Separatism and the State [1 ed.] 0367276488, 9780367276485

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Routledge Studies in Nationalism and Ethnicity

SEPARATISM AND THE STATE Damien Kingsbury

Separatism and the State

This book proposes and tests a ‘theory of separatism’ to determine if there are key commonalities as to why separatist movements rise and what fuels them. In the post–Cold War period separatism had been on the rise. Today, there are more than 100 active separatist movements, with around 70 of them engaging in violence. This book focuses on examples from Europe, the Middle East, Africa, and Asia to highlight the commonalities found across the case studies. It examines the idea of separatism, to better understand what drives movements to break away from preexisting states; demonstrates the factors which produce both violent separatism and the rise of armed non-state actors; and shows the options for the resolution of such conflict, based on considering claims for separatism from the perspectives of separatist movements. This book will be applicable for undergraduate and postgraduate students of International Relations and International Politics as well as Conflict/Peace Studies, Anthropology and Post-Colonial Studies. Damien Kingsbury holds a Personal Chair and is Professor of International Politics at Deakin University, Australia. His research interests include the politics of South-East Asia, particularly Timor-Leste, Indonesia and Sri Lanka; the role of the military in politics; security and terrorism; post-colonial political structures and nation formation; assertions of self-determination; and civil and political rights. He is widely published, having written, edited or co-edited more than two dozen books on these subjects.

Routledge Studies in Nationalism and Ethnicity Series Editor: Timofey Agarin, Queen’s University Belfast, UK

This new series draws attention to some of the most exciting issues in current world political debate: nation-building, autonomy and self-determination; ethnic identity, conflict and accommodation; pluralism, multiculturalism and the politics of language; ethnonationalism, irredentism and separatism; and immigration, naturalization and citizenship. The series will include monographs as well as edited volumes, and through the use of case studies and comparative analyses will bring together some of the best work to be found in the field. Nationalism, Ethnicity and Boundaries Conceptualising and understanding identity through boundary approaches Edited by Jennifer Jackson and Lina Molokotos-Liederman Minorities and Reconstructive Coalitions The Catholic Question Willie Gin Separatism and the State Damien Kingsbury Beyond Nationalism and the Nation-State Radical Approaches to Nation Edited by İlker Cörüt and Joost Jongerden For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Studies-in-Nationalism-and-Ethnicity/book-series/NE

Separatism and the State

Damien Kingsbury

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 Damien Kingsbury The right of Damien Kingsbury to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him 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. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Kingsbury, Damien, author. Title: Separatism and the state / Damien Kingsbury. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York : Routledge, 2021. | Series: Routledge studies in nationalism and ethnicity | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020046524 (print) | LCCN 2020046525 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367276485 (hardback) | ISBN 9780429297113 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Secession--Case studies. | Separatist movements. | Separatist movements--Case studies. | Sovereignty--Case studies. | Non-state actors (International relations)--Case studies. Classification: LCC JC327 .K57 2021 (print) | LCC JC327 (ebook) | DDC 320.1/5--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020046524 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020046525 ISBN: 978-0-367-27648-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-29711-3 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

For my darling wife, Rae, and my dear friend Neale Brumby.

Contents

Preface

viii

1 Introduction: The state and non-state actors

1

2 A brief history of separatism

9

3 A theory of separatism

29

4 Separatist conflict

50

5 Successful separatist movements

73

6 Separatism in Europe

95

7 Separatism in the Middle-East

118

8 Separatism in Africa

138

9 Separatism in South Asia

163

10 Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific

181

11 Conclusion

203

Bibliography Index

213 245

Preface

In writing this book, I am aware of the ‘predispositions of the analyst’ (Connor 1994:57); to that end, rather than try to disguise such predispositions, it is more transparent to outline them. I have increasingly been drawn into the web of independence or separatist movements over many years, initially as an academic researcher and analyst, as an electoral observer and as an adviser. It has been easy to be attracted to the calls for ‘liberation’ from oppressive states, although some of the more troubling aspects of such movements have also surfaced. These have included a retreat to a reified and sometimes exclusive ‘nationalism’, the demonstrator effect of violence, and the internal misuse of power. On this latter point, armed independence organizations necessarily require absolute unity of purpose and usually centralized top-down decision making. However, this usually means that the elites of such movements are not accountable for their actions which, over time, can produce self-indulgence or corruption. And, as observed by Huntington (1957), military or military-led organizations are necessarily closed and hierarchical and have little tolerance for dissenting views. In such circumstances, even supporters of liberation may feel disenfranchised from the decision-making process, rarely having a voice on who should make decisions, much less what decisions are taken. To be fair, armed struggles with limited resources cannot usually afford the relative luxury of public political debate. Where such debate is allowed to exist, the already challenged struggle for independence may become hopelessly compromised. Yet in creating unity of purpose and restricting a multiplicity of voices, internal violence can be used against otherwise loyal comrades. There is also the human cost of such movements, primarily borne by the members of the group that are intended to be liberated. This can be especially galling when set against the usually limited prospects of success. It is difficult to talk of the necessity of suffering or the greater good when a parent grieves for a lost child, or a child for a parent – that is already a price beyond which all but the most despotic and brutal regimes would otherwise charge. But, then, such movements do usually arise for compelling reasons. Then the question is not whether the price is too high – it has often already been paid; the question becomes one of redress, or revenge.

Preface ix In a rational world, the drivers of separatism can usually be resolved to the effective satisfaction of keys parties. But rationality is rarely present when such grievances are given life, and it tends to slip further away as conflict escalates. Notions of national unity or, more usually, state unity, are often over-stated and frequently conflate the interests of particular groups with the function of the state. ‘Predispositions’ can, then, become personal and I acknowledge a degree of bias in trying to understand such movements. Indeed, when planning this book, one person suggested that such a book would, by definition, be ethically compromised. My own view is that elucidation is self-justified, if acknowledging that any study of violent conflict is likely to produce strong responses. But, perhaps, this may just reflect an inherent subject ‘predisposition’. In any case, as Horowitz noted, studying what he viewed as a sub-category, the subject of separatism is ‘compelling on quite independent practical and intellectual grounds’ (2000:13–14). It is practically compelling because by understanding the drivers of separatist sentiment it may be able to at some point address them, or to prevent them from arising in the first place. Such a study is intellectually compelling because, as Horowitz again notes, the field is ‘rife with dogma and yet lacking in agreement on first principles’ (2000:14). This book intends to clarify such first principles. A book of this type must, by necessity, be limited in scope, and I have chosen particular case studies to illustrate, provide an exception or disprove key points. The case studies were not chosen because they conformed to a type but, rather, because they are illustrative of time and place and, I hope, offer insights into the wider phenomenon. If a ‘type’ exists, it reflects the underlying principles relevant to and present in the great majority, if not all, such movements. In a number of cases, I have had a close prior relationship with some of the actors and have, to varying degrees, been enmeshed in their activities. As a methodology, this is referred to as participant-response analysis or, in anthropological terms, ‘field work’. Other cases I have studied more distantly. Necessarily, many potential case studies have not been included. However, a selection of case studies from varying geographic locations and contexts allows some degree of insight. This book is, then, intended to be a contribution to the literature and, hopefully, fill the types of gaps that some other studies have glossed over by not being so predisposed.

1

Introduction The state and non-state actors

A remarkable feature of separatist movements, including armed separatist movements, is their optimism and high morale. Even when separatist movements are losing their struggle for a separate state, or the end point in the struggle remains distant and uncertain, separatists usually retain a bright idealism about that end state and are thus optimistic about achieving it. Such optimistic idealism contrasted with how separatists are commonly portrayed, as mistaken if not deluded and, when violence is involved, usually as ‘terrorists’. Yet to meet them, not just their leaders but their ordinary members, is to be struck by their willingness to give their all, all too often including their lives. It requires courage to be a separatist, particularly an armed separatist, to struggle against an established state. It also takes a particular clarity of will or commitment to rise above the fear and confusion that so often accompanies opposing the state. This courage and clarity is sometimes characterized as an irrational zealotry, or a commitment to a cause less noble than self-determination, such as greed or self-benefit. There is strength of purpose, no doubt, that might conform to a type of zeal, but rarely are such struggles waged for the purposes of financial gain, given the privations that usually accompany them. Rather, separatism is usually a rational response to types of structural marginalization, all too often accompanied by boots and guns on behalf of a government less inclined to accommodate than it is to repress.

A rise in separatism Separatism has increased since the end of the Cold War. The relative internal stability – or well-supported oppression – enjoyed by many client states of the two great superpowers has long since disappeared and, in the global re-ordering, often age-old grievances have manifested as conflicts, or at least contested claims to separate state identity. Of 275 major events of civil violence from 1945 to 2004, 113 of them were a consequence of secessionist or separatist claims (Gates and Strand 2004). According to the Correlates for War database (2011), separatist conflicts constitute at least 38 per cent of all intra-state wars in the period 1990–2007 (although they appear to have declined slightly since 2007) (see also Siroky 2011:46 on

2

Introduction

similar assessments). Depending on one’s perspective, separatism is a major threat to regional and global stability and security, or it is the legitimate expression of self-determination of aggrieved peoples. Into the 21st century, ethnic conflicts – principally around separatist claims – were expected to be the dominant form of conflict. Separatism also reflects the tensions inherent in globalization, with separatist groups at once retreating to the local but at the same time appealing to Universalist values of self-determination and human rights. Separatism rejects the idea of the antecedent state, regarding it as illegitimate in relation to its representation of a particular group of people within a defined territory. Legitimacy is understood here as the lawful governance of a people with their consent. By contrast, separatist movements regard themselves as the legitimate representation of such people. This is despite separatist movements almost always being defined as illegal within the terms of the state and, in case of armed separatism, criminal by definition rather than seeking to legitimately pursue an alternative vision for a people and their geo-institutional representation. With very few exceptions, separatist claims and state sovereignty are irreconcilably opposed, frequently leading to conflict.

Legitimacy and violence There are, within this context, four basic types of violence: legitimate state violence, illegitimate state violence, illegitimate non-state violence and legitimate non-state violence. The key point of contention here is not the meaning of violence but that of ‘legitimate’ or ‘illegitimate’. Legitimacy is etymologically derived from lex (law) but in a more common sense could be said to be the application or enforcement of laws agreed to and on behalf of the people. In this respect, legitimacy can be understood as the political manifestation of justice. Legitimate state violence accords with Weber’s definition of the state claiming a monopoly on the ‘legitimate use of force’ (2004:1). That is, the state may use force legitimately when it is enforcing laws that are intended to maintain public order and security, or when defending the state from attack. Illegitimate state violence is where the state employs force or violence in pursuit of illegitimate control or power or in ways which are not consented to by the population in question. The indiscriminate use of violence would apply to this category, as would the use of violence to repress legitimate dissent or dissent viewed by dissenters as a legitimate expression of their grievances. Illegitimate non-state violence refers to common criminal violence but may also imply political violence if that violence or its purpose is not supported by a large majority of the population. Legitimate non-state violence, on the other hand, is a highly contested concept given that any non-state violence is viewed by many as lacking in legitimacy. From the perspective of separatists in the field, the extent to whether the state has legitimacy or not is not a question – the state may or may not have legitimacy in its ‘own’ territory but, prima facie, does not have legitimacy in the territory claimed by the separatist organization. Indeed, there is invariably a ready

Introduction 3 explanation as to how the separatist territory in question was always sovereign and independent in its own right and that it being brought under the administrative control of a colonial power or the successor state was a historical wrong in the process of being corrected. As representatives from each separatist movement will confirm – and they will first say they are not ‘separatists’ because the term legitimizes the political entity they seek to separate from – that each situation is different. It is true that the specifics of each individual case of separatism have their own history, material circumstances, trajectory and so on. Each will, if they are to find resolution to their claims, accept or impose an outcome that is specific to the situation. And, in most cases they will maintain, morph or meld such claims to suit wider prevailing circumstances, for example to more volubly embrace democracy in a prodemocratic era. Most separatists can give a potted history of their territory, even if such ‘histories’ leave out some features or over-emphasize others; such embellishment of histories is neither novel nor exclusive to separatist organizations, given that virtually all states have preferred histories or mythologies which seek to legitimize the present. Add to that what is usually a strong sense of connection to community, either directly, assumed or ‘imagined’ (Anderson 1991) and a deeply entrenched and often bitter sense of grievance, and the claims of the ‘state’ quickly appear from that perspective as illegitimate. Violence or the use of force by the state, then, in these circumstances is regarded from the perspective of separatists as not just lacking in legitimacy but as the imposition of illegitimacy. By way of contrast, then, separatist claims and actions in support of such claims, up to and including violence, are from their perspective entirely legitimate; the state is something to be resisted, opposed and defeated. In the post-Westphalian era, however, states have not accepted the compelled devolution of their sovereignty to a separate body. Indeed, they have actively and often violently resisted devolution implying a reduction of sovereignty. Facing the threat of such loss of territorial integrity, it has been common for states to engage in higher-level force or violence, even where there is no threat of violence against them, and where such force or violence actually entrenches separatist sentiment. The break-up of state has not been resisted, however, where the state is in agreement with such regional separation. The departure of Singapore from the Malaysian Federation is a case in point, as is the territorial devolution USSR, Czechoslovakia and Eritrea (from Ethiopia), each of which was agreed. More to the point, where there is state opposition to secession, few such attempts to secede are successful. Of the dozens of attempts at compelled secession in the post-World War II era, only a handful have been successful. Through the direct intervention of a powerful neighbor, India, Bangladesh left Pakistan, through local rebellion and then international intervention, Kosovo left Serbia, as noted Eritrea left Ethiopia after an internal agreement to be realized at the end of the Ethiopian civil war, South Sudan left Sudan with agreement, but only after an alliance which sustained

4

Introduction

Sudan’s territorial integrity collapsed and a key party switched sides. East Timor achieved independence after a UN-supervised vote followed by UN-sanctioned military intervention.

This book The idea for this book arose out of more than two decades of firsthand experience in countries in which there were, or are, separatist claims, in a number of cases working with or having close access to separatist organizations. This experience has offered a nuanced understanding of the claims of such organizations than is sometimes offered from a more distant remove. In particular, it has revealed, time and again, the depth of commitment that accompanies fighting against the odds for a cause the meaning of which, for them, redresses sometimes extremes of exclusion and repression. The purpose of this book is to examine commonalities and distinctions between separatist movements. It asks if there are some common sets of circumstances that give rise to separatist movements and which thereafter characterize them, and what they might be, and what differences might exist between them that cast separatist movements as distinct from one another. Critically, too, separatist movements do not generally achieve their goals, which raises questions about why they embark on such seemingly hopeless causes and what factors tend to preclude their success. But, perhaps, most importantly, this book looks at what factors have been critical – and often common – to the handful of successful separatist movements. The book employs a multiple structure framework in order to analyze and evaluate the different circumstances in which separatist claims come into being and are sustained (Sartori 1970:1039; Horowitz 1985:16). The book’s main units of analysis include (i) systemic/structural conditions that contribute to separatist conflict; (ii) host state behavior towards minorities and its consequences; (iii) self-identifying groups and in relation to host states as the catalyst for separatism; and (iv) the role of external actors in shaping separatist outcomes. To try to achieve these inter-related goals, this book starts with a brief history of separatism before proposing a general theory of what conditions appear to be necessary for, and give rise to, separatist movements. This chapter goes to the core of the book’s purpose, to propose an understanding of the conditions that are necessary for a separatist movement to arise and of the circumstances which bring them into being. By understanding these conditions and circumstances, it may be possible for states that actually or potentially face separatist claims to resolve such claims through constructive and peaceful means. This assumes, of course, that the logic of the state is to seek inclusion, equity and volition rather than exclusion, inequity and compulsion. This then goes to the nature of the state and its relationship with its citizens. It is where that relationship collapses that, specifically defined, separatism is likely to occur, which claims to devolve part of the state as an independent entity.

Introduction 5 With competing claims to statehood and hence a monopoly on the use of force, many separatist claims evolve into violence, by both the state and separatist movements. Here separatist movements often share commonalities with other forms of political violence, in particular asymmetric warfare and, on occasions, proxy warfare on behalf of or strongly supported by an external state. Given the preponderance of violence in separatist claims and the type of conflict which often has a material outcome on the success or failure of separatist claims, the next chapter, Chapter Four, considers the types of wars that separatist organizations tend to become engaged in. A study of this type must necessarily acknowledge that a handful of separatist movements have been successful in securing their claims; Chapter Five therefore considers the cases of those successful separatist movements, as with other claims assessing whether they support or otherwise the preceding theory of separatism before focusing on the key elements that contributed to their success. Having considered case studies of successful separatist movements, the book then goes to a number of current separatist claims as case studies. These case studies are not exhaustive, but they are intended to be illustrative of the types of claims that occur in various regions. To this end, Chapter Six looks at a handful of separatist case studies in Europe, Chapter Seven considers case studies in the Middle East, Chapter Eight highlights a diverse range of case studies of separatism in Africa, Chapter Nine focuses on cases of separatism in South Asia while Chapter Ten scans a group of case studies of separatism in the Southeast Asia and Pacific region. Chapter Eleven is intended to bring together the key themes and ideas that emerged from the case studies and to return to the initial proposition concerning a general theory of separatism to see if it has held true and, if not, what the exceptions to it might be.

A note on terminology While the term ‘separatist’ or ‘separatism’ is obvious enough and the term is used in common parlance, to mean to break away from the state, there is debate among some scholars on the terminology, to which there is no settled answer. In short, the debate revolves around the term ‘separatism’, meaning to leave the state, or forms of government other than that of actually leaving the state. To leave the state is, in this view, ‘secessionism’. This may be a matter of semantics, but it is worth clarifying at the outset. Both ‘separatism’ and secessionism’ derive from the Latin ‘se’ (himself/itself, i.e. not of others but alone), although to translate both words into Latin and then translate back produces different meanings – to ‘secede’ produces deficio – to fade or diminish, while ‘separate’ produces seperatum – to separate, to be apart from. Contemporary meanings, however, change with usage, although ‘separatism’ and ‘secessionism’ are common enough synonyms for each other. Writing about Quebec, Woods (1981:110) defined ‘separatism’ to mean forms of association with the state other than full unity. Pavkovic (2011) similarly

6

Introduction

defined separatism as aimed ‘only at a reduction of the central authority’s control over the targeted territory and its population’ (see also Cabestan and Pavkovic 2013). To parallel Woods, Pavkovic and Cabestan’s meaning of ‘separatism’, and in agreement with Goumenos (2015) and Heraclides (1992:400), to mean self-government but not necessarily implying the creation of a new state, this book uses the term ‘autonomy’. Goumenos (2015), Doyle (2018) and Heraclides (1992) fall on the other side of the definitional debate from Woods, Cabestan and Pavkovic, identifying ‘secessionism’ and ‘stricto sensu separatism’ as synonymous. Gammer suggests the two terms are ‘practically synonymous’ but prefers ‘separatism’ for its simplicity (2014:37). To that end, the terms ‘separatist’ and ‘separatism’ are intended to have the same meaning as ‘secessionist’ and ‘secessionism’ – in this context to leave the state entirely. This book primarily uses the terms ‘separatist’ and ‘separatism’ rather the ‘secessionist’ and ‘secessionism’ simply because they are the terms more commonly used and understood. This use of the term, and understanding of it, is not least based on the firsthand data that has informed a number of the case studies, by people involved in such movements. Despite the diversity of separatist organizations (see Pavkovic and Radan 2011), some key principles may be found across them. Each of these principles may differ in intensity or in relation to other principles or may even, in rare cases, be largely absent but all will, in most cases, be substantially present in separatist movements to varying degrees. As an over-arching narrative, separatism is the claim for political control by a distinct community over the territory it inhabits which constitutes part of an existing state (Radan 2008) or, more particularly, through ‘the use or threat of force’ (Crawford 2008:375). The distinction between the two definitions, apart from the latter’s emphasis on force, is that Crawford defines separatism from an existing state whereas Radan expands his understanding to also include decolonization (as do Ryan Griffiths 2016:6; following Radan and Coggins 2014). The approach taken here aligns with Crawford in relation to existing states, if less so with the use of force. It is important to note here that not all separatist movements engage in conflict and that the definition of separatism does not imply violent conflict as a necessary condition. However, as a dependent variable, conflict is a common condition of separatist processes, initiated either by the state or by the separatist movement itself as a strategic tool for furthering aims. It is true to say that separatist claims tend to raise the possibility of violent conflict, not least because by challenging the state they also challenge the state’s claim over Weber’s much-cited monopoly of the use of force, the logic of which is the employment of its claimed monopoly. Separatism, unlike other types of internal conflict, directly challenges the concept of the territorial integrity of existing states (UN Charter, art.2, para.4). That is all the more problematic given the assumed permanence of state integrity has been ‘sacrilized’ since 1919 (Mayall in Pavkovic and Radan 2011:13). The assumption that existing states are somehow permanent is a recent historical invention intended to stabilize an unstable and conflict-prone world. This assumption has to

Introduction 7 a large extent achieved that goal of stability in relation to inter-state conflict but has, instead, led to a different type of intra-state conflict. Beyond this, there have been claims that claims to separatism have resulted in the formation of organizations that have, in turn, been labeled as ‘terrorist’ (Jackson 2007; Tuastad 2003), while the creation of new states as an outcome of secession may alter the strategic status of regional and international actors and respective balances of power.

Conclusion There was a moment, in the 1990s, when the tensions of the Cold War had ended and the opportunities for a peaceful future had never looked brighter. Democracy, in its various guises, appeared to have won, at least from the perspective of some triumphalists (e.g. Fukuyama 1992). This implied democracy’s corollaries: free and fair elections of representatives, accountable government, freedom of speech (and tolerance thereof), the right to assemble and protest, and freedom from arbitrary arrest, detention and torture. One might go a step further to suggest this further implied treating all citizens as equals and talking rationally with sections of communities that felt a deep sense of grievance. Sadly, this was rarely to be the case. The rhetoric or rights were further amplified by the spread of easily accessible globalized communications and the creation of new and larger global communities of information and ideas. On one hand this era held out the promise of fairness for all, while, on the other, it often failed to deliver on that promise. Rather, numerous clientelist states that had lost the support of their superpower patrons failed to adjust to these changing circumstances. As a result, groups that had been in rebellion were often emboldened; groups that had not yet formed as militant organizations found greater incentive and greater rationalization for coming into being. Rather than diminishing in this new world order, separatism surged. The attack on the New York World Trade Center on 11 September 2001 has been said by some to have marked the beginning of a new era in global politics. Certainly, for the United States, it abruptly ended any sense of complacency that might have come following the end of the Cold War, not least by marking the beginning of the global ‘War on Terror’. Many otherwise unreconstructed countries with separatist movements latched on to this anti-terrorism rhetoric, with the difficulty of trying to explain away the reasons why so many supposedly fellow countrymen and women were rebelling against the state being suddenly simplified by categorizing all armed non-state actors as ‘terrorists’, regardless of their tactics or legitimacy. Yet how states (and others) view separatism or separatist movements, either of their own or as a wider phenomenon, is of little concern to separatists themselves. For separatists, their causes are self-evidently justified. Already antithetically positioned vis-à-vis the state, being labeled as ‘terrorist’ or otherwise is irrelevant. As a consequence, other than where separatist movements had been completely destroyed (e.g. the Tamil Tigers of Sri Lanka), a compromise has been agreed to (e.g. Indonesia’s Aceh, the Philippines Muslim Mindanao) or victory

8

Introduction

has been achieved (e.g. Timor-Leste, South Sudan, Kosovo, Eritrea, Bangladesh), they continue to press their claims for an independent and sovereign state. Thus, as arguably the world’s most pressing security issue in terms of active conflicts, this book is intended to try to better understand the political phenomenon that is separatism. In that it seeks to understand commonalities between separatist movements, as well as differences, it is hoped that it might point to a way forward to being able to resolve separatist claims without violence and, even more optimistically, to suggest what states might try to do – or not do – to prevent them from occurring in the first place.

2

A brief history of separatism

Any account of separatist movements, in this case a selective history, continues to confront the question of what separatism is and what it intends to separate from. Prior to the advent of Westphalian states it would be difficult to characterize separatist movements as such, even though there were many regional rebellions against geographically larger polities. Arguments can be made for and against characterizing various types of self-determination movements and their relations with hegemonic powers, but, as noted in the following chapter, separatism in this context implies separation from a state or, at least, what is recognized as a state for the purposes of international relations. This chapter tracks the evolution of geographically specific challenges to political entities that were forerunners of what we might now understand as separatist movements. Separatism as a consistent theme was not yet developed, yet the yearnings of peoples to cast off an oppressor and have a state that reflected their sense of growing national consciousness. In some cases, too, such movements reflected disinclination to be subsumed under early assertions of major power hegemony. In particular, the evolution of such events reflects some of the key elements which echo throughout the later case studies. With the benefit of hindsight, these movements for self-determination might simply be viewed as the push and pull of history, of the settling of uncertain claims into more regularized forms. Yet this would be to assume that the world is now static, to ignore that it continues to evolve, and that the full gamut of political claims is far from settled. The rise of the Westphalian state, with seemingly fixed borders, and what appears to be the permanence given to states by the United Nations system of recognition have simply placed impediments in the way of changes to borders or the creation of new states. It has stopped neither such changes nor the emergence of new states. What each case study tells us is that when a bonded group of people in a particular geographic area has a sufficient grievance seemingly unable to be resolved by the state then the state ceases to have a purpose for them. This tendency to separate from a state seems to be as old as states themselves. This is especially so given that, prior to representative government, states were often unresponsive to the needs of many of the people who lived in them. Their choice, then, is to leave it and to create a new state that better suits their needs. In this respect, the more

10 A brief history of separatism distant past offers insights into the circumstances and motivations for the creation of new states which continues to find an echo in recent separatist claims. With this in mind, the case studies here trace the broad outline of earlier separatist claims, as well as of the types of polities such claims were made against. Movements for self-determination against land-based empires might comply more easily with this definition, but this then seeks to differentiate between types of empires on the basis of their contiguity or otherwise. An empire is a type of intentionally expansionist state formation incorporating a number of nations, either directly or indirectly (such as through a tribute system), in which the imperial power and its core population are politically dominant. So, too, with colonialism; to Western thinking, the idea of colonialism usually invokes occupation of other territories across seas, or what is referred to as the ‘salt water’ understanding of colonialism. This version of colonialism arrived with Europe’s great age of empire-building, in which few corners of the globe were safe from the reaches of the new merchant-military navies and then industrial military powers. Yet notions of colonial empire have, more historically, been reflected in the occupation of contiguous territories, not least because it did not require a costly naval fleet capable of transporting an army and their wares across often treacherous seas, nor the mapping and navigation methods required for such a venture. Of course, the Mediterranean has had as far back as recorded history armies that have sailed from point to point. Yet the great empires of that part of the world have, with a few exceptions, been more or less contiguous. Similarly, China’s Zheng He (Cheng Ho) managed a magnificent fleet in the early 15th century, but the nation’s principal conquests were on the mainland, while the Mongols before them were entirely land-based yet created, briefly, the world’s largest empire. The Alexandrian, Roman and Mughal empires were all more or less contiguous, as were the empires of what was to become Iran and the Middle-East. More recently the Russian and Byzantine and Ottoman empires extended great reach yet were principally contiguous; so too the later AustroHungarian Empire. Only from the Age of Navigation were empires commonly across distant oceans. The Russian empire transformed itself into the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), with each constituent republic based on a pre-existing national grouping, each with its own branch of the communist party. This was a tight, centrally controlled arrangement under the USSR, which functioned as, and was recognized as, a state. Each of these empires incorporated various distinct peoples, ruling with differing degrees of capacity, order and acceptance. For many, before the era of nation-states, imperial masters were a fact of life and few peoples saw the benefit in rebellion; trading one autocratic master for another did not usually promise a qualitatively different life experience. There were, none the less, many regional rebellions against imperial masters; Jews, Spanish, Gauls, Franks and Germanic tribes against imperial Rome, Vietnamese and Burman against China, Greeks against Ottomans, Serbs against

A brief history of separatism 11 Ottomans and then Austro-Hungarians. Each of these was contiguous. Importantly, then, separatism does not, with some exceptions, here include movements for independence from non-contiguous imperial or colonial masters. Some observers (e.g. Radan in Pavkovic and Radan 2008) might refer to tendencies among particular groups to separate, or want to separate, from colonial empires as constructed during the Great Age of Navigation as ‘separatism’. In this, separatism is conflated with state creation. But that model perhaps better refers to national liberation movements prior to the establishment of states as such. There is, of course, much overlap between aspiration of liberation from colonialism and separatism and, in some respects, there is no particular dividing line that places them in neat and hermetically sealed categories; social sciences may have taxonomies for political genus, species and sub-species, but the extent to which social behavior can be described and analyzed is rarely able to say with any degree of certainty where one political context absolutely ends and another begins. To this end, there may be some ambiguity around whether an anti-colonial liberation movement is a separatist one if the territory it seeks to separate from is contiguous. Assuming all else being equal, the simple question of dry land contiguity cannot, of itself, remove legitimacy to one movement in the eyes of the international community while a lack of physical contiguity, under UN decolonization principles, restores such legitimacy. If otherwise, the world’s most geographically dispersed state, Indonesia, with some 13,000 occupied islands, would prima facie have difficulty in sustaining its commitment to statehood in the eyes of the international community, which is a key criterion for such statehood to exist. Having said that, Indonesia’s lack of contiguity has bedeviled its insecure sense of itself as a state, much less a nation, which has been reflected in its own separatist movements and the stridency of its claims to unity, for which it has sought – in some cases demanded – international support. On the other hand, contiguity itself is not a defining feature of unity; many states sit cheek by jowl with others yet are separately defined. The issue seems to rest on the initial claim of the state in question, that it be recognized as a state rather than as an empire. Some states are, in practice, empires, or polities of an imperial construct; Myanmar and China come to mind, along with Morocco’s annexation of Western Sahara and perhaps Indonesia in its initial iteration as the territorial successor to the Dutch East Indies empire. Yet recognition of political constructs as states, regardless of the way in which they were constructed, creates differing responses to their dismemberment. As such, claims to and international recognition of statehood seem to diminish the opprobrium attached to empires. Yet such states may function in a perfectly imperial manner and, consequently, from time to time rouse the ire of their ‘colonial’ inhabitants. Critically, too, while separatist or independence movements might exist within states or within empires, how the larger polity is defined is very much less important to other states than are their strategic interests. That is to say, ‘legitimacy’ or otherwise may be conferred upon a separatist movement according to whether its success or failure suits the strategic interests of other interested states. This,

12 A brief history of separatism then, has little or nothing to do with legitimacy as such, much less consistency of outlook or its much abused relative ‘principle’, and everything to do with preserving (and maintaining the domestic principle of preserving) the status quo, to playing mischief with another’s troubles to outright support or direct intervention. In very rare cases, principle may be, or be seen to be, the driving favor in aiding or directly intervening in the separation of part of a state from its host. But it is very rarely the only principle and, very often, may be employed as a high public purpose only by way of disguising a low private gain. For the purpose of this discussion, then, independence claims which are characterized as separatism will apply to states, even where the state in question might function more along imperial lines of inclusion, domination and exploitation.

Separatism and the state As a state-based political phenomenon, separatism did not much exist prior to the advent of post-Westphalian states and, arguably, before the rise of nationalism and the ‘nation-state’ in the 19th century. Prior to the creation of such states, the status of regions was rarely determined by more or less voluntary association and much more by force of arms, so that the question of ‘separation’ of a particular territory from another was determined by external actors rather than local assertions of independence and, moreover, usually resulted in incorporation into another polity. The patchwork of kingdoms and principalities that was Europe, and the subsequent border regions of most countries, has changed significantly since the beginning of the 19th century. Indeed, the borders of almost all countries have changed since they came into being, while many new states have emerged and many more have disappeared. The history of states is, therefore, nothing if not dynamic and claims to independent statehood from within existing states can be seen as part of that historical progression. The 1648 treaties which comprised the Peace of Westphalia have been credited with providing states with exclusive sovereignty within its defined territory. The post-Westphalian states, and in particular those that came into being on the back of 19th-century nationalism, arose around either a contiguous metropolitan center and/or a dominant language group (notwithstanding the distinct minority languages and dialects that might have existed within them). In cases where a metropolitan center did not exist or where a dominant language group was not geographically available, the states in question underwent a process of redefining their borders and to a greater or lesser extent integrating non-national populations. Exceptions to this process were in Switzerland, which between 1291 and 1499 adopted rules of incorporation over more primordial nationalist forms, and states that have continued to experience anti-state militancy based on such national primordialism (e.g. the Basque region of Spain, former Yugoslavia, former Soviet Union, Belgium, and Scotland and Wales in the UK). The idea of separatism can, arguably, be traced to the Roman Empire which, despite being an empire in a classical sense, could from 212 CE also be considered as a (civic) state. It was from this time that citizenship was granted to all free

A brief history of separatism 13 born inhabitants of the empire, building upon established rule of law available to those citizens, and a common (if not universal) language through which to understand it. Currency, taxation and a road system also tied together the empire as a type of federation. Assuming this state status, there were numerous rebellions that could be considered as separatist, but which from a local perspective were more wars or removing a foreign invader. In a similar manner where empire was to develop state-like characteristics, in the 15th century what was to become the Netherlands was incorporated into the Hapsburg Empire and, through family succession, devolved into a non-contiguous kingdom. Though having its origins in the court at Brussels, the kingdom took on an increasingly Spanish hue and, in response to despotism, religious conflict and increasingly independent corporate trade and finance, in the late 16th century what is now the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxemburg rose in revolt against the Spanish-centered kingdom, sparking the Eighty Years’ War. Though starting as a single, if non-contiguous kingdom, the ending of Spanish rule in 1648 marked the successful separation of the northern part of that kingdom (see van der Lim 2018). Importantly, too, the conclusion to this conflict, and of the Thirty Years’ War with which it had become conflated, produced the Peace of Munster as part of the wider Peace of Westphalia, establishing the modern state system. Despite the creation of the idea of state sovereignty, Europe continued to see numerous realignments of borders, with the creation, disappearance and reappearance of several countries. The UK’s own unity was tested by Scottish and Irish rebellions, the latter largely successful in separating from a formal state of union in 1922 (see Chapter Six). Though wars continued and there were from time to time regional revolts, the idea of separatism was not yet a common one, not least because much of the world was still ruled by empires and, in Europe and the Americas, a premium was placed on stability through either hegemony or a balance of power.

Greece and the Ottomans The issue of Greece’s separation from the Ottoman Empire marks perhaps the next clearest example of early separatism, if reprising questions about whether separatism can only be such if it is from within a state. The Ottoman Empire was not a state as such but rather ruled by conventional imperial methods. None the less, it was regarded by other states (and empires) as a state for the purposes of international relations, and it was this factor that shaped the role of the international community in how it viewed, and later intervened in, shaping the future of Greece. Greece can be said to have existed since antiquity, yet what was then Greece was not that but a series of city states that shared a language1 but which were for the most part separate polities. For most of its post-city state history, what became known as Greece was subsumed into competing empires. There was, however, a sense of collective identity, if at least in part due to external threats. Greek scholars and playwrights, such as Aeschylus, recognized a

14 A brief history of separatism ‘pan-Hellenic’ (all Greek/Greece) identity in the battle cry of his play The Persians (472 BCE): ‘Now, sons of Hellas, now! Set Hellas free, set free your wives, your homes, Your gods’ high altars and your fathers’ tombs. Now all is on the stake!’ (Murray 1939:40). This identity took a more concrete form under Phillip II’s creation of the League of Corinth (338 BCE) and the Kingdom of Macedon, and again under the post-Alexandrian Antigonid Dynasty (306–168 BCE) (Pohlenz 1966:Ch 2). It was from this time that Greece became subsumed by other imperial powers, initially that of Rome, the Holy See and then the Byzantine Empire. The Despotate of Epirus (1204–1479) corresponded, from around 1230, to much of north-western of Greece, although was in retreat from 1252 and critically never included the area of the later capital of Athens, the Peloponnese, Crete or the eastern islands. Athens was, from 1205, a Crusader state styled as the Duchy of Athens under a wider Crusader-derived Frankocratia (the ‘Latin Empire’), which also included the Kingdom of Thessalonica, the Principality of Achaea (Peloponnese), the island Duchy of Naxos and sundry others (see Tricht 2011:Ch 1). These Crusader states survived until being overcome, with minor exceptions, by the Hellenic Nicaean Empire in its restoration of the Byzantine Empire in 1261. By the early 1300s, however, Turkish beyliks (principalities) had occupied most of Nicaea. The consolidated Ottomans expanded their reach throughout the 14th century, effectively controlling almost all of what is now Greece by the mid15th century. Ottoman rule in Greece was often brutal, with high taxes, including one in five children being required for submission for Islamization and Ottoman service. Outbreaks of resistance, particularly in support of Venetian campaigns against the Ottomans, led to direct military rule in some areas. Greek merchants, however, began to prosper under Ottoman stability, forming a new national elite. Traders introduced Enlightenment ideas from Europe, inspired by the Russian Ottoman War of 1768 (in which some Greeks participated) and the ideas of the French Revolution of 1789, all of which contributed to a developing spirit of nationalism (from 1811 to 1821) reflected in the Greek literary magazine Hermes o Logios (Hermes the Scholar) (Mackridge 2009:142). With a growing desire for Greek independence, the secret Filiki Eteria (Friends Society) was established in 1814, comprising business, political and military leaders (Chrysopoulos 2018). By 1818 the organization had established a network and mass initiations under a Freemason-type top-down hierarchy (Waddington 1825:i–xv), with its initial military force comprising diaspora Greeks in nearby countries. An initial uprising in the Ottoman frontier region of Moldova in October 1820 was crushed, with the deaths of thousands of Greeks, but it was the signal that sparked a wider uprising, proclaimed by Bishop Germanos III on 25 March 1821. Combatants in the Greek cause included the armatoloia (Christian Greek soldiers initially employed by the Ottomans but who had become largely independent) as well as klephts (bandits who lived in the mountains and resisted Ottoman rule); both were well armed, well trained and formed the nucleus of the armed resistance. Despite a number of setbacks, Greek forces won numerous important victories, with the war seeming to stabilize around irregular Ottoman

A brief history of separatism 15 campaigns, appalling massacres on both sides, and sufficiently consistent Greek victories. The war and the numerous atrocities and massacres of Greeks aroused sympathy and support in some European quarters, notably among Philhellenes (admirers of Greece, particularly Classical Greece). However, key European political leaders were dismayed at the prospect of a Greek push for independence destabilizing a delicate balance of regional power. The Filiki had hoped for Russian support, on the premise of Russian antipathy towards the Ottoman Empire and a shared Orthodox Christian faith. This was not initially forthcoming but, as Ottoman killing of Greek Orthodox priests escalated, including the execution of Patriarch Gregory V, Russian Emperor Alexander I broke off diplomatic relations with the Sublime Porte (the seat of Ottoman government). On top of increasing popular support for the Greek cause in Europe and in particular in the UK, the banks of which privately financed the Greek cause, what changed the course of the war was increasing European concern that the Russian Empire could unilaterally intervene in the conflict. Already growing at the expense of the Ottoman Empire elsewhere, there was concern that Russian expansion could undermine the foundation of Europe’s balance of major powers, as expressed in the 1815 Concert of Europe. The UK approached Russia with a proposal to mediate between the Greeks and Ottomans, with a view to Greek autonomy under Ottoman suzerainty. Despite agreeing in principle, the Ottomans and their Egyptian allies continued fighting. France now joined the UK and Russia, for fear of losing influence over the outcome of any resolution (Heraclides and Dialla 2015:Ch 6). With an offer of further negotiations rejected by the Ottomans, in response, in 1827 the UK and France sent their Mediterranean fleets to Greece to meet with Greek leaders. Following their agreement to a negotiated settlement, the UK and France prepared to insist on Ottoman acceptance of an armistice. The UK and French squadrons were joined there at Navarino Bay (contemporary Pylos) in the Peloponnese by a Russian squadron. Meanwhile, an Egyptian/Tunisian Ottoman fleet was sailing towards Navarino; to avoid conflict the two sides reached a compromise whereby if the Ottoman commander would seek new orders from the Porte if Greeks and Panhellenes could be persuaded to cease attacks. However, when a Philhellenic, former UK naval officer led a Greek attack which destroyed Turkish ships in the Gulf of Corinth, the Egyptian commander in Navarino Bay attempted to send a squadron after the attackers. Twice they were turned back by the allied ships, followed by an escalation of land attacks by Ottomans against the Greeks. In response to deteriorating weather, the combined allied fleet moved into Navarino Bay where the Egyptian fleet lay. A British frigate was sent to ask the Ottomans to move their fire ships but, as they approached, a British officer was shot by an Egyptian sailor. Returning musket fire was met by cannon fire, marking the beginning of a naval battle in which 79 of 85 Egyptian ships were destroyed for no loss of any of the 22 allied ships (Woodhouse 1965). Russia used the opportunity the following year to declare war on the Ottoman Empire, with French forces clearing the Peloponnese and reorganized Greek

16 A brief history of separatism forces seizing more territory ahead of an allies-imposed ceasefire. British, French and Russian diplomats met in 1828 to determine the new borders of an autonomous (but not yet independent) Greece, changed before implementation in 1829 to an independent monarchical state (proposed by the UK and France to limit Russian influence), implemented under the first Greek king in 1832. UK, French and Russian military engagement marked one of, if not the, earliest examples of foreign intervention in support of state secession. The Greek Revolution marked a key moment in European nationalism, with many of the peoples of Balkans region, inspired by the Greeks, fighting for and winning independence (Serbia having embarked on a similar course before Greece, but gaining independence later). Inspired by Greece, in 1831 the Poles also rose against Russia but were defeated, having to wait for independence, as did many nascent states, until the conclusion of World War I. Importantly, the idea of a shared Greek identity had a long historical memory, if subsumed by centuries of foreign occupation; its language, culture and religion were broadly shared and, importantly, were unified in the face of an occupying enemy. But the independence of Greece was, first and foremost, a consequence of foreign intervention, in turns diplomatic and military. That Greece’s first king was Bavarian Prince Otto was testament to just how much the new state was, in the end, a product of Great Power decision-making in an effort to preserve a balance of power between states other than that which received independence.

