhão, Brazil 55 maras 20, 25, 37, 45, 50, 63–64, 213 Marrero Cruz, Manuel 151, 154–155 Medellín 15, 20–21, 24, 26 Medellín without Slums 21 mediation 46–47 megabandas 161, 166, 168, 170, 173; see also gangs; maras Menem, Carlos 41–42, 56, 118, 177, 181 Mensalão 111, 124 MERCOSUR (South American Regional Economic Organization) 182–183 Mérida Initiative 98–99, 106 Mexican Institute of Social Security 102 Mexico 3–4, 96–101, 103–107, 171, 196, 210; civil-military relations 72–73; drug trafficking organizations 12–13, 21, 28; homicide rate 120; judicial processes 43–44; migrants from Venezuela 169; military participate in peacekeeping missions 68; Odebrecht scandal 14; police 31–33, 36; prisons 54, 56–57, 59–61; response to Covid 9, 14–15; supreme court 48; violence 15–17, 29, 48 Mexico City 23, 38, 64, 97, 100, 173 Miami 13, 23, 64, 77, 124, 142, 155–156, 172–173, 206, 208 Michoacán 61, 103

218  Index

military 2, 16, 32, 40–42, 60, 66–76, 86–88, 96–102, 105–107, 110–123, 128–138, 141, 145, 148, 153–154, 159–160, 166, 175–185, 190–205 Military Police of Rio de Janeiro 33 mining 18–19, 25, 29, 50–51, 71, 160–161, 166, 168, 172–173, 196 Mining Arc 161 Ministerio de Defensa Nacional: Chile 192; Colombia 84, 86–87 Ministerio Público 43, 46, 50 money-laundering 12–13, 49 Montesinos, Vladimiro 49, 132 Montevideo 36 Morales, Evo 195 Morales, Jimmy 22 MORENA 107 Mourão, Antônio Hamilton 122 Movimiento Revolucionario Túpac Amaru (MRTA) 130, 132 Mozambique 14 MS-13/Mara Salvatrucha 17, 20, 57 murder rate 32, 45, 51, 120, 127, 171 narco-trafficking 49–50, 69, 96, 98, 100–101, 105–107, 167, 176, 178–181, 196 National Center for Intelligence (Mexico) 101 National Copper Corporation (Corporción Nacional del Cobre) (Chile) 198 National Directorate of Criminal Intelligence (Argentina) 177 National Directorate of Military Strategic Intelligence (DNIEM) (Argentina) 177 National Intelligence Directorate (Directorio de Inteligencia Nacional) (Chile) 200–201 National Intelligence Service (Peru) 132 National Penitentiary and Prison Institute (INPEC) (Colombia) 92 National Police: Colombia 32; Peru 33 Naval Prefecture/Prefectura Naval Argentina 179 neighborhood watch 47, 50 neoliberalism 11 Neves, Tancredo 115, 123 Nicaragua 9, 11, 27–28, 31, 33, 37, 68, 72–73, 150, 180 Noguera, Jorge 92 North America Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) 98, 100 Northern Triangle 2, 9, 12, 20–21, 45, 56–58, 75, 171 Nuevo Plaza Cartel 16 Odebrecht SA 13–14 Odebrecht Scandal 9; see also Odebrecht SA oil 14, 16, 18–19, 21, 23–24, 49–51, 73, 99–100, 102, 104, 157, 160, 171, 189 Operation Lava Jato 14, 49–50, 111, 121, 124n9 Operation Phoenix 69

Operation to Liberate and Protect the People (Operación de Liberación y Protección del Pueblo) 164 Operational Maneuver from the Sea 191, 205 organized crime (includes Transnational Organized Crime) 120–121, 167–168, 176, 178, 180–181, 195–196 paladares 147 Palm Oil (Plantations) 18, 50–51 Panama 14, 28, 46, 48, 72–73, 169 Paniagua, Valentín 129, 133 Paraguay 18, 31, 47–48, 68, 72–73, 178, 181–182, 196 paramilitaries 67, 69, 82, 91–92, 95, 167–168, 171 parapolítica scandal (Colombia) 91 Partido de Acción Nacional (PAN) 98–100 Partido de la Revolución Democrática (PRD) 99 Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI) 13, 20, 96–100 Pasqualini, Claudio 179 Pastrana, Andrés 13, 69, 87, 160 Paternalism 21, 148–149 Peace Zones (Zonas de Paz) 166 Peña Nieto, Enrique 16, 61, 96, 100 Penal code 46 Pérez Molina, Otto 49 Petén (Guatemala) 17 Petrobras (scandal) 14, 49 philanthropy 21, 26 Pilar Hurtado, Maria del 92 Pinochet, Augusto 42, 71, 192, 199–204; see also pinochetismo pinochetismo 202 Pinzón, Juan Carlos 70 Plan Mano Dura 58 Plan Super Mano Dura 58 Plan Victoria 69 plea bargains 46 police reform 28, 33, 37–39 Policía de Investigaciones de Chile 197 populism 15, 27, 210 pranes 161, 166, 170, 172 Prats, Carlos 200 prison(s) 20, 54–58, 61–62 privacy 36 privatized justice 48 PROSUB program (Brazil) 118 public defense 43–44, 46 Queenpins 56 Quintana Roo 13 racketeering 21, 49, 166 Ramirez, Marta Lucía 70 Ranflas 59 Rangel Ávalos, José Vicente 166 Raulistas 145 refugees 9, 21, 169–170