Belgium The creation of the state of Belgium in 1830 is one of the earliest and least ambiguous examples of successful separatism from a conventional state. As with most other separatist movements, Belgian separatism was based on a long prior history and distinct geographic interests. But it was also a reflection of a logic within independence movements that, once independence for the state is achieved there can be a further tendency towards independence of a recently independent state’s constituent parts. Further, having achieved independence, Belgium, too has been tested by both separatist aspirations as well as a potential division of the state into two halves. As with much of Europe, what was to become Belgium was preceded by the rule of empires; initially comprising a confederation of tribes, referred to by the Roman as Belgae and occupying the region north of Gaul above the River Seine, and west of the Rhine. Thereafter was a succession of empires; the Frankish Merovingian kings and Carolingian Empire (Milis 2006:Chs 2, 3), the divided successor Lotharingia which in turn was subsumed into the Holy Roman Empire which, from 1440, came under the dominance of the Habsburg family, the Burgundian branch of which had relocated to the ‘Seventeen Provinces’. The Habsburg Netherlands passed to the Spanish Habsburgs in 1556 (see Blockmans et al. 1999). What became Spanish rule in the 17 Provinces was remote and unpopular, creating friction with local merchants and nobility and tensions over religious

A brief history of separatism 17 differences, sparking revolt in 1566 and the start of the Eighty Years War or the Dutch War of Independence. Northern resistance led to the ousting of the Spanish from the seven northern provinces in 1581, leading to the establishment of the Dutch Republic. The war continued in the south, however, only reaching a truce in 1609 but renewing in 1619 as part of the wider Thirty Years’ War. The war concluded with the Treaty of Munster, leaving the 17 provinces divided, the north approximating the contemporary Netherlands and the south, as the Spanish Netherlands, approximating Belgium (Croxton 2013:Chs 2, 9). The War of Spanish Succession led to Belgium becoming an Anglo-Dutch condominium in 1706 and the Austrian Netherlands in 1714 (Falkner 2015:Ch 3). The territory was annexed by revolutionary France in 1794 and formally relinquished by the Hapsburgs in 1797. At the dissolution of the First French Empire in 1814, the ‘Low Countries’ were brought together as the United Kingdom of the Netherlands, compensating the Netherlands for the loss of overseas territories to the UK. The union was not a happy one, however, and by 1830 the southern Netherlands was in rebellion. There were several factors leading to the rebellion, including under-representation in the general assembly and ministry, Dutch dominance of administration, the equal distribution of a debt incurred by the north and a free trade policy which hurt the more industrial south, exacerbated by the loss of French markets. William I moved control of education away from the church to the state, which angered southern Catholics, while Dutch became the sole language of the army, which was comprised of a larger proportion of southerners, many of whom were French dialect Walloons. Dutch was also to be made the official language of the Flemish, who spoke distinct Dutch dialects. As discontent grew, the state administration began to limit the press and freedom of assembly. The coexistence of two state religions throughout the kingdom became unacceptable to both sides. Southerners watched with enthusiasm the July Revolution next door in France and, in August, during the celebration of the birthday of William I, rioting broke out, leading to the occupation of government buildings. Despite sending troops, determination for Belgian independence only grew, along with continued fighting. France supported the Belgians, which threatened to again destabilize Europe; to forestall further instability, on 20 December the London Conference of 1830 brought together five major European powers, Austria, Britain, France, Prussia and Russia (see Fishman 1988), to settle the issue. As a, perhaps the, principal battleground of Europe, Belgium was an ideal candidate as a buffer state between France and Prussia, with the state to be derived from agreement about how to best achieve a European balance of power. In this, the sentiment which gave rise to the new state was domestic, forged on the back of the grievances of a bonded people, but the circumstances which allowed the state to come into being were determined by the European powers. As a creation of European powers, both the Netherlands and France proposed candidates for the new country’s monarchy. However, a Dutch candidate was not acceptable to the Belgians and a French candidate was not acceptable to other European powers. In the end, and after first having rejected a similar offer from Greece, the politically acceptable Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg accepted the

18 A brief history of separatism Belgian crown (Deseure 2019). Belgium’s existence, therefore, was a product of international interests combining to find a solution to international problems in the form of a new state. It demonstrated, again, that foreign intervention was a powerful element in the success of separatist claims.

Mexico and American separatists The United States of America was founded upon a fundamental principle of liberty, which from the outset imbued many of its citizens with a sense of independence from the government they believed did not adequately reflect their shared interests or their shared concerns. Combined with romanticized conceptions of ‘manifest destiny’,2 it was of little surprise that Americans heading into, for them, new territories had little regard for pre-existing populations or the niceties of nonUS sovereignty (see Rives 1913:23–24). What was to start as an act of separatism ended as the expansion of a restless and still growing state. Mexico was a vastly larger country at this time, having inherited Spain’s territories to what is now Mexico’s north. These included the often sparsely settled areas of Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, Nevada, California and the south-western corner of Wyoming. But, not least due to political instability, sparse populations and, in Texas, combative indigenous tribes, Mexico exercised little practical control over much of this frontier region. Under the Louisiana Purchase of 1803, the United States claimed the eastern part of Texas, which the then sovereign authority, Spain, had denied, but agreeing in 1819 to a boundary at the Sabine River (which now demarcates the US states of Louisiana and Texas). Many American settlers eager for new lands ignored this new border and, often in armed groups, settled in the Mexican state of ‘Tejas’ (Texas). With Mexican independence in 1821, Texas came under Mexican administration, with Mexican authorities quickly liberalizing immigration to the region, from within Mexico but also from Europe and, predominantly, the United States, in a bid to counter hostile indigenous Comanche raiding. Texas’ non-Mexican population quickly surpassed the prior Mexican population, with its new settlers not regarding themselves as Mexican and tending to ignore Mexican law, particularly in relation to owning slaves, which was common among the US settlers from nearby slave-owning states. Slavery became a major point of contention between newly independent, anti-slavery Mexican authorities3 and American Texans (Bugbee 1898:392). Despite ending lawful immigration from the United States in 1830, illegal immigrants continued to move into Mexico. There was by this stage a strong ‘Texian’ identity among the settlers, and a clearly defined territory they dominated. Tensions between the settlers and the Mexican government grew into grievances over Mexican enforcement of taxation, anti-smuggling activities and attempting to end slavery. This erupted into open conflict in 1832 over Mexican attempts to stop smuggling into the territory by sea (settlers were barred from living within 42 kilometers/26 miles of the coast for this reason). Further conflict arose when settlers were arrested under Mexican, rather than US, law. This

A brief history of separatism 19 conflict coincided with a Mexican rebellion, with Texans siding with the pro-state Federalists against the centralized government in Mexico City, forcing Mexican troops out of eastern Texas (Harstad and Resh 1964). Conflict between Texans and the Mexican government again erupted in 1835 over taxation and smuggling, escalating into full-scale rebellion. Despite initial losses, with arms and supplies from a sympathetic United States and American volunteers supporting their ‘fellow countrymen’ (Tucker 2018:27– 28), by 1836 the Texans had defeated the Mexican forces, capturing Mexican President Antonio López de Santa Anna and forcing him to formally recognize Texas’ independence. Facing a weakened central government, a unified people in a delineated territory with grievances (if in large part of their own making), enjoying the support of a powerful neighbor, marked what might be seen to be a conventional separatist cause and, ultimately, the reasons for its success. There was, however, an underlying consideration on the part of many Texan separatists, to unite with the United States. Reflecting the desire of many Texans, including those who had initiated separation from Mexico, in 1845 Texas’ citizens voted for voluntary annexation by the United States. With unity came disagreement between Mexico and the United States, particularly over contested border areas, leading to breaking diplomatic relations and, in 1846, US military enforcement of the US Texas’ territorial claims. An initial small battle, which the United States lost, triggered the subsequent Mexican-American War. The consequence of that war was that Mexico ceded a huge swathe of territory under the 1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo (‘Mexican Cession’) for the sum of $15 million (Smith 1941:77–78). That territory was to comprise the whole southwest of the United States of America. Its inclusion within the United States constituted a decisive step towards the fulfillment of the (sometimes unstated) policy of US territorial expansion (Rives 1913:658). In this respect, Texas’ successful separation from Mexico was ultimately as much, or more, about US territorial expansion as it was about a bonded people in a defined territory seeking independent control of their own affairs.

The US Civil War What is arguably the first new country of the modern era, the United States of America, gave the world one of the early and most tumultuous cases of separatist rebellion in the modern context – the American Civil War. This war marked a profound internal division within a new state, as well as bluntly demonstrating the difficulty of seeking to separate a territory against the wishes of the host state. The American Civil War is also an important early case study of a separatist claim, being a precursor to later post-colonial separatist causes with a recently independent set of colonies joining together to achieve independence as a state but, upon doing so, finding post-colonial differences overwhelming the commonalities that initially brought them together. Within the context of separatism, southerners and northerners were culturally different only in terms of emphasis, but not of ‘national’ type; they spoke the same

20 A brief history of separatism language, differentiated primarily by accent. There was, more importantly, a clear territorial division between the north and the south, marked by the alignment of constituent states, the division of which was defined in economic terms (Egnal 2009). The war, from 1861 to 1865, was the earliest example of industrial warfare, employing mass transportation, rapid communications and the gearing of industry towards war production. Unlike most separatist rebellions, however, it was fought primarily by conventional armies, reflecting the constituted statehood of the antagonists; the Confederacy opposing the Union. The United States had been formed from 13 colonies in 1783 at the conclusion of the American Revolutionary War, marking their voluntary inclusion as states. The Revolutionary War had bound most Americans together, that bond being further strengthened by the War of 1812. Yet as the United States grew, differences arose between the states across a broadly north-south divide. The northern states had initially evolved as a series of colonies heavily influenced by Protestant, and in particular, Puritan, Christian belief. Elements of this religious zealotry continued to inform the cultural development of the United States, particularly in its north and expansionist aspirations to the west. One element of this became manifested as a movement to end slavery, which then predominated in the south (although which also had a presence in some northern states). Being founded at different times and hence reflecting the changing patterns of religion in the dominant settler state, Britain, the southern states tended not to have such a puritan outlook but were rather influenced by ‘southern’ interpretations of Baptism, Methodism and Presbyterianism which used references to slave-owning in the Bible to justify the practice (as northern Christians similarly found moral reasons to ban slavery). More important, however, was that the southern states had developed as successful plantation economies (Conrad and Meyerbook 1958); for this, slavery was a critical economic factor, supplemented by expanded subsistence agriculture, giving it a predominantly rural character. The north, however, was industrializing and modernizing, giving it an increasingly urban character. The southern economy was predicated upon a static economic model, whereas the northern economy was rapidly evolving (Huston 2003); the south similarly advocated more strongly for free trade (in support of its primary exports) and state’s rights, while the north emphasized economic protectionism (in support of industry) and federal union. Slavery was the touchstone issue for these disputes. Article 6 of the Northwest Ordinance of 1787 had banned slavery from new territories north-west of the Ohio River. The Ordinance also established the then new federal government as sovereign in the new territories, increasing the power of the Union manifested as the central government at the expense of the states. Further entrenching this division, the controversial 1820 Missouri Compromise divided the country at the 36°30' parallel between northern anti-slavery states and southern pro-slavery states, allowing slavery in the new state of Missouri while banning it in the new state of Maine.

A brief history of separatism 21 Former President Thomas Jefferson said, at the time: ‘I considered it at once as the knell of the Union. It is hushed indeed for the moment. But this is a reprieve only, not a final sentence. A geographical line, coinciding with a marked principle, moral and political, once conceived and held up to the angry passions of men, will never be obliterated; and every new irritation will mark it deeper and deeper’ (Jefferson 1829). As new states were developed, following the Louisiana Purchase of 1803, southern states attempted to expand slave ownership, marking a key disagreement with the northern states which were building momentum towards ending slavery altogether (Potter 1965). The North, under a Republican administration, appeared little interested in compromise; so too the southern states felt they had little room within which to maneuver. The United States was opening up new territories, not least as a consequence of the land acquisitions following the Mexican-American War, and the contest over whether new states would be pro-slavery or anti-slavery began to force the issue. Matters came to a head as the first fighting over the issue of slavery broke out in Kansas. In 1854, the government had passed the Kansas-Nebraska Act which allowed the residents of Kansas to vote on whether their state would be a slave state or a ‘free’ (non-slave) state. Supporters of both sides flooded into the state and skirmishes broke out, lasting for years. The events of this time were referred to as ‘Bleeding Kansas’ (Earle and Burke 2014; Etcheson 2004). Kansas entered the Union as a free state in 1861, but not before giving southerners a sense of what they might have to confront if they were to save slavery. Seeking to preserve their economy, slavery, states’ rights and, more amorphously, their way of life (Woodworth 2000), and following the escalation of violent conflicts in frontier states, the election of Abraham Lincoln as president in 1860 tipped the balance. This was reflected in Lincoln being elected with strong northern support, but no support in the south. In February 1861 the southern states established a new Confederate government and adopted the Ordinance of Secession, for which there was strong and growing support (Walker 1993; Barney 1974). Believing conflict now inevitable, ahead of Lincoln’s inauguration, on 12 April 1861 the Confederacy struck first by demanding the surrender of Fort Sumter which controlled Charleston Harbor, South Carolina, and, when this was not forthcoming, attacking Fort Sumter, thus marking the start of the American Civil War. From the outset, the war was fought on unequal terms; the population of the Union, at 22 million, was more than twice as large as that of the Confederacy, at 9 million (of whom around 3½ million were slaves). The Confederate States had 10, possibly fewer, ships; the Union had 90 and could blockade the Confederacy, eventually strangling its export trade; the Union held 90 per cent of manufacturing plants and 71 per cent of the rail network. Even in agriculture, which underpinned the Confederate economy, it only held 35 per cent of farm acreage, while the north held 65 per cent (Tucker 2018:210). The Confederacy recognized its disadvantage, but counted on its trading partners, the UK and France, to support it. The two European countries had little interest in this domestic US dispute and the anticipated support never materialized.

22 A brief history of separatism From this point, the Confederacy hoped to be able to fight a defensive war which would stretch Union capacity and will to fight, yet when the Union moved to invade the South it was able to do so with relative ease, relying on its extensive train networks and the river systems that bisected the South. The Confederacy started its separatist war well, as it needed to, given the odds against it. It won or drew a series of battles and proved to the Union that its bid for independence would not be easily abandoned. The Union, similarly, was initially taken aback at the determination of the Confederacy’s resistance. Though the Confederacy won some important battles, it needed to win decisively in order for it to be a victory that counted; a draw in such a battle, or a less than truly decisive victory was, proportionately, a loss for the Confederacy. It had too few decisive victories and, as the war drew on, had fewer still. That the Confederacy’s primary military force, the Army of Northern Virginia, was constantly required to defend the Confederate capital, Richmond, Virginia, from Union forces limited the extent of its deployment. Skirting around the Confederacy’s main defensive positions, the destruction the Union army wreaked in the South, particularly of infrastructure, was so severe that it took many decades for the southern economy to recover. Although the Union under Lincoln said it would not restrict slavery in the South and would not support runaway slaves, into the second year of the war the abolition of slavery became an additional objective of the war’s outcome. For it not to have been would have deprived the Union of an important moral claim, at a time when there was growing reluctance in the North to continue to sacrifice men and materiel in what had become a total war. Drawing on its greater resources and, eventually, a method of attack that outflanked, divided and then surrounded the Confederate forces, towards the conclusion of the war the Union systematically defeated increasingly desperate Confederate forces. The effective end of the war arrived in April 1865 when, following a series of engagements culminating in the Battle of Appomattox Court House west of Richmond, Confederate army commander General Robert E. Lee surrendered to Union army commander General Ulysses S. Grant. Remaining Confederate forces surrendered across the South, marking an end to the war a month later. The war, and its separatist origins, amounted to a competition between distinct political economies within a single political structure. One can argue that the war was one of morality, of tradition/rural/plantation versus modernity/urban/industrial, or the past seeking to defer the future; countless scholars have devoted more words to this than most other subjects. But what the war did amount to, apart from around three quarters of a million combatants killed (Hacker 2011), was competing nationalisms being subsumed under, and a definitive insistence by one of them reflected in a modern state that compelled territorial integrity was paramount and that separation would be resisted at all costs. The war was far from one-sided but, inevitably with the age of industrialization favoring one side over the other, the claim to separation was lost. The future had been victorious over the past. The lesson drawn from the American Civil War, and reflected in most separatist conflicts, was that the state usually retains

A brief history of separatism 23 substantial material advantages over separatists and that, where separation was not agreed to, it would deploy them to attempt to compel unity. It is a lesson that most separatist organizations have learned to their cost.

Panama-Colombia The successful separation of Panama from Gran Colombia necessarily revolves around the construction of the Panama Canal, which provides a safe and relatively less expensive means of transiting between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and the interests of a powerful nearby neighbor. It was unsurprising, therefore, after Panama had joined with Colombia (independent in 1819) following Panamanian independence from Spain in 1821, that the remote and relatively inaccessible isthmus was the subject of a number of intrigues prior to its formal separation in 1903. Aspirations for an inter-ocean canal were not new in Panama, dating to at least 1787,4 when Venezuelan Francisco de Miranda tried to interest the UK in a canal project in exchange for military support for an anti-Spanish independence movement,5 of which his friend Jeremy Bentham was an advocate (Cot 2014). It was in the UK’s then interests to see a European rival, Spain, weakened by removing its remaining source of trade in Latin America. However, it was a strategic stretch to launch a military campaign so far distant, with the Latin American wars of independence from Spain eventually achieving the same outcome at virtually no cost to the UK (Lynch 1969). Following its quick union with Colombia, as a result of political instability in Latin America and, in particular, in Colombia, Panama briefly became independent in 1840–1841, returning to Colombia after 13 months. However, the ‘department’ of Panama remained politically unstable. Recognizing the value of cross-isthmus transport, in 1855, an American railway company was established by the Panama Railway Company to ship goods across the isthmus (Panama Railroad 2020). This gave the United States a material interest in securing the region. In 1879–1884, a war between Chile and a Bolivia-Peru alliance led to further regional instability, including a rebellion in the Colombian city of Cartagena; Colombia responded by sending troops from nearby Panama, prompting a rebellion in Panama. The United States intervened with the arrival of a naval ship in order to secure access across the isthmus under the terms of a treaty signed with Colombia in 1846. This was, as noted by Wicks, a ‘dress rehearsal’ for later intervention (Wicks 1980). Chile responded by sending an armored naval vessel to ensure the United States did not annex the territory, compelling the US ship to leave. In the period between 1881 and 1899, France had commenced construction of the Panama Canal under the leadership of Ferdinand de Lesseps. De Lesseps had been successful in overseeing the construction of the challenging Suez Canal and believed the challenges of building the Panama Canal could be similarly overcome. However, with massive cost over-runs and more than 20,000 deaths (including of de Lesseps’ family) due to yellow fever and malaria, the French attempt collapsed (Hull 2014).

24 A brief history of separatism Colombia’s political instability resurfaced during the ‘Thousand Days’ War’ from 1899 to 1902, in which Liberal federalists opposed Conservative centralists, with much fighting focused in and around Panama. Separatists in Panama used this turmoil to push their own agenda, assisted by the United States which again sent ships in support, seeing an opportunity to secure the strategically and economically important canal project. The United States negotiated with France to take up its contract to build the Panama Canal but, in 1903, was rebuffed by the Congress of Colombia. In response, the United States supported Panamanian separatists, ostensibly to maintain US access to the Panama Railroad. Panamanian separatists declared independence on 4 November 1903 and at the same time signed an agreement with the United States for the construction of the canal. After having intervened in the affairs of the territory some 13 times since 1850, the United States recognized Panamanian independence on 6 November. The United States supported Panama’s bid for independence with a naval presence, in return for which Panama granted the United States a perpetual lease over the Panama Canal Zone (Nikol and Holbrook 1977). The creation of an independent Panama did not reflect a separate language or ethnic identity, as did many later separatist movements, although its territory was defined and, being remote from the Colombian capital of Bogota, it felt little association that was sometimes characterized as grievance. Colombia’s own unstable politics contributed to dissent in Panama, but it was US economic and strategic interests that were the deciding factor in the territory achieving independence.

Serbia While warfare has been common to most countries at various times, along with ‘Balkanisation’, Serbia has been almost a by-word for what has appeared to be inextricable conflict. Situated at the crossroads of Central and south-eastern Europe on the Pannonian Plain in the central Balkans, the region has long been contested by peoples and empires. Mountainous divisions, territorial claims and counterclaims have all contributed to helping ensure that war has been central to Serbian self-identity. Serbia’s claim to independence reflected what was becoming a central theme for separatist movements: a people with a bonded identity in a given territory with a strong and long-lasting sense of grievance. As with Greece, Serbia’s independence was from the empire rather than the state and, similarly, the empire had characteristics of a state. The Serbs and other southern Slavic peoples are descended from the Antae, a Slavic people initially located on either side of the Carpathian Mountains, as far north as the Baltic Sea and as far south as the Danube River. There are competing accounts of the reasons for Serbian and other Slavic migration, although there is common agreement that a large proportion of Slavs migrated south in the 6th and 7th centuries, settling in the Pannonian Plain, initially under Byzantine rule (Ostrogorsky 1956:84, Cirkovic 2004:7–9). Though often in revolt, Byzantine

A brief history of separatism 25 influence was marked with Serbs adopting Byzantine Orthodox Christianity, making them distinct from neighboring Slavic states (Cirkovic 2004:14–19). As Byzantine rule retreated, the Serbs established the Principality of Serbia, initially as a suzerain state, marking the origins of the modern state. The principality was, however, very soon under pressure from the expanding Bulgarian Khanate, then Empire, to the east, in the late 9th to early 10th centuries coming under Bulgar rule, and then again in the first half of the 13th century. By the early to middle 14th century, however, Serbia was expanding, styled as an (small) empire including Macedonia, northern Greece, Montenegro and most of Albania. Further conquest by the Serbian state was halted, however, by the Ottoman expansion into the Balkans (Cox 2002:19–28). After losing a series of battles to the Serbs and facing regional uprisings initiated by Serbs, in 1389, Ottomans faced Serbs in the Battle of Kosovo, near modern Pristina. The Battle of Kosovo is viewed as a crossroads in Serbian history. While reliable accounts are scarce, it is believed that the cost to both forces was high, with respective leaders being killed in battle (Judah 2009:Ch 3; Cirkovic 2004:82–84). The battle slowed the Ottoman advance for many years, although it was able to draw on a depth of reserves; Serbian forces had similarly been depleted but lacked the Ottomans’ numerical depth. Though it took some decades, Serbia fell piece by piece, to the advancing Ottoman armies. The battle is central to the enduring Serbian myth of sacrifice (see Judah 2009:Ch 3; Calic and Janic 2019; River 2019 for a more complete account). Because of the strength of Serbian resistance to Ottoman expansion, Serbs were severely persecuted and their territories were devastated, leading to largescale migration to the Hapsburg north. Despite uprisings, Ottoman rule was complete, punctuated only by Hapsburg occupation during periods of war with the Ottomans. Serbs joined the Hapsburgs in large numbers, but Serbia remained an Ottoman domain until the beginning of the 19th century (Cox 2002:29–38). The first stage of the Serbian revolution was in response to local Ottoman janissaries who had seized local power, suspended rights granted to the Serbs, increased taxes and imposed forced labor. Fearing the Ottomans would use Serbs against them, the janissaries murdered local Serbian chiefs. This sparked an uprising against the janissaries but, fearing the strength of the Serbian uprising, the Ottomans attempted to crush it. With Russian support, the Serbs managed to defeat the Ottomans in 1806, establishing a de facto independent (if internally divided) state. With the conclusion of the Russian-Turkish War, Russia withdrew support for the Serbs, allowing the Ottomans to retake Serbia in 1813. However, by 1815 the Serbs had again risen against the Ottomans, quickly winning a series of critical battles. Recognizing the cost to a weakening Ottoman Empire, negotiations in 1815 led to recognizing an autonomous Serbian principality the following year, reaffirmed in 1830, with a Serbian parliament being established in 1835 (Cox 2002:39–50; Cirkovic 2004:176–203). During the Revolutions of 1848, the Serbs to the north of Serbia but south of Hungary as part of the Hapsburg Empire proclaimed independence. Although the

26 A brief history of separatism revolution failed, the Austro-Hungarian Empire was recognized as the Austrian province of Serbian Vojvodina, recast as the Voivodeship (Dukedom) of Serbia and Banat of Temeschwar (Cirkovic 2004:203). Although this province was dissolved in 1860, it was joined with Serbia in 1918, following the defeat and breakup of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In a bid to assert full independence, Serbia and Montenegro rose against the Ottomans in 1876, initially being defeated until Russian intervention the following year, with independence being formally recognized at the 1878 Treaty of Berlin. Internal disputes, however, continued, with competing parties aligning with either Russia or the Hapsburgs. Russia supported Serbia’s independence but accepted the fait a compli of the Austro-Hungarian 1908 occupation of Bosnia-Herzegovia. Angered by Austro-Hungarian occupation, in 1914 a group of Bosnian Serb nationalists plotted to assassinate the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria. While tensions had been rising between the major European powers, and armies were being prepared for war, it was the assassination that triggered the Great War. Serbia came out of the Great War expanded, with the addition of the Voivodeship of Serbia, combined with other neighboring Slavic states into the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes, renamed in 1929 as Yugoslavia (Southern Slavs). The Serbs had defined themselves as distinct people, differentiated from other southern Slavs by their more complete adoption of Byzantine culture and, since the 7th century, occupying a defined homeland. Centuries of war and conquest, and especially of Ottoman domination, shaped their sense of national unity around distinct cultural markers. In a manner related to Greece, there was initial reluctance by European powers for unbalancing of the power relation by the dismembering of the Ottoman Empire but, with a sense of cultural affinity and occasional strategic interest, Imperial Russia intervened at decisive times to assist with initial independence and later acting as a guarantor of independence. So dominant had Serbia become that it was the core state for a 20th-century kingdom and, subsequently, communist federation. With such a tangled and violent history of the region, it was, therefore, little surprise that the final dismantling of the Federation of Yugoslavia in the early 1990s was brutal, bloody and, from a Serbian perspective, to be resisted.

Conclusion Despite these few illustrations, the 19th century was not especially marked by separatism but, more widely, the rise of nationalism and, increasingly, of civic politics, in aspiration if not yet realization. The failures of the Revolutions of 1848 bought time for the political status quo but could not stave off forever growing pressures for change. As nationalism developed into what has become a recognizable form, it was an era of state creation, or consolidation, rather than one of internal state secession. Yet for some states to come into being, they had to leave others; the initial secessions of some states in the 19th century in particular were a reflection of this

A brief history of separatism 27 aspiration. The American Civil War, in this respect, was perhaps as much about being a war for national maintenance around a viable program for the future as it was about secession. The states that came into being in the 19th and early 20th centuries were mostly at the expense of empires which had functioned as states for the purposes of inter-state relations. The Spanish Empire in Latin America was the key exception, functioning from its outset in a manner that came to characterize later colonial enterprises, disintegrating earlier than others because its economic decline and the tyranny of distance combined as an overwhelming force. That two subsequent states were dismembered was at least as much a reflection of hegemonic power politics as it was about the inherent internal structure of the state from its outset. The role of big power interest in separatist movements has since been more muted, initially by the League of Nations and then by the United Nations. However, only a couple of separatist movements have been successful without big power support, and overwhelmingly such movements continue to seek major power and/or UN support. Elsewhere notions of Westphalian sovereignty, if not absolute, tended to be respected, not least among the major powers by way of maintaining a balance. When this balance was destabilized, war often ensued and, especially following the Napoleonic Wars, the price of war was becoming more than most states wanted or, in some cases, could bear. Moreover, the price of war not just in economic but in human terms had shifted from informal armies called upon only in times of war to professional standing armies employing weapons that were becoming increasingly sophisticated and destructive. As countries industrialized, so too did warfare, to the ultimate loss of millions of lives. It was a combination of ancient, creaking empires cast, for international purposes, as Westphalian sovereign states, combined with industrialization that produced the end of two of those empires; Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman, with the third, the Russian Empire, being reshaped as a Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The old order was comprehensively swept away by the carnage of the Great War. It was telling that it was young Bosnian Serb nationalists, whose own presumptive state, Serbia, had achieved independence, who fired the shot in 1914 that sparked the Great War. It was not the Great War, however, that ended colonialism (but for Germany) but allowed it to limp along for another few decades. Italy and Japan, playing catch-up, even came to the colonial party as local nationalist movements were looking to end the colonial era and create new states from outlines imposed by colonial masters. As the old order died, new states, styled as nation-states, came into being. With the final ending of the era of extended imperialism as colonialism following the end of World War II, the world would see the creation of dozens of news states. If not based on a sense of ‘nation’ and having a weak understanding of, or commitment to civic inclusion, these new states inherited the idea of Westphalian borders. These post-colonial successor states would themselves often become subject to the pressures of separatism. If these earlier illustrations of separatism started

28 A brief history of separatism to give shape to the idea, separatism in its fullest flowering became very much a phenomenon of the second half of the 20th century. These ideas are more fully explored in the following chapter.

Notes 1 Ancient Greek language dates back to at least 3,500 BCE and was marked by a number of mutually intelligible dialects, but increasingly standardised as Koine (‘common’ dialect), a degraded form of Attic Greek, from around the 4th century BCE. 2 A rhetorical term coined in 1845 by journalist John O’Sullivan to promote the US annexation of the Republic of Texas, which summarized earlier, romanticized, expansionist aspirations (see Somkin 1967). 3 Slavery was illegal under the 1924 Mexican constitution and formally abolished in all of Mexico but for Texas in 1829. 4 Discussion of a similar canal project in Nicaragua similarly dates to 1825. Vasco Nunez de Balboa is first credited with the idea of a canal after crossing the isthmus in 1513 5 Prefiguring that of the later Simon Bolivar.

3

A theory of separatism

In trying to understand separatist movements, it is useful to employ an analytic framework which applies across the phenomenon. While there are differences between separatist movements (Griffith and Muro 2020; Pavkovic and Radan 2011), enough is known at the outset to propose some general principles that broadly apply and the order in which they exist, and then to test those principles against case studies. As a first condition, each separatist movement has a political relationship with a state it seeks to change or end. The term ‘state’ is used here to denote the modernist Westphalian state model, which is the only iteration of the state which is recognized (e.g. see Strayer, 2016; Nettl 1968). In order for a state to be recognized, it must have identifiable borders and have sovereignty within them, a (claimed) capacity to apply its writ, including in a Weberian sense through a monopoly on the use of force, up to the extent of those borders (see Weber 1919:xlix, 36). The direct claim of separatist territorial control therefore challenges the essential condition for state existence (Buzan 1991; Holsti 1996; Toft 2006). Each separatist movement is usually associated with a largely contiguous or otherwise geographically close territory. Usually expressed through discourses of nationalism and ethnic identity (Siroky 2011:48), separatist movements and states alike associate their identity with a particular homeland which is intended to secure their survival (Kubo 2011; Kingsbury 2007:36–77). Further, each movement is associated with a particular language, cultural or bonded political group that understands itself, in substantial ways, as distinct from the dominant group of the state. And, critically, each group will have a grievance, or series of grievances, which are articulated as part of a shared narrative that explains and reinforces group identity and claims. This then leads to questions of legitimacy, self-determination and, potentially (if not necessarily), violence. The contemplation of violence may be an anathema but, as Horowitz noted: ‘A bloody phenomenon cannot be explained by a bloodless theory’ (Horowitz 2000:140). These matters are considered below, by way of contributing to developing a theory and by framing separatism within context. As an over-arching narrative, separatism is the claim for political control by a distinct community over the territory it inhabits which constitutes part of an existing state (Radan 2008) or, more particularly, through ‘the use or threat of force’

30 A theory of separatism (Crawford 2008:375). The distinction between the two definitions, apart from the latter’s emphasis on force, is that Crawford defines separatism from an existing state whereas Radan expands his understanding to also include decolonization (as do Ryan Griffiths 2016:6; following Radan and Coggins 2014). The approach taken here aligns with Crawford in relation to existing states, if with the likelihood but not necessity of use of force; not all separatist movements engage in conflict and that the definition of separatism does not imply violent conflict as a necessary condition. However, as a dependent variable, conflict is a common condition of separatist processes, initiated either by the state in defense of its territorial integrity of existing states (UN Charter, art.2, para.4) or by the separatist movement as a strategic tool for furthering aims. This challenge to the territorial integrity of state is all the more problematic given the assumed permanence of such state integrity which, moreover, has been ‘sacrilised’ since 1919 (Mayall in Pavkovic and Radan 2011:13). The assumption that existing state integrity is somehow permanent is, however, a recent historical invention intended to stabilize an unstable and conflict-prone world. This assumption has to a large extent achieved that goal of stability in relation to inter-state conflict but has, instead, led to a marked increase in intrastate conflict. Beyond this, there have been claims that claims to separatism have resulted in the formation of organizations that have, in turn, been labeled as ‘terrorist’ (Zarakol 2011; Jackson 2007; Tuastad 2003), while the creation of new states as an outcome of secession may alter the strategic status of regional and international actors and respective balances of power or otherwise introduce new instabilities.

Previous theoretical approaches Because of the variation of tendencies within conflicts, and the emphasis by different analysts, there has been at least a contest of ideas around what produces separatism movements. There are four key sets of theories as to why separatist movements develop (Siroky 2011). The groupings are based on economic grievances (separatists/host state (ii) and (iii)), ethnic and cultural distinction (separatist/host state (ii) and (iii)), geographic conditions (secessionist/host state/external involvement (i), (ii), (iii), and political contexts (secessionist/host state/ external/ structure (i)–(iv)). The proposition here is that each of the first three categories is usually present in separatist conflicts, although varying in causal proportion from case to case. The fourth category may be present but is especially so in successful separatist claims. Some of the previous theoretical approaches can be characterized as follows: Perhaps the best documented and most commonly cited method of analyzing intrastate conflict and, by association, separatist conflict, is that based on economic circumstances. In short, the poorer a country, or a region, the more likely it is to be involved in intrastate conflict. In the literature, arguably best known in the causal field for separatism is Collier’s work on the ‘conflict trap’ (2009, also Collier et al. 2003:53; Collier and Sambanis 2007a, 2007b; King 2001). Collier draws heavily on statistical data to establish a causal link between per

A theory of separatism 31 capita GDP and propensity to intrastate instability and conflict (see also Hechter 1992:275; Hale 2000:33 on income inequality; Berdal and Malone 2000; Bodea and Elbadawi 2007; Collier and Hoeffler 2004). Fearon and Laitin (1999) argue that separatist conflict is more likely in weak economies and if ethnic minorities have a regional base. However, they also argue that a propensity for ethnic rebellion is also, in part, based on expectations of likely success. In a later paper Fearon and Laitin (2003) shift the emphasis from a largely ethnic argument to one including ethnicity as well as institutional factors, focusing on insurgency opportunity and state capacity, in particular state counterinsurgency capacity (see also Collier 2009; Gloppen et al. 2004). In the sense, ethnic identification can become more clear when presented with opportunity, such as a bid for independence, meaning that the notion of ethnicity or a bonded group ‘exists along a continuum’ (Horowitz 2000:55; see also Spitka 2017:12–21). This associational continuum ranges from that which is given at birth to that which is voluntarily adopted, which is either passively or actively accepted and, in some case, sought after. Based on the author’s experience with separatist groups, it appears that as long as the individual is accepted by the group as belonging, the particulars of how they might have become accepted are much less relevant than the fact of their acceptance. Fearon and Laitin (1999, 2003) also argue that a tendency towards separatist conflict is assisted if the minority in question is not primarily urban, is a relatively large group, lives in rough terrain (acting against state opportunity costs) and has ethnic brethren who dominate a neighboring state (potentially or actually lending support or bases from which to operate). Reshaping Fearon and Laitin’s proposition, Brown (2001) argues that while ethnicity counts, ethnic difference as such is not the critical factor in separatist conflict whereas geographic factors, reflecting territorial unity or opportunity cost, can be. Brown does not, however, go to the common link between the relationship between ethnic differentiation and geographic factors, in that geographic divides within a state are more likely to reflect ethnic distinction and thus create a foundation for separatism (see Horowitz 2000:54–92). Low state capacity has also been seen as a factor that increases the appeal of separatism. Separatists gain popular support and are sustained by what weak states are often unable to offer – protection of life and property (WickhamCrowley 1987, 1992). Further, states with low levels of capacity may resort more readily to compulsion in order to achieve compliance with state programs, or to reduce objection. Such compulsion can produce a sharp negative reaction which, when focused on a particular group and region, can give rise to separatist sentiment. In some cases, separatists follow the conceptual lead of the host state, if the host state has been formed through secession or the proclamation of independence from a colonial power. The prior claim to independence thus provides a convenient example and a familiar language to voice minority grievances (Pavkovic 2007, 2012; Siroky 2011). When a state makes gains against separatist claims, however, such as through redressing grievances or applying increased use of

32 A theory of separatism force, communities may tend to become more pragmatic and side with, or at least not object to, the prevailing power (Kalyvas 2006:111–141). Differing from this economics-driven analysis, Boyle and Englebert (2008) assume a principally political approach to causes of separatism, providing a more nuanced analysis than some more determinist economic approaches. They argue that groups in failed and transitioning states, who control or have controlled autonomous institutions and those experiencing discrimination, are most likely to resort to separatist violence (Boyle and Englebert 2008:4–6, 24–27). The importance of this more politically oriented analysis is twofold: it suggests that if primary causes of violent separatism are political, then the most successful resolution to such conflict will also be political. It also suggests that states transitioning towards greater representation, accountability and transparency, in which grievances can be more openly aired and potentially accommodated, are more likely to provide greater opportunities for separatist conflict resolution (Bookman 1992:39). Conversely, states offering greater representation, accountability and transparency may also be best positioned to find resolution to separatist claims through the greater sharing of these qualities, e.g. Aceh in Indonesia and Mindanao in the Philippines. Competing with these perspectives is an ethnic and cultural – primordialist or essentialist – approach, which proposes that ethnicity leads to political awareness and political separatism, regardless of the existence of inequality or dominance (Petersen 2002; Geertz 1973:esp. 258–270; Bell and Freeman 1974:283–300; Bell 1975:141–174; Foltz 1974:103–116; Connor 1972:319–355; Connor 1973:1–21; Connor 1977:19–45; Connor 1994; Connor 2004:35–47; Horowitz 1975:111–140; Horowitz 1981:165–195; Horowitz 2000 (1985):esp. 97ff.; Isaacs 1975; Kovacs and Cropley 1975). This approach suggests that social and economic discrepancies create discontent and may incite revolution, but that only discontent founded on ethnic symbols can lead to separatism (see also Petersen 2002; Horowitz 1985; Kaplan 2005). There can be some validity to this claim (Varshney 2007), for example where historically hostile groups have been brought together by an external power in a colony which in turn bequeathed the shape of the subsequent state. Yet while enmities may exist between ethnic groups, and may draw on historical memory or myth, such enmities are sometimes, even often, relatively recent constructs (see Lijphart 2001; Petersen 2002:62–63). That is to say, not all ‘ancient hatreds’ are actually all that ancient. Historical differences, however, may be mobilized as part of a wider separatist agenda, in an instrumentalist understanding of conflict (e.g. Collier and Hoefller 2000; Collier and Sambanis 2007a, b). Similarly, a constructivist sense of difference, opposition or separatist sentiment can also be learned or, to some extent, created (Petersen 2002). Again, in most cases of separatist movements, there will be elements of each of these contributing factors, if in some cases where ‘history’ is re-oriented or re-emphasized to suit a particular separatist narrative (e.g. see di Tiro 1984). Some negative views about regional hegemony may, however, reflect a longer history, such that of Ireland and Scotland. Most communities tending towards separatism, however, do reflect a continued manifestation of problematic relations; where they do not reflect continuing problematic relations they generally tend to be

A theory of separatism 33 subsumed into the convenience of post-unity association. Smith (2001) and Taras and Ganguly (2010), in agreement with Anderson’s (1983) constructivist model of ethnicity, prefer a theory of ethnicity that is developed through institutional frameworks (such as the standardization of language) that mask a mechanism by which groups are mobilized rather than being causal of separatism as such. In terms of resolving separatist conflict, the capacity for and extent to which separatist demands can be satisfied is a critical factor in determining the level of economic or political accommodation. Such an accommodation might include a number of solutions by way of satisfying separatist demands. These include various degrees of autonomy; the integration of dispersed communities (Coakley 1992; Esman 2004); recognition of multiculturalism and minority rights (Guelke 2012:82–88); types of power-sharing and power-dividing mechanisms with most prominent models being that of Lijphart’s consociationalism (1977) (Kingsbury 2009, 2011, 2012) and Coakley’s ‘ethnic federations’ (Coakley 2010:194–202); autonomy and, finally, independence (Pavkovic 2011; Kingsbury 2009). Positive measures of political accommodation that depart from the logic of denial and imposition always include a certain level of satisfaction of separatist demands. In his writing on consociationalism, Lijphart (1977) stressed the crucial role of political will in peace processes. He argued that this factor may be the most crucial in the implementation of power-sharing rule. However, few governments readily give up or share political power, unless circumstances compel them. Yet where states move away from accommodation or collaborative problem-solving and conflict avoidance and towards asserting competing contentions, there is necessarily an escalation in the expression of competing claims (Krisberg and Dayton 202: 109–112), commonly resulting in violence.

First principles Any discussion of a theory must first establish its first principles, or independent variables. A first principle is a fundamental proposition, in this case about requirements for separatism to exist, that is not reliant upon or be deduced from any other proposition. First principles may vary in intensity and scope (giving them variables), but they are independent of each other and precede and underpin subsequent or dependent. While there is a complex of factors that contributes towards the phenomenon of separatism, as briefly noted, three first principles appear to be fundamental to that process, and upon which other, dependent, principles may be associated. The first principles are that separatism applies to a particular territory, that it is claimed by a bonded group and that the group has a grievance towards the state that acts as the rationale for separation. First principle 1: Territory This first principle of separatist movements is that it must identify with a particular territory or area of land in relation to a larger territory, usually a state. It is

34 A theory of separatism axiomatic that for separatism to exist it must apply to separating a particular territory from a state or other pre-existing territory. Separatist movements therefore have a defined territory – a political geography – they claim as the ‘homeland’ of their bonded group (Toft 2003:ch 1) in relation to the larger, host state. In some cases, that territory claimed by separatists might exceed the area actually occupied by the group in question, and may refer to historical, mythical, culturally common or other irredentist claims. It is important to note that while there may be a claim to a particular territory, historical associations with a given territory are not always as fixed as they are sometimes claimed or assumed to be. ‘Authentic’ original inhabitants are often not that, having displaced others, and ‘sons of the soil’ may be a conceptual construct linked to an idea of a people and territory, especially for privileged political reasons. Further, conceptions of geography may differ, for example where there is an assumed over-arching association with a wider territory than may be felt by some of its particular, local inhabitants. This may be where conceptions of a separatist state are conceived in nationalist terms, but which include people who are less or uncommitted to the idea of the claimed national group, or who are other than the core national group. In this respect, political geography is, as noted by Horowitz, ‘not a fixed concept’ (2000:203). The territory claimed by a separatist movement must, by definition, be part of an existing state, or be functionally incorporated into it. A state may occupy and administer a territory in a functional sense even if that occupation and administration is not recognized by the United Nations or by most other countries, e.g. Timor-Leste under Indonesian occupation, or Western Sahara under Moroccan occupation. While claims for independent status for such unrecognized occupied and administered territories are not technically separatist (as they are not, in international law, part of the occupying state they seek to separate from), their claims to self-determination for a given territory by a bonded political group with a grievance is consistent with separatist claims. These are de facto rather than de jure separatist claims. Further, such claims are viewed as ‘separatist’ by the state, which assumes the legitimacy of its occupation and administration. The key difference between these types of ‘separatist’ claims and other separatist claims is their enhanced capacity to appeal to international norms of recognition. Separatism is, therefore, a claim to the creation of a new geo-political entity at the diminution of an existing geo-political entity. In the contemporary sense, states have existed since the Peace (or Treaty) of Westphalia, which comprised a series of treaties signed in 1648 and which brought to conclusion the more troubling of the European wars of religion. This treaty is widely regarded as having established the principle of state sovereignty – the claim to exclusive jurisdiction over a given territory – which, while not an absolute and vulnerable to a variety of abrogation, is a key founding principle of the United Nations (UN 1948:2:1). Following the Westphalian model, according to constitutive state theory, a state is only such if it is recognized by other states to be a state (this principle flowing from the 1815 Final Act of the Congress of Vienna). This is where separatist

A theory of separatism 35 movements often fail, in that they rarely receive international recognition as states, even though often claiming to be such. Such claims to statehood, which also presage the establishment of new states, reflect declarative theory, in that the state is declared, therefore it (is claimed) exists (as per the 1933 Montevideo Convention). A state exists in part because it is recognized by other states as having legitimacy as a state, but also because it is able to assert administrative authority over a given territory. Given that the state normatively provides the institutional structures for the representation and expression of a collective identity, there can be a neat fit between the state and the nation so conceived (the ‘nation-state’). However, where the state does not or cannot provide the institutional structures for the representation and expression of a collective identity, due to limited capacity, commonality, reach or political will, the parallel development of a national identity may be similarly circumscribed. This of itself does not represent a challenge to state sovereignty, but it does represent a weakness in that claim to sovereignty that may not be wholly subscribed to (see McVey 2003:12–15 for discussion of post-colonial state and national identity). In the modernist European sense, the state is the territorial and institutional manifestation of the nation, as an expression of the nation’s desire to determine its own affairs within the territory it claims (May 2005:1050; Kingsbury 2007:51– 53; see also Erikson 1968). This notion of sovereignty arose following the Treaty of Westphalia and took further shape, particularly during the 19th century and into the 20th century, as nationalist sentiment arose in conjunction with calls for an end to non-representative government, hence claims to and in many cases the creation of the ‘nation-state’. Having said that, one should be cautious in adopting a Hegelian top-down notion of the nation as reflected in the a priori existence of the state (Hegel 1976:155–156, 160). Because a state exists does not axiomatically imply it represents a ‘nation’, and even less so in the obverse. Even this idea of nation-states assumes that each state is ‘nationally’ preconfigured, which is inaccurate; most of Europe’s states reflected considerable variations of ‘national’ type. In particular, many such states had ethnic or linguistic minorities who were only slowly and often incompletely brought into the ‘national’ state system, principally through the standardization of language and law, but also through force or violence. Hence there have been, and in some cases remain, separatist movements and other forms of prospective or recent state divisions in Europe. By contrast with recognized states, movements that challenge the territorial legitimacy of a state are rarely recognized by other states as legitimate (the exception being where the recognizing state seeks to benefit from the creation of a break-away state) and almost never regarded as independently legitimate by the state which is being broken away from. If it is a first principle of statehood that the state regards itself as legitimate as a primary quality of its existence, then any challenge to the integrity of that state is, ipso facto, regarded as illegitimate. The extent or intensity of that identification with the separating territory may vary but, unless it sufficiently exists in its own right, a people are likely to be very

36 A theory of separatism reluctant to work for what they would otherwise view as its geographically specific ‘liberation’. The quality of the territory is, however, less an issue: ‘No matter how barren, no territory is worthless if it is a homeland’ (Toft 2003:1). This then leads to the following principle. First principle 2: A bonded people The next first principle factor is that the people concerned must have a sense of a common bond, which may be through ethnicity or language, but can also reflect a historical social memory or shared myths, or other aspects of culture or world view such as religion or political program. Importantly, that bond must be associated with a particular territory (see Smith 2003:29; Gellner 1983; Benner 2018:15–20; Connor 1994; Anderson 1991; Smith 1986a, 2003). This bonded identity may be enhanced, even defined, in opposition to an ‘othered’ state, or ‘the unifying power of the common national enemy’ (Aredt 1965:77) and the security offered by the common collective. While a strong sense of a common bonded identity is not an absolute qualification, those separatist movements which do not reflect such a sense of bonded identity, or not to the extent that constituent members wish to engage in political activism over it, tend not to participate in the ‘struggle’ for what is usually characterized as ‘self-determination’. Group identity tends to evolve around either ethnic or civic bases. Welldeveloped civic states, where citizens bond around civic values such as consistency and equality of rule of law, free and fair choice of representation and so on, tend to suffer less from separatism (Quebec and Scotland being principal exceptions1). This is simply because distinct groups within the state will commonly have less grievance against the state, and less opportunity for redress. However, where a geographically defined group bonds around civic values but the rest of the ethnically common state does not, there may also be a tendency towards separatism, e.g. Somaliland, which is ethnically identical to Somalia (if marked by tribal differences) but which is politically distinct. This is, however, an uncommon foundation for separatist claims. Where civic values have not been well developed, on the other hand, where they have been weakened or where they have been systematically disassembled, group identity tends to retreat to that which is common, known or culturally understood, notably around language as a socio-psychological bond (Kelman 1997; Allott 1998). Within this retreat to the ethnically specific, there are two further broad categories, being ethnically dominant or aggressive (such as expressed as ethnic majoritarianism or ethnic/national chauvinism), and ethnically defensive. It is important to note that ethnic group defensiveness does not reflect the opposite of chauvinism or imply a retreat from specific identity, but rather a strengthening of that identity as a bond of mutual assurance. This last point is often central to group identity, not least in the case of struggles for self-determination as exemplified by anti-colonial or post-colonial separatist movements, most of which explicitly identify themselves as ‘National’ within their titles. This claim to self-determination around the issue of national identity

A theory of separatism 37 is identified as a ‘right’ which in turn (if in a self-referential manner) legitimizes claims for self-determination, up to and including separatist war (see Malanczuk 1997). Conceiving ‘nation’ Combining a politically bonded group claiming a defined territory usually gives rise to a claim of ‘nationhood’; that the people referred to comprise a ‘nation’ (Gellner 1983:7, 55). There are a number of ‘national’ paradigms, such as a common language, territory, history and ethnicity/culture (see Smith 2007:43–60). These paradigms are not mutually exclusive and often overlap, with greater or lesser degrees of coherence and influence, usually combined within a broadly articulated ideology of nationalism as the primary conceptual vehicle for prosecuting the group identity claim. Despite such seeming clarity around a conception of ‘nation’, what is and is not a nation, has been disputed, particularly at the margins, in relation to assertions of national identity in contradiction to similar claims made by the state. Regardless of the paradigmatic origins of such claims to a national identity, they are a common corollary to separatist claims. There are various suggestions that the idea of ‘nation’ is a relatively modern concept, being at least in part a product of shared identity across indirect space. This may be made available by, for example print media (Anderson 1991:24–36, esp. 33) or the conscious construction of the state through a propagated ‘shared’ history and mythology, the formalization of language through school curricula and state use of media, to disseminate common messages, and the employment of particular rituals such as anthem singing and quasi-militaristic marching, saluting symbols (commonly flags) and so on. Parallel to modernist communications is the organizing principles of industrialization, which imply degrees of uniformity of language but also shared economic interest across a specific territory (e.g. see Gellner 1994). This can give rise to collectivization of ‘horizontal’ interest groups, such as owners or beneficiaries or capital, and employees of capital. Such interests may also include domestic and internationally oriented foci (e.g. economic protectionists versus free marketeers), as well as social issues such as preserving or challenging ‘tradition’, and social progressivism. In the most positive sense, this competition of ideas is mediated through formalized political contests, around which there is a high degree of agreement on structure and process, if less so (but respecting) outcome. A commitment to such a process might itself be seen as a defining element of ‘civic’ nationalism (see O’Donnell and Schmitter 1986:7–8; Miller 1993, 1995; Smith 1998:210–213; Smith 2007:39–42), in which shared bonds are most strongly around the normative, procedural ‘rules of the game’ (see O’Donnell 1993). Where the ‘rules of the game’ break down, or enough members of one or both groups feel structurally disenfranchised, they might seek to abandon ‘civic’ nationalism in favor of one economic interest being absolute, e.g. communism, or the populist ‘blood and soil’ of fascism and its related political manifestations. Finally, and in particular

38 A theory of separatism in relation to wars of liberation and especially separatist movements, the bonding role of resistance tends to amplify the importance of unity and sacrifices for ‘nation’. There are, of course, several critiques of the idea of ‘nation’, including in separatist movements. These include that they are or can be ethno-specific, reifying, exclusionary and, hence, racially or ethnically bigoted and regressive. Another critique is that conceptions of ‘nation’, or other forms of bonded identity, (broadly complying with Marxist critiques ) are that they are an expression of the material circumstances of the group and that identity is shaped not by some intrinsic bond but by the geo-social requirements of existence. Moreover, such a critique identifies the shared interest of economic groups as transcending geographic boundaries which, it has been argued, exist principally to benefit ruling classes. This approach, then, rejects the reification of ‘ethnicity’ as an artificial social construct (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983:ch 7) as it similarly rejects the organization of the state as just a geo-institutional manifestation of the interests of a particular ruling class (see Hobsbawm 1999; also Benner 2018:15 and 10 for a critique of this view). An opposite, post-structuralist, critique of nation suggests that nations and nationalism were a product of modernist meta-narratives (Lyotard 1984). In a post-modernist era, the variegated politics of identity supersede regional singularities. In this, there is no such singular thing as a ‘culture’ or ‘bonded group’ as such, but rather the differentiated components of such entities which are themselves constantly distinguishing, reforming and reinventing themselves (e.g. see Green 2007). Such a proposition further suggests that it is only by examining differing iterations of individuals can they be free to form as a truly actualized person or set of people. These critiques fail, however. The former fails by tending towards imposition of a uniform standard on all people of a supposedly common group interest. That Marxist scholars themselves have debated the question of ‘nation’ points to its lack of acceptance even from its own philosophical perspective (see Nairn 2005). The latter, post-structuralist perspective, conversely, breaks down all forms of group identity to isolated, increasingly atomized individuals with little or no capacity for social solidarity or group action. In reality, self-identifying groups do exist, regardless of the complex of reasons, and may be consciously brought into existence somewhat like the germination and cultivation of a seed of an idea (e.g. see Ricoeur et al. 1978:101, 106 on hermeneutic phenomenology on the bringing together of the subject and the object in understanding). The simple fact is, once a self-identifying bonded group exists, external critiques of its existence are largely irrelevant to the fact of its existence. Thus criticisms of separatist movements that they are reactionary, exclusionary, intolerant and racist on one hand, or artificial social constructs on the other, have little or no purchase on the members of such self-identifying groups themselves. This does, however, raise the question of the extent to which separatist movements (or other appeals to nation) are organic (largely voluntarist) as opposed to organicist (in part compelled) (Smith 2007:26–39), and whether they construct

A theory of separatism 39 their sense of national identity in opposition to a larger programmatic ‘nationalist’ identity, in which liberation is pitted against control. There are, broadly, two main streams of thinking on the question of nation: primordialist (ethnic) and constructivist (civic). The former school (Smith 1986, 2007) implies that the nation is principally the collective project of a group of people bonded by language, culture, history and territory. The latter school (Gellner 1983; Anderson 1983) implies that nations are essentially created out of organizational circumstance or necessity and that the standardization of language, culture and myth (rather than history) is part of a conscious project of nationalism. Neither approach is sufficient on its own, given that pre-existing national bonds have existed and do exist among self-identifying peoples and that they may come to a more organically crystalized form than through conscious manipulation. Having said that, nationalist movements, as proto-nation-states, also employ myths and particular symbols to rally members. But it is states, particularly as nation-states, that more consciously engage in the standardization of identity, through language and curriculum, laws, ‘official’ histories and the organizational needs of large and complex socio-economic groupings. The strongest and most common form of a bonded identity is through language, which in turn reflects the defining elements of a group culture. ‘Culture’ remains plural and dynamic, especially in separatist movements given the often rapid, if uneven, pace of self-conceptual change which may accompany such a movement. That is, there will be degrees of adherence to or identification with the ‘culture’ that the separatist movement identifies with. In particular, the elements of such a culture may be emphasized, sometimes disproportionately, in order to more clearly delineate distinction from the formal state identity or competing programmatic ‘nationalism’ (see Smith 2007). ‘Culture’ may otherwise include religious homogeneity or adherence to particular shared values and includes the key elements of a shared world view. That is, there is a correspondence between the conditions of shared place and an ability to communicate about those conditions with a sufficient degree of reciprocal and continuing agreement or mutuality to form a common bond. It is not uncommon for a collective separatist identity to also share a language in common with the state but, where it does so, that language may be an introduced one, with elements of the original language, including accent, vernacular and other cultural linguistic markers as distinct from the official state language. Without such a sense of social cohesion, the project of separating a territory from a pre-existing state will not have sufficient gravity to allow it to meaningfully challenge prior state cohesion, much less overcome it. There is, nor can there be, a precise proportion of the population that is required to create sufficient political gravity, and such gravity may be comprised of different degrees of a total percentage and the extent of individual intensity. But, approximately, a broadly conceived sufficient percentage, assuming sufficient commitment as expressed by a vote, would be approximately two-thirds to three-quarters of a population. Less than this would imply a potential for endogenous territorial conflict and the implicit failure of the separatist project.

40 A theory of separatism In framing separatist organizations, this book adopts a positivist constructivist approach to understanding group identity, the role of (political) power in social division and of group interest in social cohesion (see Hopf 1998 on rescuing constructivism from claims of relativism and relocating it within a positivist paradigm). However, it also recognizes the sometimes powerful primordialist impulses that can pulse through self-identifying groups. In this, individuals within a group interact around a core set of ideas which forms the bond of a commonly and increasingly strong ontological relationship in a united opposition to an ‘othered’, usually larger, group. That is, while there are structural imperatives within social relations, there is also a significant element of social constructivist agency that not just experiences and hence understands these relations but chooses to act upon them in a value-rational manner (see Habermas in Finlayson 2013:94). This is not a simple or static equation, however, but a dynamic one given shortterm benefits of group association and support for particular outcomes are usually quickly confronted by longer-term consequences of state responses. First principle 3: Grievance The third key principle factor informing separatist movements is that the people comprising the separatist movement must have a sense of contemporary or, less often, historical grievance in relation to the state, the state culture or the state’s dominant group. That is to say, the socio-politically bonded people in a given territory must believe they have a compelling reason to engage in what is likely to be at least an officially resisted process and one that might imply danger and loss. Without sufficient sense of ‘grievance’ – a bitter indignation at unfair treatment – a people will be less likely to identify, much less act on, what would likely be a serious confrontational course of action. The larger pre-existing territory is that of the state being seceded from, the character of which often goes towards explaining the rise of the separatist movement in question. If the state (as a polity) is relatively arbitrary in its construction, and especially if it is repressive (see Walder 2009; Escriba-Folch 2010; Davenport 2007) or non-inclusive and comprised of distinct areas corresponding to excluded or repressed ethnic groups (Kalyvas 2008), it is more likely to engender separatist sentiment. In this sense, repression can be understood to be the use of state capacity to quell otherwise legitimate public dissent (prior to the assertion of a separatist claim), especially using disproportionate force to do so. Analysis of separatist movements sometimes also attributes other factors to their drivers, most commonly including ethnic reification and chauvinism, and ‘greed’ (or ‘loot seeking’; Collier and Hoefler 1999; see Nathan 2005 for a critique of this analysis). Collier, Hoeffler and Rhoner (2009) further developed their thesis in relation to civil wars,2 concluding that ‘We find little evidence that motivation can account for civil war risk but we suggest that there is evidence to support our feasibility hypothesis: that where a rebellion is financially and militarily feasible it will occur’. Yet with separatist war, which is often a variety of civil war (e.g. Sri Lanka, Somalia, Myanmar, Syria), the evidence suggests that

A theory of separatism 41 ‘motivation’, usually by way of significant grievance, is the driver. Moreover, few separatist rebellions are initially financially well supported and most, defined by their lack of success, are militarily feasible. Wood more subtly characterizes as a motivator a belief of denial of a rightful share of material benefits which the potential separatists may have a better chance of securing through secession (Wood 1981:118; see also Silver 2016; Hardin 1995). This may not arise through linear cause and effect but rather through constructing a range of possibilities which may lead to or include conflict (Wood 1981:145–146; see also Bookman 1992). That is, economic dispossession may be a causal, and often necessary, contributor to separatist sentiment, but alone it is not sufficient. The presence of economic resources in a territory might also be the catalyst for separatist sentiment if the exploitation of the resources is highly disruptive and there is a related sense of a lack of economic inclusion or compensation for such disruption. This does not, however, imply ‘greed’ but rather simple recompense for disruptions caused, or grievance where it is denied. Most major mining companies have long since acknowledged this issue and have built schools and hospitals and provided jobs to displaced populations by way of ameliorating such disruptions. In economic terms, such provisions, however, usually constitute a tiny proportion of the overall cost of doing business. Grievance may therefore relate to economic inequity or material hardship, particularly if it is not broadly shared by the exogenous state community. In this sense, material inequity implies not greed but a desire for a degree of fairness, justice or equity, which is a fundamentally different motivating force to that of greed’s exclusive accumulation. More nuanced than ‘greed’, economic interests may act as a motivator for or against secession on the part of an ethnic minority (see Ratsimbaharison 2011; Luengo-Cabrera 2012; Buchca undated). As Berdal notes: ‘The attraction of the greed thesis is the statistical analysis and social science methodology in which it was steeped, which had the effect of simplifying the complexity of conflicts confronting policymakers’ (Berdal 2005:689). Less attractive is its lack of nuance or apparent assumption of causality, rather than going directly to separatists and asking them. Notably, Aspinall identified the Aceh separatist conflict as not being over access to resources but that the question of resources became entangled in wider processes of identity construction, being reinterpreted by ethnic political entrepreneurs to legitimize separatist violence. The critical factor in that conflict was not natural resource extraction, but the development of an ‘identity and collective action frame’ (Aspinall 2007:951). One particular analysis of economic privilege and exclusion is that of the Dependency school, which posits necessarily unequal relations between core or center states and dependent peripheral states. According to this theory, as first posited, the necessarily unequal economic relations were predicated upon the center becoming richer and the periphery becoming poorer. Within this framework, peripheral ‘comprador elites’ benefit themselves at the expense of their fellow citizens (Prebisch 1950; Singer 1949; Baran 1952; Gunder Frank 1967; Dos Santos 1970; Toye and Toye 2003).

42 A theory of separatism How this works in relation to motivations for secession is where agents for international interests (comprador elites) may see their joint interests best served, and be less directly vulnerable, if the exploited periphery is physically, politically or culturally distant. That is, the interests of comprador elites are best preserved by exploiting for ‘center’ actors groups which have little ability to challenge their politico-economic status, that they are not a cultural group upon which the comprador elite relies upon as a basis for socio-ethnic and hence politico-economic inclusion and support (e.g. ethnic patron-client relations), and they are geographically less able or less disposed towards taking ameliorating action. That is, in state-based societies constructed around internal center-periphery relations, the global idea of dependency and center-periphery exploitation may play out, writ local, within the state context. The original idea of dependency as an explanatory model lost favor due to too many exceptions, contradicting it as a consistent rule of economic relations, attendant with the decline in popularity of Marxist or quasi-Marxist analysis as its driving logic. However, the status of many developing countries has been and remains one of economic subservience and often growing gaps in relative wealth and poverty, and increasing gaps in economic inequality, particularly between core and peripheral state groups. This structural relative impoverishment provides fertile grounds for regionally specific grievance and may provide the foundations for such excluded groups to seek to establish an alternative set of political-economic arrangements (Nairn 2005). An under-privileged or economically marginalized ethnic group, on the other hand, would have little incentive to remain within the state and could, if its economic interests benefitted from separation, be more so inclined (Keen 2012). Other policies which benefit the majority over an ethnic minority, such as privileging a different (state) religion, language or cultural orientation, could also have a similar effect (see Horowitz 2000:233–241 on ‘advanced’ and ‘backward’ groups and secessionism). Similarly, marginalized ethnic groups in a colonial territory, particularly those with an earlier history of conflict with the dominant regional ethnic group, which have been recruited into colonial bureaucracies or, particularly, armed forces have a stronger tendency towards separatism, often from the outset of the post-colonial state. This arises because of pre-colonial antipathies, often exacerbated during the colonial period by their assisting with the imposition of colonial rule of reluctant majorities, their return or feared return to marginalized status, and a pre-formed armed capacity, especially of officers (Horowitz 2000:447, 464–467). The exclusion or marginalization of officers of particular minority ethnic groups from mainstream military promotion can, via a more specific form of grievance, also encourage such officers to foment regionally specific rebellion. Grievances do not have to be economic or material, although this is common enough. Grievances can, however, also include a denial of basic political rights, an exclusionary ordering of political or cultural affairs or the excessive or illegitimate employment of violence. It is this latter aspect, which often occurs as a precursor to and subsequent driver of separatism, that is felt most keenly and

A theory of separatism 43 which almost invariably becomes emblematic within the construct of legitimacy of the separatist cause. Quiet ‘dogs’ In cases where any of these first principles are not present, it is proposed that there will not be (nor can there be) a separatist claim. In this respect, a bonded group with a grievance but without a territory (such as an economic group or class) may engage other forms of anti-government or anti-state behavior, but it cannot include separating an otherwise unidentified or non-existent territory. It is possible for assertions of ‘nation’ to be the key driver for separatist claims, but there is no example of where there was not also a related grievance. A bonded group with a territory but without a grievance would have little reason to seek separation; assertions of a national program without a compelling reason would have to assume that a commitment to ‘nation’ alone is a sufficient rationale. Indeed, some separatist organizations might propose seeking a state to reflect a ‘nation’ as their principle rationale, but each will quickly explain their rationale for wanting such status which, in turn, quickly reflect some degree of unhappiness with or grievance over the status quo. Further, for a grievance to exist in relation to a territory it must be able to be expressed by a group (which would, at a minimum, bond around that grievance). That is to say, there are many territories that have bonded groups within them which might otherwise constitute the basis for separation. However, without a sufficient grievance, they are the ‘dogs that don’t bark’ (for original usage, see Doyle 2018:21).

Dependent principles Beyond a bonded people, a given territory and sufficient grievance, a theory of separatism can only refer to matters that are second-order or dependent principles, which flow from first principles which and may be present in many cases of separatism but which are not necessary drivers for all cases of separatism. As the term implies, dependent principles vary as a consequence of, or in relation to, first principles, with dependent principles being subject to exogenous factors. As dependent principles, their existence follows and leads from first principles. A dependent principle is a qualified proposition, in this case about requirements for separatism to exist, and is reliant upon or deduced from another proposition. Dependent principles may also vary in intensity and scope (giving them variables), and they are not necessarily independent of each other and follow and provide further context to the complex of factors that contribute towards the phenomenon of separatism. Dependent principle 1: Legitimacy Legitimacy, or its lack, has already been identified as a crucial motivator for separatist movements. Yet the question of legitimacy is a dependent principle as it flows

44 A theory of separatism from, rather than precedes, the first order principle of grievance. That is to say, where there is no grievance against the state, it retains legitimacy by default. While it is true that silence does not imply consent, it similarly does not imply opposition. Silence can, thus, be described in minimalist terms as at least constituting passive acceptance. Legitimacy can be understood to reflect the common acceptance of a particular form of rule over a given area. This form of rule need not be through explicit consent although it does normatively enjoy the agreement of the people of the state, usually denoted as citizens, to the form of government. As a political quality, however, legitimacy is not fixed and may fluctuate in degrees of acceptance or rejection according to shifting circumstances, the performance of government, or how the state otherwise manifests itself through its institutions. Dahl (1971:124– 188) described legitimacy as being like a reservoir, which required occasional top-up to retain a level sufficient for its purpose. Not all states reflect the will of their people (popular sovereignty), or all their people, in their territorial organization. For reasons described above, a state may not be regarded as legitimate by one of its constituent groups (Lemay-Hebert 2009). If that group is based on a common bonded identity within a given territory, it may seek to establish what is to it a more ‘legitimate’ political entity better suited to representing itself. With governments, legitimacy may come and go and, where a democratic system is in place, governments that have allowed their ‘reservoir’ to run too low may be replaced through elections. Democracy’s ‘forms and expressions may vary according to time and place but the essential content points to the same need of justice and participation in decision-making’ (Samatar in Jama 2011:105). But, in the case of some newer states, ‘Unable to deliver the goods and thus obtain compliance through meeting the genuine needs of the genuine demands of the people, it tried to elicit such compliance through compulsion. With the degeneration of the early democracies into empty shells, authoritarian methods, one party systems and military dictatorships became the rule’. (Samatar in Jama 2011:127). Thus the ‘reservoir’ of legitimacy empties, encouraging some to seek legitimacy elsewhere, including among the ethnically familiar. Within the context of separatist movements, the state is, prima facie, seen to be illegitimate. That is, even where there is a mechanism for redress via an electoral process, this may be inadequate to assuage the grievances of a specific minority, particularly where ethnic majoritarianism is used as an exclusionary mechanism, or is seen to be an exclusionary mechanism, i.e. where a specifically local grievance is not addressed by a larger state process. As such, an ethnically majoritarian political process is seen as exclusionary or repressive and might then become viewed as illegitimate by a specific ethnic minority (e.g. see Levi et al. 2009; Nyaba 2019 on Dinka-Nuer relations since South Sudan’s independence). That these circumstances reflect a structural privileged majority, the state itself may then come to be viewed as illegitimate. However, states tend to regard the fact of their existence as sufficient – indeed axiomatic – grounds for their legitimacy (Gilley 2009); states regard themselves as legitimate by the nature of their existence; consequently, challenges to state

A theory of separatism 45 existence, whether in whole or part, are illegitimate and are necessarily resisted. As noted by Walls and Kibble, ‘[I]llegitimate states [that] tend to be actively intolerant of strong civil societies highlight the very reasons for that illegitimacy’ (Walls and Kibble 2011:61–62). While electoral participation may still allow for ethnically majoritarian approaches, accountable leaders are more rather than less likely to want to resolve grievances for the electoral benefit such resolution might have (see Rothstein 2009). In less accountable contexts, however, dissent may be viewed not as a legitimate expression of grievance but a challenge to the state itself, particularly where there is a conflation of the regime (or party) and the state. The state and its government might be less inclusive or interested in potential conflict resolution and, given the lesser accountability, have less reason to be so. States with relatively low levels of institutional capacity may also resort more readily to using the most effective mechanisms for controlling dissent, or the only mechanisms they are familiar with, such as (para-military) police and armed forces. This may be exacerbated where the government is of an authoritarian or militaristic orientation, in which it is less likely to seek agreement and more likely to compel compliance. This may be further exacerbated by the use of patron-client relations in order to maintain key sectors of political support. Dependent principle 2: Colonialism Colonialism and its consequences have an important secondary role to play in the formation of separatist movements. But, while colonialism may be formative in establishing the prior conditions for separatism, it is a second-order issue given that a colonial experience is not a necessary pre-condition for separatism. Moreover, not all states that have experienced colonialism necessarily experience separatist claims. Most commonly, separatist movements occur in post-colonial states given their often arbitrary construction based on colonial convenience rather than prior political identity. ‘In Africa’, for example ‘States have inherited colonially-inspired, ‘non-rational’ borders bearing little relationship to pre-colonial power and kinship structures’ (Jowhar in Jama 2011:60). Despite what may be a pre-colonial sense of separateness, post-colonial states have usually come into being incorporating all of the colonial territory under the principle of uti possidetus juris (‘as you possess in law’). Under this principle of ‘as you possess (so you shall possess – uti possidetus ita possideatis)’, the successor state to the colonial entity seeks independence of the entire colonized territory from the colonial master. Hence it claims the entirety of the colonial entity as the basis for the post-colonial state. This was the simplest method for defining post-colonial states and reduced the likelihood of inter-state conflict over potentially contested territory. It did not, however, necessarily satisfy some of those groups of peoples who lived in what might have otherwise been contested territory. Colonialism is as old as organized polities themselves and elements of these prior imperial enterprises were in some cases included in later colonial ventures.

46 A theory of separatism That is, where European colonizers decided to occupy a territory, they rarely understood its history or the relations between its parts, some of which were incorporated by force into the territory prior to European colonization. Further incorporation often occurred as a consequence of European colonization. The colonialism in question, then, was principally Western or European, occurring in three broad phases; Spanish, Portuguese and Ottoman colonialism in the mid-14th to mid17th centuries; the mid-17th to early 20th centuries by England, Netherlands and France; and in the late 19th to early 20th centuries by the other European powers and the United States. It was a key characteristic of European colonization to create trading stations and then, when they were deemed inadequate to meet growing commercial demand, to compel the creation of colonies with defined, if expandable, borders. This may have implied natural boundaries, recognition of neighboring colonial entities, or the practical extent of administrative capacity, military reach or commercial interest. As such, pre-colonial polities that had incorporated reluctant neighbors might also become part of a colony, while administratively ill-defined border areas frequently had a line drawn around or through them. Thus, the precursor polities to most colonies rarely had in place linguistic, cultural or administrative uniformity and political authority tended to be greatest closest to the seat of power, becoming increasingly diffuse the further it became. There were exceptions to the principle of uti possiditus where both (or multiple) rival groups within a colonial territory expressed a strong aversion to being cast together in the successor state. A key example of this post-colonial division is India and Pakistan. But, apart from separately administered territories, such as Burma, these were uncommon. As Wilkinson has noted, ‘there remains a colossal mismatch between the international state system, with its legally recognized and sovereign governments and frontiers, and the demographic map of distinctive ethnic groups or national identities’ (2006:11). One area of unity among sometimes disparate peoples was constructed around anti-colonial or liberation movements, thus helping ensure initial commitment to the new state. Yet the twin paradox of this outcome was that what was claimed to be an illegitimate colony had a state imposed upon its pre-existing, presumably also illegitimate, structure, retaining its arbitrary borders. As territories decolonized, many liberation movements and quite a few former colonial masters believed, however, that the new elites of post-colonial states would lead them away from ‘primitive’ tribalization and ethnic allegiances. They were often mistaken, not least when the post-colonial state failed to live up to civic expectations, often as a consequence of reduced post-independence state capacity. Dependent principle 3: Patron-client relations and exclusion Within the context of reduced state capacity, it was post-colonial elites, seeking to shore up their political positions, who retreated from electoral politics and good governance to ethnic patron-client relationships as a means of ensuring political

A theory of separatism 47 support. The effect, then, was not away from ethnic distinction in post-colonial states but to emphasise ethnic distinction, if through new and more formalized patterns of patron-client relations (see Nyaba 2019 on the failure of South Sudan’s independence, also Horowitz 2000:96–101). Many post-colonial multi-ethnic societies base politics on ethnicity rather than class interest (Chandra 2011). To secure ethnic group support, political decision-makers may employ patronclient relations, whereby members of the ethnic group are rewarded through a patronage system of jobs, contracts and other economic opportunities. While this system does tie the client group more closely to a political patron, by definition it is largely or wholly exclusionary of non-client ethnic groups or individuals. This then creates systems of structural inequity which can quickly breed resentment and legitimate opposition. Moreover, not only have ethnic allegiances prevailed at the expense of horizontal or class interests, with limited state capacity to address expressions of group grievance and the consequently frequent use of heavy-handed tactics to repress such expression, ethnic allegiances have been more keenly felt, often in specific sub-sections of the territory. The character of a state is, at least in part, founded upon the terms of its creation (its institutions, constitution, political outlook, and so on); thus the logic of self-determination and separation is embedded in the DNA of most post-colonial states. There may be other factors which later contribute to a separatist tendency, but the inherent illegitimacy of colonial incorporation and hence the presumed illegitimacy of the shape of the successor state is one that many separatists are familiar with. In this separatist world view, the state is a recent artificial construct, so, assuming other factors are sufficiently compelling, there is nothing inherently illegitimate with the idea of separation. Indeed, legitimacy is seen to reside within group identity as a ‘right’ to be of the group and the land it occupies (Horowitz 2000:201) in contrast to the claims of the state. While post-colonial states claim the full extent of conventional states’ rights in relation to notions of sovereignty this does not always, or even often, reflect their domestic capacity. The quality of the state, in particular post-colonial states, may vary according to local institutional capacity which may, in turn, be based on economic resources, human capital and so on. Where the state fulfills state functions in an equal and consistent way, and where its economic environment generally allows for the well-being of its people, the state might be regarded as within the realms of being successful. Where states fail to fulfill their domestic functions as states in such latter circumstances, it may breed resentment which, over time, can express itself as protest or other expressions of discontent. In many cases, however, the state’s function may not necessarily include the active welfare of its people, its reach may be unevenly spread or unevenly applied. This may be particularly problematic as any uneven application, or exclusion, may apply to a particular area over others, or a particular ethnic group over others (see Horowitz 2000:6–12). It is, of course, especially problematic when it applies to both in the same instance. In this, exclusion can be seen to reflect economic or material concerns but, unlike class, they are concerns that apply in the first instance to the group excluded on the basis of their kinship ties rather than their

48 A theory of separatism economic status. In this respect, ethnicity has come to replace ‘class’ as an economic marker in many post-colonial or multi-ethnic societies. Dependent principle 4: Balance of force The success or otherwise of a separatist claim, assuming state opposition to such a claim, is predicated upon the capacity of the separatist organization to prosecute their claim. This is perhaps less a question of theoretical understanding and more a simple arithmetical balance of force to produce a particular outcome. Where the state is relatively stronger and the separatist group is relatively weaker, it is less likely to be able to successfully prosecute its claims. Where the state is relatively weaker compared to the separatist movement, such a movement is more likely to be able to successfully prosecute its claims. By way of illustration, all successful separatist movements have been predicated upon the relative weakness of the central state at the time of formal separation. The key outlier as a factor in this equation is involvement of third parties, be they states or international supra state organizations, such as regional multilateral organizations such as the African Union, or the United Nations acting under Security Council Chapter VII provisions. These provisions allow the UN Security Council (UNSC) to ‘take such action by air, sea, or land forces as may be necessary to maintain or restore international peace and security’ (UNSC VII:42). An example of this principle being applied to a de facto separatist claim was in Indonesian Timor Timur, later Timor-Leste, in 1999. Such intervention may subsequently be under the 2005 Responsibility to Protect principle, which ‘embodies a political commitment to end the worst forms of violence and persecution’ (UN Office on Genocide Prevention and the Responsibility to Protect 2005). Such intervention carries with it the weight of (the sometimes variably interpreted) international law and is intended to provide a compelling balance of diplomatic and military power. In either case, the combined capacity of the state is exceeded by non-state capacity, to which the state is compelled to accede. However, where the state retains greater capacity (including with external bilateral assistance, such as that provided by China to Sri Lanka during the latter phase of its Tamil separatist war) and is not compelled to accede, it invariably does not do so.

Conclusion Depending on how ‘the state’ is defined, separatism is as old as distinct groups have been compelled to be subject to states with which they hold a grievance. In the modernist sense, separatism has been a feature of the global political landscape since the rise of nationalism in the mid to late 19th century but has extended considerably since the end of colonialism and paralleled the rise of post-war revolutionary politics. The key drivers of separatist movements appear relatively consistent, if with varying degrees of emphasis on questions of territory, group identity and grievance. Second-order drivers include the origins of the state, whether the state

A theory of separatism 49 actively employs repression which may exacerbate notions of grievance, the allocation of resources within the state, the legitimacy of the state from the group perspective and whether the separatist movement has sufficient capacity to sustain its program. States, too, overwhelmingly oppose separatist movements and, in the very few cases where they do come to accept the legitimacy of a separatist claim to be tested (usually by a vote), they do so after having set aside their often quite active opposition. More commonly, however, states tend to employ various degrees of repression in relation to separatist movements, leading to separatist movements often taking up arms and engaging in non-state violence. There are, at the time of writing, well over a hundred separatist organizations, in various states of activity and degrees of militancy, yet since the post-decolonization ballooning of separatist movements, just a handful have achieved successful outcomes (not including the rare voluntary disintegration of composite states). Those that have been successful have mostly, with two exceptions (South Sudan and Eritrea), relied on external intervention. Assuming further separatist claims are to be successful, these qualities are again likely to prevail, if perhaps also with a small growth in voluntary separations.

Notes 1 This tendency is not an absolute, but a general rule of thumb. To illustrate, Quebecoise and Scots have argued they have been economically, politically or culturally marginalized, and both also draw on some historical grievance. One might also include Catalonia in that grouping, although Catalonian separatists also argue that the central state’s diminution of the province’s autonomous status undermined rule of law. 2 Noting, of course, that not all wars within states are separatist in nature.

4

Separatist conflict

Violence is not a necessary part of separatist claims, but it is a common part of them. This chapter considers how and why separatist conflicts arise, what characteristics commonly define them and how and why they progress as they often do. As noted in Chapter One, separatist conflicts have a long history. However, the prevalence of separatist wars has fluctuated according to wider trends in global politics. Notably, the claim to Westphalian sovereign continuity has been particularly marked since the establishment of the United Nations, reflecting a general global agreement as to the sanctity of state order. This has paralleled the process of post-World War II decolonization, as well as challenges to post-colonial states. Separatists may choose to initiate violence in an attempt to force their claims, or states may initiative violence by way of suppressing such claims. In most cases there is an escalation of exchanges, in which the state seeks to impose its monopoly on the use of force while separatist groups seek to match or exceed the state’s use of violence in order to remain viable. The conflict is, however, rarely an evenly matched one. Separatist struggles pit a non-state group against states, which has shaped the character of most separatist conflicts. In particular, separatist organizations usually have limited material capacity and, as non-state actors, are generally shunned by the international community. By contrast, states usually have access to relatively more considerable material resources and, moreover, are supported by the system of state recognition. These qualities have shaped the character of most separatist conflicts. While separatist wars have been especially common in the post-colonial era, the nature of war changed during the era of superpowers. With the potential price of war between superpowers so high, they tended to resort to proxy conflicts, including (usually limited) support for non-state movements and for states battling such movements in the opposing ideological camp. There was a brief hiatus in the impetus for proxy wars during the brief uni-polar power moment of the 1990s, in particular removing carte blanche support from various otherwise unpalatable regimes. This withdrawal of support meant greater opportunity for many movements seeking to escape from sometimes despotic states. Since the rise of the multi-polar world during the early 21st century, however, there has been a return to proxy warfare, including for and against movements that

Separatist conflict 51 challenge client states. Separatist movements have, however, less commonly been supported by external interests. Sub-state warfare against the state has almost always been, therefore, asymmetric (see Tucker 2018:xvi) in the post-Cold War era, in which an ideological realignment of states has reduced interest in non-state actors. Ideological warfare of the traditional Left-Right paradigm has, at the same time, diminished, although the world has witnessed the rise of religious warfare on a scale not previously seen in the modern era. But, perhaps more importantly, the world has seen a return to the primacy of nationalisms, both on behalf of established states (and their commitment to state cohesion sometimes predicated upon ‘nationalist’ assertions) and, similarly, also by sub-state groups appealing to repressed ‘nationalist’ sentiment. As Wilkinson noted: ‘ethno-nationalism is the predominant political motivation behind contemporary insurgencies’ (Wilkinson 2006:13). The type of warfare, which at least in rhetorical terms reflects the ideas of the ‘national’ liberationist anti-colonial movement, is separatist warfare. Separatist warfare, or that of smaller territorially bonded communities within a state against that state, has since the end of the Cold War thus come to comprise a significant majority of all wars. As well as being asymmetric, separatist wars are also characterized by evolving and often fluid typologies. Separatist wars are rarely carefully planned from the outset, more often being a perceived necessary response to untenable threats or acts by a state. It might be possible to see the possibility of conflict as coming, but rarely with enough foresight or certainty to adequately plan for it. As a result, the strategic objectives and tactics intended to achieve those objectives employed in the early days of a war are unlikely to be those that inform the course of such war, much less the conclusion. Separatist warfare can include, or not, at any particular point, the use of conventional forces, ‘terrorism’ and assassination, guerrilla ‘hit and run’ warfare in urban and/or rural settings, civil resistance and support, civil acquiescence and passive resistance, following rather than dominating terrain, and so on. While some separatist conflicts have been played out as (more or less) conventional warfare, for example in Ethiopia, Somalia, Sudan, Sri Lanka and Yemen, these are less common due to the human and materiel imbalances between separatist groups and states. Their conflicts therefore more commonly form the basis of asymmetric warfare, usually constructed as guerilla warfare or ‘terrorism’. In some cases, however, a separatist group may address some of this imbalance by receiving the support of an external party, either as a safe haven, for training and logistics or other forms of support. This may reflect strategic interests beyond those of the separatists themselves. In such cases, where support is sustained, separatist claims have a greater prospect of success. However, the intervention of third parties may imply a separate agenda to that being pursued by separatists. In such cases, a separatist organization might end up as a proxy for that third interest, or where there may be more than one external actor and a number of proxies, creating additional

52

Separatist conflict

complexity and more usually more intractable conflict and a higher level of violence. Separatists will rarely go to war, as proxies, solely on behalf of external interests, but where the strategic interests of separatists and external parties coincide, they will usually be happy to take whatever support might be available, from safe sanctuaries to arms, training and funds. In some limited cases, third parties may directly intervene in a conflict, for example India intervening against Pakistan and thereby securing independence for Bangladesh.