Index 219

Rengifo Ruiz, Marciano 135 restorative justice programs 46 Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) 9–10, 69, 81, 85–86, 88, 157, 160, 168–169 Reyes, Raúl 69 Rio De Janeiro 5, 20, 24, 33, 38, 77–78, 121–123, 126 Rivera Maradiaga, Devis Leonel 13 Rodríguez Orejuela, Miguel 13 Rodríguez, William 13 Rospigliosi, Fernando 134–135 Roto Chileno 191, 205 Rousseff, Dilma 14, 111, 119 rural militias 50 Salazar Umaña, José Adán 13 Salinas de Gortari, Carlos 96, 99 Salvadoran Constitutional Court 42 Salvadoran Supreme Court 59 Samper, Ernesto 13 San Martín (Peru) 130, 132 Sánchez Cerén, Salvador 59 Sánchez, Yoani 151, 153 Santiago de Cuba 152 Santos, Juan Manuel 13–14, 69, 85–87, 92–93 Sarney, Jose 115–116 Schneider, René 199–200 SEBIN 164 Secretaria de Assessoramento da Defesa Nacional 117 Secretaría de Defensa Nacional (SEDENA) (Mexico) 99–107 Secretaría de Marina (SEMAR) (Mexico) 99, 101–106 Secretariat of Communications and Transport (Mexico) 101 Secretariat of Health (Mexico) 102 Secretariat of Public Security and Citizen Protection (Mexico) 101 Sectorial Intelligence System (Brazil) 113 senderistas 139–140, 143 Sendero Luminoso/Shining Path 128, 130–131, 133, 139 Serviço Nacional de Informações (SNI) 114, 117 Sinaloa Cartel 61 Sinaloa Federation 15–16, 21 sindicatos 161, 166, 168, 170 SISFRON (Brazil’s Integrated Border Monitoring System) 118 Sistema Federal de Informações 114 Southern Cone 42 Southern Cross Brigade 182 Special Action Forces (Fuerzas de Acciones Especiales) – (Venezuela) 164 Special Commission for the Integral Reform of Justice (Peru) 47 Special Prosecutor for Women in Honduras 45 Subcomandante Marcos 100 Supreme Court of Venezuela 165

Tamaulipas 13, 23, 61, 103, 106 technology 1, 33, 36, 43, 67, 73, 182, 189, 194, 196–197 Temer, Michel 14, 121 terrorists 19, 59, 67, 137, 139, 141, 163, 173, 181, 197 Texis Cartel 13 Tierra Caliente of Mexico 50 Tocache, San Martín 132 Toledo, Alejandro 129, 135 traffickers 13–14, 16, 20, 57, 61, 67, 99, 133, 168; see also narco-traffickers Transportista organizations 21 Tri-Border Area 181 Tribunal Constitucional (Peru) 134 Tribunal Supremo de Justicia (Venezuela) see Supreme Court of Venezuela Trinidad and Tobago 72–73, 160, 169 Trochas 160 Truth Commission (Chile) 199, 201 Turkey 166, 199 U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) 97, 107 UNASUR 182, 189 ungoverned borderlands 67 Unidades de Polícia Pacificadora (UPP-Pacifying Police Units) 121 Union of South American Nations see UNASUR United Arab Emirates 166 United Nations International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala see CICIG United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH) 120, 185, 194 United States 1, 4, 9, 12–13, 16, 30, 67, 196, 203– 204; constitutions modeled 43; Department of Defense 192; drug trade 20–21, 28, 98, 168; faith in judiciary 48; homicide rate 120; influence of community policing 34; migrants from Venezuela 169; migration from Cuba 146; military professionalism 71–72; MINUSTAH 194, 203–204; normalization of relations with Cuba 149; origin of gangs 57; post-9/11 181; post-Cold War in Latin America 176; relation to Mexican prison system 59–61; relations with Mexico 97, 99–102, 105–106; support for Plan Colombia 75, 87–88 University of Huamanga 130 Upper Huallaga Valley 131 Uribe, Alvaro 69, 73, 87, 91, 93 Uruguay 10, 15, 28, 31–32, 35–36, 41, 48, 68, 72–73, 77, 169, 180, 182 Valle de los Ríos Apurímac y Ene 132; see also Valley of the Apurímac; VRAE Valle del Alto Huallaga (VAH) 131–134, 136, 144 Valley of the Apurímac 132 Varela, Iris 166

220  Index

Venezuela 4, 9, 11, 17, 157–174, 210; court packing 40–41; destabilizing impact 81; homicide rate 15; judicial processes 47–48, 51; military personnel and budget 72–73; ministry of defense 68; police 28, 31–32; refugees 21; support for Cuba 146; supreme court 45 Venezuelan Armed Forces (Fuerza Armada Nacional Bolivariana) 159, 167; see also FANB Venezuelan Violence Observatory 163 violence 2–4, 9–11, 15–22, 24–25, 27–30, 32–33, 37–38, 44–45, 54–55, 57–64, 67, 70, 75, 77, 81–86, 88, 90–91, 93, 95, 100, 103, 120–121, 124, 127–129, 131–132, 137, 139, 141, 159, 161, 163–164, 166–168, 170, 175, 191, 193, 196, 202–205, 210–211, 213 VRAE 132–134, 143

War of the Pacific 191, 193 War of the Peruvian-Bolivian Confederation 191 wealth tax 10, 86 Westphalian system 9, 23 World Bank 25, 44, 82–83, 94, 171, 178, 213 Yarrington Ruvalcaba, Tomas 13 Youth homicide rate 17 Zetas Organization 21 Zócalo 100, 108