The logic of violence The question of violence must be considered as the most vexed element of prosecuting political claims, in this case separatist claims, given it runs contrary to most behavioral norms and has a profound impact upon its victims (and often its perpetrators). Further, violence begets violence, usually in an escalating spiral. It is central to, and driver of, the idea of separatist conflict. In its use within this context, the term ‘violence’ is intended to represent collective violence, including in cases where an individual might act on behalf of a collective. Violence is not a requirement of separatist movements, and some have attempted to bring about alternative political arrangements through nonviolent methods, including after a violent struggle has been shown to be ineffective. Examples of non-violent separatism include the cases of Catalonia and, post-Good Friday Agreement, Northern Ireland. In many cases, however, political activism and violent conflict are simply different methods towards the same outcome. Violence tends to be present in separatist conflicts particularly where states have weak institutional structures. In such cases, states use violence (as repression) as one of their few functional means of trying to address otherwise uncontrolled political issues such challenges to state integrity. Separatist movements may also employ violence either because the institutionally weak state is unresponsive to their claims, or because the state is vulnerable to such violence (see Besley and Persson 2010). By challenging the state’s claim to a monopoly over the use of force, separatist violence fractures the state’s territorial space state by challenging its sovereign integrity. In this respect, violence in relation to state sovereignty represents the enforcement of territorial disruption or control by the monopoly on the use of violence (also see Kalyvas 173–208 on ‘selective’ violence). Kalyvas proposes that political violence occurs when the cost-benefit ratio of doing so becomes positive for either the state or non-state actors (Kalyvas 2006). This assumes, however, that the employment of violence reflects ‘rational actor’ logic, or that such logic is independent of other factors. The use of violence may indeed be a consequence of a careful calculation of costs and benefits, particularly by non-state actors, given the relatively high costs of militarily challenging the state. Or it may not, reflecting a groundswell of localized anti-state sentiment that is not based in a calculated logic but an emotional response to a perceived or actual

Separatist conflict 53 wrong. Conversely, states may employ violence as a default process regardless of costs or possible benefits simply because it has become a conditioned response. The Indonesian military, the Tentara Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian National Military, or TNI), has a long history of employing violence in an attempt to compel obedience or acquiescence. This reflects its organicist (fascistic) philosophical origins as a World War II auxiliary of the Japanese imperial army, known as Defenders of the Homeland (Pembela Tanah Air, or PETA). In particular, the TNI (and its predecessor organizations) has historically operated largely independently of the government, although having a critical role in civilian affairs until the early 2000s (it still has a less formal role) (Kingsbury 2003:27–29). For such organizations (until, in the case of the TNI, its partial reform), problems to be addressed as effectively as possible, which may imply violence or the threat of violence, are transformed into the glorification of violence as the highest form of human activity (Huntington 1957:91). As a consequence of independence from civilian oversight and its former domestic political and military function (dual function – dwifungsi), combined with the legacy of the glorification of violence, the TNI’s response to internal state challenges has been to employ violence, for which armies are primarily trained. As a quasi-political actor, this has been the first response to political challenges of the type such as separatist claims, before other avenues have been attempted. This is contrast to a more rational response of the state employing violence as a last resort, when all other non-violent avenues have failed. This methodology has worked with varying degrees of success. The TNI (or its linear predecessors) crushed such rebellions as that of the South Moluccas Republic (Republik Maluku Selatan) in 1950 and the 1958 rebellion by PRRIPermesta (Pemerintah Revolusioner Republik Indonesia-Piagam Perjuangan Semesta, or Revolutionary Government of the Republic of Indonesia-Universal Struggle Charter). It was less successful, however, in defeating East Timor’s Falintil guerrilla army, Aceh’s Free Aceh Movement Military (Angkatan Gerakan Acheh Merdeka, or A-GAM) or West Papua’s heavily factionalized Papua National Army (Tentara Papua National, or TPN), each of which were or are liberation or separatist organizations. One might characterize Myanmar’s Tatmadaw (Royal Army) as having a similar founding philosophy, modus operandi and degree of success and failure in relation to that country’s internal liberation or independence organizations.

How separatist violence develops Beyond systemic violence as state authority, economic oppression or exclusion may also be viewed by excluded or oppressed groups as structural violence, particularly where the consequences are severe, such as exclusion from work or education, or malnutrition or starvation. Functional exclusion from education and job opportunities was a major contributing factor to the rise of Tamil separatism in Sri Lanka, although this exclusion reflected a much larger Sinhalese nationalist chauvinist agenda.

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Conversely, separatists may choose to employ violence as a consequence of the perceived benefits of more strongly pressing goals outweighing possible costs. However, given their relative lack of success and the disproportionate nature of most of their conflicts, this is an insufficient sole explanation for the use of separatist violence. In many, perhaps most, cases, separatist violence occurs, or escalates, in response to state repression and in particular to organized state violence. In this it is less a case of considering cost-benefits ratios and much more a case of attempting to protect one’s community, e.g. the Iraqi Kurdish Regional Government’s Peshmerga, The Syrian Kurdish People’s Protection Units (Yekineyen Parastina Gel, or YPG) or, initially, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, or, failing that, hunted individuals having little choice but commencing or joining violent non-state groups (guerrilla forces), e.g. the West Papuan TPN or Timor-Leste’s Falintil. In some cases, however, exemplary non-state violence may be employed to attempt to compel states to act in particular ways, for example through bombing campaigns or selective assassinations to compel suing for peace. Finally, separatist violence often starts as a localized, unplanned response to state oppression, for example where an individual or group of police are repeatedly violent towards an individual or small group and the individual or group responds in kind. Pursuing its claim to a monopoly on the use of force, the state responds, and matters escalate when persecuted groups respond in turn, with the state continuing to seek to impose its claim to a monopoly on the use of force. Thus engaged, violent reaction to state oppression is either resolved in favor of the state and ends or continues to escalate to the point where non-state violence becomes organized, with a view to overturning the state’s monopoly of the use of force. Such a situation was illustrated by the state of Sri Lanka’s Tamil separatist war, in which a series of riots and discriminatory government policies led to the founding of a number of militant Tamil groups, leading to the first organized attack on a Sri Lankan army patrol in 1983, conventionally marking the start of the Tamil separatist war. Separatist violence therefore also becomes the ‘systemic violence’ of a counter or alternative state authority within the context of a claim to a monopoly on violence. In terms of changing or attempting to change economic oppression or exclusion, separatism breaks or attempts to break the pre-exiting structure, thus challenging the state’s claim to a monopoly of the use of force. Separatist causes rely on a large support base; it is axiomatic that they have the support of the population they claim to represent, or else they would not be able to function other than as a proxy for an external interest. However, while such movements might enjoy widespread support, the movements themselves are usually not large relative to the population they claim to represent. This is due to the limited logistics of non-state violence, and the necessity in most cases to comprise small, mobile groups that can blend in with their environment. Even though its effects may be, or be viewed as, large, separatist violence is therefore produced by relatively small numbers of people. As with systemic state violence, part of the function of violence is for its demonstrator effect, as well as for its strategic value.

Separatist conflict 55 Finally, there is the acculturation of violence, or the desensitizing towards violence caused by repeated brutalization. This is sometimes an observed, but not much studied, field of conflict, although it should be given it is this desensitization that can lead to some of the most horrific excesses of war. In short, when a combatant or combatants are sufficiently desensitized, they are capable of committing great acts of often unwarranted violence, often against prisoners or untrusted civilians. Such acculturation to violence and its consequent desensitization may make it easier for armed combatants to perform otherwise repugnant and often marginally productive functions, but it may also be applied outside a command structure as an act of casual hatred or contempt. As a by-product of warfare, some degree of desensitization may be inevitable. But it is rarely productive, other than a means of getting combatants to undertake tasks they might otherwise be reluctant to perform.

The rationale of violence Separatist violence may be initiated by the separatists themselves, by way of making a blunt assertion of their claim to a separate state and, through demonstrator effect, to prompt others to action. However, separatists initiating a claim to separation without a pre-existing cause rooted in some form of prior violence is less common among separatist movements. Much more commonly, separatist violence is more likely to arise as a consequence of actions taken by others, either by the state or representatives of a majority ethnic group. In such cases, violence is a response to real or symbolic violence, or the limits of structural inequality. Following Weber’s ‘monopoly on the use of force’ dictum, state violence has been, in many cases, a prerequisite for state formation and maintenance, with degrees of application and, in some cases, reaction. Most commonly in separatist conflicts, however, violence is a result of an escalation of tensions, in which the state or majority ethnic group seek to assert their authority through the use of force, resulting in push-back, in turn requiring more force and so on in a process of escalation towards violence or of levels of violence. Violence as process is a regulatory form of violence, usually directly employed by the state, via legal processes and quasi-judicial military action, to maintain order and defend the integrity of the state. In some cases such violence may also be used to intimidate particular groups as a suggestive form of maintenance of order, or to bolster a sense of national cohesion (principally among other members of the state). In its purest form, violence as process is the bureaucratic application of actual or potential violence to maintain the status quo or an orderly modification of the status quo as determined by the state. Violence may occur without a particular goal, as emotional or anarchic violence, but most violence – particularly within a political context and almost certainly within a separatist context, has a purpose. In this respect, almost all violence is, to a greater or lesser degree, instrumental. It is intended to achieve a particular goal or outcome to contribute towards achieving that goal or outcome

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and does not exist (or very rarely exists) for its own sake. In this respect, tactical violence is that which is intended to achieve particular goals as part of a larger strategic goal structure. Even violence that might appear to exist for its own sake usually has a demonstrator quality, is an act of abstract retribution or more firmly locates the use of violence as not just a, but the, primary method of achieving compliance. Expressive violence is that which is intended as much to be for show as for material effect. That is, the consequences of the violence are less the harm it causes rather than the purpose of others being aware of harm being caused. Expressive violence is commonly used in separatist conflict as a means of intimidation, such as when members of a separatist organization perpetrate acts of violence in order to achieve compliance. This may be viewed, on one hand, as reflecting a need to impose compliance where discipline is lacking, but on another could be viewed as a policing mechanism (Weinstein 2007:198–199). In that it is, or is seen to be, imprecise, its apparent imprecision reflecting the similarly imprecise formalization of proto-state structures. Such violence is usually horrifying in that it is intended to be performative as well as punitive. Public beheadings, acts of mutilation or public torture, abhorrent though they are, may be understood to be in this category. To illustrate, in July 1999, the Indonesian Tentara Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian army, or TNI) proxy militias were recruiting local youths as new members ahead of the territory’s ballot for independence on 30 August. In the western Bobonaro district, two youths were invited by soldiers to drink with them and the local Halilintar militia but, upon turning down a request to join them, were murdered. In response, guerrillas from Falintil’s western Region IV command, who were otherwise in self-imposed cantonment observing a one-sided ceasefire, ambushed and killed two TNI members, gouging out their eyes and leaving their bodies in the middle of the road. Indonesians have a marked horror of mutilation and the retribution stopped further violence in Bobonaro for several weeks.1 To that end, the greater the theatre of the violence and its symbolic value, the more likely it will be in securing compliance (see Burleigh 2008:Ch 5 on the performative aspects of non-state violence). Similarly, state actors also employ performative violence against separatists or separatist sympathizers. This violence may be less often intentionally designed to achieve compliance and may be as much or more punitive in intent. The demonstrator effect of violence may also be employed to show the extent of separatist commitment to the cause, especially where separatists voluntarily put themselves in a position of high-profile danger. An example of this may be where a separatist group is retreating and one or more stay behind to slow the enemy’s advance, even though they face a high chance of death or capture. Such courage is not lost on either their comrades or the following forces. A similar example may be where a separatist or small number of separatists infiltrate an enemy’s position in order to inflict damage, if with a very high risk associated with such a venture. While not an absolute rule, separatist movements tend to be more capable if resistance to the state is united. That is, separatist sentiment may be shared by a

Separatist conflict 57 broad range of people but if they are not organizationally cohesive, they cannot coordinate and are likely to be much less successful at achieving their collective goal of separation. As such, armed separatist movements within a state tend to be intolerant of each other or of dissent and will often seek to impose a uniform authority on the movement. In doing so, given the possession and use of arms by other separatist ‘factions’ (they may be entirely separate organizations), or with alternate streams within an organization, the use of often quite brutal force may be applied. This is to remove the threat or challenge to the main organizations, to remove potential or suspected disloyalty, and to standardize methods and claims. The East Timor resistance force Falintil used violence against its own members in its early ‘ideological’ years and then again during its period of political realignment as a ‘national’ rather than party-specific resistance movement. In Aceh, the Free Aceh Organization (GAM) resolved a split by an organization referring to itself as the Free Aceh Movement – Governing Council (MP-GAM) by assassinating its secretary-general, Don Zulfahri, in Kuala Lumpur (GAM denied responsibility for the killing). The Philippines’ Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) has used violence against dissenting groups, internecine conflict had been common among India’s Naga groups until their 2015 internal peace agreement (which effectively privileged the National Socialist Council of Nagaland/lim-IsakMuiva (NSCN-IM)), and the Somali National Movement’s quashing of dissenting tribal voices in Somaliland. Perhaps most clearly, however, was the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE)’s eradication or absorption of rival Tamil militant groups, including the Tamil Eelam Liberation Organization, the Eelam People's Revolutionary Liberation Front, the People's Liberation Organization of Tamil Eelam, the Eelam Revolutionary Organization of Students and others, in all some 20 or so groups. In all, violence was used by numerous separatist organizations to impose unity and discipline and to act as a deterrent to others from dissenting or splitting from, or trying to create alternatives to, the main separatist force. Similarly, violence may also be used as a demoralizing agent to persuade others that their cause is hopeless and that resistance, or attempted control, is futile. States are usually less vulnerable to such demoralization, given the physical and psychological distance between those who order acts of violence and those who perform it. Separatist leaders may also be remote from conflict (or they may be closely engaged) but, given the voluntary nature of most separatist conflict (Sri Lanka’s LTTE was a notable, compelled, exception in this regard), separatist fighters who become demoralized may seek to leave the field. Conversely, the demoralizing of one side can result in the morale boosting of the other – clear victories, removal of key opponents or otherwise seeing the success of an act of violence may not only boost morale but is also likely to ensure that a violent method is retained for future use. To illustrate, undertaking an attack deep in an enemy’s territory may not produce a meaningful strategic gain, but it will at once assert the courage and tactical skills of those involved, as well as showing the vulnerability of the opponent and thereby boosting morale. Violence may also be used to radicalize one’s own forces, inure them to the types of atrocities that can occur in warfare so as to better prepare them to act violently in pursuit of other goals, such as intimidation or demoralization. It may

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also be used to provoke the radicalization of the enemy in order to engage in more extremist action and hence alienate potential sympathizers and drive them to one’s cause. ‘Insurgents favorite tactic is to provoke overreaction from counterinsurgent forces, discrediting them before a local and increasingly international audience’ (US Army 2007:xxvii). Counter-reaction, especially if poorly targeted, or overreaction, are useful tools for driving uncommitted civilians into the arms of separatists, and for hardening the resolve of those already committed to the separatist cause. For some, too, violence is a means of attracting wider attention, to draw a larger focus to one’s cause in the hope of sympathy or intervention. This rarely works when employed by a state, given they assume sympathy based on their claimed a priori legitimacy. But for non-state actors, a military force which necessarily engages in violence may be employed to demonstrate that a separatist movement still retains a capacity to resist. This was the case in Timor-Leste during the Indonesian occupation, where the armed resistance was, particularly from around 1989, kept going in support of the civil and particularly the international campaign for resolution. This is still the case in West Papua, where the two main armed resistance groups field perhaps 500–600 lightly armed fighters between them. Violence as ritual is where the violence inflicted is less important than the meaning of the violence and its symbolic effect. Symbolic violence may include courts-martial, trials (regardless of how stage-managed they might be) and punishment of opponents, ritualized mutilation in cases where such violence either recalls a tradition or transgresses traditions of an enemy, and so on. Finally, there is indiscriminate violence (see Kalyvas 2006:147–171), in which violence appears to serve no other purpose than being an expression of rage or frustration. Indiscriminate violence may be linked to retributive violence, if aimed not at perpetrators of the act for which retribution is sought but against anyone who may be even loosely identified as being in some way in common with them, such as being from the same ethnic group. Indiscriminate violence contradicts the idea of compulsion, given that there is no attempt to change behavior or to produce a consequence that is otherwise linked to a behavior. Such violence may occur, however, when a military target cannot be identified and, lacking an ability to target specifically, violence is visited more generally. If there is a logic to indiscriminate violence it is that, by acting out such violence on populations that are not combatants, others, including combatants and non-combatants, may regard the cost of continuing their actions as too high; that an inability to apply specific reward and punishment to an unidentified support base may imply a non-bargaining logic applied on an increasingly larger scale (see Zhukov 2014:Part 1). Having noted that, both state and non-state violence can be, or can appear to be wanton, or occurring for its own sake. This is less common but may be perpetrated as acts of generalized hatred or to establish or confirm authority within the actually or potentially violent group. While there is a logic to such violence, it is not a strong logic. Even where such violence has a purpose that can often be achieved

Separatist conflict 59 by more constructive methods. It otherwise has limited tactical, much less strategic value, and thus may be regarded as dysfunctional violence. Violence is, of course, the principal means for fighting a war, so its key purpose is strategic, or aimed at achieving over-arching aims rather than being about the detailed means by which those aims are operationalized. Strategic violence is employed either to achieve control of territory or to compel a state to behave in a particular way. In terms of separatist wars, the strategic goal is twofold; to both achieve control of the territory that the group wishes to become independent, and to have the precursor state recognize the fact of that claim and, preferably, its legitimacy.

Guerrilla warfare While some separatist warfare is, as noted, more or less conventional, as also noted such warfare tends more commonly to be asymmetric, due to strategic imbalances between state and non-state actors, and hence relies on other than conventional methods. Most commonly, non-state asymmetric warfare is conducted as irregular or guerrilla warfare, taken from the Spanish diminutive for ‘war’ (guerra) to denote the types of combat engaged in by non-state actors. Such combat may include ambushes, raids, sabotage (Guevara 1969:18–19) and other forms of ‘petty warfare’. Guerrilla warfare is ‘the natural weapon of the strategically weaker side’ (Wilkinson 2006:13). In such ‘hypermobile’ (Wilkinson 2006:13) conflict, there are no ‘front lines’ where regular armies might form and confront each other and, where zones of influence or control do exist, such ‘front lines’ are usually ‘blurred and fluid’ (Kalyvas 2006:87–88). In irregular or guerrilla separatist warfare, separatist combatants generally do not wear uniforms (such uniforms that some might wear are usually taken from the enemy or else supplied by a benefactor state) and hence are generally indistinguishable from the general population. There are exceptions to this, however; the Tamil Tigers wore a standardized ‘tiger stripe’ camouflage uniform and more specialist units of the East Timor’s Falintil, Free Aceh Movement and the Moro Islamic Liberation Front wore Indonesian and Philippine army uniforms with their own insignia. But, for the most part, guerrillas wear what is available, what works in their environment and what does not overly distinguish them from ordinary civilians. Indeed, a key feature of many guerrilla wars is for fighters to be able to slip in and out of combatant and non-combatant roles with relative ease. Apart from combat-age men, age groups between approximately 15 years and 35–40 years, who are often regarded as actual or potential combatants regardless of their formal status, separatist guerrillas are all but indistinguishable from non-combatant civilians and may indeed blend armed activity with conventional civilian duties, blurring perceptions even further. In separatist conflict there is commonly a high degree of social support for separatist combatants. Types of civilian support for combatants may range from selective inaction, symbolic support and attending rallies and meetings to providing goods, information and labor, carrying weapons, spying and recruiting for

60 Separatist conflict or joining organizations (Barter 2014:17–19). Indeed, it is a conventional guerrilla war theory that such wars cannot be successfully fought without such popular support (Guevara 1969:14; Mao 2000:8). The presumed close relationship between a separatist movement and its civilian base may in turn reflect degrees of civilian hostility towards state military personnel. As such, such state military personnel may come to view all civilians in separatist areas as supporting or working with separatist combatants and thus conflate all civilians with the ‘enemy’; ‘In particular, the insurgents’ invisibility often temps counterinsurgents to erase the all-important distinctions between combatants and the non-combatants’ (US Army 2007:xxxvii). A state military holding the view that all civilians in a given area are actual or potential guerrillas or guerrilla supporters may have negative implications for their treatment of civilians and thus further exacerbate a sense of grievance on the part of the separatist community. The extent to which governments and separatist groups choose to target civilians is to a considerable degree based on calculations of responses by domestic and international audiences (Stanton 2016:25–62). ‘The fact or perception of civilian deaths at the hands of their nominal protectors can change popular attitudes from neutrality to anger and active opposition’, according to the US Army’s Counterinsurgncy Field Manual. ‘Civilian deaths create an extended family of enemies – new insurgent recruits or informants – end erode support for the host nation’ (US Army 2007:xxv). As Kilcullen notes, killing civilians can only be counter-productive (2010:5–8), explaining that ‘… if our strategy is to extend the reach of a government that is corrupt, is oppressing its people, and is failing them, then the better we are at that strategy [of defeating insurgents and supporting that government], the worse things are going to get’ (2010:160). In all of conventional military doctrine and training on fighting non-conventional or asymmetric wars, there are two compelling lessons. The first lesson is that state militaries have to adapt their conventional war-fighting approaches to the very different requirements of fighting non-conventional wars, in terms of logistics, battle space, timelines and tactics (see Kilcullen 2010:2–3, 17–25; Parker and Irvine 2010:230–241). This implies that conventional state militaries are not in the first instance well equipped in either understanding or having the capacity to appropriately deal with non-conventional warfare (see Kilcullen 2010:156–157; Huntington 1957:59–68, 143–192, 428–455; also Mansoor et al. 2010:Part II). Thus they make errors in trying to adapt conventional methods to non-conventional challenges. The second lesson is that, almost by definition, conventional state armies fail to understand the question posed by non-conventional warfare, which is what are political drivers for conflict rather than what are military drivers. Conventional state militaries are invariably poorly equipped in both conceptual and organizational terms to address this question. Indeed, in most instances, conventional state militaries exist at cross-purposes to non-conventional and especially separatist conflict and, counter to conventional military theory and strategy, achieve the most good by doing the least harm (McFate 2010:192; also see Long 2010:242– 252 for the effect of time constraints on military operations).

Separatist conflict 61 As Law noted, separatist wars are primarily political rather than military, meaning that the state use of troops using overwhelming firepower in order to ‘win’ rarely achieved the desired outcome; ‘such firepower would largely fall on civilians, thus driving the population into the arms of the insurgents’ (Law 2016:144). Conversely, in appealing to their immediate constituency, armed non-state actors have used printed matter or public fora to spread the word of their cause, with information (‘propaganda’) and psychological warfare being equally as important as, if not more important than, armaments in achieving their goals (Boot 2013:44). Further, the extent to which separatist groups target civilians is, necessarily, constrained by their reliance on such groups (as well as any pre-existing loyalty or sympathy). As Weinstein notes (2007:205–208), the reputational cost to armed non-state groups in employing violence against civilians in order to secure compliance can be high. Through alienation of a civilian base, this may lead to the continued use of anti-civilian violence in order to secure increasingly reluctant compliance. This is less of an issue for separatist organizations if the civilians in question are, or are seen to be, aligned with the state, given they are unlikely to be sympathetic towards separatists in the first instance. Attacks against such civilians may, therefore, be constructed as striking against the state (or a symbol or representative of the state) or attempting to compel the state to refocus its strategic orientation or to achieve state compliance. Such attacks, however, are usually represented as ‘terrorism’, given they deliberately target non-combatants in order to make an exemplary point or to secure compliance. The reputational cost of terrorism may, in the short term, benefit a separatist organization in terms of securing elements of compliance, such as state willingness to negotiate terms to end such violence (the standard rubric that ‘we don’t negotiate with terrorists’ is not supported by common practice). However, such violence represents a high-risk strategy given that it may simply drive a dominant population to more strongly support the state’s actions against non-state actors, with potentially devastating results. To illustrate, strident Sinhalese support for a military solution to the Tamil Tigers ultimately trumped attempts at negotiation in part because the Tamil Tigers were seen to have stepped beyond the realms of reason with their occasional if quite brutal anti-civilian attacks. So too there are costs associated with anti-civilian state violence but, given the logistical and organizational foundations of the state, the risks to its continued survival are proportionately reduced. The logic of separatist-civilian relations, then, implies that for separatists to be able to rely on continuing civilian loyalty and support, they must not engage in undisciplined anti-civilian violence. Where such violence might occur as a result of a mistake or indiscipline, most such organizations seek to correct the error and to commence the challenging task of rebuilding damaged trust.

Escalation of violence Once conflict has been entered into, it usually goes through a cycle, or a number of cycles, of intensity. The intensity of a conflict may be defined in one of two

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ways (or a combination of the two). The first way is by the intensity of the conflict, in terms of how hard the conflict is contested, with what determination and the level of its brutality. The second element of conflict escalation is its breadth and its duration (Kriesberg and Dayton 2012:143). Most conflicts do not begin as especially intense or as having a wide scope. Indeed, most conflicts do not start as physical conflict, but as a contest of ideas or conflicting goals. When such ideas or goals are resisted, they can call forth greater effort at prosecuting the claim, in this case to a type of specific geographic or group redress and, often in turn, greater force in denying the claim. The logic of escalation is that each side either increases the intensity and scope of conflict or attempts to match the other who, in turn, escalates further in order to retain an advantage. Similarly, where one side engages in acts of particular brutality, the other side might similarly match such brutality – ‘One strand of argument assumes that the only way to win against barbaric insurgents is to unabashedly adopt harsh means’ (US Army 2007:xxxvi). This then raises the questions of the nature of and proportionality in separatist conflict. While separatist claims may be pursued by way of armed activity and may come to replicate many of the aspects of guerrilla warfare, taking a departure from Clausewitz that war is ‘a continuation of political intercourse carried on with other means’ (1884:69–70), they are inherently political problems that have slipped beyond the realms of conventional politics. In this manner, the ‘realist’ approach to separatist conflict, which implies treating such conflict as a war to be militarily won, is inherently misguided as it misunderstands the central characteristic of such a war, which is a political claim. In this respect, proportionality becomes a political judgment for both sides, with disproportion carrying sociopolitical costs which may complicate the efforts of either side. Being fought in an unconventional manner, there may be moments when the conflict de-escalates, due to climatic conditions, logistical shortfalls, external events such as natural disasters (the 2014 Indian Ocean tsunami was a key illustration of this phenomenon in Aceh, Indonesia) or in order to create the possibilities for negotiation. However, seasons change, logistical shortfalls can usually be made up, natural disasters are relatively rare and de-escalation in order to negotiate may not be successful in achieving its desired outcome. Indeed, combatants with the upper hand may actually escalate violence ahead of or during negotiations in order to further compel the other party to the negotiating table or towards greater compromise. To illustrate, again from Aceh; the negotiations which ended the Aceh separatist insurgency were conducted with the Free Aceh Movement having committed to a unilateral ceasefire while the Indonesian military, after an initial pause in order to reorganize from the 2014 tsunami, stepped up its own military campaign (if in this case with little effect) There is no precise formula for the conduct of separatist conflict as guerrilla war but, given the asymmetric character of such conflict, clandestine operations tend to be key. Such clandestine operations may be conducted from urban environments against fixed or localized state targets but, given the proximity to noncombatants, the relative intensity of state presence and their contained space, they

Separatist conflict 63 tend to not be preferred by separatist organizations. To illustrate, the initial operations of the Kurdistan Workers Party (Partiya Karkeren Kurdistane, or PKK) in towns such as Diyarbakir were quickly countered by a massive Turkish military presence, along with the persecution of many of the city’s non-combatant residents. Instead, separatist forces tend to be highly mobile – avoiding unequal fixed battles (Wilkinson 2006:13) – and rural based, operating primarily at night. This then lends many separatist conflicts the split characteristic of government forces tending to control town by day and insurgents tending to control the countryside by night.

Terrorism Much violence by separatist organizations is characterized as ‘terrorism’, but the use of the word ‘terrorist’ is problematic. Apart from having no universally agreed definition, it pejoratively constructs the ‘violent other’ as morally wrong, necessarily illegitimate and hence outside the scope of rational engagement. Yet ‘terrorism’, as such, is simply a descriptor, if not always accurately applied. In conventional terms it means an action to compel others by systematic or calculated violence or threat of violence to act according to the wishes or the actor – to ‘terrorise’ them into action. More commonly, however, it also implies attacking unarmed civilians in pursuit of a political goal and is conventionally conflated with the actions of non-state actors. If a state employs the act or threat of violence it portrays itself as legitimate, given that a monopoly on the use of force is a characteristic of the state. However, if a non-state actor employs such force it is, from the perspective of the state, ipso facto, illegitimate and thus a defining quality of terrorism (see Beck 2015:11; OIC 1999). Apart from the a priori assumption about the legitimacy of the state and the illegitimacy of non-state actors, these conventional assumptions about terrorism – and about which there is no agreement (Whittaker 2003:10–13) – are both simplistic and absolute and, in the case of separatists, close off options for a political resolution to their claims. The word ‘terrorism’ has been in general use since the late 19th century, then describing anarchists’ intent on doing away with various monarchies, the occasional president or establishing a new state. The term was also widely used to describe fighters in the wars of decolonization in the 1950s and 1960s – now regarded as legitimate – as well as a number of revolutionary insurgencies. When considering the complexity and often inaccuracy of the use of the term ‘terrorist/terrorism’, especially as a pejorative, it is instructive to remember then British prime minister Margaret Thatcher referring to African National Congress leader Nelson Mandela as a terrorist for accepting that violence was necessary to end the policy of apartheid in South Africa. In 1992, Mandela was co-winner, with Frederik de Klerk of the Nobel Peace Prize and in 1993 the US Liberty Medal. As Wilkinson notes, ‘it is grossly misleading to treat terrorism as a synonym for insurgency, guerrilla warfare or political violence in general’ (2006:7). He

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goes on to say that these types of conflicts may, or may not, employ terrorism, but that to conflate one with the other without going to methods is a category error. He also notes that states can also employ terror, including on a vast as well as local scale (2006:7–8). Having noted that, terrorism has been regarded as an essential option as a guerrilla tactic, along with kidnappings and assassinations. ‘Terrorism is an arm the revolution can never relinquish’ (Marighella 2002:30). On this, ‘terrorism’ has also been conflated with not just targets but with military methodology. The Algerian War for Independence from France was characterized by the use of terror by both sides. But in the challenging and educational movie ‘The Battle of Algiers’ had a French journalist asking an actor playing the character of one of the six National Liberation Front (FLN) founders, Larbi Ben M’hidi, was not the use of woman carrying baskets with bombs in them killing civilians as cowardly, the reply came: ‘Doesn’t it seem even more cowardly to attack defenseless villages with napalm bombs that kill many thousands of times more? Obviously, planes would make things easier for us. Give us your bombers, and you can have our baskets’. This is to illustrate that non-state actors with limited resources will use whatever weapons are available which are effective. In Sri Lanka, the LTTE pioneered the use of suicide bombers, yet their initial and always primary purpose of suicide bombers was not to kill civilians (or politicians) but as a tactical weapon in battle. If, from an LTTE perspective, it was critical for them to neutralize or take a Sri Lankan army position, a person was seen as an effective method of delivering an explosive. Indeed, so standardized had suicide bombing become a tactical weapon that the LTTE had a company comprised solely of suicide bomber volunteers, known as the ‘Black Tigers’. While this may seem extreme and abhorrent to many, it is worth noting that every LTTE soldier also carried a cyanide capsule on a leather strip around their neck in order to commit suicide rather than be captured. In becoming a member of the LTTE, its recruits assumed the status of already being dead (along with other privations including no sex or alcohol for the period of their service), so it is perhaps not so big a step from this mind-set to tactical suicide. For most separatist organizations, however, it has been the simple act of organized non-state violence, regardless of targets or methods, which has been sufficient for the host government at least to brand the organization as ‘terrorist’. Since 2001, ‘terrorism’ has been most associated with Islamist non-state organizations, notably Al Qaeda and later the Islamic State group and their ‘franchises’ or affiliated groups operating under related names, e.g. Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, Al Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb, while Islamic State has affiliates in ‘provinces’ such as Libya, the Sinai Peninsula, Yemen and Western Africa (known as ‘Boko Haram’), among others. By any definition, Al Qaeda and Islamic State are terrorist organizations, in that they employ indiscriminate violence or the threat of violence to attempt to compel others to bend to their wishes. The progenitor for most of the world’s Islamist terrorists is the Muslim Brotherhood, which was formed directly in opposition to the British colonial occupation of Egypt. By the early 21st century the Muslim Brotherhood had created links between most Islamist political organizations.

Separatist conflict 65 Al Qaeda, however, is different to other ‘terrorist’ organizations, including Islamic State, in that it does not represent a concrete claim or have a coherent agenda (other than global jihad). Without such claims, negotiation becomes impossible. This is otherwise a rarity among ‘terrorist’ organizations. What unites Islamist terrorists is a proclaimed desire for ‘justice’, which is deeply rooted in the tenets of Islam, which is intended to be achieved under the creation of an Islamic state or global body. This claim for justice, regardless of the methods used to achieve it, is where Islamist terrorists have commonalities with other terrorist groups. Earlier, Jewish organizations such as Haganah and Irgun were labeled as terrorists for their use of violence in seeking to establish the state of Israel. Indeed, even the American Revolutionary War (War for Independence) was marked, on both sides, by its use of terrorism (Robbins 2017; Hoock 2017). It is, according to one view, a method of a ‘right to resist oppression’ (Finlay 2015). Conversely, despite their massive anti-civilian atrocities, Nazi Germany, Stalin’s USSR or the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia were not formally terrorist organizations, because they were state actors, yet each explicitly employed terror as a political tactic to compel social compliance. State and non-state definitions, then, start to make little sense, with the definition of the term not pertaining to the state or non-state status of the perpetrator but the nature of the act itself. In particular in relation to state violence against separatist groups, ‘A common feature of all contemporary wider insurgencies stemming from ethnic or ethno-religious conflict is that acts of mass terror against the ‘enemy’ ethnic group, ‘ethnic cleansing’, massacres, mass rape and other atrocities against the civilian population are widely employed’ (Wilkinson 2006:16). Regardless of the extent to which one might disagree with the claims or methods of ‘terrorist’ organizations, such as Hamas, or the Tamil Tigers, the Basque Homeland and Liberty (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna, or ETA), or before them the Irish Republican Army (IRA) or Israel’s Haganah, they invariably have concrete agendas. These agendas usually involve establishing a state to represent the nation. It is reasonable to be appalled by the methods sometimes used by such organizations, and it is legitimate to question or challenge their goals. But the use of the word ‘terrorist’ implies that separatist organizations do not have internally coherent and consistent agendas and that they should not be engaged with. Given the overtly political character of separatist violence, this is a conceptual error.

The para/military If there is one quality that marks dysfunctional developing countries more than any other, it is the preponderance of the military and paramilitary or other quasiofficial state ‘security’ organizations in the day-to-day affairs of the state. Where that paramilitary has a focus on state ‘unity’, it often exacerbates pre-existing separatist sentiment and, in some cases, can be the initial source of grievance which leads to such sentiment.

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Developing countries, by definition, are to varying degrees unable to provide the full suite of state attributes that characterize developed countries. If the allocation of services or the distribution of largesse is restricted or exclusionary it may engender protest. States with low levels of institutional capacity may have limited options for, or interest in, addressing the causes of such protest, but may feel threatened by it. In response, states may employ violence, broadly conceived, to quell such protest. This ‘force’ may extend from the capacity of the state to impose legal constraints up to and including the use of weapons on unarmed protesters, or the arrest, detention and torture, ‘disappearance’ or killing of dissenters. This is especially so where the police or paramilitary involved have low levels of professional discipline or are otherwise acculturated to employing violence. This is more commonly the case in post-conflict states, such as where independence has been achieved at least in part through the use of violence. Paramilitaries in particular are commonly used as auxiliary forces by developing countries, having lower levels of training and accountability and, hence, prone to less regulated forms of violence. Organized political violence often plays a major role in anti-colonial movements, and many post-colonial states continue to retain militaries larger than their external post-colonial threats imply. Militaries tend to have three functions in post-colonial states, the first of which is, conventionally, defense from external aggression. However, often as participants in the liberation struggle, such armies can also define themselves with a second function as ‘guardians of the state’. This in turn raises the question of such militaries guarding against all ‘threats’ to the state, including domestic ‘threats’, implying an internally focused role, as well as, or instead of, a purely external focus. The third function of militaries in post-colonial states extends from the principle of ‘guardian of the state’, to being involved in or assuming political control of the state. As Desch (1999) noted, militaries that tend to have an internal focus (such as internal security) also tend to be involved in domestic politics. This may be either in response to what might be claimed to be incompetent governments, or against armed movements within the state. This third function of militaries in post-colonial states can manifest as assuming political power as, a part of, or parallel to, the government. In this latter sense, militaries can shadow government or undertake government responsibilities, such as administration, internal security and infrastructure development. Very often there is an element of each of these qualities in post-colonial militaries. The problem with an internal or political role for militaries is that they are, by definition, hierarchical and orders-driven (Huntington 1957), effectively unaccountable and in some cases involved in (legal or illegal) businesses and thus may have a conflict between protecting the state and protecting their interests (e.g. see Brommelhorster and Paes 2003). Militaries which have non-state sources of income have, and commonly exercise, a relatively high degree of independence from civilian oversight. Moreover, militaries are, by necessity, hierarchical and order-driven with little or no tolerance for dissent. Applied to civilian environments, this implies bringing

Separatist conflict 67 military-style order to civil politics, effectively closing out options for expressions of concern, much less opposition or ‘disobedience’. The use of ‘force’, or violence, is rarely far from military political involvement. This is especially so if the state apparatus concerned has a combative rather than rule of law orientation, such as employed by paramilitary police and armed forces. Responses by such state institutions may establish grounds for grievance and a further counter-response, which may result in an escalating cycle of repression, grievance and reaction. Where such grievances manifest as separatist sentiment or activity, militaries or their paramilitary proxies tend to employ military-type responses to what are, at base, political problems. This has the effect of exacerbating the grievance process, especially where unarmed civilians are targeted as supporters or facilitators of separatists. This then creates a vicious cycle in which military action, particularly against civilians, increases grievance which in turn strengthens separatist sentiment, in turn resulting in further repression and so on. Separatist organizations also often employ violence in order to assert their claim to independence or to protect local populations. A further reason for separatist organizations to employ violence, particularly early in their formation, is as a demonstrator effect, or form of theatre, to illustrate that there exists a radical opposition to the state. Finally, some separatist organizations engage in violence to engender a disproportionate state response and thus, having created grievance where it might not have existed or existed at an insufficient level, drive more civilians into the arms of the separatist group. On the issue of the demonstrator effect, it has been suggested that a separatist movement might take root if it sees a successful separatist movement occurring elsewhere (Horowitz 2000:279). It is accurate to note that separatist organizations tend to be well aware of like organizations, particularly if they are regional or otherwise have a high profile. However, this reflects an awareness by pre-existing separatist movements, rather than being a motivator for them. One might suggest that the independence of Timor-Leste in 1999 acted as a beacon to other Indonesian regions, yet the only regions that saw Timor-Leste as a positive example were those already engaged in (a mostly high level of) separatist activity, such as Aceh and West Papua. There was a brief revival of the Republik Maluku Selatan (RMS) movement in the Moluccas (which first arose in 1950), notably Ambon, but this was more in response to sectarian Christian-Muslim violence in which jihadis had shipped from Java to participate. Beyond that, if there are not compelling local conditions, the success of an independence movement elsewhere will be little more than a news item to third regions. In such circumstances, the armed wing of a separatist organization might have a military purpose but, given the disparities commonly (if not universally) found between state and non-state actors, that purpose is rarely intended to be a military victory as such. Rather, the purpose of an armed wing of a separatist movement is to either make the cost of retaining the reluctant territory unsustainably high for the state to maintain, hence forcing a settlement, or to illustrate that armed resistance continues as a symbol of a wider diplomatic effort.

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Warlords A less formal type of military political control over a given territory that is common to separatist conflicts is where the state has broken down and ceased to fulfill its conventional responsibilities, at least in particular areas, and is, or parts of that territory are, subject to functional ‘rule’ by local non-state military leaders, or warlords (see Siddiqa 2017:33). Examples of state failure and warlord control in the 21st century include in Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia, Libya, arguably Syria and Lebanon (particularly in relation to the rise of Hezbollah as a dominant armed non-state actor). Regions controlled by warlords, or other armed non-state actors, function when they are able to establish a ‘predictable, consistent, wide-spectrum normative system of control’ (Kilcullen 2013:126, see also 131–135). The armed forces of warlords are loyal to the warlord rather than to the state, which may in turn no longer be functional or be only partially functional, or not be able to exercise authority over the full extent of a sovereign territory. While informal military leaders have existed since pre-history, the term ‘warlord’ was coined in the middle of the 19th century by way of describing the evolution of the British aristocracy, from having achieved political power through the imposition of military force to having regularized their authority through the application of law (Emmerson 1866:77). Warlords may operate in conjunction (or competition) with other warlords or with the state in the exercise of regional control, which in feudal times might have described the relationship between barons and kings (or similar). In more contemporary settings, warlords might control a portion of otherwise ungovernable territory on behalf of the state, for example Iraqi Shia cleric Muqtada al-Sadr’s Jaysh al-Mahdi (Mahdi Army), which began in 2003. As with other warlord organizations, the Mahdi Army filled a gap due to a breakdown of state order following the removal of Iraq’s Baathist regime in 2003, and to oppose US-led intervention in the country. While the Mahdi Army became a more regularized socio-political institution after 2008, it resurfaced as the Saraya al-Salam (Peace Companies) (Loveday 2014) as one of three key parts of the ‘Popular Mobilization Forces’ that supported the Iraq government in its battle to defeat Islamic State (Mansour and Jabar 2017). Somalia was similarly riven by tribal or clan-based warlordism following the overthrow of the military regime of President Siad Barre in 1991 until the establishment of the Islamic Courts Union in 2006 and international intervention in 2012. It remains, however, prone to fragmentation along tribal lines, as well as seeing the effective creation (or reassertion) of the separatist territory of Somaliland. Numerous other countries have suffered from types of warlordism, including separatist warlordism, in the border areas of Myanmar (e.g. see Sadan 2016), throughout much of sub-Saharan Africa, in many post-Soviet Caucasus and Central Asian states and in the Philippines where local politicians run small private armies alongside and in competition with the separatist organizations the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, the Moro National Liberation Front and the Abu Sayyaf Group.

Separatist conflict 69 Interestingly, it was warlordism in Somalia that helped secure the status of Somaliland as a functionally independent territory. Because of the political disorganization of the Somalian state after the collapse of the Barre regime, and the rise of competing warlords, the state was never cohesive or organized enough to mount a meaningful challenge to Somaliland’s declaration of independence. This was especially helpful in the early days of the declaration, given that the nascent state was then struggling to recover from the destruction and loss of its war with the state, and its very limited economic resources at that time. Despite what is often their loyalty to a leading figure, separatist organizations are different to warlordism in that they have a particular ideological goal, such as regional nationalism/state creation. This is distinct from filling a power vacuum or the simple control of territory through the use of non-state military force.

Group division Separatist movements are marked, principally, by the unity of their shared goal, which is independence. The political and military structures of such movements may be organizationally separate (or they may overlap), but they tend to work closely together to achieve agreed goals, with each wing undertaking the roles specific to its area of purpose. While some groups, broadly defined, may agree in common in favor of separation, they may differ internally over a range of issues. One point of internal dissent among many separatist movements is that of ideology, if perhaps less so since the end of the Cold War and the diminishing of claims to particular ideological purity. In some instances, disagreements over ideology have led to claims of treason within the movement, acts of revenge and deep divisions based on subsequent mistrust. Such was the case in Indonesian-occupied Timor-Leste, with the consequent post-independence divisions characterizing political alignments. Other divisions within separatist movements may revolve around strategy or tactics, particularly where there is dispute over the weighting between armed struggle and diplomacy, but also about whether to pursue conventional warfare (which is uncommon and rarely able to be sustained) or asymmetric warfare, particularly where the latter includes what might be described as ‘terrorist’ activities. Such ‘terrorist’ activities in turn may raise the questions of whether the costs of such tactics are too high for either the separatist movement or, more usually, for its civilian base or the civilian population more generally. On this, the competing views are that government responses to such attacks might alienate the civilian base, and that government repression in response to such attacks might drive more civilians towards the movement. Tribal or ethnic loyalties can also play out in divisions within separatist movements, where a shared identity built around a common goal is undercut by internal distinction over religion, language or other cultural markers. Where this occurs, it tends to be associated with different personalities and related patron-client groups, which can set up the types of internal rivalry that parallel some of the characteristics of the larger separatist movement in relation to the state. This then establishes

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one of the internal problems of separatist movements that they themselves might face internal geographically specific dissent and hence moral equivalence for a claim to further devolution or separation. Few if any separatist movements enjoy complete local popularity or support, especially early in their development when the idea has yet to implant itself in the wider collective imagination. The preconditions for separatist sentiment may be experienced, but the further step of action may be too much for some, or even many. Others may have a weaker sense of the strength of the preconditions for separatism – they have a lesser sense of grievance or do not feel the collective tug as strongly – or may be actively aligned with the external group. Indeed, opponents of separatist goals or processes who are ‘of the people’ may be among the most ardent and active opponents of separatism, in many cases being recruited to formally oppose or fight against separatist activists. It is such dissent that compromises or weakens separatist movements, not least in their claims to legitimate representation of the group vis-à-vis the government of the state. However, not enjoying 100 per cent support does not, of itself, delegitimize or functionally diminish separatist intent.

Characteristics of and outcomes for separatist groups All armed separatist groups are armed non-state actors in the same sense that revolutionary organizations within a state are also armed non-state actors. Both also seek to fundamentally alter the political status quo. However, not all separatist organizations are revolutionary, other than wanting to alter the fundamental arrangement with the parent state. Revolutionary organizations may, indeed, see themselves as state or supra-state in orientation but have a principal goal of changing the nature of the state’s political organization rather than seceding from it. Having noted that, separatist movements may be revolutionary in outlook, employing the logic of particular revolutionary world views, be they political or religious, as a key explanatory method and organizing principle. While not all separatist movements engage in armed conflict, it is a common feature of separatist movements generally and particularly where separatism has arisen in response to armed repression. Separatist movements can engage in conventional armed conflict, but rarely do so given they are a minority in the first instance and, on balance, do not have sufficient military personnel, materiel or funds to sustain such a military form. Indeed, many separatist movements are relatively small in number compared to the armed forces of the states they seek to break away from. Separatist movements that do engage is political violence do so for three reasons: to provoke a response and have the backlash strengthen their support; to win militarily or through increasing the cost of retaining territory above its value; or to maintain an armed symbol of resistance in order to legitimize greater emphasis on political efforts. In the first instance, while separatist (or other guerrilla) leaders will rarely admit as much, violence can be a tactic of employing violence in order to provoke a disproportionate state response. To illustrate, in July 1983, a small band of

Separatist conflict 71 Tamil Tigers ambushed an army patrol, killing 13 soldiers, sparking anti-Tamil rioting which led to the deaths of up to 3,000 people, predominantly Tamils, and the displacement of 150,000 others in what became known as ‘Black July’. The displacement saw the Tamil Tigers’ numbers increase significantly and is generally considered to have marked the beginning of the Tamil Tiger-Sri Lankan government war. That disproportionate and usually poorly targeted response then increases the separatist community’s sense of grievance against the parent state and provides greater support (and recruits) to the separatist cause. Indeed, regardless of whether a state overreaction is provoked or otherwise, such a response which leads to increased grievance and greater opposition to the state engenders further state response in turn, in a self-fulfilling cycle, increasing grievance and so on. The logic of violent separatism is, too, not always or even often to win militarily, but to retain a military capacity which can then be translated into diplomatic support or a bargaining position. In this, military existence is more important than military victory, summarized in the phrase ‘to resist is to win’ (Gusmao 2000), which implies continuation of the struggle is in itself a form of political victory. As such, armed separatist activity is most often irregular or non-conventional (guerrilla), not seeking absolute victories but imposing a cost on the ‘occupying’ power. Given the very modest success rates for separatist movements to date, their methods and goals reflect the often long-term nature of their struggle, with control of territory being one key goal. A further key goal is, as noted, to translate military capacity or other forms of civil resistance into political capital, in order to create a ‘hurting stalemate’ (O’Kane 2006; Zartman 2000), to attract international support or to establish a capacity for bargaining in possible negotiations. While separatist movements to date have rarely achieved their goals, those few that have succeeded have done so for a confluence of reasons. These are relatively simple but include the relative economic or military weakness of the central state and its capacity to support military repression and/or international recognition under international law or international recognition as real politik, followed by active external support or intervention. The state may also voluntarily agree to allow a localized vote on whether a territory wishes to become independent, although this possibility has, to date, been rare and could, perhaps, be suggested to be a reflection of aspects of globalization in which the value of the state is diminishing in relation to the rest of the world or in which the state has extended beyond national to more cosmopolitan values.

Conclusion This chapter has intended to unpack the nature and rationale of separatist conflict; why it occurs, how it occurs and what characteristics it commonly displays. As with all else about separatism, not all of the elements noted here are present in all separatist conflicts and, where they are present, they may occur with varying intensities and over differing periods of time; if a first principle of understanding

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separatism is that it is a phenomenon that occurs between a state and a non-state organization, then separatist conflict is a second order or dependent principle. It is possible for violence to arise first and then lead to the development of a claim to separation, but the character of that violence will be disorganized and not separatist in purpose. It is only with the clarification of the idea of separatism that the subsequent political program can take on a form and the conflict assume the characteristics outlined above. Prior to that, such conflict, or violence, that might exist does so as a grievance rather than as part of a program. Separatist conflict has been noted, in many instances, to take on particular forms and behaviors; this chapter has been intended to offer some insights into why those forms and behaviors occur.

Note 1 The author was in Bobonaro at this time.

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Successful separatist movements

Just a small handful of post-World War II separatist movements have, as earlier noted, been successful. From a rational choice perspective, few separatist bids should be launched, given the poor rate of success and the high human price usually paid in trying to achieve independence. But rational choice theory is rarely part of the process of deciding to embark on a course of independence. Such processes are usually a product of a series of escalating confrontations which have their own internal logic, as outlined in the previous chapter. Like the drivers of separatist movement, what allows independence movements to be successful is in each case driven by its specifics. However, each of them also shares a number of commonalities, with one key area of differentiation. Beyond the usual of a bonded national or ethnic identity, specific territory and grievance, commonalities among successful independence movements also include unity of the struggle, some part of their history as an independent polity (or recognition of an alternate sovereignty under international law), and significant weakness or vulnerability of the parent state. The key distinction in outcomes, however, rests on the question of sufficient military capacity to successfully prosecute independence claims or, more commonly, external military intervention. There can be some dispute as to what constitutes success in an independence bid; some scholars will argue that the disintegration of a federated state constitutes successful separatism. Despite both constituting successful political change which results in the creation of a new state, the fundamental conflict of desired outcomes that characterize separatist claims stand in contrast to more or less voluntary dissolution. For that reason, this chapter does not consider the cases of the voluntary dissolution or the devolution of states such as the Czech Republish and Slovakia, the USSR, or former Yugoslavia with the exception of Kosovo. In the case of Yugoslavia there was much bloody fighting during the break-up, but this mostly reflected irredentist claims within the complex historical context of a patchwork of ethnicities. The Indonesian province of Aceh is included here as, while it did not achieve its goal of independence from Indonesia, it did achieve a relatively high degree of autonomy on internal political, social and economic matters. It stands as an example of a negotiated political outcome that allowed both parties to feel that, if they

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had not achieved what they desired, they had each achieved enough to constitute a satisfaction of their respective claims.

Bangladesh The major ingredients for separatism – a defined territory, a bonded people with a sense of grievance and the support of an external actor – were all strongly represented in what was the first successful challenge to post-colonial state unity; that of Bangladesh. It is not an absolute requirement of state that it be contiguous, but the construction of the post-colonial state of Pakistan the two parts of which were separated for around 2,000 km by another country (India), with distinct languages and histories, was always going to challenge that then still young country’s post-colonial unity. Constructed on the basis of adherence to Islam, the two parts of the country had competing Islamist and secular views on the role of religion in the state. Added to official discrimination against Bengalis in access to government jobs, against the Bengali language, and a lack of recognition of local issues and representation, the political separation of the two parts was all but inevitable. Yet despite these compelling preconditions – defined territory, a bonded people and grievances –the separation of Bangladesh from Pakistan was not inevitable nor, once the movement had started, was it guaranteed of success. Had Pakistan been more inclusive of Bangladeshis in state administration and allowed a higher degree of local self-determination, what was then East Bengal might not have risen against the Pakistani state. Without the direct military intervention of India – the country dividing the two parts of Pakistan – Bangladesh’s independence also might not have been won, or as quickly. Prior to British colonialism, what broadly became Bangladesh was at different times independent, divided among smaller polities or subsumed under regional powers. By the 17th century the region had come under the control of the Mughal Empire. European contact to this time was for purposes of trade, facilitated by local powerholders and de facto rulers, the Shia Muslim nawabs (viceroys) By the second half of the 18th century, however, the British East India Company had consolidated its rule over this rich region (Travers 2005). Reflecting growing tensions, in 1905 the British created the state of Eastern Bengal and Assam, with Dacca as its capital, returning a sense of more clearly felt identity among Bengali Muslims. Over the next 25 years, different political streams of thought emerged, including the Muslim League, which was a faction that favored Turkey’s Mustafa Kemal Ataturk’s secular nationalism (Kennedy 2005). With a limited autonomy, a Bengal Legislative Assembly was established in 1937, with divisions appearing from the outset. The Hindu Bengal Congress won a majority of votes but boycotted the legislature as part of its pro-independence non-cooperation policy. This allowed the Muslim-dominated if secular Krishak Praja Party (Farmer-People's Party), supported by the Bengal Provincial Muslim League and some independents, to take government, foreshadowing a later division of Bengal into east and west.

Successful separatist movements 75 At the same time, there was active discussion as to what a post-British India should look like, and whether it should be a federated state with Muslim majority areas, or as separate countries. The Lahore Resolution, presented by the Prime Minister of Bengal, A. K. Fazlul Huq, and adopted by the All-India Muslim League in 1940, called for areas ‘in which the Muslims are numerically in a majority as in the North Western and Eastern Zones of (British) India should be grouped to constitute ‘independent states’ in which the constituent units should be autonomous and sovereign’ (Uzair 2007). However, events overtook this plan. Ahead of formal partition of India, the Legislative Assembly of Bengal divided, with one group voting for the unity of Bengal and the unity of Bengal with Pakistan. In the face of communal conflicts, a separate meeting also decided that east and west Bengal should separate, with the west to join India (Mukherjee 1987:230). Amid great chaos and loss of life, India and Pakistan separated, with Bengal becoming a constituent part of Pakistan. From the outset, the politics of the new country were dominated by Urdu-speaking Pakistanis from the west; Bengali Pakistanis were notable in Pakistan’s political arena by their absence. The eastern part of the Pakistani Federation was more populous, more ethnically and religiously mixed, and more economically successful than the west. The All Pakistan Awami Muslim League was formed in 1949 and the following year the East Bengal Legislative Assembly enacted a major land reform program. The establishment, two years later, of the Bengali Language Movement, in contrast to the official, western Urdu, indicated growing problems between the two geographically distinct parts of the still young and fragile country (Bengali was made a co-official language in 1954, Schaffer and Schaffer 2019:14–15 on the language issue, see Lambert 1959 on Bengali regionalism). The East Bengal-located United Front coalition comprised the now more secular named National Awami Party, the Krishak Praja Party and two smaller parties. It swept aside the Muslim League in a landslide victory in the 1954 East Bengali legislative elections. The following year, East Bengal was renamed East Pakistan, with the four western provinces becoming the singular West Pakistan in a bid to strike more balance between the east and west of the country. The formalization of East and West Pakistan was met with great resistance in the west, with grievances being raised by the four western provinces. The now more explicitly secular National Awami Party responded by successfully sponsoring a bill in the National Assembly calling for the dissolution of the singular province and providing for regional autonomy. The governing Muslim League struggled to run the country, beset as it was by rampant corruption and wider political turmoil, resulting in the quick succession of four prime ministers. In 1958, President Iskandar Mirz responded to this turmoil by declaring martial law. This was immediately followed by the West Pakistan-dominated armed forces commander in chief General Muhammad Ayub Khan launching a military coup and assuming power (Sayeed 1959). Khan’s period of rule was marked by repression of political dissent, a war in 1965 with India which cut direct contact between the two parts of the country, and economic discrimination against East Pakistan to the benefit of West Pakistan (Muscat 2015:Ch 2). This economic discrimination was reflected in an average

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government spending ratio of more than 70 per cent to the West compared with less than 30 per cent to the East over the period between 1950 and 1970 (Alamgir and Berlage 1972:90; IBRD 1970:Ch II). Following an Awami League-inspired democratic uprising in East Pakistan in 1969, Khan resigned, replaced by General Yahya Khan who reintroduced martial law. Under martial law provisions, along with wider cultural discrimination, Pakistan banned Bengali literature and music in state media. In 1970, when a cyclone devastated East Pakistan killing around half a million people and the government failing to adequately act, the compelling mood in East Pakistan was for control of its own affairs (Heitzman and Worden 1989:20–27). East Pakistan already thoroughly fulfilled the criteria of having a separate language and culture, a distinct – and distant – territory and a growing list of grievances. On the face of it, its post-colonial incorporation had made little sense, other than as an expression of Islamic solidarity. But with West Pakistan seeking to dominate national politics, yet acting in an increasingly predatory manner, the stage was set for separation. The 1970 elections saw the Awami League win 167 of 169 National Assembly seats in East Pakistan, giving it an absolute majority in Pakistan’s parliament. The West Pakistani Pakistan People’s Party had won only 60 seats, yet, with the army, tried to prevent the Awami League from assuming power and preventing prime minister-elect Sheikh Mujibur Rahman from taking the office. This rejection of the election results in 1971 sparked massive protest in East Pakistan, with calls for independence (Baxter 1997:78–79), including by Mujibar Rahman. In response, the Pakistani army launched Operation Searchlight, intended to occupy the cities and close down all political opposition in East Pakistan. Just before his arrest in March 1971; Mujibar Rahman declared Bangladesh’s independence. The subsequent ‘Bangladesh Liberation War’ pitted Bangladeshi regular and guerrilla forces against the Pakistan army, with a provisional Bangladesh government being formed in April 1971. The war was notable for its atrocities and, while there are no precise numbers available, it is estimated that around 400,000 people were killed (with some estimates being as low as 300,000 and others as high as three million). With its own history of conflict with Pakistan, India provided diplomatic, economic and military support to Bangladesh. With millions of Bangladeshi refugees flooding into India, the Indian government began to consider military intervention. Hoping to neutralize Indian involvement, in December 1971, the Pakistan military launched a pre-emptive attack against Indian air bases, formally bringing it into the war. With India coordinating with Bangladeshi forces to its east and invading Pakistan to its west, within two weeks Pakistan surrendered, with Mujibar Rahman being flown back from Karachi to Dacca. The following July, Pakistan formally recognized the independent state of Bangladesh. Immediate consequences of the war included Yahya Khan’s dictatorship collapsing, opening the way towards elected government, while Bangladesh embarked on its own, only partially successful democratic process. In achieving independence, the case of Bangladesh presented a clear demonstration of a geographic, cultural and linguistic community with a

Successful separatist movements 77 set of grievances pushing it towards an assertion of independence. While it would have been difficult for West Pakistan to sustain a long-term military commitment to suppressing dissent in East Pakistan, the intervention of India marked a compelling denouement of West Pakistan’s claims to East Pakistan. Despite having risen from a broadly liberal democratic impulse, Bangladesh’s infrastructure had been badly damaged, and its economy was in ruins. Amid political agitation, Rahman gave himself increasingly authoritarian powers, and, following the famine of 1974, introduced a one-party socialist model in 1975. Rahman was assassinated in a military coup on 15 August 1975, with his successor, Khondaker Mostaq Ahmad, overthrown in a further coup 10 weeks later. The period between 1976 and 1980 was marked by a high level of political instability, attempted coups, assassinations and attempted assassinations. In 1981, President Ziaur Rahman was assassinated by a faction of army officers, with his successor being removed in a bloodless coup in 1982. There was a further attempted coup in 1996 and a coup against a caretaker government in 2007. While there are a range of contributing factors to military coups, it has been proposed that countries most vulnerable to coups are those which have previously experienced them (Belkin and Schofer 2003; O’Kane 1987). If this is true, Bangladesh’s external independence remains stronger than its internal institutions might imply.

Eritrea Eritrea is one of just two independence movements that have succeeded in breaking away from a parent state without external intervention; in Eritrea’s case it was a withdrawal of foreign support for the parent state that precipitated its departure. As a modern state, Eritrea dates from 1991, when the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) and Ethiopian rebel groups were successful in overthrowing Ethiopia’s Marxist Derg government after the then Soviet Union withdrew its support from the Derg in the late 1980s. With the loss of Soviet support for the Derg, in terms of equipment, training and some forces, it took the EPLF and allied forces just two years to complete a liberation war joined three decades previously. Unlike many other separatist movements, Eritrea is not based on a single ethnic group – it has nine recognized ethic groups – but its population did cohered around a common identity based on geography and particularly colonial history (Dirar 2007). Eritrea can trace its history to the Kingdom of Aksum (now located in northern Ethiopia), which was established in the first couple of centuries of the common era and succeeded by regional kingdoms, including those of Medri Bahri and Hamasien, located around contemporary Asmara. Neighboring Ethiopia variously claimed these territories as its own or as vassals. Boundaries between the two have, at different times, been blurred, if most conventionally marked by the Mareb River, a tributary of the Nile. The border of the modern state reflects the incorporation of a number of minor kingdoms and sultanates by colonial Italy in the late 19th century as Italian Eritrea. Italian rule focused on Asmara as a colonial city, but established some

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infrastructure, notably railways and roads, and was marked by its unity of local inhabitants in the Italian administration and police. Like all colonial ventures, however, it was also marked by local expropriation and, in Eritrea’s case, also segregation (Locatelli 2009). Following the defeat of the Italian colonial army in 1942, Eritrea came under British Military Administration until 1952. Ahead of independence, Christian Eritreans supported incorporation of the territory with predominantly Christian Ethiopia, while Muslim Eritreans tended to want complete independence. Within the context of Cold War tensions and the preferences of Eritrean political parties, UN General Assembly decision 390AV in 1952 granted Eritrea self-government under an Eritrean parliament. In this arrangement, Eritrea’s foreign affairs and defense would come under a federal arrangement with Ethiopia for a period of 10 years. Many Eritreans were unhappy with this arrangement, particularly as Ethiopia dominated the ‘federated’ political space. This unhappiness led to the formation of the Eritrean Liberation Movement in 1958 (Ofcansky 2004:69). Expecting complete incorporation within Ethiopia, the Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) was established in 1960, sparking an armed revolt against Ethiopian occupying police and army in 1961. At the conclusion of 10 years under the UN federation arrangement, and following increasing centralization of power in Addis Ababa, the Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie responded to the Eritrean revolt by annulling the Eritrean parliament and formally annexing the country. While the ELF enjoyed popular support, it was factionalized along ethnic and geographic lines, with four, predominantly Muslim lowland zones of command, later joined by a fifth, Christian, highland command. Internal struggles within the ELF command along with sectarian violence within the zonal groups splintered the organization. In 1970, the ELF split into a number of smaller factions. Some of these factions coalesced as the Marxist-Leninist EPLF, resulting in an internal civil war between the ELF and the EPLF, along with the war against Ethiopia. From 1968 until 1982, the ELF was dominated by the Eritrean Democratic Working People's Party (EDWPP), which intended to bring the ELF along a path to a Soviet version of socialist development (Kibreab 2008:186). Until its voluntary dissolution in 1989, the EPLF central committee was similarly controlled by the secret Eritrean People's Revolutionary Party (Connell 2001). In mid-1974, in the face of famine, the economic impact of the 1973 oil crisis and serious rioting in Addis Ababa, the ‘Derg’ (‘committee’) was formed by lowranking dissident army officers investigating recent protests by soldiers. After a careful campaign of destabilization, in September it formally overthrew the government of the Ethiopian Empire and established the pro-Soviet Marxist-Leninist Provisional Military Government of Socialist Ethiopia, succeeded in 1987 by the People's Democratic Republic of Ethiopia (PDRE). By 1977, in the face of a more concerted, Soviet-supported Ethiopian military effort (Lyons 2019:44), the EPLF and the ELF reconciled, although the ELF was reduced to junior partner status. Eritrea’s military fortunes were boosted, in 1977, by Somalia’s attack against Ethiopia in a bid to claim the Ogaden region (Yihun

Successful separatist movements 79 2014). While the Somali attack continued, anti-Derg forces seized the opportunity to press their advantage. Particularly after its shift towards Maxism-Leninism and reflecting the Soviet Union’s displeasure with Somalia over its attack and, given its vulnerability with the Eritrea war and growing domestic rebellions, Ethiopia became the recipient of extensive Soviet and allied support (Tareke 2000). Yemen sent two brigades of troops, the Soviet Union around 1,500 ‘advisers’ and materiel, while Cuba sent around 16,000 troops, which halted the Somali advance. By the 1980s, however, the Derg’s use of what became known as the ‘Ethiopian Red Terror’ to repress dissent, the 1983–1985 famine, economic decline and other negative consequences of the Derg policies had all increased popular support for the Ethiopian rebel groups. By this stage, as well as battling the EPLF and the ELF, the Derg was also battling the Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) in the north, the Afar Liberation Front (ALF), the Amhara Democratic Party/ Ethiopian People’s Democratic Movement(ADP/EPDM), the Southern Ethiopian People's Democratic Movement (SEPDM), the Oromo Liberation Front (OLF) in the south-west and the Western Somali Liberation Front (WSLF), most of which coalesced as the Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF). Facing such widespread and increasingly coordinated revolt, despite launching a series of major military campaigns by 1987 the Derg, reformed as the PDRE, struggled to contain anti-government forces. In the 1988 Battle of Afebet in Tigray province, Eritrean forces surrounded and destroyed an Ethiopian garrison preparing to launch its own major attack. This Ethiopian defeat led to some 18,000 of Ethiopia’s best troops either being killed or captured and a large weapons stockpile falling into the hands of the EPLF. This battle marked a turning point in the war and allowed the TPLF to follow up with a series of successful attacks, from which the Ethiopian army did not recover (Woldemichael 1989). Despite further military operations, the Ethiopian military continued to suffer defeat, particularly at the Battle of Shire in 1989, following which the area of Tigray remained ‘liberated’. In 1986, marking its own changed policy directions, the Soviet Union had been pushing the Ethiopian administration to hold talks with the Somali regime in a bid to end hostile relations. The following year, the Soviet Union noted that would be its last for a new military arms agreement with the Derg. Despite economic reforms among its Soviet Bloc supporters, the Derg/PDRE had resisted such reform. By 1989 the Soviet Union ended it military support for the PDRE, at a time when the by now PDRE was losing battles to insurgent forces. In 1991, after 30 years of continuous armed struggle for independence, EPLF forces entered the Eritrean capital, Asmara, in victory. As the EPDRF was closing on Addis Ababa, the PDRE was overthrown from within. The PDRE’s ruler, Mengistu Haile Mariam, fled to Zimbabwe while the political arm of the PDRE, the Workers Party of Ethiopia, was disbanded and its senior members arrested, with 72 being subsequently tried for genocide. The agreement between the EPLF and the rest of the EPRDF was that, upon success of the revolution, Eritrea could have independence. In 1993, the United

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Nations held a plebiscite on the question, with 98.5 per cent turnout and a 99.83 per cent vote in favor of independence (African Election Database (AED) 2011). As the dominant political and military organization, the EPLF assumed power as the Provisional Government of Eritrea, reinventing itself as the authoritarian (UNHRC 2015:116–123, Ch VI), non-democratic (Lyons 2019:45) People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ).

Timor-Leste The half island of East Timor (formally Timor-Leste) achieved formal independence on 20 May 2002, when a UN administration handed authority to an elected constituent assembly which was transformed into a national parliament by the country’s president, Xanana Gusmao. East Timor’s formal independence followed a UN-supervised referendum on 30 August 1999 on either independence or ‘autonomy’ within Indonesia. Indonesia had invaded and occupied the territory during its process of Timorese decolonization from Portugal in 1975. Held amidst a high level of violence, destruction and intimidation by Indonesian military and its proxy militias, the referendum produced a 78.5 per cent vote for independence. As with other successful separatist claims, Timor-Leste was based on a defined territory, a people bonded in opposition to Indonesian occupation, grievance over the deaths of around a quarter of the population and intimidation and violence visited upon the survivors and, eventually, international intervention. East Timor’s claims were, however, not formally separatist, as it was never legally recognized as part of Indonesia. But the reality of its occupation created the de facto circumstances for its struggle to be considered in separatist terms. East Timor had been colonized by Portugal over the preceding 400 years, although only systematically so after the mid-19th century. It was one of the country’s last remaining colonies of a long-decayed empire when Portugal underwent its ‘Carnation Revolution’ in 1974, ending its fascist dictatorship and ushering in liberal democracy. Until this time, the colonial Portuguese had used the territory’s disparate language groups against each other, leaving elements of lasting bitterness between some of them which filtered into the period of Indonesian occupation. However, as Portugal began to move towards decolonization in 1974, political parties arose, coalescing around the leftist Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor (Fretilin), the conservative Timorese Democratic Union (UDT) and some smaller groupings including one, the Timorese Popular Democratic Association (Apodeti), explicitly in favor of integration with Indonesia (Kingsbury 2009:43–49). For its own part, the anti-communist, military-led Indonesia was concerned over the independence of a potentially left-wing led country within its archipelago, which it had attempted to undermine through propaganda radio broadcasts into the territory. This concern was heightened following civil conflict in the territory in August 1975, in which Fretilin thwarted an attempted coup by UDT, which then fled over the border and sought Indonesia’s support. Indonesian forces

Successful separatist movements 81 began crossing the border the following month, formally invading the territory on 7 December 1975, initiating a reign of terror that was later routinised as occasionally brutal repression. East Timor was a relatively fragmented society prior to the Indonesian invasion, based on more than two dozen language groups and a history of Portuguesesupported localized warfare. However, the Indonesian occupation created a sense of unity around anti-Indonesian sentiment, support for Catholicism in opposition to Indonesia’s majority Islam (personal nomination of one of five Indonesianacknowledged religions being a legal requirement), and increased the use of the local lingua franca Tetum, as well as Indonesian, improving communication between previously disparate groups. Despite the high level of Indonesian occupation, including standardizing education and administration of East Timor to the Indonesian national model, resistance continued throughout the 24 years of occupation. The resistance was initially primarily military, based on Fretilin’s armed wing, the Armed Forces for the National Liberation of East Timor (Falintil). However, despite some initial military successes, Falintil’s numbers were quickly depleted from their initial relatively modest 3,000 or so. Between 1977 and 1979, Indonesian forces concentrated on trying to wipe out resistance, launching a major campaign of ‘encirclement and annihilation’ across the territory. This included burning crops, relocating villagers to controlled camps where many died of starvation, and an extensive bombing campaign of suspected resistance strongholds (CAVR 2005:3, 68–88). As the resistance struggling to survive, it also went through a period of political radicalization, in some cases arresting and executing ‘counter-revolutionaries’ (Gusmao 2000:45–50). Following the death of Falintil leader Nicolau Lobato in 1978, the resistance began to fragment. In 1981, as the sole surviving central committee member, Xanana Gusmao was elected as ‘president’. Having escaped encirclement in the east of the territory, he and a few others began the ‘long walk’, relying on kinship groups for support, seeking out remnants of the resistance movement (Gusmao 2000:58–65). It was from this experience that Gusmao embarked on a new strategy, formalizing the status of those East Timorese leaders who had been abroad during the invasion and who now acted as the emissaries for the struggle, with the military struggle superseding the political struggle. By 1983, Gusmao began to consider alternatives to a military approach as the sole means of resistance, including by 1989 establishing a broad front for national unity and moving Falintil away from being the armed wing of the Fretilin party to being a ‘national’ armed force (Niner 2009:111–112). This move led to splits within the resistance, between those committed to Fretilin and those supportive of a ‘national’ approach (Niner 2009:113–114), which continued to play out in post-independence politics. However, it did act as a uniting force for the otherwise flagging resistance, in particular establishing a non-military civilian resistance movement, the Clandestine Front, in East Timor’s towns (Pinto and Jardine 1997:ch 5; Gunn 2011:59). It was this latter organization that passed on intelligence and organized protests, including that which results in

82 Successful separatist movements the 1991 Santa Cruz massacre (Jardine 1999:16), of which footage was smuggled out of East Timor and which attracted global attention. The UN had never formally accepted Indonesia’s incorporation of East Timor and, especially following the 1991 Santa Cruz Massacre, at a time of realigning geopolitical forces, international opposition to its continued occupation grew. Following Indonesia’s invasion of East Timor, as the recognized authority under international law, Portugal became more committed to the cause of East Timorese independence, eventually leading discussion on the issue in the United Nations in 1998. When, at the height of the Asian Financial Crisis in 1998, President Suharto resigned from office, following negotiations in the United Nations, his successor, B.J. Habibie, agreed to allow East Timor a UN-supervised vote as to its future. With the outcome of the vote declared on 4 September, the Indonesian army (Tentara Nasional Indonesia, or TNI) and its proxy militias destroyed more than 70 per cent of the territory’s infrastructure, forced more than 250,000 people of a population of perhaps 750,000 across the West Timor border and murdered more than 2,000.1 In total, up to 180,000 of around 650,000 East Timorese were identified as being killed or otherwise having died as a direct result of the invasion and occupation, with conflict, brutality and dislocation marking Indonesia’s 24 years of occupation (CAVR 2005). In response, four weeks later, the UN Security Council authorized an Australianled international military mission, Interfet, to restore order (see Blaxland 2015), Indonesia was still reliant on World Bank funding to alleviate its financial weakness so accepted the intervention under a US threat to cancel the funding. There was a number of minor clashes between Interfet forces and militias2 but, with very few casualties and having achieved its objective, the intervention was widely hailed as a significant success. A UN mission followed soon after and the territory was assisted to prepare for the independence which its people had voted for. Following a transition period under UN administration, East Timor formally declared independence on 5 May 2002, with Xanana Gusmao being elected as president and a previously elected constituent assembly becoming the new parliament. In the end, it was a people bonded around a cause, in a defined territory and sharing a profound grievance that provided the foundation for international intervention, without which the country would likely have remained subsumed into Indonesia.

Kosovo The independence of Kosovo is a further clear illustration of a national/ethnic group within a particular territory achieving independence as a result of external intervention, in this case by what was claimed to be humanitarian intervention. The independence of Kosovo following the 1999 intervention was a late inclusion in the break-up of Yugoslavia into its constituent states, which had been largely concluded some seven years before. Kosovo was, after the initial round of breakups of Yugoslavia, part of Serbia and overwhelmingly regarded by Serbs as the ‘cradle of the nation’, dating to the 13th and 14th centuries. However, the territory

Successful separatist movements 83 has been mostly ethnically Albanian since at least the late 17th century. Tensions between ethnic Albanian and Serbian Kosovars dates to the late 19th century and the ‘Albanian National Awakening’ during the period of the growth of nationalism in Europe. International intervention, principally by air strikes, by the US-led North Atlantic Treaty Organization, (NATO) in Kosovo and Serbia in 1999 occurred following the break-up of Yugoslavia from 1991 and NATO intervention against Serb forces in Bosnia and Herzegovina. This earlier intervention brought to an end the Bosnian war of 1992–1995, followed by UN authorized NATO occupation in 1996 which relieved the failed UN force in place at that time (see Lyon and Malone 2010; Bellamy 2010). With significant support of the international community, Kosovo formally achieved independence in 2008. Kosovo has a long and, as with much of the Balkans, checkered history, being revived as a distinct territory in the modern period with the Treaty of Berlin 1878 following the Russo-Turkish War of 1877. This treaty delivered Muslim Albania from Turkish rule but retained the majority Albanian-speaking Muslim Vilayet of Kosovo, thus dividing the two territories for administrative purposes along broadly southern Muslim-Orthodox Christian Tosk-speaking and northern Catholic Gheg-speaking dialect lines. This division also created a territorial barrier between Serbia and the state of Montenegro. While Albanian shares some minor elements of expression with Balto-Serbian languages it is otherwise considered an independent phylum in the Indo-European language family. Albanians and Kosovars also share broadly common traditions and mythology and, since Kosovo’s independence, there have been moves towards economic diplomatic and integration, with some promoting eventual unification. Since achieving independence, Kosovo has been recognized by 113 of the UN’s 191 member states. Serbia, however, still refuses to acknowledge its legitimate existence. Serbia’s fraught relationship with Kosovo dates back to before its 14th century incorporation into the Serbian Empire, in which both Serbian and Albanian inhabitants occupied more and then less of the territory. Albanians gained the upper hand under Ottoman rule but, with the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, the territory was largely returned to Serbia as a result of the 1912–1923 Balkan War (Serwer 2019:84), with populations moving back and forth reflecting the exigencies of war (notably World War I). Kosovo was subsequently incorporated into the inter-war Kingdom of Yugoslavia, succeeded after World War II by Socialist Federal Yugoslavia in which Kosovo was recognized as an autonomous province (rather than as a federated state). In separatist terms, Kosovo’s territory has been defined and redefined, not least subject to various waves of immigration and political authority. But the approximate territory, the dominant (90 per cent) language and cultural group (Jenne and Huszka 2019:122) and a long-standing sense of grievance exacerbated by Serbian ethnic all confirmed the characteristics necessary for the rise of separatism. In this respect, then Kosovo met the conventional separatist criteria of having what had become a fairly clearly defined territory, a majority bonded linguistic

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group and deep-seated grievance defined in opposition to Serbia. Grievances felt by Albanian Kosovars were numerous but reflected a Serbian mistrust of Muslim Kosovars initially by the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and then by the Federated Socialist Republic of Yugoslavia (Nikolic 2003). In the 1960s, Muslim Kosovars were encouraged to immigrate to Turkey. They were also accused of being agents of neighboring pro-Soviet Albania, which was in part a mechanism to have them replaced in positions of power by ethnic Serbs. The decentralization of powers in the 1970s and subsequent further pushes for full state status by Albanian speakers had the reverse effect, of making ethnic Serbs in Kosovo feel insecure, leading to ethnic clashes. In 1981, the province was brought under a state of emergency and rights that had been granted to Albanian speakers were rescinded (Maliqi 2014; see also Vejvoda 2014). Throughout the 1980s, ethnic tensions in Kosovo worsened, with Serbs in Kosovo being subject to extensive persecution, with tens of thousands fleeing. In response, Slobodan Milosevic further reduced Kosovo’s autonomous status and initiated repression against Albanian Kosovars. Albanian Kosovars responded by establishing parallel state structures and, in 1990, proclaiming the Republic of Kosovo and its independence two years later. However, Kosovo was left out of the Dayton Agreement of 1995 which ended the Bosnian war. The following year, the newly constituted Kosovo Liberation Army launched attacks against Serbian Yugoslav military and police, sparking three years of war which became notable for its atrocities, with massacres, mostly of Albanian Kosovars, and ethnic cleansing, particularly of Serbs. In 1998 a ceasefire was agreed to, to be monitored by the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe, but this quickly failed. A follow-up proposal to send NATO troops to monitor a new ceasefire was rejected by the Serbs which, after months of failed talks, resulted in a NATO ultimatum for Serbia to withdraw its forces from Kosovo, which Serbia rejected. With an implied unfolding genocide (e.g. see Scheffer 1999; Csongos 1999; The Irish Times 1999), NATO acted to end the conflict (Solana 1998). NATO began its attack in March 1999 by initiating a controversial aerial bombing campaign of both Serbian targets in Kosovo and in Belgrade. In June 1999, following the sustained campaign against it, Serbia accepted the intervention of a UN Security Council-authorized NATO-led peace-keeping force, to oversee Kosovo’s transition to autonomy but its retention within what was left of Yugoslavia (Malazogu 2003; Woodward 2014:164–171). While there was evidence of war crimes having been committed (by both Serbian and Kosovo forces), including ethnic cleansing and mass deaths (HRW 2001a), there was no evidence of genocide having been committed in Kosovo at that time. The subsequent United Nations Interim Administration Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK) helped Kosovo establish institutions of state including an elected assembly. In a practical sense, it oversaw what was to be an eventual transition to full independence, accepting the argument that the violence of the war had made continued union with Serbia untenable. Following difficult negotiations which were to guarantee the status of Kosovo’s ethnic Serbs, and despite anti-Serbian

Successful separatist movements 85 rioting in 2004 and Russian objections in the UN Security Council, the Kosovo Assembly declared independence in 2008. On one hand, international intervention corresponded with the approximate highwater mark of humanitarian conceptions of the Responsibility to Protect in US foreign policy (Lyon and Malone 2010:21–26), as expressed in: ‘I do not believe that we ought to have to have thousands more people slaughtered and buried in open soccer fields before we do something’ (Clinton 1999:413). On the other hand, however, such intervention could also be seen to represent an element of US-unipolar superpower hubris which did not survive much beyond the decade of the 1990s. While it lasted, however, the combination of international goodwill, a desire to end bloodshed in the Balkans and a commitment to democratization and statebuilding led the international community to provide high levels of support both to securing Kosovo’s independence as well as its post-independence (re)construction (see Hehir 2010). Perhaps, added to this, was a US-led agenda to be able to impose its will as the global arbiter. Without such support, however, Kosovo would have been unlikely to achieve independence from the dominant Serbian state, or to subsequently sustain it.

South Sudan Of all Africa’s artificial state constructs, that of the predecessor state of Sudan was among the most pronounced. North Sudan and South Sudan had been administered as separate territories under colonial UK. But, as part of its colonial policy at that time, the UK wanted to secure the south’s resources, especially oil, for future exploitation. Yet the British viewed the southerners as not being able to administer themselves. So, rather than South Sudan being declared independent or joining with Kenya, as was briefly considered, the UK-organized Juba Conference of 1947 determined, without consultation with southern representatives, that the linguistically and religiously Arab Muslim north should be joined with the subSaharan African, largely Nilo-Saharan-speaking Christian/animist south, if with some devolved powers to the south (Mayo 1994). Relations between the north and the south had been deteriorating since 1952 (Malwal 2015:66). With rising dissatisfaction in the south, in 1955 there had been a mutiny at Torit by members of the British-administered Sudan Defense Force Equatorial Corps, quickly spreading to other towns. Yet the union between the north and the south went ahead upon independence in 1956. This decision was always likely to have negative consequences for the people from the south, particularly after the northern Arab elite successfully argued against Sudan becoming a federated state. Repeated failures by the Arab-dominated Khartoum government, including refusal to establish an autonomous federation, succeeded in alienating the African south. The first two years of independence were also marked by economic failure and constitutional disagreement, leading military commander General Ibrahim Abboud to stage a coup in 1958, banning parties and suspending the constitution (Treaster 1983).

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Following the introduction of imposed Islamic education in the south, and other restrictive measures (Poggo 2009:95), political opposition in the south began to build. This was given clear form as the Sudan African Closed Districts National Union (SACDNU), which organized the first formal political resistance to the north in 1962 (Poggo 2009:114). Combined with continuing low-level insurgency in the south by former Torit mutiny soldiers, forming the core of the loose-knit Anya-Nya guerrilla movement, this southern political and military opposition sparked the First Sudanese Civil War. A failure to control this war led to the fall of General Abboud’s military regime in 1964 (Deckert 2012:40) and the establishment of an Islamist-oriented government in Khartoum. With a change of leadership in 1967, Anya-Nya movement factions came together under an umbrella organization, the Southern Sudanese Liberation Movement (SSLM). With material support from Israel, the SSLM managed to gain control over large parts of the southern-most region, prompting a second military coup in Khartoum in 1969. Despite a further coup and counter-coup in 1971, negotiations with the SSLM resulted in the 1972 Addis Ababa peace agreement, granting autonomy to the south, with SSLM guerrillas being absorbed into the Sudanese army and government services. In 1978, oil was discovered in Bentiu, in southern Sudan. The peace was, however, fragile and, apart from exclusion of non-Arabs from many government positions, a presidential decree in 1983 that African public servants and even private individuals should leave the capital and return to the region of their origin generated massive social disruption (Warburg 1990). For a generation raised away from their ancestral homelands, forcing them to ‘return’ to lands long since left or never seen created deep resentment. Added to the government policy of the ‘Arabisation’ and ‘Islamicisation’ of all Sudanese, including non-Arab, non-Muslim southerners, dissent and opposition deepened. With the Khartoum government entrenched in their position of control and exclusion, war again broke out between the north and the south, between the government and the army of Sudan and what was quickly constituted as the Sudan Peoples’ Liberation Movement/Army (SPLM/A) under the charismatic leadership of Dr. John Garang. Instability and failure continued as a feature of the north, cementing the political distance between the north and the south. This instability led to a further coup by the ‘Transitional Military Council’ in 1985, with a coalition government formed after elections the following year. It was from around this time that the United States, seeing Sudan in terms of Cold War allegiances, started to take a closer interest in, and offer limited support to, the SPLM/A (Downie 2019:105). Sudan’s coalition government lasted for four years, after which the ‘National Salvation Revolution’ launched a further military coup, with yet another attempted coup in 1990. General Omar al-Bashir’s appointment as president in 1993 established a repressive political stability while the civil war raged. Despite enormous human cost to both sides, but particularly in the south where up to two million people had died (Downie 2019:106), the Sudanese government was unable to prevail. This stalemate prompted a series of failed peace talks. The greatest hope for what would amount to a Sudanese government victory came in

Successful separatist movements 87 1997 when the ethnic Nuer faction of the Dinka-dominated SPLM/A joined the government (see Nyaba 2019). Nuer leader Riek Machar had joined the SPLM/A in 1984, but in 1991 fell out with then SPLM/A leader and ethnic Dinka John Garang over whether South Sudan should remain part of a secular, democratic Sudan or become independent. Favoring full independence, Machar formed the splinter group SPLM/A-Nasir, based in the oil-rich north-east of South Sudan. As a result of this split, there were a number of massacres, a famine that left tens of thousands dead and the loss of SPLA territorial gains in the Upper Nile and Equatorial regions. Despite his earlier pro-independence leaning, six years later, Machar reached a peace agreement with the Sudanese government, being made head of the South Sudan Defense Force, and in 2000 forming a new militia, the Sudan People’s Defense Force/Democratic Front (SPDF/DF). Yet by 2002, he had left the SPDF/ DF and the government in Sudan and re-joined the SPLM/A as a senior commander, sparking the second Sudan War. Rather than face absolute military defeat, which after the departure of Machar was imminent, in 2005 the Sudanese government signed a Declaration of Principles, guaranteeing that South Sudan would be allowed a referendum on independence. In 2011, just under 99 per cent of South Sudan’s population voted in favor of independence. South Sudan’s ethnic factions had come together sufficiently to compel the Sudanese government into acceptance of their claim for independence. While the South Sudanese bid for independence reflected the three key criteria of territory, a sufficiently (if superficially and briefly) bonded people and profound grievance, it also reflected critical weakness and disarray on the part of the state. There was no direct foreign intervention in support of the separatist claim, but the state of Sudan was so deeply riven and dysfunctional that it had little hope of remaining intact. Within two years of its independence referendum, however, South Sudan’s ‘shallow political culture’ (Nyaba 2019:124–131) allowed it to descend into an internal war, predominantly between ethnic Dinka and Nuer. The descent into civil war for this new state could be explained in conventional terms; that limited resources meant the aspirations of independence were not met, engendering disappointment and political backlash on one hand and the privileging of one ethnic group over another as a consequence of patron client relations (Nyaba 2019:136–137) and corrupt (Nyaba 2019:82), unaccountable rule by presidential decree (Downie 2019:109–112). Such a setting was ripe for internal conflict. This was exacerbated by South Sudan’s factions also having a pre-independence history of open conflict, both during the independence struggle in 1991, and prior to that between ethnic groups over land (Nyaba 2019:17, 24, 101, 139, 154; see also Rolandsen 2014). In the ethnic cleansing and mass civilian murders of this conflict (Nyaba 2019:110–112), between 2013 and 2018 almost 400,000 people were killed (on top of around two million during the wars for independence), more than 3.5 million displaced and parts of the country were plunged into famine. The consequences of this split along ethnic and geographic lines were that South Sudan remained, in effect, a divided country. While this represented precisely the

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type of state failure that precipitates separatism, in this case there remained at least a nominal commitment to ensuring that the state remained united. In February 2020, however, Kiir dissolved his government and appointed four (soon to be five) new vice-presidents, with Machar being first vice-president, ahead of the formation of a government of national unity. This papered over some very deep political cracks and rewarded powerholders with formal positions in the government without necessarily diminishing their warlord status. South Sudan’s longer-term problems were, it seemed, far from over.

Semi-successful separatist movement: Aceh The Indonesian province of Aceh has twice bid for independence, between 1953 and 1962 and again between 1976 and 2005. The 1953–1962 rebellion was ended when Acehnese leader Daud Beureueh accepted a proposed autonomy arrangement for Aceh, but which was never implemented. The second separatist attempt was concluded with a peace agreement in 2005 which, in effect, gave substance to the earlier autonomy arrangement. In this respect, the Acehnese separatist movement was not successful in what it claimed would amount to a restoration of the former sultanate’s sovereignty. It did, however, mark a degree of success in establishing control over its own internal political arrangements. The area of Aceh that was claimed by GAM comprises the entirety of the Indonesian province of that name even though, historically, Greater Aceh encompassed a much larger area. The movement did not, however, pursue an irredentist claim. As with most other separatist claims, the Acehnese retained a distinct identity and sense of unity, with historical as well as later grievances. To Indonesian nationalists,3 the separatist conflict in Aceh was perhaps the most emotionally divisive in Indonesia's recent history. This was particularly so after a large majority of East Timorese voted to leave Indonesia in a UN-administered ballot in 1999, which heightened fears of the ‘Balkanisation’ of the Indonesian state. Fears of fragmentation had haunted the Indonesian state from the outset, with initial federation quickly replaced by a centralized government, followed by a series of regional rebellions. Beyond the sensitivities caused by the East Timor issue and its implications for the legitimacy of the state, the reasons for the emotive response to Aceh’s bid for independence reflected a range of other factors, including the leading role that the Acehnese played in opposing Dutch colonialism, Aceh’s contribution to Indonesia's war of independence from the Dutch, and the precedent that would be set by having a Malay people separate from the what is overwhelmingly a Malay state. According to Tony Reid: ‘Aceh is central to the myth of Indonesian unity and Indonesian identity, which was created initially by the nationalist movement, and then perpetuated in fact, embedded very deeply in the education system under Suharto’ (Reid 2002). While Indonesia is an ethnically composite state, it does draw on a degree of pan-Malay identification, and the Acehnese have a strong claim to this common heritage. As Schultz also noted, Aceh’s Islamic identity

Successful separatist movements 89 also presented a direct challenge to the secular vision of Indonesia’s first president, Sukarno, and to the centralized developmentalist vision of his successor, Suharto (Schulze 2004). In material terms, Aceh was also economically and strategically important to Indonesia. Aceh's economic value lay in its source of oil and gas deposits, primarily just offshore from North Aceh (Passe). By 1997, Aceh provided 17 per cent of Indonesia’s almost US$12 billion in oil and gas export revenue, although by 2014 that field was depleted. Aceh also had extensive mining, forestry and plantation agriculture (BKPM 2001) and had potential as a major center of trade (even this has not actually existed for well over a century). Aceh's strategic value is its bordering the province of North Sumatra, and its position at the northern end of the Malacca Straights, which is one of the world's busiest waterways and through which travels around a quarter of the world’s oil, two-thirds of liquid natural gas (LNG) and up to a third of all other trade (Ong 2003:2). While Aceh was a significant contributor to Indonesia’s income, the people of Aceh were quite poor by the standards of Sumatra, while infrastructure development outside of the main towns was at a low level relative to the rest of the island. Before 2001, about five per cent of the income derived from oil in Aceh was said to be returned to the province. After 2001, the territory was to have received 70 per cent of revenues from oil and gas profits (declining to 50 per cent after eight years). However, the way this was calculated was that it comprised 70 per cent of what was left after the state and other agencies had taken a share. With the expansion of outside economic interests, especially from Java, local people were often forcibly moved from their homes and landholdings, while environmental damage has been extensive. Co-option of much of the local elite and the reorganization of local administration away from traditional models and along Javanese lines also led to a high level of antagonism towards the central government. From an Acehnese separatist perspective, Aceh has a distinctive majority language, related to Malay and Indonesian, and culture, including a widely held devout adherence to Sunni Islam, if traditionally with some local characteristics. In common with other claims to ‘nation’ (see Connor 1994; Smith 1998), many Acehnese (including GAM) highlight their long and particular history. Aceh is one of the few pre-colonial territories of what was to become Indonesia that was internationally recognized as a separate and sovereign state (see Reid 1969, 1979; Sjamsuddin 1985), being dated in various forms back to the 12th century. Not least within Aceh’s history, is a strong claim to defending itself against outsiders (Reid 1979), most notably against the Dutch who invaded in 1873 and who the Acehnese fought against until most of their leadership were killed or captured by around 1912. However, even after 1912, there continued to be sporadic attacks against the Dutch in Aceh, which continued until the Japanese invasion of 1942, from which time the Acehnese turned their attention to the Japanese. In 1945 Indonesia was declared independent, which was strongly supported in Aceh, notably by sending troops against the Dutch in North Sumatra. From an Acehnese perspective, however, this support was on the understanding that, reflecting local

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‘nationalist’ aspirations, it would lead to a high degree of local autonomy within a loose federal post-independence Indonesia. Since achieving independence, Indonesia has attempted to construct itself as a modern, multi-ethnic state which explicitly incorporates disparate pre-colonial territories into a whole. Indonesia was initially constructed, in 1949, as a federalist model, potentially allowing considerable scope for self-determination on the part of constituent states, with Teungku Daud Beureueh being elected as Aceh’s governor. However, when Indonesia was unilaterally reconstituted as a unitary state in 1950, Aceh’s quasi-autonomous status was lost, which disenchanted those Acehnese aspiring towards a high level of self-rule. In the following year, Aceh was subsumed into the province of North Sumatra, which many Acehnese regarded as a further betrayal of their political status and their fight against the Dutch. Failing to resolve this loss of autonomy, in 1953, Teungku Daud Beureueh declared Aceh’s independence from Indonesia, initially joining with the Darul Islam Indonesia (DII) rebellion, declaring the Federated State of Aceh (Negara Bahagian Acheh – NBA), and later the PRRI4-Permesta rebellion, as a means of securing this claim. In a bid to address Aceh’s aspirations, a nominal ‘special administrative’ status was granted in 1959 (not accepted until 1963). Beyond relative autonomy in religious, educational and cultural matters, this turned out to have little meaning in practice. However, the 1950s did reflect an assertion of Acehnese identity, which was claimed by GAM as constituting the base of the second struggle for independence5 (Reid 2004). In the period following the rise of Indonesia’s New Order government after 1966, and its increased emphasis on international partnerships in mineral exploitation, Aceh found itself subject to economic domination by interests primarily located in Jakarta. In particular, exploration in 1972 showed large LNG deposits off the coast of Aceh, and in 1973 the Indonesian government signed a sales contract for the export of this LNG (Purnomo 2003) which almost completely excluded Achenese economic interests, in turn leading to significant local resentment. This resentment was manifested in the resurrection of the idea of Acehnese independence among a small number of Acehnese intellectuals. To put substance to this claim, on 4 December 1976, Teungku Hasan di Tiro proclaimed Aceh as an independent state, to which the Indonesian government responded with the mass arrests of GAM members. Although usually described as an armed resistance group from the beginning, GAM claims that at this time it was almost exclusively political in its orientation, and that its armed rebellion did not begin until after the initial mass arrests.6 Aspirations by many Acehnese to a high degree of autonomy or independence remain rooted in historical memory, in myth and in a particular identification of themselves as distinctly Acehnese rather than as Indonesian. Yet it was clumsy and often brutal responses by Jakarta, manifested by its army (see AI 2004), to claims for equity and other grievances that gave greater impetus to the separatist movement. In seeking redress to their claims, the Acehnese keenly felt the contrast between their normative views of their world and how their world actually operated when constructed, and constrained, by forces external to them.

Successful separatist movements 91 This cycle of claim and repression rekindled historical memory of assertions of political identity against outsiders, with gaps in memory filled with myths of a glorious past. With a population in the early 2000s of just four million and, at its peak, with perhaps 7,000 fighters under arms, the GAM could not militarily defeat the vastly greater Indonesia. Yet at the height of the rebellion in the early 2000s, GAM controlled around 60 per cent of Aceh, had its own pajak (state tax), education system and rudimentary health care system. The Aceh war fell approximately into three periods, the first of which was between the formation of GAM (formally the Atjeh-Sumatra National Liberation Front, or ASNLF) and the late 1980s when GAM fighters went to Libya for training, followed the Indonesian ‘Military Operations Zone’ period from 1990 until 1998 during which there were mass executions and numerous other human rights abuses, with perhaps some 2000 people being killed or disappeared. It was this period that galvanized support for independence and, with 1998 ushering in the fall of President Suharto and the ushering in of the ‘reform’ period, military operations were scaled back. The third period coincided with Indonesia’s ‘reform’ period, the staging of mass protests, one of which attracted up to a million people, or one in four of the largely rural population, and East Timor’s successful bid for independence which gave heart to GAM that Aceh, too, could achieve independence. Following failed peace talks in 2003,7 Indonesia’s military launched their biggest ever campaign, declaring martial law and bringing in some 70,000 troops and paramilitary police. GAM retreated to the mountains, intending to survive rather than prevail. The Aceh war was expensive for Indonesia to maintain, especially on the back of the Asian financial crisis and its devastating impact upon the Indonesian economy which precipitated President Suharto’s fall. It also engendered military corruption through military business and illegal activities such as smuggling and extortion, and it continued to situate the Indonesian military as a key actor within Indonesian politics at a time of political reform. Ahead of Indonesia’s 2004 election campaign, then candidate, later president, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono said that ending the Aceh war was a priority. As Indonesia’s leading military reformer, Yudhoyono understood the importance of removing the military from politics if Indonesia was to successfully democratize. As part of Yudhoyono’s plan, talks between the government and GAM were scheduled for early 2005, to be held under the auspices of the Crisis Management Initiative (CMI) in Helsinki. Two days after the talks were agreed to, on 26 December 2004, the Indian Ocean Boxing Day Tsunami hit Aceh, killing around 180,000 and destroying much of the low-lying infrastructure of the province. This event acted as a driver for the talks, along with the free entry of journalists for the first time in many years and pressure from donor countries for a peace settlement to allow reconstruction work. No donor country supported Aceh’s independence from Indonesia, which effectively ended GAM’s hopes for independence.

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After six months of talks, GAM and the Indonesian government agreed to a high level of local autonomy, referred to as ‘self-government’ to distinguish it from earlier, failed ‘special autonomy’, including, as an exception to Indonesian political party law, the establishment of local political parties. Senior GAM members said that while the outcome did not deliver independence, it did establish the type of autonomy that Daud Beureueh had accepted for Aceh more than four decades before, but which had never been delivered.8

Ireland The north side of the main entrance to St Stephen’s Green, the Fusiliers’ Arch, in Dublin still has the bullet holes from shots fired by British soldiers during the 1916 Easter Rising. It is one of the numerous sites bearing the scars, real and figurative, of that event, which remains the emblematic moment for what some argue remains an incomplete Irish independence. Some of Ireland’s scars, though, remain invisible, embedded in cultural memory, myth and the continuing aspirations of some who have not yet given up that struggle. The case of Ireland is included here as an example of a successful separatist bid given that, as a result of the 1800 Act of Union, Ireland was claimed by the United Kingdom to be a part of it. The Act of Union can in turn be seen as a British reaction to the French-supported Irish Rebellion of 1798. This is, however, a contentious inclusion given Ireland’s claim to independence was only partially resolved in 1922. Adopting the English presumption of Ireland’s incorporation into a ‘United Kingdom’ supports analysis as separatist issue as does the explicit rhetoric of the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA), which regarded separation from the UK as its founding principle. According to a former Provisional IRA member: ‘Traditionally there has been five ‘isms’ to republicanism: nationalism, separatism, socialism, and anti-sectarianism or secularism’. Separatism was explicit. ‘Separatism was rooted in [Theobald Wolfe] Tone’s “To subvert the tyranny of our execrable Government, to break the connection of England – the unfailing source of all our ills”’, he said. ‘In daily discourse, the Provisional IRA did not define itself as a separatist movement, but separatism was a core component of Provisional republicanism’.9 The example of Ireland clearly demonstrates a largely bonded people, but for the descendants of settlers in the north of the island, a clear territory comprising an island and a history of grievance and repression that continued on and off over hundreds of years. There was no foreign intervention in Ireland, so it does stand as a rare example of a ‘separatist’ territory achieving independence on its own. What tipped the balance away from continued UK occupation of Ireland was that, despite British objections that Ireland was part of the United Kingdom, the method of its incorporation was explicitly colonial and the world had just begun to recognize new states evolving out of older ones, and that the UK was somewhat weakened but perhaps more battle-weary as a consequence of its contributions to and losses in World War I; there was simply little stomach left for fighting a seemingly unwinnable battle.

Successful separatist movements 93 British involvement in Ireland is usually either dated from between 1169 and 1175, from which time it waxed and waned in terms of practical and symbolic power, or from the early 17th century ‘Plantation [colonization] of Ulster’. This introduced an almost exclusively Protestant, English-speaking settler population to the northern counties, displacing local chiefs who had fled Ireland following the Nine Years War. This colonization contributed to the Irish Rebellion of 1641, with Irish Confederates joining English Royalists in 1649, extending the English Civil War to Ireland. Cromwell’s Parliamentarian forces invaded Ireland and defeated the Confederate and Royalist forces, consolidating English control by 1653. While accounts of population loss vary, the cumulative effect of the Cromwellian subjection of Ireland, through battlefield deaths, starvation, disease and transportation, led its population to decline by almost half (O’Callaghan 2001:Chs 1–4; Lenihan 2001:112; Prendergast 1868:70–73, 99–118, 177–196; Parker 1993:23). To the extent this was an intentional attempt to inflict on the Irish people conditions of life calculated to bring about their physical destruction in whole or in part (UNGA 1948), it might now be considered a genocide . Loyalist Anglican AngloIrish rule became entrenched, legally disenfranchising the majority Catholics and minority dissenting Protestants. The Rebellion of 1798, led by Wolfe Tone, reflected political changes occurring in the United States and France at the time. However, any sense that the rebellion was predicated upon the unity of all of the people of Ireland was lost during localized Catholic massacres of Protestant communities. The ending of this rebellion was followed by the merger of the Kingdom of Ireland with the Kingdom of Great Britain (to form the United Kingdom). From 1801 until 1922, Ireland was ruled directly from London. Smaller rebellions had followed the Rebellion of 1798, in 1803, 1848 and 1867. There were 19 such rebellions against the British rule until the 1919 War of Independence. The mid-19th century was marked by the Great Famine, in which a million died from starvation, with two million Irish emigrating, making a profound impact on the Irish popular psyche (O’Grada 2004). Following the impact of the Great Famine, in the late 19th century Irish nationalism again rose, paralleling the rise in nationalism elsewhere in Europe. This movement consolidated support for an independent Ireland, with a movement for ‘home rule’ successful in 1914, if still with predominantly Protestant loyalists in the six north-eastern counties pushing for exclusion. Paramilitary groups had been formed by both the pro and anti-home rule groups by this stage, with the Home Rule Act being suspended before it could be implemented due to the start of the Great War in 1914. The pro-home rule militia, the Irish Volunteers, split, with a minority of perhaps less than 10,000 providing the nucleus of the group that staged the 1916 Easter Rising (see Grob-Fitzgibbon 2007:8–9). The harshness of the initial British response to the quickly defeated ‘Rising’ turned much public sentiment towards independence (Grob-Fitzgibbon 2007:9; Foley 2016), enhanced two years later by opposition to military conscription for the European war.

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The UK general elections of 1918 in Ireland led to overwhelming support for the pro-independence Sinn Fein (‘Ourselves Alone’), taking 73 of 105 Irish seats. Sinn Fein members refused to take their seats in Westminster, establishing their own parliament in Dublin, passing the Declaration of Independence (RTE undated). At the same time, the ‘volunteers’ reorganized as the IRA, launching a war in pursuit of independence. The prior move by the UK government to allow home rule, the intractability of the IRA’s campaign, its cost and the war-weariness of the UK following the Great War all contributed to its agreement for Irish independence, taking effect in 1921. The price of independence was, however, that the six anti-republic north-east counties were partitioned to remain as part of the United Kingdom. Disagreement over the signing of this agreement sparked the Irish Civil War, with the newly constituted Irish National Army pitted in bloody war against the anti-treaty IRA. The IRA surrendered in 1923. The exclusion of the northern part of Ireland as the price of Irish independence, from the perspective of many Irish, made an incomplete process. As such, it will be considered, particularly in relation to the ‘completion’ of the Irish independence project, in the next chapter.

Notes 1 Pers.comm. Special Crimes Unit, UN Police, Dili, December 2000. 2 Based on conversations with UN Military Liaison Officers, Motaaen, Indonesian West Timor, January 2000, and subsequent conversations with relevant Australian Defence Force officers. 3 I.e. Indonesians who wished to construct a sense of ‘Indonesianness’ based on the postcolonial state. 4 Revolutionary Government of the Republic of Indonesia – Pemerintah Revolusioner Republik Indonesia, better known as PRRI, especially in connection with ‘Permesta’ (Piagam Perdjuangan Semesta, or Overall Struggle Charter). 5 Based on discussions with a number of senior GAM officials and members of the GAM negotiating team, in Banda Aceh, Lhokseumawe and Kuala Lumpur, in 2001 and 2002. 6 Based on discussions with a number of senior GAM officials and members of the GAM negotiating team, in Stockholm, Helsinki and Kuala Lumpur, between 2004 and 2006. The author was principle adviser to the GAM negotiating team in 2005 and undertook democratization training with them and other GAM leaders in late 2005 and 2006. 7 Understood by GAM negotiators as a ‘take it or leave it’ offer of what they viewed as the status quo, based on discussions with GAM negotiators in 2003. 8 Discussions with the GAM negotiating team, Stockholm and Helsinki, 2005. 9 Interview with the author, Dublin, June 2019.

6

Separatism in Europe

For a region that gave the world the Westphalian system of sovereign integrity and the inviolability of borders, it is ironic that Europe has seen, pro rata, perhaps the greatest number of changes to borders since the rise of the nation-state in the 19th century.1 The failure of empires (variously conceived), territorial expansionism, claims to national consolidation, strategic buffering, irredentism and long simmering ethnic rivalries and grievances have served to cast, re-cast and further re-cast borders and even whole countries within Europe. Even where states have, at one level, appeared relatively settled and functional, the homogenizing claims of nation-states have been, for some places, more an aspiration than a reality. Having previously been held intact by a thinning cosmopolitan glue since 1945, Europe’s nationalisms have again begun to assert and re-assert themselves. Devolution to the local has built momentum, with various national and sub-state groups increasingly looking askance at one another. In part, the more recent assertions of ‘nationalist’ (or sub-nationalist) identity, if based on age-old cultures, has reflected an alienation from the state as a consequence of contemporary stressors (see Anderson 2018; Zeigler and Dye 1988; Backman 2013; Rydgren and Ruth 2011) many of which have begged the question of the usefulness of the state in a disrupted post-industrial era. Beyond contemporary, Ukraine’s separatist movement, as that of the Crimea, was driven by economic and political distinction, language and, not least, external intervention. Other European separatist organizations include, but are not limited to, Kosovo’s Republika Srpska and the Croatian Republic of Herzeg-Bosnia within Bosnia-Herzegovina, Italy’s Lega Nord, and Spain and France’s Basque parties. Belgium may also be considered in this grouping, in part for its German minority regions as well as, more importantly, the divisions between Dutch Flanders and French Wallonia. Other of Europe’s composite states have also agreed to devolve to their constituent parts: Former Yugoslavia devolved into the states of Serbia, Croatia, Montenegro, North Macedonia and Slovenia, if through a tumultuous, violent and still fractious process.2 Bosnia and Herzegovina achieved independence after a bloody war while Kosovo achieved independence following a war and then external intervention. More peacefully, in 1992 Czechoslovakia peacefully devolved into the states of the Czech Republic and Slovakia, reflecting Slovak resentment

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of Czech economic and cultural dominance and a desire by some Czechs to form a tighter rather than looser union between the Czech and Slovak nations (Innes 2001; Kraus and Stanger 2000; Musil 1995). Belgium was based on a collection of autonomous provinces of the Burgundian and then Hapsburg empires, and determined by the Eighty Years War as part of the Dutch, protestant Netherlands. In 1830, the southern Catholic provinces rejected perceived interference by the Dutch King William in southern religious affairs, exacerbated by economic hardships. In 1830, protests led to revolution, following which the state’s independence was accepted and shaped by the five major post-Napoleonic European powers of Austria, Britain, France, Prussia and Russia agreeing to guarantee Belgium, in effect as a buffer state, on condition it did not become a republic. So artificial was this construct with Belgium that its two main language groups, Dutch dialect Flemings and French dialect Walloons, ended up agreeing to have a constitutional monarch, Leopold I, imported from Germany. With French as the dominant language, northern Flemish-speakers grew dissatisfied, demanding greater linguistic autonomy, implemented over a series of educational, administrative and political reforms. While there are regular calls for separation between the two linguistic and geographic regions, each would be the weaker without the other and more vulnerable to domination by their linguistic siblings, the Netherlands and France. As Europe’s major battle ground and then hosting the parliament of the European Union, internal differences are overcome by an outward looking recognition of the cost of division and the value of unity. Other countries have or have had separatist movements, including Spain’s Basque ETA, which ensured the province has the highest level of autonomy in Spain. Unlike other provinces, including Catalonia before its complete loss of autonomy in 2017, the Basque province raises its own taxes and returns a proportion to Madrid. The UK’s Welsh Plaid Cymru, and Finland’s Aland Islands’ Aland Framtid also reflect the composite, and sometimes fractured, construction of a number of European states.

Northern Ireland While the issue of Irish ‘separatism’ was largely resolved by the independence of the Republic of Ireland in 1921 and the signing of the 1998 Belfast (Good Friday) Agreement, it was not entirely settled. On one hand there remained staunch Irish nationalists who believed that Northern Ireland should again be part of the whole, while many in Northern Ireland were looking askance at the UK’s Brexit process, considering leaving the UK and rejoining with Ireland as an option. In the latter case, this in part reflected changing demographics, with Catholics and Protestants – the traditional political divide – being closely matched, and in part reflected a softening of positions since the signing of the Belfast Agreement. Northern Ireland was the creation of the 1921 agreement that recognized Irish authority for Ireland’s 26 counties, although not for the 6 majority or significantly Protestant counties in the north-east. This arrangement of dividing off the

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six counties contradicted the principle of uti possidetis that characterized subsequent decolonization processes, leaving a long-standing sense of unfinished business. It has been suggested that this decision was driven more by Northern Irish Protestant objections to becoming part of a predominantly Catholic Ireland than it did a desire for the UK to cling to the territory. There were marked differences between Catholic and Protestant Northern Irish, in terms of religion, economic status, social relations, education and, still to a large extent, national loyalties, and to some extent these remain. As with all new states, however, at least some of the subsequent writing of Irish history emphasized a particular ‘national’ identity and glorified a number of national myths, helping to entrench divisions rather than bring together the separated land. The partition of Ireland was not designed to be permanent, but to eventually establish a Council of Ireland to harmonize and unify the two sections under ‘a parliament for the whole of Ireland’ (Government of Ireland Act 1920; see also Rankin 2007). But the civil war allowed time for Northern Ireland to consolidate and try to make effectively permanent its separation, while Ireland entrenched the influence of the Catholic Church, further alienating the north. The ‘rabid brand of Presbyterianism had survived a century in Ulster in an undiluted form. … Kept sheltered from any subsequent wishy-washy liberalism, it had grown into something impossibly tough and unyielding’ (Oliver 2009:325). It was not until the late 1930s that the IRA resumed its campaign for incorporating the six counties into the Irish Republic, while Ireland’s 1937 Constitution claimed the six counties as part of Ireland. The two religious communities of Northern Ireland have for three centuries identified themselves in often oppositional terms but, despite a high level of localized segregation, have lived in communities as patchwork as those of some since ‘ethnically cleansed’ areas of the Balkans. Protestant Northern Irish have been relatively successful in maintaining a separate existence to the rest of the Republic of Ireland, while Catholic Northern Irish nationalists have pressed, at various times and with usually limited degrees of success, for Northern Ireland to separate from the United Kingdom. The ‘Troubles’ – a euphemism denoting the IRA’s war in Northern Ireland over three decades to 1998 – were the most pronounced manifestation of that separatist cause. Although the IRA continued to claim Northern Ireland, as did Ireland itself, if only rhetorically, the claim became relatively subdued, if with border-region skirmishes into the 1950s and the IRA beginning to reorganize in the mid-1960s (Taylor1997:9). Added to propaganda campaigns from the republic against the existence of Northern Ireland, in 1938 and 1948, there remained enough tension to create a sense of threat from the (Catholic) south. But it was not until the late 1960s that the more recent round of hostilities broke out between Catholics and Protestants (see Rose 1971, Harris 1972 for firsthand accounts of attitudinal antipathy). According to former Provisional IRA member Anthony McIntyre , the ‘Troubles’ could not be explained by historical republican aspirations alone but needed to be placed within the context of the structural persecution of Catholics in Northern Ireland as they had developed.

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This persecution included social, educational and religious separation and, to a large degree, segregation, significantly higher unemployment among Catholics (see Rowthorn and Wayne 1988:115), generally lower status jobs (recognized in the Hillsborough Agreement 1985) and electoral boundaries designed to give Protestants voting majorities, particularly in Londonderry (see Walker 2018; O’Brien 2010; Munck 1992; Hewitt 1981; Darby 1976). Religion was, thus, the basis for the segregation of the population of Northern Ireland, reflected in political allegiances (Whyte 1990:75–76), as well as being an underlying cause of and marker for the conflict (Whyte 1990:51, 101–102; MacDonald 1986). Catholics in Northern Ireland were ‘in every sense of the word, second-class citizens’ (Taylor 1997:30). In short, there remained the competing views that Ireland was a singular national territory only divided by the British which should be united, in opposition to Ireland being a territory comprising two distinct peoples. In 1965, as Sinn Fein organized for elections in Northern Ireland (if with a policy of not assuming seats if elected), pro-UK Unionists re-established the violently anti-IRA, anti-Catholic Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF), with its first ‘target’ murdered in 1966 (Taylor 1997:30). With the IRA and the UVF existing in an already unstable 1960s Northern Ireland, the mechanism was created for conflict; the conditions for conflict were also being created. As with the US civil rights movement and those elsewhere at the time, a Catholic-based civil rights movement had developed in in the early 1960s Northern Ireland, in a bid to end discrimination against Catholics. Marches held by civil society groups from 1967 quickly resulted in clashes with both Unionists and the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) and the consequent growing radicalization of the civil rights movement. Much of the protest movement and reaction was based on the town of Derry, in particular the Catholic area of Bogside. Meanwhile, a parallel civil rights movement developing in Belfast staged its own ‘Long March’ in January 1969 from Belfast to Derry, being attacked along the way by loyalists and members of the RUC. Upon reaching Derry, the town was rent by rioting and the Bogside area by destruction (Bosi and Prince 2009). Barricades were maintained for five days and old Republicans came out to help form self-defense groups. Further protests and marches were suppressed, although the government gave way to calls for an end to gerrymandering of electoral boundaries, reflected in calls for ‘One man, one vote’. But the Protestant-dominated Northern Irish government refused to hold police to account for the previous violence or to withdraw the ‘Special Powers Act’ of detention without trial (first introduced in 1922). The conflict of the first half of 1969 culminated in a march in Derry by a Protestant fraternal society. Preparing for the march, the newly organized Derry Citizens Defense Association set up barricades and prepared for the possibility of battle. As the march entered the Bogside area, taunts quickly led to violence, with the RUC and Bogsiders involved in pitched battles. After three days, the RUC pulled back but, before the Northern Ireland government could send auxiliary support, the government in London intervened and sent the army to stand between the barricades and the RUC.

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What had started as a civil rights and then a self-defense movement had morphed into a rebellion against the state and had created the kernel of the Provisional IRA (Iron 2008:166). For many of the Catholic protesters, these events clarified for them that the only way that civil rights could be protected was through the separation of Northern Ireland from the UK and its reunification with the Republic of Ireland. Subsequent attacks in Belfast had a similar effect there and, as with Derry, marked the end of the civil rights phase of the movement. Under the guidance of some original IRA members, by 1970 the Provisional IRA had become active. Having initially been deployed in 1969 to support the RUC as a force to keep the peace and, significantly, to protect Catholics from Protestant attacks, the UK army’s role in Northern Ireland quickly turned into being one principally focused on defeating the IRA. Despite its ‘peace-keeping’ function, the UK army’s presence in Northern Ireland became a principle focus of IRA attacks, and a rationale for its activities (see Greenslade 2019). In this respect, the British Army reverted to conventional state ‘monopoly of force’ requirements. Increasing heavy-handedness by the RUC and the army culminated, in August 1971, with the 1st Parachute Regiment killing 11 civilians at Ballymurphy and, in January 1972, soldiers from the same regiment shooting dead 13 and wounding 13 (1 later died) at Bogside, in what became known as ‘Bloody Sunday’. The UK government suspended the Northern Irish parliament while the assertive nationalism of the Provisional IRA became the dominant ethos for political change. The militant pro-republican response claimed the mantle of the IRA (designated as ‘Provisional’, with the Dublin-based ‘Official’ group opposing conflict in sectarian terms and promoting an increasingly Marxist class-based agenda). Having eschewed what it saw as sectarian violence, the official IRA was unprepared for, and largely unsupportive of, the defense of Northern Irish Catholics. This older version of the IRA effectively ceased activity around 1972, with the Provisional IRA, often referred to as the ‘Provos’, dropping ‘Provisional’ from its name. As with any radical political movement, the IRA was prone to ideological differences, with IRA splinter groups and parallel organizations such as the Irish National Liberation Army (INLA). The Continuity IRA,3 for example sometimes worked in cooperation with the ideologically similar INLA, while the ‘Real’ IRA (later, after a merger with a smaller group, the ‘New’ IRA) left the IRA in 1997 over its opposition to the peace talks which led to the Belfast Agreement.4 A former Provisional IRA member who became disillusioned with it following the signing of the Belfast Agreement, said: ‘To the extent that they did not believe that [was a sell-out] is also the extent to which they did not believe in national independence either!’5 Official UK army policy at this time was ‘reassurance, deterrence and attrition. Most of the attrition of the IRA officially took place through arrest and conviction’ (MoD 2006:2, 14). Having noted that, the UK Army was also accused of tolerating if not encouraging, at least in some of its operations, a ‘shoot to kill’ policy (Helsinki Watch 1991:48–55). During the early 1970s, the British Army’s Mobile Reconnaissance Force (MRF) was referred to as a ‘kill or capture’ squad or a

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‘legalised death squad’ (Ware 2013; BBC 2013). A former British Army officer closely engaged in counter-terrorism and counterinsurgency in Northern Ireland at that time, Richard Iron, however noted that ‘By the mid-1980s, though, the military campaign was becoming more sophisticated and missions were tailored to the needs of every operation carried out. … The emphasis switched dramatically away from killing or capturing to prevention and deterrence’.6 Despite a public UK government policy of not negotiating with terrorists, British Army intelligence also kept back-channel communications open as an essential part of bringing the IRA to negotiations (Iron 2008:172–173, 182). This was critical to the signing of the Belfast Agreement. According to a UK army document, 1,441 UK soldiers died in Northern Ireland during Operation Banner between 1969 and 2007, 722 of whom were killed in IRA attacks (MoD 2015:4, 5). The UK army killed 363 people in Northern Ireland over the same period, slightly less than half of whom were IRA members, while the RUC and ‘loyalist’ paramilitaries killed a further 1,072 people7 with more than 2,000 being killed by the Republican paramilitaries (Sutton undated), giving the conflict in the north at least some of the characteristics of a civil war. The 1998 Belfast (Good Friday) Agreement effectively ended the ‘Troubles’, with the unofficial support of the IRA, through a devolved political process recognizing the collective interests of Ireland, the UK and the people of Northern Ireland, majority decision-making within North Ireland about its future status, and a closer relationship with the Irish Republic. Critical to that enhanced closeness was an open-border and cross-border cooperation and enhancement policy between Ireland and Northern Ireland (Belfast Agreement 1998). The open border was central to the peace agreement, given it in part met the demands of the IRA that Northern Ireland be incorporated, at least in terms of trade, into the Irish Republic. The Belfast Agreement saw a major devolution of powers from the UK to Northern Ireland and closer cooperation between the UK, Irish and Northern Irish governments over management of the territory. It did not negate reunification of the island, despite removing such a claim from Ireland’s constitution (Tucker 2018:290) but noted that such reunification could occur on the basis of a democratic vote in the north. A little over two decades later, that agreement faced new challenges as the United Kingdom attempted to resolve its split from the European Union and hence the potential to change border openness with European Union states, including Ireland. While Brexit was legislated to proceed, the key element of the Belfast Agreement of open borders between Ireland and Northern Ireland remained. In the UK’s 2019 elections, which delivered a strong majority to the UK Conservative Party, the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) won eight seats on just over 30 per cent of the vote, Sinn Fein seven seats on just under 23 per cent and the pro-unification Social Democratic Labor Party two seats on just under 15 per cent. Senior DUP members said they wanted guarantees on access to the Republic of Ireland, which originally would not have been available under a ‘no deal’ or ‘hard’ Brexit (Walker 2019). According to DUP Member of the European Parliament Diane

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Dodds, the imposition of trade barriers in the United Kingdom would be ‘intolerable’ as it ‘threatens the constitutional and economic integrity of the United Kingdom’, (Dodds 2019). Based on voting in the 2016 ‘Brexit’ referendum there was an anti-Brexit majority which could, following the passage of the Brexit legislation excluding Northern Ireland, translate into renewed discussions over reunification. Brexit prompted otherwise ‘loyal’ British subjects to reject the United Kingdom, with a majority saying they would want to leave the United Kingdom and join with the Republic of Ireland should Brexit proceed (Preston 2018; see also O’Reilly 2019). In 2018, 52 per cent said they would vote in favor of a united Ireland after Brexit. In January 2020, Sinn Fein accepted a deal approved by Northern Ireland's other main parties to resume power-sharing after a previous agreement was suspended in 2017. Sinn Fein leader Mary Lou McDonald said that Northern Ireland faced ‘serious challenges’, including the impact of Brexit. ‘At these historic times we will also continue to work for Irish reunification and we want to ensure that the criteria for the triggering of an Irish unity poll are set out and that planning for Irish unity is stepped up’ (Yeginsu 2020). Northern Ireland’s troubled political history appeared to have some further way to go before becoming settled.

Scotland Scotland’s parliament building sits at the eastern end of Edinburgh’s old town as a counterpoint to Edinburgh Castle jutting out atop Castle Rock at the old town’s western end. Over Edinburgh Castle flies the Union Flag of the United Kingdom, signifying British dominion. Outside the Scottish Parliament flies the Union Flag, the blue field and white saltire St Andrew’s Cross Flag of Scotland, and the blue and gold starred Flag of the European Union. According to Scottish nationalists, the time was coming for Scots to choose whether to fly the Union Jack or the European Flag. Scotland’s relationship with England – ‘the auld enemy’ – is long, complex and tightly intertwined. Despite a desire by many Scots to ensure that Scottish identity remains separate from that of England, the question of whether the Scots were prepared to risk financial well-being for that privilege was not one most were, when asked in 2014, prepared to risk. Should the economic balance change, however, such as through Brexit, so too could the commitment by most Scots to a future within the United Kingdom. In many respects Scotland meets all the conventional criteria for a state seeking separation; it has a defined territory, a people having a shared history and culture and a sense of historical grievance. Not least, too, Scotland’s elites led the country into union with England for essentially economic reasons which have become less compelling as the United Kingdom’s fortunes have declined. It may be, then, that economic prospects again determine Scotland’s political future. Scotland’s people have, it is fair to say, been less persuaded by England’s utility, particularly as the United Kingdom lost its status as a world strategic and economic power.

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The tipping point as to whether Scotland remained with the United Kingdom or separated from it appeared to hinge on whether the United Kingdom remained included within or closely aligned to the economic structure of the European Union and hence integrated into a wider economy. ‘Scotland is,’ according to Scotland’s first minister and Scottish National Party (SNP) leader Nicola Sturgeon, ‘heading inexorably towards independence’ (Bosotti 2019), even if the Scotland Act 1998, which devolved considerable local power to a Scottish Parliament, did not include the Scottish Parliament being able to legislate on or authorize its own independence referendum. The desire for independence was, for many Scots, the settlement of an old claim, cultural in some of its origins, but with a longer and deeper social memory of regarding the English as enemies. Yet Scots were not obliged to take up arms to press their case, perhaps indicating that the issue of Scottish independence was less critical than in some other places. Scotland has had an undercurrent of objection to English domination dating back to its first effective subjugation towards the end of the 13th century and continuing battles for independence into the middle 14th century and again in the 18th century. Scotland, too, has looked at least as much to Europe as to south of its border for trade and diplomacy. The Scottish independence movement was given a new legitimacy in the latter part of the 20th century, initially with a devolved parliament for local affairs. While otherwise well integrated into the United Kingdom, with a popular vote on independence defeated 55.3 per cent to 44.7 in 2014, hopes for Scottish independence was revived in 2016 following the United Kingdom’s 2016 rejection of continued participation in the European Union. Scotland had voted 62:38 in favor of remaining within the European Union. In 2019, Scottish first minister Nicola Sturgeon said she wanted a new vote on Scottish independence by 2121 if the United Kingdom left the European Union (Bosotti 2019), which it was soon after slated to do. Scotland was not always part of the United Kingdom, however. Scotland’s first parliament, comprising the ‘three estates’ of the nobles, churchmen and representatives of royal towns and shires, sat in 1235 at Kirkliston near Edinburgh, with Edinburgh’s Parliament Hall being completed in 1639. Despite being an independent kingdom, Scotland had to contend with continued and often successful attempts at dominance from the south. Following the death of King Alexander III of Scotland and disputes over succession, in 1291 Edward I of England insisted that he be acknowledged as Lord Paramount of Scotland. While this was agreed to by the Scottish lords, Edward’s further insistence on bringing the lords to heel bred resentment and, following Edward’s sack of Berwick, in 1296 led to war. Edward invaded Scotland and was initially successful until countered, in 1297, in campaigns led by William Wallace, Andrew de Moray and a number of Scottish Guardians (regents). Despite victories, particularly that of Stirling Bridge (in which de Moray was fatally wounded), Edward launched further campaigns and general Scottish submission was offered in February 1304. Robert Bruce and John Comyn succeeded Wallace as joint Guardians; However, in 1306 Bruce killed Comyn over betraying a plan to Edward for one of them to become the new Scottish king

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and war resumed. Edward died in 1307 and Scottish forces won a series of victories, culminating in Bruce’s victory over English forces at Bannockburn in 1314. There were further Scottish military campaigns in Scotland, Ireland and Northern England from 1314 until Edward III signed the Treaty of Edinburgh-Northampton in 1328, accepting that ‘. . . the kingdom of Scotland shall remain forever separate in all respects from the kingdom of England . . .’ (Edward III, in Oliver 2009:152). Despite this, Edward III invaded again in 1332 with this subsequent war lasting until 1357. At its conclusion, Scotland agreed to pay a fee (100,000 merks) for English costs but retained its independence. As a result of intermarriage between royal families, in 1603, the Scottish king, James VI, inherited the English throne (as James I), with Stuarts ruling both kingdoms independently for just over a century. But ‘the union of the crowns was more than just another step along the road. It was a decisive turning point in Scotland’s history’ (Oliver 2009:243). ‘Ever since James VI and I had crossed the border heading south, Scotland had been ruled from London and everybody knew it. For many, the choice had long been clear; continue to be ruled from London, but without access to English markets – or be ruled from London while growing fat on the proceeds of union’ (Oliver 2009:293). In an era in which religion was equated with, and was part of, politics, the 1638 signing of the Covenant8 identified Scots as having a right as Scots to their own religious beliefs, regardless of the king’s commands, in effect affirming their ‘rights’ not just as subjects but as citizens of Scotland. In turn, this identified Scotland as a nation in the sense of having a specific, bonded political community. It also recognized the state, as a national territory conferring rights. Despite ‘mutual loathing’ between the two kingdoms (Oliver 2009:292), the failure of the Panama Isthmus Darien Scheme of 1698–1700 backed by wealthy landowners with approximately 20 per cent of all money in Scotland (Prebble 1968) threatened to send the country’s elite bankrupt. This encouraged Scottish economic elites to save their prospective fortunes by joining with England as a then emerging major trading power. Following three failed attempts over the previous century, the Act of Union (England 1706; Scotland 1707) brought Scotland formally into the British fold under the Treaty of Union (Ireland was incorporated by the Act of Union of 1800). In this, ‘. . . the Two Kingdoms of Scotland and England shall upon the first day of May next ensuing the date hereof and forever after be United into One Kingdom by the Name of Great Britain . . .’ (Union with England Act: S 1, 1707). There was one last hurrah for the previous bid for Scottish independence, when Queen Anne of Scotland died in 1714, leaving no direct heirs. Under the Act of Settlement of 1701, Anne was succeeded by her second cousin, the Hanoverian George I. This succession was challenged by the grandson of James II, Charles Stuart, of behalf of his father, James. ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’ argued that returning the English throne to the Stewarts would guarantee Scotland its independence. Charles and his forces had initial successes, moving well into England, through Manchester and then to Derby. But the promised French support did not arrive and, facing two English armies, from London and from Newcastle, they retreated

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until the final, disastrous battle in 1746 at Culloden. This loss was followed by a brutal crackdown on Scottish dissent, intentionally weakening highland culture, the near complete ending of the use of Gaelic and holding Scotland close to British administration. Under such administration, the Whigs sought the improvement of Scottish social welfare conditions, with the Tories continuing to be concerned that any devolution of authority would stoke separatist sentiment (Levitt in Cooke et al. 1998:1–12). The contemporary movement for Scottish independence started during the inter-war years, as a cultural movement motivated by poets and writers (see Finlay 1998:13–32). The SNP was founded in 1934 from a merger between the National Party of Scotland, founded in 1928 to promote campaigning for self-determination, and the Scottish Party, founded in 1932 to promote dominion within the British Commonwealth. There was further political agitation for devolving political power to Scotland in the 1940s and 1950s, and a UK constitutional inquiry in 1973 recommended the devolution of political power. The subsequent 1978 Scotland Act intended to devolve power to a Scottish assembly upon a 40 per cent vote, but received little more than half of the ‘yes’ vote based on an approximately two-thirds turnout, the referendum thus failing. This failure led to the established of a pro-devolution Campaign for a Scottish Assembly, which in 1989 morphed into the Scottish Constitutional Convention and paved the way for the establishment of the Scottish Parliament in 1999. The UK Parliament’s Act of Scotland, which created the Scottish parliament, devolved internal powers to the Scottish parliament, including law and order, health and social services, agriculture, forest and fisheries, and some taxation. Matters such as foreign affairs, defense, immigration and broadcasting were reserved for the UK parliament (SP 2019a, b). According to one Scottish nationalist: ‘It was quite controversial at the time, but now feels quite natural’. He said that many Scotts suffered from a lack of confidence, which he attributed to the London-centric domination of Scotland’s arts and communication media. ‘A lack of self-belief holds many people back’, he said.9 There was also a strong sense that, despite UK politicians saying they valued the union of Scotland and England, the nationalist said: ‘people at the centre disregarded the periphery’. This view was exacerbated by Conservative MPs who had said, during the Brexit debate, that they would be willing to see Scotland and Ireland leave the United Kingdom in order to deliver Brexit. The nationalist said: ‘It does feel like it’s happening in another country’. Further fueling a desire for independence, ‘There is a democratic deficit – we don’t get what we vote for’, he added. ‘Scotland’s vote has not made a difference as to who forms government in Westminster. As independent, our democracy would be more direct, more connected to us’. In terms of the chauvinism of some nationalist aspirations, the volunteer said: ‘People haven’t understood what type of nationalist we are; we’re quite internationalist in our politics. The type of relationship we want is much more collaborative than the UK where we can so easily be ignored. … In terms of geography,

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England is our only neighbour, but trading with northern European countries, as a small country in the North Sea, we’ve had to reach out. … Those connections with Europe are quite important’. He described the movement for Scottish independence as ‘nationalist-internationalist – outwards looking, patriotic and internationalist’, reflective of a civic nationalism rather than an ethno-nationalism. He added that Scottish nationalism was by preference, not by birth. According to SNP spokesman and Scottish Parliament Cabinet Secretary for Government Business and Constitutional Relations, Michael Russell, the key drivers for Scottish independence were more related to economics and geopolitics rather than history and culture. ‘The SNP has been criticised in the past by some people for being too distant from its cultural roots and not ready enough to use the cultural imperatives and to bring people to the national movement by cultural means. So I think what we have is a pretty standard left of centre European social democratic party which in Scottish terms happens also to be the party of nationalism’.10 Economic viability is often a critical issue for independence movements, with Russell saying that an independent Scotland would be quite economically viable: ‘The Scottish economy has been mismanaged by the UK for generations … if you look at comparable economies, … [many] economies and countries that do not have as many natural advantages in terms of very well educated workforce, very strong export led industries, strong economic performance, strong national assets. … there was a fairly clear path towards the economy performing as a modern economy should. The dependency on trade with the rest of the UK mirrors pretty exactly what the situation in Ireland was before Ireland became a full member of the EU in 1974–75 and they have reduced their dependence on trade with the UK very dramatically and we would need to do the same. The trade issue is a bit of a chimera in any case because actually 44 per cent of the trade of the UK lies with the EU and if you are arguing that you have to be within a single economic block in order to trade then Brexit would clearly not be something people would argue for’. Assuming Brexit proceeded, Russell said: ‘Scotland should remain in the EU and that is the view of the SNP and the current Scottish Government. I think it would be a very flourishing part of the EU and I think we would fit well within the current set of countries that are within the EU’.11 Should Scotland choose to go with the European Union, however, following Brexit, that might imply a hard border with England, which would trouble many Scots. ‘The decision on what the border will be the UK’s decision and not Scotland’s decision’, Mr. Russell said. ‘Scotland would want an open porous border just as we have now and I suspect we would get it’.

Catalonia On 27 October 2019, two years after a referendum on independence, around 350,000 people filled Barcelona’s La Rambla from Antoni Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia church to the Cristopher Columbus column at the city’s waterfront to

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protest against the jailing of pro-independence Catalonian politicians for between 9 years and 13 years. Mayors of 814 out of the region's 947 local authorities chanted ‘Independence’ as they met with Catalan President Quim Torra. The protest was later attacked by riot police with batons and water cannons. The large protest followed a week of clashes and rioting earlier in the month immediately after the sentencing of the Catalonian politicians. Almost 600 people were treated for injuries, half of them being police. These events followed a referendum in October 2017, viewed as illegal by the Spanish government, over whether Catalonia should become independent. The vote was overwhelmingly in favor of independence, although slightly less than half of eligible voters went to the polls. In part this reflected opposition to the proposal by the People’s Party and the Socialist Party (both of which have headquarters in Madrid) but in significant part also reflecting the large influx of non-Catalonians to the region. The referendum was also attacked by police at many polling stations, but it could not dissuade the overwhelming desire by voters of Catalonian descent for an independent state. The arrest and imprisonment of organizers of the pro-independence referendum and the self-imposed exile of Catalonia’s elected president (and Catalonian European Democratic Party – PdeCAT – leader), Carles Puigdemont, only hardened support for Catalonia’s independence. Bedecking the balconies of Barcelona’s tenement buildings was the Catalan nationalist flag, the Estelada Blava (‘Starred Blue’), dating from 1918, and banners proclaiming Libertat Presos Politics (‘Free Political Prisoners’). Catalonia is, along with Spain’s Basque regional, an unusual example of the reverse economic order informing a desire for separation. Where in most cases separatism stems from economic grievance based on group economic exclusion, both Catalonia and the Basque Country were relatively economically successful. Catalonia represents a quarter of the Spanish economy and is the country’s main industrial base, receiving 20.7 per cent of foreign investment, producing 25.6 per cent of Spain’s exports and comprising 19 per cent of its gross domestic product from just 16 per cent – 7.5 million – of Spain's population (MEIC 2019). Yet while some economic disgruntlement might inform resentment towards the rest of Spain, there were also deeper historical and cultural reasons for wanting independence. Catalonians have always seen themselves as distinct from other Spanish, a view that was compounded by the depredations of the Spanish Civil War and the subsequent Francoist dictatorship. But, unlike the Basque Country, about half the contemporary Catalonian population is migrants or the children of migrants from elsewhere in Spain. This has limited relative support for Catalonian separatism. Catalonia otherwise met the conventional criteria for seeking independence, including having a defined territory, a people who had a distinct and common shared identity, language and culture (Eaude 2008), and a specific history and set of myths. But, most of all, they had a sense of grievance in relation to the state based on recent historical memory, as well as renewed grievance also based on the actions of the state. Catalonia’s referendum on independence ran, however, directly counter to the central government’s claims of national unity. This

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in turn appeared to reflect a desire to invigorate flagging support by appealing to wider ‘nationalist’ sentiment. Rather than negotiating, the Spanish government in Madrid responded in precisely the heavy-handed style that recalled (it was nowhere near as serious as) the repression of the Franco era, further polarizing the positions of the Spanish government and especially of the Catalonian separatists. Catalonia was granted relatively wide-ranging autonomy in 2006, building on the autonomy agreed to in 1978 following the end of the Franco dictatorship. This autonomy was a condition of agreeing to include the post-Franco Spanish state. The 2006 statute was, however, diminished by Spain’s constitutional court’s decision in 2010 to restrict Catalonia’s autonomy on the grounds that such autonomy contradicted Spain’s constitution in the areas of taxation and education (despite special taxation provisions being granted to the Basque Country). It was this decision that sparked the renewed calls for independence. Then Spanish President Mariano Rajoy’s subsequent revocation of Catalonia’s autonomy further entrenched calls for independence. Catalonia (Catalunya in Catalan), has existed as a distinct region since before Roman times, when the city of Barcelona was first settled by Greeks and then Carthaginians, who were replaced by Romans. As a Visigothic kingdom and then as part of the buffer territory between France and Moorish Spain, it has, over time, been in an independent alliance with the Kingdom of Aragon (1162–1641, 1652– 1714), (independent – 878–1196, 1641–1652, on the second occasion under the protection of France). The period of 1640–1659 marked the period of the Catalan Revolt as the Spanish-French part of the War of Succession (itself a part of the wider Thirty Years’ War). Following the fall of Barcelona in 1714 and the defeat of the Bourbon claim to the Spanish throne, Aragon’s Philip V unified the kingdom under a centralized administration and ended Catalonia’s autonomous status. The Catalan language, as distinct from Spanish as is French, was for official purposes replaced by Spanish. One view, held by many Catalans, is that Catalonia has been a colonial possession of Spain since 1714. With the ending of the Castillian monopoly on trade with the Americas, Catalonia developed as a trading center throughout the 18th century and, through the 19th century, as an industrial center, despite reversals caused by the Napoleonic and Carlist Wars. Catalonia was Spain’s industrial heartland, leading to a cultural ‘Renaixensa’ (renaissance) and the formation of trade unions and political parties. It was also a time of growing nationalism in Europe, in which nationalist groups previously excluded from statehood were seeking control over their own affairs. Catalonia was actively pursuing such an outcome at the time of World War I. This was given substance when, following the end of the Primo de Rivera dictatorship, in 1931 Catalonia declared itself, briefly, an independent republic, after joining with the post-dictatorship republic as an autonomous province between 1932 and 1938. The Catalonians were among the vanguard of the more radical political changes of that times and had sided strongly with the republicans. As Spanish politics came to a head, General Francisco Franco brought Spain’s North African army back to the peninsula and attempted to launch a coup, leading to a long

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and bloody civil war. ‘Red’ Catalonia was at the forefront of that deeply divisive war and, when it was lost, the Catalan language and expressions of Catalan cultural identity were, again, banned (if partially resumed from 1951; Thomas 1962). Following the Civil War, Catalonia was riven by heavy-handed repression, including thousands of executions and hundreds of thousands imprisoned, sent to concentration camps or being used for forced labor (Ruiz 2009:454; Faber 2016:2). Catalonian ‘Nick’ referred back to that period which continues to scar Catalonian identity: ‘… between '39 and '51 they execute in Barcelona 1,707 people … . These are legal executions from the point of view of the Francoist regime, we're talking about kangaroo courts, one-minute trials, guilty’ (Campbell 2019). Nick said that ‘about 70 per cent of those executed were members of the Anarchist trade union, the CNT,12 and then they were Catalan nationalists, communists, and all the groups on the left. . . . It was all done openly because they wanted to create a sensation of horror, a state of terror.’. Nick said that at the end of the war, approximately 50,000 people were courtmartialed and shot. ‘But anywhere between 50,000 and 150,000 people died of abuse in Spain's prisons, concentration camps, or just simply murdered’, Nick claimed.13 ‘Spain hasn't really come to terms with what happened under the Franco regime and the Civil War’. ‘Nick’ was critical of the post-Francoist political environment: ‘Now there is a “democracy wash” [facade of democracy], but the institutions are rooted in the dictatorship. … The children of people who were ruling under the dictatorship are still in positions of powers, ruling the economy now’. When asked if he felt Spanish or Catalonian, Nick replied: ‘I feel totally Catalan, 100 per cent. Not Spanish at all’ (Campbell 2019). When Franco died in 1975, as a gesture of post-dictatorship solidarity, Catalonia agreed to remain with Spain but with a high degree of local autonomy. ‘We agreed to cooperate to provide stability in exchange for progressive self-government’, according to the head of international relations for the pro-independence party PdeCAT, Susanna Rivera. ‘We wanted a plural Spain, a federation of autonomous states, but really autonomous’, she said. ‘It was an idea, but it was not put into practice. There is no way back at this stage for many hundreds of thousands of people in Catalonia’. The history of the dictatorship, though, continues to reverberate, through the institutions established under Franco and, to an extent, through Madrid’s central role in Spanish politics. ‘We already had our institutions’, Rivera said. ‘The dictator just abolished them. It has only been 40 years since the end of the dictatorship, since we were prohibited to speak our own language, to have our own institutions or self-rule of government – people don’t forget easily’. Rivera said: ‘That era also spread the multiplicity of judicial courts, the military and the Court of Public Order14 in 1963, was not dissolved until 1977, although most TOP judges were promoted and ended up at the Supreme Court or the National Court, which were created on the same day that the TOP was dissolved’. The Constitutional Court, created in 1978, has in particular became

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immersed in controversy over its rulings on the status of autonomous communities in relation to the state, which are not defined by the constitution (Adam 2017). Catalonia’s first post-Franco Statute of Autonomy, passed in 1979, allowed the government of Catalonia exclusive jurisdiction in matters of culture, the environment, communications, transport, commerce, public safety and local government, sharing education, health and justice with the Spanish government. ‘So we did have new framework of relations, a devolved framework of relations.’, Rivera said. In October 2003 the Spanish government baulked at putting forward a proposal to reform Catalonia’s statute of autonomy, for the first time to recognize Catalonia as a ‘nation’. The initial text was debated by the Spanish parliament and the final text was ratified in 2006 by 74 per cent of Catalonia’s voters, if from a voter turnout of slightly less than half of the region’s population. The crisis between Catalonia and Spain has its origins in a constitutional challenge to this statute by the conservative People’s Party. In 2010, following the start of the Global Financial Crisis, the Constitutional Court blocked the 2006 changes to Catalonia’s autonomy arrangement, with the Spanish government diluting the 14 statutes of Catalonian autonomy. This marked what Rivera called a ‘strong stand against self-rule’. The court ruled that was no legal basis for recognizing Catalonia as a ‘nation’ within Spain and that Catalan as a language should not take precedence over Castillian (Spanish) in the region. This was, Rivera said, a judicial response to a political issue. Notably, the question of taxation became a point of conflict between the Spanish and Catalonian governments, with the latter expressing concern over what it viewed as inadequate spending on infrastructure relative to its contribution to the Spanish economy, and where such funds were spent. Rivera noted in particular that the Basque regional government collected its own taxes and allocated a proportion to the central government. ‘In Catalonia it is the other way around’, she said. This then formed the basis for a claim that the autonomy of regions should be equally applied, rather than there being differentials in autonomy between regions. ‘Whatever one autonomous community has, all have to have it’, she said. ‘That is the main fear of the state’. Devolution of Catalonia’s autonomy meant that its powers to enact local laws was restricted, for example on issues such as climate change and emissions, Rivera said. Mobilization around the issue of extended autonomy and independence had begun in early 2006, in response to the proposed constitutional challenge to extended autonomy, under the auspices of the Plataforma pel Dret a Decidir (Platform for the Right to Decide). This group supported unofficial referenda on Catalonian independence that took place between 2009 and 2011 across 549 Catalonian municipalities (Marcet 2019:6). The ‘paradigm shift’ in Catalonian politics, however, began with the November 2010 elections. ‘It would continue for five years before culminating in the electoral and political repositioning of the established and emergent political forces in the Catalonian party system’ (Marcet 2019:1).

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In response to the Global Financial Crisis of 2008–2009 and cuts to spending in Catalonia, in 2012 the regional government asked the Spanish government for, and was granted, a five billion Euro bailout. Yet the following month, in September, around one and a half million people took part in Catalonia's annual independence rally in Barcelona, amid growing Catalan anger over financial transfers from the region to the central government. When then Catalonian President Artur Mas asked the Spanish government for greater fiscal independence, he was refused by the Spanish Prime Minister, Mariano Rajoy. This was followed by a snap ‘right to decide’ election in December 2012, won by regionalist parties which formed a coalition with Artur Mas again elected as leader. The ruling coalition then supported holding a referendum on secession from Spain in 2014, ruled as unconstitutional by Spain’s Constitutional Court, but which proceeded as an informal process and produced an 80 per cent ‘yes’ vote. Tensions with the central government over the allocation of resources, the status of Catalonia’s autonomy and its increasing tendency towards separatism continued to grow. In January 2015, Mas called new regional elections for September to gauge support for a possible declaration of independence. Separatist parties won those regional election, which they claimed gave them a mandate to push for independence, adopting a resolution to that effect the following November. In December, Spain's constitutional court reacted by revoking Catalonia's bid to begin the process of separation. The regional assembly responded by choosing hardline separatist Carles Puigdemont as Catalonia’s new president. Puigdemont and the regional assembly proceeded to organize a referendum on independence for October 2017, labelled as illegal by the Spanish government. There were clashes, with hundreds being injured, when Spanish national police tried to prevent people voting. ‘So why the use of force then? This is where historical perspective becomes necessary. It’s impossible to make sense of this question without understanding how right-wing forces in Spain have traditionally overreacted, to put it mildly, to the issue of sub-nationalism’ (Encarnacion 2017). ‘My sharp moment’, said Rivera, ‘was on the first of October when the police beat people’. Following the vote, the Catalonian government declared independence, to which the Spanish government reacted by sacking the government, ending autonomy and assuming direct rule from Madrid. The ruling separatists in the Catalan parliament then declared independence on 27 October. In response, the Spanish government imposed direct rule by, for the first time, invoking Article 155 of the constitution. The Spanish government sacked Catalonia’s elected leaders, dissolved parliament and called a snap regional election on 21 December 2017, which was won by pro-Madrid nationalist parties. The former Catalonian president, Carles Puigdemont, fled to Belgium (where he holds a seat in the European Union parliament), but had an arrest warrant issued for him in Spain on a charge of rebellion. In June 2018, the Spanish government relented and again allowed Catalonia a degree of autonomy, but it appeared the political damage had been done; the subsequent elections saw Catalonian separatists regain control of the region.

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According to Rivera, if the Constitutional Court had interpreted the plurality implied in the Spanish constitution, as many Catalonians believed it should have, the situation in Catalonia would not have developed to a point where its legislature supported a referendum on independence. But, Rivera acknowledged, there was no mechanism available for Catalonia to compel the Spanish government to begin negotiations. In part this was because the Catalonian independence movement was not offering any advantage to the Spanish government to begin such talks and, while it attempted to achieve its goals from within the existing legal framework and eschewed violence, there was nothing that the Spanish government needed to stop by entering into such talks. In the end, Catalonians were caught between a desire for independence, or at least a return to a high level of autonomy, and a preference to stay within legal parameters. Finally, despite occasions bursts of enthusiasm, there was also an element of complacency. ‘We are a very comfortable people. Nine o’clock’, Rivera said, ‘time for dinner’.

Ukraine Despite being the ‘cradle’ of the ‘Rus’ peoples, Ukraine has long had a distinct history and, from the Russian Revolution of 1917 until the break-up of the Soviet Union in 1991 and again since 2014, a sometimes deeply uncomfortable relationship with Russia. Ukraine has historically had a defined territory, a distinct language, if close to Russian, and its culture has varied from that of Russia, if still identifying the two countries as closely related. The Ukrainian and Russian languages have around a 60 per cent overlap but began to divide under the influence of other languages from around the 11th to the 15th centuries.15 However, under the Russian Empire, to which Ukraine annexed in 1793, Ukrainian was banned from schools in eastern, central and southern Ukraine between 1804 and 1917, although it retained a strong base in the west. Despite a policy of Ukrainization from 1921 until 1932, the policy was abruptly changed and by 1933 Russian again became the language of education, followed by repression of Ukrainian speakers. Within Ukraine, Russian remained the primary language in the Crimean Peninsula (90 per cent) and in eastern Ukraine (between half and three quarters), thus identifying these areas as relatively linguistically distinct within Ukraine. Culturally, Russians and Ukrainians share a common ancestry, with Ukraine being influenced by Poland from the 16th to the 18th centuries and by the selfgoverning warrior Cossack culture from the 17th century. Key markers between Ukrainians and Russians stem from Ukraine’s status under the Russian Empire, the purges and intentional mass starvation (the Great Famine, or Holodomor) of Ukrainians in 1932–1933 under Stalin, in which around four million Ukrainians (1 in 10) died (Marples 2007:50). Around 250,000 Ukrainians fought with Nazi Germany during World War II, in large part in response to the Holodomor. However, a significant majority remained loyal to the Soviet Union, with almost five million joining the Red Army.

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After the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, Ukraine held about a third of the Soviet nuclear arsenal, the third largest in the world at the time, as well as significant means for its design and production. Under an agreement with Russia, Ukraine either dismantled or handed over its nuclear stockpile. Under this arrangement, Russia guaranteed Ukraine security under the Budapest Memorandum on Security Assurances (the United States and United Kingdom also offered nominal security guarantees). In 2004, Ukraine began it break with its Russian-dominated past. From 1991, Ukraine had a quasi-authoritarian government that represented linear descent from the Soviet Union. In the November 2004 elections, the incumbent Viktor Yanukovych team had access to the electoral commission’s computers, announcing an election result very different to that supplied by Ukraine’s polling stations, with a million votes being added to the total. In Yanukovych’s home region of Donetsk in the east, 96.2 per cent ‘voted’ in his favor (Wilson 2005:1–6, 110–121). The rigged vote sparked protests across Ukraine, leading to fresh elections in January 2005. Russian President Vladimir Putin alleged that the protests were exacerbated by US interference in Ukraine’s domestic political processes, also claimed by a number of non-Russian observers (e.g. see Traynor 2004; McFaul 2007). During protests against the election outcome, Yanukovych supporters demonstrated in eastern provinces, with Yanukovych hinting that overturning the vote could lead to a break-up of the state. In what was known as the ‘Orange Revolution’, Viktor Yushchenko’s Our Ukraine party was successful. The election was widely viewed as marking a distinct break with Ukraine’s past, ushering in an era of more plural politics. It also marked a divide in voter allegiance between the pro-Western central and west Ukraine, represented by Yushchenko, and the pro-Russian eastern Ukraine, represented by Yanukovych. The division between eastern and western Ukraine reflected longer-term historical divisions. The west had at times been occupied by Lithuania, Poland, Austria-Hungary (1772–1918), Poland again (1921–1939) and, during World War II, by Germany which, after the mass starvation of 1932–1933 and the subsequent purges, was welcomed by some. Similarly, there continued to be a much larger Russian-speaking population in the east (Wilson 2005:28–31), reflecting the Russian Empire’s control of the region and its incorporation into the USSR. There are also religious, linguistic and historical differences, although these are less pronounced nor do they correspond to a simple east-west divide (Wilson 2005:34–35, 167). With Ukraine outside the Russian sphere of influence, some in Russia felt their country was strategically exposed to Europe and NATO. So, too President Putin was concerned to retain Ukraine’s ethnic Russians within the Russian sphere of influence (Wilson 2005:178–180). The removal of President Viktor Yanukovych ended an era of quasi-authoritarian rule, but ushered in a period of instability, which did not imply a liberal democracy. Among those who occupied Independence Square and turned the political tide against Yanukovych were liberals, libertarians and those who were just dismayed with the poverty and inequalities that characterized Ukraine since

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the dismantling of the USSR. But that mob also included neo-Nazis, chauvinist nationalists and others whose political credo did not include pluralism or tolerance. The interim government voted Yanukovych from power, although there remained doubt as to whether they had the constitutional power to do so, while the deposed president fled to the safety of the ethnic Russian-dominated south of the country, of which he is a native. Thus, historically divided between numerous competing ethnic groups, Ukraine again divided along ethnic lines, with ethnic Russians in the south and east favoring Yanukovych and ethnic Ukrainians in the north and west favoring a range of parties and minor leaders. Russia wanted to ensure that ethnic Russians remained protected, as well as to secure its strategic interests and to punish Ukraine for deserting the ‘mother’ state. When the Russian-dominated areas split from the rest of the country, it was unsurprising that Russia at least provided logistical support, an economic blockade and, in shadow form, military intervention. Very likely, however, Russia also instigated the split, promising support if Russian speakers chose to proceed along those lines. Somewhat like the ‘Arab Spring’, hopes for a stable post-Yanukovych liberal democracy were at odds with political reality. Numerous self-serving factional leaders positioned themselves for power, while parliament was unstable. Watching closely was its large and long dominant neighbor, Russia. Ukraine has been within the Russian political orbit for two-and-a-half centuries and, while the ouster of Yanukovych altered Ukraine’s political orientation, it had not altered its geographic proximity. That Russia and Ukraine ended up in a (proxy) war was perhaps expected, if shocking at the time. Underlying Russia’s positioning on Ukraine, and key to its ability to fob off Western protestations, was its longer-term plan to establish a Eurasian union to rival that of the European Union. As a significant regional economy, Ukraine was critical to the success of Russia’s bid to counter the European Union, which was why Russia was insistent it remained within its strategic sphere. Russia also stations its strategically important Black Sea fleet at Sevastopol which, under a deal signed by ousted President Viktor Yanukovych, it leases until 2042. By 2014, Russia had already sent 6,000 troops without insignia to Crimea in southern Ukraine, ostensibly as ‘local patriots’. These were to protect its naval base at Sevastopol and in support of ethnic Russians unhappy with the ousting of Yanukovych. From this point, Russia assisted ethnic Russians in Ukraine’s south and east to declare themselves independent from Ukraine. With about two-thirds of Crimea’s population being ethnic Russian and the other third being openly opposed to joining Russia, the 2014 Crimean referendum on whether to remain as an autonomous part of Ukraine or to join Russia produced a vote in excess of 95 per cent in favor of the pro-Russia option. The referendum was marked by the extremity of the proRussia propaganda. Billboards told Crimean citizens that the choice was between Crimean voting for becoming Russian or becoming Nazi. This was in reference to about 10 per cent of Ukraine’s parliament comprising far-right or neo-Nazi party representatives.

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The referendum question, too, was whether the Crimeans wished to join Russia immediately, or if they wished to be independent, leaving open the option of joining Ukraine at a later date. That Crimea was at that time a part of Ukraine was not identified in the referendum. But, backed by Russian troops on the ground and Russian naval ships blockading the strategic port at Sevastopol, the question of Ukraine’s formal status was only one of a litanies of critical problems for it in dealing with the technically unconstitutional referendum. With an estimated 60,000 Russian troops on Ukraine’s borders too, and considerable dissent and pro-Russian sympathy in eastern Ukraine – Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts (provinces) of Ukraine, commonly collectively called the ‘Donbass’, the government in Kiev was disinclined or unable to wrestle back control of Crimea by military means. At best, the Ukrainian government faced the prospect of the country being, for the foreseeable future, divided. At worst, greater military effort should have led to a Russian invasion, which Ukraine would not have been be able to stop and in which the United States and United Kingdom would very likely not have intervened. Attempting to restore Ukrainian rule, Ukrainian Armed Forces battled proRussian separatists for control of the city of Ilovaisk, in the border region of Donetsk, eastern Ukraine. The battle started on 7 August 2014 when the Armed Forces of Ukraine and pro-Ukrainian paramilitaries began a series of maneuvers towards taking the city of Ilovaisk from insurgents affiliated with the selfproclaimed Donetsk People's Republic (DPR) and, allegedly, detachments of the Russian Armed Forces. Ukrainian forces entered the city on 18 August but became encircled by what were claimed to be overwhelming Russian military forces. The Ukrainian forces agreed to a negotiated retreat, although hundreds of Ukrainian soldiers and volunteers were killed or captured as they retreated. There were allegations at the time that Russian forces had joined the battle, tipping the outcome in favor of the separatists. The Chief of the General Staff and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, Viktor Muzhenko, stated on 26 August 2016 that the cause of the battle's outcome was the involvement of Russian troops. Russia denied involvement, but there has since been shown to be ‘substantial and compelling open source evidence for the presence of the Russian military’ (Forensic Architecture 2019; see also Holcomb 2017). Among other evidence showing Russian military involvement in the battle, Ukrainian prisoners were taken by Russian regular army troops and then handed over to Ukrainian separatists. They were later released, but confirmed the presence of Russian troops, along with ‘thousands’ of other sources of information and photos of almost 300 Russian vehicles, including particular model Russian T-72B3 tanks which, in 2014, were only operated by the Russian army (Forensic Architecture 2019). Since then, the two countries have conducted a proxy war in eastern Ukraine, with Russia also stepping in to limit Ukraine’s sea access, despite prior agreement not to do so, by seizing three Ukrainian navy vessels attempting to pass through the Kerch Straits and blocking of Ukrainian naval access to the Sea of Azov. By blocking access to the Sea of Azov, Russia not only restricted the Ukraine navy’s freedom of navigation but effectively cut off access to around half of the

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Ukrainian coast still under Ukrainian control, closing sea access to the major Ukrainian port of Mariupol. Russia says the Straits remained open to civilian shipping. As a Russian sideshow, the war for separation in eastern Ukraine did not travel well for its partisans. Apart from receiving a high level of direct Russian support, and what was said to be the intervention of more than 300,000 Russian troops, the territory claimed by the separatists was divided, with Ukrainian troops holding its western half and Russian (backed) troops the eastern half. The front line in the impoverished Donetsk coal region has become static trench warfare, if without the suicidal frontal assaults of the type of a century before. For the separatist eastern Ukrainians, however, daily life was one of considerably more hardship than for those in Kiev, for whom the war rarely made the front pages of newspapers. The Kiev government, too, reclassified the conflict away from being ‘anti-terrorist’ to a ‘joint forces operation’, in doing so placing full responsibility for the war at the feet of Moscow. In this, there was some legitimacy to eastern Ukraine being linguistically, culturally and economically distinct from western Ukraine, and with some sense of grievance over the direction of Ukrainian politics. But where other separatist movements may have benefitted from an external support or sponsor state, the extent of Russia’s direct intervention in Ukraine made this less a separatist conflict and more a war of regional hegemony using ‘separatism’ as a convenient foil.

Europe, or …? The dissolution of the Soviet Union in particular was in many respects far from tidy, with separatist rebellions occurring in former imperial territories in the Caucasus that had been seized from the Ottoman Empire and Persia. It is questionable whether these territories could be considered as part of Europe and they are perhaps not quite in the Middle East or Central Asia; if nothing else this locational quandary highlighted the Eurocentric characterization of a number of the world’s regions. As with many mountainous regions, the Caucasus reflects a patchwork of languages (eight language families with dozens of languages and many more dialects), tribal groupings and nationalisms. It is therefore unsurprising that attempts to create overarching states have sometimes met with local resistance (see Hagendoorn et al. 2008). That the region has economic importance (oil fields) and is a strategic buffer zone for Russia has led to Russia continuing its control over some territories while interfering in the status of others. In the creation of Soviet ‘autonomous’ regions from the still recent Mountain Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic in 1924, distinct peoples were lumped together or divided between constituent autonomous regions. ‘All these new “peoples” developed in due time their own identity (however partial and imperfect it might have been) and nationalism (and under Soviet conditions even xenophobia and chauvinism) and proceeded along divergent paths. Thus, a large potential

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was created for “national” strife and conflict’ (Gammer 2014:28). The relocation of people during the Soviet period further complicated local and wider relations. Chechnya, Dagestan, Ingushetia, North Ossetia, Tatarstan, Georgia and Azerbaijan have each experienced armed separatism, with the war in Chechnya in particular being among the most brutal. Chechnya has resisted Russian incorporation from its first attempts to seize the territory in the 1720s, being largely occupied by the late 1700s and formally incorporated in the 1820s. Resistance continued, however, with Chechnya, Dagestan and Ingushetia declaring independence in 1917 but being forcefully incorporated into the Soviet Union in 1921. Two separatist wars with Russia during the 1990s did little to resolve Chechen aspirations, if confirming the lengths to which Russia would go to retain the ‘autonomous’ region (see Gammer 2006). As with Chechnya, Ingushetia, Kabardino-Balkaria and North Ossetia, particularly during the second Russian war of the 1990s and after, Dagestan’s bid for independence was in large part informed by Salafi Islam,16 which rejects secular rule and seeks to create a caliphate (see Souleimanov 2018; Yemelianova 1999). A larger, more populous ‘autonomous’ region, as with Ingushetia, the conflict in Dagestan was largely a consequence of spill-over from the second Chechen war in the 1990s and, despite being put down by Russian forces, a guerrilla insurgency continued (Ash 2011). In Georgia, South Ossetians have sought unification with their Iranian-speaking North Ossetian kin. Conflict between South Ossetian separatists and the Georgian state broke out in the 1990s, running on and off into the 2000s when Russia invaded on behalf of South Ossetia, expelled Georgian troops and pushed into Georgia before returning to South Ossetia as ‘peace-keepers’. Abkhazia similarly sought independence from Georgia and was supported by Russian troops (Gerrits and Bader 2016). So, too, Azerbaijan’s functionally autonomous Armenian region of Nagorno Karabakh was the site of on and off conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan. In 2020, gains made in fighting in 1988–1992 were returned to Azerbaijan under a Russian-brokered ceasefire, although the core district retained its functional autonomous status. Beyond these more remote quasi-European regions, Europe itself seemed to be grappling with questions of identity, cosmopolitanism and localism. The European Union project, intended to harmonize political and economic relations between Europe’s countries following the calamities of World Wars I and II, was tested by changes to local economies, waves of migration and then the economic impact of the Global Financial Crisis and the Covid-19 pandemic. Having once started to embrace a pan-European identity, many Europeans turned inwards again, retreating to the security of the known local. This produced, unsurprisingly, a rise in nationalism and, for a growing number, its ugly iteration as national chauvinism. It also fed into and lent support to local communities that had been subsumed by the great nation-state projects of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. From this arose again long-held aspirations on one hand, while giving rise to new ways of imagining a culturally ‘authentic’ local future. Europe was not likely

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to be torn apart by these localized political movements but, perhaps, options for reshaping how local communities and ‘nation-states’ evolved their relationships. If Europe was able to retain its broad commitment to democratic pluralism, there was scope for allowing and, indeed, celebrating the local while at the same time retaining commitment to shared political values expressed by state, or supra-state, institutions.

Notes 1 The nation-state is understood here as a state which largely corresponds to a claim of national identity. 2 The Serbian Republika Srpska and the Croatian Republic of Herzeg-Bosnia remain ethnically troubled regions within Bosnia-Herzegovina, while resentment continues within Serbia over Kosovo’s forced departure. 3 Continuity IRA broke with the IRA in 1986 over its preparedness to have elected members sit in parliament. 4 The New IRA, styled as the Oglaigh na hEireann (‘Solders of Ireland’, or ONH – the original name for the IRA), was subject to intensive British intelligence and SRR operations. 5 Pers. comm, 8 June 2019. 6 Pers.comm 2020. 7 There are small variations between different accounts, according to how statistics were compiled. 8 While ‘The Covenant’ refers to one document, hundreds of copies of the document, often with variations, were in circulation for signing as a petition. As such, the principles drawn from ‘it’, while consistent, are sometimes differently worded (Stevenson 1988). 9 Interview with a volunteer worker at the SNP office, Edinburgh, July 2019. 10 Personal communication, 5 November 2019. 11 Response to questions, November 2019. 12 Confederacio Nacional del Treball, or National Workers Confederation. 13 There is no definitive number of people killed during, or following, the Spanish Civil War, primarily due to ideological disagreements about methodology. 14 Tribunal de Orden Publico, or TOP, established to investigate political ‘crimes’. 15 There is scholarly debate about the timing of the division between the languages, with Russian scholars putting the date towards the 15th century, with others dating it earlier. 16 There is a Salafi-Sufi Islam divide in the Caucasus, with the more spiritualist Sufi Islam being dominant but Salafi Islam making strong inroads and informing anti-Russian sentiment. A number of external Salafi jihadis also contributed to Caucasus, fighting under the flag of the self-proclaimed Islamic State.

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The ‘Middle-East’ was largely defined in the immediate post-Great War period by ‘spheres of influence’ which were later translated into states and which took little or no account of pre-existing identities, polities, animosities or grievances. If the key principles that are suggested to inform separatism were to be applied – a bonded people in a defined territory with a grievance – then much and perhaps most of the Middle-East would have devolved into petty sub-states. But, perhaps because many such states would be much too small and because local administrations have been ruthless in maintaining state cohesion, such dissolution has not yet occurred. There have, however, still been separatist challenges to some Middle-Eastern states, reflecting who was left out of the state creation process, or other more recent animosities. How these separatist challenges arose marks a particular orientation in the wider field of separatism. The Ottoman Empire and its dismemberment was central to this process. The Turkey-based Ottoman Empire had risen in the 15th century to become one of the world’s most powerful empires then but, by the 19th and into the early 20th centuries, had begun to crumble as its disparate parts rebelled against its weakening despotic administration. Having allied with Germany to avoid diplomatic isolation prior to the Great War and already in decline and with increasing internal chaos, the Ottoman Empire was drawn into that catastrophe conflict, its disparate peoples in open rebellion, and its armies eventually defeated by allied forces. It was a remarkable feat of diplomacy, combined with the strategic and economic interests of the victorious allies, that the Turkish Republic which succeeded the Ottoman Empire retained as much territory as it did. But, in the carve up of the empire, many peoples were brought together without their consent, or were deprived of a homeland where one might have existed. The region was initially carved up under the 1916 Sykes-Picot Treaty (officially the 1916 Asia Minor Agreement), which delineated areas of British and French control and areas of British and French ‘influence’. This approximately corresponded to what, after the war, became the British Mandate in Palestine (and Jordan) and Mesopotamia (Iraq) and the French Mandate in Syria and Lebanon under the 1920 Treaty of Sevres.

Separatism in the Middle-East 119 Flowing from the initial arrangement was the 1917 Balfour Declaration, which promoted the idea of a Jewish homeland in then Jewish minority Palestine. The creation of the successor state, Israel, and its sometimes fraught relations with its neighbors, and in particular its pre-existing Palestinian population has been one of the world’s more extensively addressed topics. It could be suggested that Palestine, especially implying the remnant West Bank and Gaza territories, could constitute a separatist claim in relation to Israel. However, Palestine is recognized by the United Nations as a de jure state, despite having limited sovereignty over its territories. Following a campaign of Jewish terrorism in support of a Jewish state, the United Nation’s 1947 Partition Plan for Palestine envisaged the creation of Israel and a Palestinian homeland along approximately similar lines to those which ultimately came to be. While rejected by Arab leaders, the 1947 plan was understood by Arab leaders as an abrogation of the right to self-determination within a former colonial territory rather than as an attempt to secede from an existing state (Hadawi 1989:76). As such, while Palestinian claimants still seek the establishment of a functionally independent Palestinian state, they do not do so as being either alongside Israel in existing Palestinian territories or, in more radical cases, including the Israeli state. While reflecting the separatist qualities of a coherent ethnic and language group with a grievance in relation to a particular territory, because of the United Nation’s formal recognition of the Palestinian state, the issue does not constitute a case of separatism. Within the Treaty of Sevres, the Kurdish region, including what is now southeastern Turkey, a section of northern Syria and the Mosul region of contemporary Iraq, was to have a referendum to determine its future. However, the Turkish War of Independence (1919–1923), in response to the allied occupation of Turkey and external determinations about its future shape, effectively ended the Treaty of Sevres. This was replaced by the 1921 Treaty of Kars, to demarcate Turkey’s north-eastern borders, and the 1923 Treaty of Lausanne which determined its western and southern borders. A key consequence of those treaties was that a large part of the Kurdish region remained within Turkey, with smaller areas in Syria, and the large, fertile and oilrich Kurdish Mosul region being included, formally in 1926, with the Baghdad and Basra regions to form British-mandated Iraq (Sluglett 1976; Rafaat 2017). What the Treaty of Lausanne also did was to remove from the Kurds their status as a particular Muslim community alongside other Muslim communities within a Muslim state (the Ottoman Empire) and devolve their status to that of ethnic outsiders in the Turkish nation-state. It was from this time that the Kurds became referred to by Turks as ‘Mountain Turks’, at once rationalizing their inclusion within the state while at the same time marginalizing them. Sunni Arabs in particular initially did well out of the carve up of the region, with the Hashemite royal family holding or receiving the thrones of Hejaz (lost to the Saudi royal family in 1925) Jordan, Syria (briefly, in 1920) and Iraq (until

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revolution in 1958). However, following the 2003 US invasion of Iraq, Sunni Arabs lost political dominance in Iraq and became further marginalized in Syria, not least as a result of the ‘Arab Spring’ rebellion of 2011. This chaos and marginalization created fertile ground for the rise of militant organizations, none so ambitious as Islamic State. Islamic State, also referred to as Islamic State in Iraq and Syria/the Levant (ISIS/L), rose out of the chaos of Iraq following the 2003 US invasion of Iraq, which displaced Ba’athist military and officials and pitted central Iraqi Sunni Arabs in conflict with the post-US Shia-dominated Iraqi government. Employing an extremist salafi Islamist ideology borrowed from Al Qaeda (from which franchise it originated), at the height of its power in 2015 Islamic State controlled about a quarter of Iraq and half of Syria, making a mockery of the artificial, British-French created border between the two. When Islamic State leader Aby Bakr al-Baghdadi declared himself caliph and declared Islamic State as a caliphate in 2014, there was a moment when some observers thought the boundaries of the Middle-East were in the process of being redrawn. Despite carving its territory from two existing countries, Islamic State was, however, not a separatist organization as such but, rather, an Islamist revolutionary organization with the goal of overthrowing the existing political order in the Middle-East. For a time it did appear that Islamic State had managed to create a separate state identity from that of Iraq and Syria, but overthrow, not separation, was its goal. Despite its appearance (and then disappearance), Islamic State is therefore not included in this understanding of separatism. Syria was marked out to include eight or nine major ethnic groups (depending on how they are counted), its majority Sunni Arabs being among the least enfranchised. This was dissimilar to Iraq where the majority Shia were sidelined for the minority Sunni Arabs. Armenians, who had been murdered or largely expelled from the Ottoman Empire in what has been termed the Armenian Genocide (see Morris and Ze’evi 2019; Kevorkian 2011, among others), were granted a state in the southern Caucasus, smaller than originally anticipated, under the Soviet system that arose around the same time as the Turkish state. The Kurds, however, were left divided, principally between south-eastern Turkey, northern Syria, northern Iraq and western Iran. Further south, the Ottoman Empire had taken control of much of the area that equates to Northern Yemen, after a history of taking and losing control in the region. The fractious tribes of the southern Arabian Peninsula were loathe to be ruled by outsiders (and, for Ismaili Muslims, especially by Sunni Muslims) and remained in a semi-constant state of revolt. The area of Yemen, then, marked the southern-most boundary of Ottoman rule and, at its margins, was always among the most insecure. Yet the state that was to grow out of these areas of Ottoman, tribal and, to the south-east, also British control, remained true to its history. It warred as much within itself as it had with outsiders. If the imposition of external control marked alien rule, then independence as two states, and then one, would for many tribes of the region be little better.

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The fractious south: Yemen When considering the history of separatism and Yemen, the question might be asked: When is a state not a state? Or the question might be framed as: When the tissue of statehood is constructed across a flimsy, unstable and antithetically poised body politic, is it reasonable to propose that the idea of the state is perhaps an answer to the wrong question? Though having some qualities in common, Yemenis have at least as much that divides them, including all of the historical rivalries of Arab clans as well as religious, geographic, ideological and personal rivalries. It may be that Yemen faces the question of whether the state that perhaps should not have been united in the first place has any local practical purchase. Yemen’s long history of tribal and political division dates back to the pre-Ottoman period, of local tribal rivalries and, for relatively short periods, the extent of Ottoman occupation. These divisions continued throughout Ottoman suzerainty in what was to become North Yemen and British occupation as a ‘protectorate’ of what was to become South Yemen. Such divisions were further marked by hill tribes against low-landers and foreign rulers of low-land and coastal cities and towns, tribe against tribe, Zaydi and Ismaili (Shia) against Sunni Muslim, between royalists and revolutionaries and between and within revolutionary groups themselves. The importance of Yemen is that it sits adjacent to a choke point between the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden and hence the Arabian Sea, meaning it potentially controls traffic through the Suez Canal. This strategic positioning has hastened external interest and involvement in the country, including most recently through proxy war. North Yemen was established as an independent Ismaili kingdom following the end of Ottoman rule in 1919, in 1962 being overthrown by military revolutionaries who established the Yemen Arab Republic. The new republic was almost immediately engulfed by civil war, with Saudi Arabia, Jordan and the United Kingdom supporting royalist forces, while Egypt and the Soviet Union supported the revolutionary forces (Orkaby 2014). Despite in-fighting within revolutionary ranks following Egypt’s withdrawal of support during the Six Day War with Israel, after failing to take the revolutionary held capital of Sana’a, the royalist forces agreed to a negotiated end to the conflict in 1970, when Saudi Arabia recognized North Yemen as a republic. South Yemen, or the ‘Aden Protectorate’, under UK rule comprised several minor sultanates, emirates and sheikhdoms. Almost inevitably, by 1963 fighting in North Yemen spread to South Yemen, with independence forces launching attacks against the British, forcing them to accept the protectorate’s independence as the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen in 1967. Within two years, however, the Marxist-Leninist wing of the National Liberation Front (NLF) had seized power from the ruling, more Nasserist, faction and thereafter amalgamated all parties under its control (Brehoney 2016). In 1970 the NLF purged the Front for the Liberation of Occupied South Yemen, declaring South Yemen to be a oneparty communist state.

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North and South Yemen fought a brief war in 1972, with the north being supported by Saudi Arabia, Western powers and China, and the south supported by the Soviet Union and Soviet Bloc countries (Cigar 1985). Despite talks about unification, South Yemen supported leftist rebels in North Yemen, leading to another brief war between the two in 1979. Following a brief civil war between NLF factions in South Yemen in 1986 (Halliday 1986), the two countries resumed unification talks in 1988 and were united as the Republic of Yemen in 1990. Elections in 1993 resulted in a coalition government but, with deteriorating relations between parties and key leaders, the following year the young country descended into civil war. At this point, the south attempted to secede from the unified state but, within the year, the secessionists had been defeated. The former general, President Ali Abdullah Saleh’s rule as the republic’s first president, reaffirmed by elections in 1999, was noted for its extensive corruption (Ambah 1999) and theft of public funds. Following an outbreak of violence in 2011 as part of the so-called ‘Arab Spring’, Saleh was forced from office in 2012, to be succeeded by Abdrabbuh Mansur Hadi. A former senior military officer and acting President, Hadi became president in an election in which he was the only candidate. Meanwhile, the protest movement had morphed into an open battle for control of the state, with Saleh returning to join with the rebel Houthis (formally Ansar Allah, or Supporters of God) from the north-west. Hadi’s presidency was not recognized as legitimate by the northern Yemeni Houthis and in 2015, Houthi forces captured the capital of Saana, placed Hadi under house arrest and forced his resignation as president. Hadi escaped to Aden, rescinded his resignation and then fled to Riyadh as Saudi forces began a bombing campaign against the Houthi forces. The year 2015 marked the formal start of the civil war between the predominantly Shia Muslim Houthis in the country’s north-west and Sunni’s supporting President Hadi in the south-east. Seeking to be restored to the presidency, Saleh and a smaller number of tribal and political loyalists, joined with the Houthis against the Hadi-led government. Yet the Houthis had wanted to install one of their own in the office of the presidency, so their alliance with Saleh was shaky, eventually leading Saleh to split with them. With Saleh turning on his erstwhile Houthi allies, calling for talks, and his supporters seeming to secure Sana’a, it appeared, momentarily, that the tide might have turned in the Yemen civil war in favor of Hadi and his supporters. However, Saleh’s forces were not able to capitalize on the element of surprise and quickly lost ground to Houthi forces. The anti-Hadi force had been weakened by the split, but not critically so. The Yemen civil war thus returned to a stalemate, which Saudi Arabia and Iran as the key backers of either side not wanting to see ended through compromise. As with other conflicts in the Middle-East, the Yemen conflict reflected local grievances and loyalties, based on distinct religious group identities. But as with other regional conflicts, the Yemen civil war was also a proxy for a cold war between Saudi Arabia and Iran, which were both vying for regional supremacy.

Separatism in the Middle-East 123 In this, the Houthis were accused of fighting a proxy war on behalf of Iran, from whom they had received supplies, while President Hadi’s predominantly Sunni Muslim government received extensive support from a Saudi-led coalition. The coalition was comprised of forces from Egypt, Morocco, Jordan, Sudan, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, Qatar and Bahrain, with intelligence and materiel support from the United States, the United Kingdom and France. Saudi ground troops forced the Houthis from Aden in in 2015 and its air force continued to conduct extensive bombing of Houthi military positions and Houthi civilians (OHCHR 2018). Responding to its intervention, Houthis fired ballistic missiles into Saudi Arabia. At the time of writing, the war had already left more than 100,000 dead and sparked a humanitarian food crisis in western Yemen, which was blockaded from receiving external supplies. Around 125,000 people were cut off from food supplies in western Yemen and about 40 per cent of its population of 24 million were said to be close to famine, with more than three million being acutely malnourished. Both sides to the conflict used access to food as a weapon in the civil war (Slemrod 2020). Thousands more civilians have died from preventable causes, including malnutrition, disease and poor health (MEE 2019). The war in Yemen was described in 2019 as the world’s worst man-made humanitarian crisis (EU 2019). This was further exacerbated by the outbreak of Covid-19 in 2020, which was prevalent in refugee camps. With its history of separate group identities and political organization for Northern and Southern Yemen, and history before that of differing and competing allegiances, it was hardly surprising that the civil war for control of the state eventually started to assume the contours and rationale of a separatist conflict. In 2018, a southern dissident group, the Southern Transitional Council (STC), attacked and occupied Aden, declaring that South Yemen should secede from Yemen (MEE 2019). The STC was supported by the United Arab Emirates and their split significantly weakened Hadi’s Saudi-supported forces. The politically moderate STC claimed that Hadi was under the influence of the Islah Party, which was linked to the Muslim Brotherhood (Trew 2019) and could otherwise see no reconciliation with the north. Prior to the formation of the STC, in 2007, the Southern Movement (al-Hirak al-Janoubi) was created to seek equality between North and South Yemen within the united Yemen. The movement was repressed by Sali’s government but gained ground during the so-called ‘Arab Spring’ of 2009. The spark for the formation of the STC was Hadi sacking Aden governor Aidarus al-Zoubaidi for disloyalty in April 2017. Hadi said that Zoubaidi had promoted the South Yemen independence movement over a united Yemen (MEE 2019). Since its formation, the STC has openly called for Southern Yemen’s independence from Northern Yemen. Its leaders included five South Yemeni governors and two former government ministers, and the loss of soldiers loyal to it was a major blow to the Hadi-aligned forces in Yemen’s civil war. Further complicating matters in Yemen was another separatist movement to the south of the country, as well as attacks and the seizing of territory by jihadists

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from Ansar al-Sharia, al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP) and the local affiliate of the Islamic State group. Tribal groups such as the Hadhramaut Tribal Alliance, were seeking greater autonomy for the Hadhramaut governate east of Aden and were also engaged in the fighting, if not aligned with any other group (al-Dawsari 2014). The STC has been successful in seizing some of the Yemeni territory in the east of the country, formerly controlled by the jihadists. In July 2020, under pressure from Saudi Arabia, the STC rejoined with Hadi-led forces to jointly confront the northern Houthis. However, the location of the capital of a united Yemen in the north did not sit well with southern Yemenis, nor did their continuing religious, tribal and loyalty differences, meaning unity between the north and south of Yemen would remain tested.

The largest stateless nation Diyarbakir stands on the banks of the upper Tigris River, once a fortified stop over on the old Silk Road. Below the high walls of the old city, historically known as Amida, lies a fertile valley, providing the city with ample fresh foodstuff and providing the foundation for a rich and good life. As a city that has hosted numerous civilizations, and travelers from the far West to the far East, it is a city tolerant of difference. Yet what it and its people have been less tolerant of is the authoritarian responses that have emanated towards it since the establishment of the Turkish state. Diyarbakir is the largest city in the Kurdish area of Turkey and the Turks, predominantly to the west, have shown little forgiveness for aspirations for greater self-governance, much less independence, by the Kurds. It was predictable, following assertions of a chauvinist Turkish national identity, that the Kurdish claim for greater voice was met by a harsh rejection, with protests over such rejection in turn met by violence. What began as a political movement was forced underground and, for the Kurds, out of the towns and into the hills. Two qualities that characterize Diyarbakir, apart from the pervasiveness of its history and the openness of its people, is the strong police presence within the city, including posts guarded by steel and plexiglass riot shields and armored cars every few blocks, following an uprising and siege in 2016 in the city’s old quarter of Sur, and the large military garrison just beyond it. The military presence is a consequence of Diyarbakir being at the heart of Kurdistan and, as a consequence, being a center of the Kurdish resistance to Turkish rule. It had been so since the Kurdish rebellion of the immediate post-World War I period (Lorz 14–15). The Turkish inclusion of its Kurdish region followed the 1923 Treaty of Lausanne, which created the modern Turkish state from remnants of the collapsed and defeated Ottoman Empire. The earlier Treaty of Sevres was to have created a Kurdish state (and an Armenian state) from former Ottoman territory, but that treaty was abandoned as a result of the Turkish War of Independence. While there has been a Kurdish tribal identity over the millennia, the idea of Kurdish ‘nationhood’ occurred ‘comparatively late’, according to Kurdish Workers Party (Partiya Karkeren Kurdistane, or PKK) leader Abdullah Ocalan (2018:24). Despite there

Separatism in the Middle-East 125 being Kurdish rebellions in the 19th century, when other nationalisms were beginning to evolve, Kurds were committed to establishing a sultanate, which Ocalan believed limited Kurdish national development (2007:296, 2018:24). Kurdish nationalism arose precisely in response to exclusionary Turkish nationalism, exacerbated by oppression, demographic land clearances and economic marginalization. In response, Kurds began to organize, initially in the early 1960s through the Workers’ Party of Turkey (Turkiye Isci Partisi, or TIP), winning four parliamentary seats in 1965 and dominance within the party by the end of the decade. However, the 1971 coup in Turkey led to the dissolution of the TIP for its communist allegiances, forcing its members underground. It was from this time that the PKK developed under Ocalan’s leadership, formally coming into being in 1978. In response, the Turkish government banned the use of the Kurdish language, Kurdish dress, the telling of Kurdish folklore and use of Kurdish names (Hannum 1990:187–189), with even the names ‘Kurds’ and ‘Kurdistan’ being banned. Following the military coup of 1980, the Kurdish language was officially prohibited in public and private life, with ‘offenders’ being arrested and imprisoned. The Kurdish uprising in Turkey officially began in 1984 and has continued, with ceasefires in 1999–2004 and between 2013 and 2015, since then. During the 1980s, the PKK engaged in bombings against Turkish targets within Turkey, as well as in second countries, and received training from a number of organizations with links to transnational terrorism. The PKK has even been accused of becoming an international criminal enterprise (Roth and Sever 2007), reflecting the need for armed non-state organizations to raise funds often by illegal methods.1 Casualties associated with PKK-related violence have concentrated in eastern Turkey (Turkish Kurdistan) and peaked at over 250 deaths a month in early 2016 (ICG 2020). In each of the countries in which the Kurds had a presence, they occupied a relatively clearly defined area, shared a common culture, spoke dialects of the Kurdish language and shared common as well as separate grievances. There were grounds for separate Kurdish independence movements in each of the countries in which they lived, but there was also a wider claim for a homeland bringing together each of those regions, occupying as they do a contiguous area. ‘The most glaring injustice in the notoriously unjust lands between the Balkan Mountains and the Himalayas is the absence of an independent Kurdish state’, (Peters 2006). The claims of the Kurds were backed, particularly in Turkey, Syria and Iraq, with military capacity. But, divided and battling states supported by external powers, their claims to separate national identity, while powerful, also faced formidable challenges.

Kurdish Turkey and Syria The main Kurdish militant organization, the Partiya Karkeren Kurdistane‎ (Kurdish Workers Party, or PKK) was officially founded in 1978 in a village near Diyarbakir, following the formation of a smaller precursor organization in

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1973. That initial group came together on the assumption that Kurdistan was a colony denied a right to self-determination. This claim quickly led to arrests of PKK members and armed clashes between PKK members and Turkish authorities (Ocalan 2013a:26). Following a military coup in Turkey in 1980 and the subsequent banning of all things Kurdish, there was an escalation of PKK attacks against Turkish state targets, with 1984 being declared the beginning of the formal armed Kurdish resistance. In 2007, former members of the PKK helped found the Kurdistan Communities Union (KCK), an umbrella organization of Kurds in Turkey, Syria, Iran and Iraq. However, there is no functional unity between these three Kurdish areas, or with Kurds in Iran. After some relative military successes, by the 1990s the PKK went on the defensive and there were tentative signs of a negotiated settlement to the conflict. However, the unexpected death, believed poisoning, of Turkish President Turgut Ozal in 1993, ended such hopes (Ocalan 2013a:27). In 1998, Ocalan was to travel to Europe to promote a political solution to the conflict but was abducted in Kenya and sent to Turkey where, at the time of writing, he remains imprisoned. It was while in prison that Ocalan refined his thoughts on the Kurdish revolution. This included his orientation away from Marxism-Leninism and armed struggle as the principle means of attaining a revolutionary outcome and towards a rejection of state structures, hierarchies or institutional political power (Ocalan 2007:286– 287, 297, 2013a:29, 31–36). Having started as a Leninist party, the PKK’s ideological position was consequently revised towards a libertarian-socialist orientation. ‘Ocalan promoted a practical-minded politics oriented toward patient organizing in real-world communities with real stakes and very real contradictions. This meant marrying a more traditional Marxist-Leninist focus on state power with a commitment to grassroots democracy, federalism, and the representation of minorities’ (Kilpatrick 2019). One key manifestation of this was the greater cooperation between Turkish Kurdish political parties. According to the Kurdish media network, Rudaw, in order to pass the 10 per cent threshold for parliamentary representation, ‘Turkey’s pro-Kurdish Peoples’ Democratic Party [Partiya Demokratik a Gelan, or HDP] announced … that seven Kurdish parties have now agreed to run candidates under the HDP list in the upcoming provincial elections’. The new alliance included the Democratic Regions Party (DBP), the Communist Party of Kurdistan (KKP), the Freedom Movement (Hereketa Azadi), the Revolutionary Eastern Culture Associations (DDKD), the Human and Freedom Party, the Kurdish Democratic Platform (PDK), and the Kurdistan Democratic Party – Turkey (PDK-T). As a banned organization, the PKK was not included in this alliance, but its guiding influence in the formation of the HDP can be discerned. Rudaw quoted HDP as saying the ‘seven Kurdish parties made an agreement to attend the election under HDP’. The HDP hoped ‘this historic move will be permanent and be a basis for national unity’ (Rudaw 2019a). Following the attempted Turkish coup of 2016 and subsequent closure of democratic political space, seven

Separatism in the Middle-East 127 HDP members of the Turkish parliament had their parliamentary status revoked and six other HDP MPs, including then HDP chair Selahattin Demirtaş, were arrested, with Demirtaş being held in a high-security prison. In response to criticism of Turkey’s invasion of northern Syria, in October 2019 four Kurdish mayors were removed from their posts, three of them being detained (Rudaw 2019b). The Turkish government claimed the mayors were linked to ‘terrorism’ (that is, the PKK; the HDP did retain a familial association with PKK leader Ocalan and HDP policies were similar to the revised PKK policies). In place of the mayors, the Turkish government appointed ethnically Turkish officials in the regional cities of Diyarbakir, Mardin and Van. During the 1990s, as the PKK went on the defensive, it sought refuge in bases amongst the Kurdish population of Syria and, finding a sympathetic hearing, the PKK began to organize Syrian Kurds. This led to the creation in northern Syria – referred to in Kurdish as Rojava – of a parallel PKK political and military organization, the Democratic Union Party (Partiya Yekitiya Demokrat‎, or PYD) and the People’s Protection Units (Yekineyen Parastina Gel, or YPG – also Women’s Protection Units; Yekineyen Parastina Jin‎, or YPJ). The YPG/J has its origins in a 2004 riot in the town of Qamishli, the main town in north-east Syria, sparked by provocations during a football match against an Arab team from the south-east. Government forces quelled the riot, leaving 36 people mostly Kurds – dead and many more injured. Already a marginalized people, believing they needed protection as a result of this event, Kurdish youth began organizing. However, the YPG did not announce itself until the start of the Syrian Civil War in 2011. As Syria quickly spiraled out of control, the YPG and allied Assyrians established de facto autonomous control in the northern Kurdish and Assyrian region. A Syrian Opposition meeting held in Turkey, which led to the creation of the Syrian National Council (SNC), was boycotted by a coalition of 10 of 12 Syrian Kurdish parties on the grounds that Turkey was hostile to Kurdish interests. The SNC quickly fell into factionalism while the YPG/J consolidated its authority in the northern region, quickly taking the towns of Kobani, Amuda and Efrin from Syrian government forces which offered little resistance. As Syrian government forces withdrew south to battle non-Kurdish Free Syrian Army forces, the PYD announced regional autonomy and held elections to elect assembly members and to approve a constitution. At this time, in the play of fluid regional politics, the Syrian government supported the PKK, leading to diplomatic conflict with Turkey (if, in 1998, forcing Ocalan to leave Syria to defuse potential military conflict with Turkey). The Syrian state similarly showed tolerance towards the PYD and the YPG/YPJ, tacitly acknowledging PYD authority in the north. Meanwhile, in 2015, having joined the US-sponsored Syrian Democratic Forces as their main component, in 2014 the YPG turned its attention to the advancing Islamic State fighters, which had bulldozed a section of the sand barrier that had marked the border between Iraq and Syria (Barfi 2016). By 2019, with the assistance of the United States and allied aerial bombardments, the YPG/J had effectively defeated Islamic State in Syria.

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The PKK and the PYD remained politically close and there is a view among some, both within the Turkish government and among Turkish and Syrian Kurds themselves, that the distinction between Turkish and Syrian Kurds is nonexistent (see Barfi 2016). The organizational links between the PKK and PYD are therefore at least fraternal and possibly closer (so also Kavalek and Mares 2019). There was, however, considerable ideological distance between the libertarian leftist PKK and the PYD and the more conservative and hierarchical Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) of Basur (Iraq) (Jongerden 2018). However, in 2012, then KRG President Massoud Barzani did manage to facilitate an agreement between the pro-PKK-PYD and the pro-KRG Kurdish National Council (KNC) and its (small in Iraq) Rovana Peshmerga (military; lit. ‘those who face death’) to form the Kurdish Supreme Committee (Desteya Bilind a Kurd‎, or DBK) in northern Syria.2 This agreement did indicate an underlying sense of cross-border Kurdishness but, given the relative weakness of the KNC in Syria, ultimately had little material impact. There remains tension between the PKK and KRG and their respective allies over status and control of the wider Kurdish movement (Kavalek and Mares 2019:101). The PKK and PYD consider the KRG and KNC to be feudalistic and relatively authoritarian, due to well-founded perceptions of hereditary rule by members of the Barzani family within the autonomous KRG area. Notable recent members from the Barzani family are KRG President 2005–2017 Masoud Barzani, from 2019 KRG Prime Minister Masrour Barzani, KRG parliamentary member and former militia leader Adham Barzani, former KRG President Idris Barzani and, at the time of writing, the late Idris’ son and key PDK leader Mustafa Barzani’s grandson, KRG President, Nechirvan Barzani. The KNC and KRG, in turn, say that the PKK-PYD had been reluctant to share power. The two groups have also markedly differed over the organizational distinction between a desire for a grass-roots-based federated or decentralized Syria and a KRG-type autonomy. They have at different times clashed and also arrested or murdered each other’s activists. According to a group of representative Kurdish refugees aligned with the PKK, following Ocalan’s ideological shift, there had been a wider acceptance of the need to develop local democratic entities and to transcend state structures. The first representative claimed that ‘In all states the majority squash the minority … we have engaged in revolution over past 27 years. Building a state or a nation is not always a solution. Kurds have always been sovereign, but sovereignty should not come at a cost to others’. Rather than statist independence, he said, ‘We want to be more liberal, more free’. The second representative described Kurdish persecution as ‘all our history is a struggle against oppression. We are a native people of the land. What has happened to native people around the world has happened to us … we have had control over part of the Kurdish area from time to time. But most of Kurdistan has been occupied by big powers, the Turks, Arabs and Persians and is now divided into four [parts]’. The third representative agreed that the current Turkish-Syrian

Separatism in the Middle-East 129 PKK-PYD Kurdish movement was based on a ‘struggle for freedom’, rather than to establish a state as such. The Turkish and Syrian political organizations placed a great deal of emphasis on cooperating across ethnic boundaries and in particular trying to improve the status of women. According to the fourth (female) representative, ‘From womens’ perspective, being Kurdish means liberation for women, and breaking the rules of patriarchy. If the woman is not free then society cannot be free. Women need to also be leaders in their community’. This view on women was supported by the first representative, who said: ‘In the core element of Kurdish identity, the liberation of women has always been different, between south Kurdistan [Rojava] or in Iraqi Kurdistan [Basur]’. According to PKK leader Ocalan, the Kurdish revolution cannot be successful unless women are liberated as a key part of the struggle (Ocalan 2013b). Specifically, ‘women’s freedom is the criterion for collective freedom is crucial for the concepts and structures of the PKK’ (Ocalan 2018a:28). The second representative did acknowledge that the different parts of Kurdistan were ruled by different parties, which did influence local views on issues such as the status of women. On the issue of political structure aspired to by the PKK and its Rojava allies, the first representative said the first priority was always to bring Kurds together. ‘These borders were illegally created, without Kurdish representation’, the PKKPYD representative said. ‘We don’t believe we have to have borders between ethnic groups. The Kurdish movement desires to have confederalism, let’s have borders but let’s have openness between states’. He added that the current borders which defined Turkey, Syria, Iraq and Iran ‘were designed by colonialism. To get rid of borders, realistically, is not possible’, he acknowledged. ‘But Kurds see borders as having statehood, which is never a solution – democratic confederalism is a real solution to these problems’. The second Kurdish representative indicated that there was a challenge juggling the issue of states and borders: ‘As Kurds, we want all these borders abolished’, he said. ‘But as a nation, Kurds also have a right to self-determination. If they say we don’t have a right to our culture then we want self-determination. Nation-states impose the rules of the majority – we believe all minorities should also be included. Some parties ask for an independent Kurdistan, but all Kurds have the same views when it comes to borders’. The first Kurdish representative said that he had family in five parts of Kurdistan; Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Iran and Armenia. ‘A confederation is not just a solution to culture and identity but solution to the problems of state’. This idea of ‘democratic confederalism’ (Ocalan 2013c) is similar to a libertarian socialist or anarcho-syndicalist model, in that it intends to operate on a non-state basis and to devolve a socialist democracy to the local level. ‘It is flexible, multi-cultural, antimonopolistic, and consensus-oriented. Ecology and feminism are central pillars’, according to KPP lead Ocalan. ‘In the frame of this kind of self-administration an alternative economy will become necessary, which increases the resources of the society instead of exploiting them and thus does justice to the manifold needs of the society’ (Ocalan 2013c:21).

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The second Kurdish representative posed the Kurdish claim in terms of civic cosmopolitanism,3 with a failure of that claim defaulting to Kurdish state status. ‘In the Middle-East we still have totalitarian regimes, very hard line, therefore borders of Europe and borders of Kurdistan are very much different’. He said that a confederated political system could only be achieved if the Middle-East democratized. ‘If we can achieve this then borders wouldn’t make much sense’, he said, implying the political value of living in one such state would be much the same as another. ‘If we can’t achieve the democratisation of the Turkish state’, he added as a qualification, ‘then we have a right to self-determination’ (i.e. separatism). Seeking confederation within democratized states was, he said ‘much harder than asking for an independent Kurdistan’. Representative Three affirmed this view, by saying: ‘It’s not about the state at this stage, it’s about building democratic processes, such as the Rojava revolution’ in reference to the establishment of loosely affiliated local polities in northern Syria. The third representative described being required to live within states as ‘a forced desire’, or a situation one is required to have and to comply with, regardless of preference. ‘The world today is based on the nation-state’, he said. ‘But each time they tried to resolve the Kurdish question through dialogue, it was repressed. Individuals thinks if we have a nation-state we will not have those experiences’. ‘The state is a main actor and has its own resources’, he acknowledged. ‘Without a state, you have nothing but oppression and humiliation. What they [other Kurds] see … is that if they had a nation-state they would have these experiences’. Without a state, Kurdish militants were, he said, ‘non-state actors and labelled as terrorist. A state provides fundamental rights’ (legitimacy). The ‘oppression’ of the Turkish Kurds was, according to the first representative, through what he claimed was the ‘control of childbirth’, as well as through population movement, assimilation, education and the availability of work. ‘It is more than military control’, he said. ‘Under the recent [2016] coup attempt, the majority of people who lost their jobs were Kurds’. There was, he added, optimistically, a ‘great opportunity of Rojava to be part of a democratic Syria. But the Turkish government is the main obstacle to democratization in Turkey’. He also acknowledged that the United States, as a regional actor, had been an unreliable ally to the Kurds in Rojava and had thus diminished its position in the Middle-East. ‘In fact we don’t really trust the USA, or Russia’, he said. ‘No-one really cares about the democratisation of the MiddleEast’. He recalled that those Western countries which were often called upon to assist others had themselves been responsible for the carve up of the Middle-East following World War I. ‘We don’t expect any ethical movement, we expect excuses’, he said. ‘Even with the Kurdish Yazidis4, most of the world was just watching. We believe first in our own people, then later if they want to help us to build a democratic state we will welcome them, but not if they think they can use the Kurds, if they more care about their own interests’. On this, the second representative noted that in 2019 the United States had reached an agreement about the use of Syrian air space which allowed Russia to bomb Kurdish targets. He also noted that the

Separatism in the Middle-East 131 Turkish plan to send Syrian refugees to Syrian Kurdish areas occupied by Turkey amounted to ‘another ethnic cleansing’. The 2019 agreement by US President Donald Trump for Turkey to invade northern Syria to remove YPG control in the border region further illustrated how outside forces would support or use Kurdish forces when it suited them but abandon them to greater imperatives when it did not. With the largely US-backed Syrian Democratic Forces largely comprised of YPG fighters, their defeat of Islamic State in Syria allowed Kurdish consolidation of control of the north and east of the country as an autonomous zone. There was a view that, having established such autonomy, Rojava was poised to declare independence, despite the PYD’s orientation away from statist structures. In particular, the creation of a US-supported, largely YPG-controlled buffer or demilitarized zone in Syria on the Turkish border pushed Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan to threaten to invade northern Syria. Following a phone conversation with US President Donald Trump, in which the latter gave his approval for the invasion, the United States withdrew its ground forces from the immediate region and Turkey launched its invasion with the intention of ending Kurdish control of the region. Turkish forces, supported by smaller Syrian Islamist groups, quickly occupied the border towns of Manbij and Ras al-Ain and consolidated control in two pockets, in the north-west of the Syrian-Turkish border area and towards the middle of the border. However, the Syrian advance was slowed by (YPG dominated) Syrian Democratic Forces resistance and, within a few days, by the arrival of Syrian government and Russian forces, in part supporting the Syrian ally of convenience but in part also asserting control over sovereign territory and limiting the consolidation of an historical enemy over a disputed territory. The key Kurdish-held town of Kobani was thereby saved from a Turkish military siege. What these events demonstrated was that, as expected, the Syrian Kurds could not count on the United States to be a reliable ally and that its own relationship with the Syrian government was broadly positive, if with a view to restoring the region’s autonomy. There was little doubt that the Syrian Kurds were used as pawns in a complex geo-strategic game, by the United States, by the Syrian government, by the key Syrian backer Russia and, more negatively, by Turkey (Oveisy 2019:6–8). There was also little doubt that the PYD was well aware of its temporary usefulness to various actors at different times, and that it planned for its future accordingly.

Kurdish Iraq In 2017, the residents of the Kurdish region of Iraq known as Basur, under the KRG, held a referendum on whether the region should become independent. The vote had a 72 per cent turnout, which is relatively high for a non-compulsory vote but which is consistent with more highly politicized environments.5 A very high 92.7 per cent of those who cast a ballot voted in favor of an independent Kurdish state. The KRG subsequently declared Basur to be an independent state.

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Following a refusal by the KRG’s military, the Peshmerga, to hand over the town of Kirkuk, within weeks of the ballot, the Iraqi government, backed with US heavy armor, attacked and occupied Kirkuk. This event was to spell the loss of Kirkuk to the KRG and, critically, its oil fields and around 40 per cent of the Kurdish occupied territory following its defeat of Islamic State forces in the area. It also ended, for the foreseeable future, aspirations for an independent Kurdish state of Basur. The KRG’s initial control of the Basur region was a key outcome of Iraqi President Saddam Hussein’s defeat in the 1991 Gulf War, following Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait.6 The subsequent US Operation Provide Comfort ultimately helped establish autonomous Kurdish control over their traditional homeland in northern Iraq. The operation also secured KRG support for the United States and, in effect, provided it with a forward base of operations, until the 2017 Iraqi government attack. The movement for an independent Iraqi Kurdistan has a relatively long history and, after an earlier history of autonomous Kurdish principalities in the region, it is one that has been closely tied to the Barzani family. The Barzani family’s origins were Yazidi, from near the town of Barzan in the Erbil Governate of what is now northern Iraq, about 20 kilometers from the eastern-most border of Turkey. In the 19th century the family converted to the Sufi, or mystical, form of Sunni Islam and by the late 19th century the Barzani clan, led by a Barzani sheikh (hereditary local ruler), had established a local tekkeyeh, or place for Sufi spiritual retreat and personal reflection, and had attracted the support of several other Kurdish tribes. The tekkeyeh in particular became an asylum for aggrieved local Kurdish tribes, helping to consolidate the authority of the Barzani sheikhdom in the region, and was the focal point of a claim for greater regional autonomy from what was then the Ottoman Empire (Beller 2012). After a series of revolts against the central Ottoman government, Sheikh Abdul Salam travelled to Mosul to negotiate terms for a ceasefire but was instead arrested and hanged. The sheikh’s younger brother, Ahmed, rallied the Kurdish tribes and, with Sheikh Mahmud Barzani, organized a series of uprisings against the Ottoman Turks after its defeat in World War I. After the British refused to allow Kurdish independence, as planned for under the Treaty of Sevres, the Iraqi Kurds rose in revolt in 1919 and declared their independence, in 1921 establishing the ‘Kingdom of Kurdistan’ centered on the town of Sulaymaniyah (McDowall 2003:191). They were defeated by 1924 (Lorz 2005:1–12; McKierman 2006:31) after being subjected to heavy artillery fire and aerial bombardment, including with phosphorous and poison gas. Following the defeat, leading the clan fell to Sheikh Ahmed’s youngest son, Mustafa Barzani, which he did by transforming it into something resembling a modern political party, rising in revolt against the Iraqi state in 1931 and again in 1943, developing the Peshmerga fighters as among the most hardened in the region. Meanwhile, Kurds elsewhere were also rising in revolt, rising in the Simko Shikak revolt against the Qajar dynasty of Iran from 1918 to 1922, declaring the Republic of Ararat in eastern Turkey in 1927 (van Bruinessen 2006; Elphinstone

Separatism in the Middle-East 133 1946:97), until 1930 and, influenced by the Barzani defeat three years previously, the post-World War II Republic of Mahabad in north-western Iran in 1946 (Romano 2006:227). After the overthrow of the British-installed Hashemite monarchy in 1958, Mustafa Barzani was invited by new Iraqi President Qasim to return from exile, being vaguely promised Kurdish regional autonomy in return for Barzani’s support for the new republic’s policies. It was during this period that Barzani became the head of the Kurdistan Democratic Party (Partiya Demokrat a Kurdistane, or PDK). What could have been a reasonable arrangement for the Kurds was not, however, fulfilled. Qasim did not follow through on enacting Kurdish autonomy and, when the PDK protested, he encouraged two Kurdish tribes antagonistic towards the Barzanis, the Bradost and the larger Zebari (of which the Barzanis are part) to attack them. Victory went to the Barzanis, who consolidated their control over Iraqi Kurds. The Barzanis removed all non-Kurdish officials from Kurdish areas and, when a military column sent by Qasim was ambushed by the Barzanis, the First Iraqi–Kurdish War was engaged. Qasim had Kurdish villages bombed, which only strengthened Kurdish loyalty to the Barzanis. Due to Qasim’s distrust of the Iraqi army, he refused to properly arm it, leading to a military stalemate with the Kurds. Military frustration at being poorly supplied contributed, in early 1963, to the Ba’athist military coup (Ozoglu and Hanso 2017). With internal Iraqi politics in turmoil, the Kurds managed to defeat Iraqi military attacks, forcing the government to enter into negotiations. Following the deaths of up to 100,000 people, a ceasefire and autonomy agreement was reached in 1970, lasting until 1974 (O’Ballance 1973). Despite the agreement securing for the Kurds virtually all of their key demands about power sharing and autonomy in the three Kurdish governates and other districts shown to have a Kurdish majority, it quickly became apparent that it was simply an opportunity for the Iraqi government to buy time to prepare for another offensive and, by 1973, had collapsed (McDowall 2003:327–332). The failure of this agreement, in particular over control of the Kirkuk oil fields, led to an Iraqi offensive against Kurdish forces in what became known as the Second Iraqi–Kurdish War. Mustafa Barzani made the strategic error of moving away asymmetric warfare, at which the Kurds excelled, towards conventional warfare. Lacking heavy weapons and, in 1975, losing Iranian support, the Kurds were defeated and the PDK went into exile in neighboring Iran. Up to 20,000 died in this conflict. The Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK) then took up the Kurdish cause, undertaking a relatively low-level insurgency in the mountainous north-east of the country between 1976 and 1979. During this time, conflict also broke out between the PDK and the PUK, deepening antipathy between the two parties. With both Iraq and Iran attacking the Kurds, the rebellion petered out in 1979, with a brief Kurdish rebellion in Iran being its last gesture. During this period, in a bid to end Kurdish rebellion, the Iraqi government’s campaign of ‘Arabisation’ of northern Iraq, which had started in the early 1960s was further

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stepped up, by moving Arab families into the region and displacing Kurds and other minorities. Principally due to concern over the spread of Iranian revolutionary influence among Iraq’s Shia population, Iraq invaded Iran in 1980. The Iraq-Iran War quickly bogged down but created yet another opportunity for the Kurds to rebel, with both the PDK and the PUK joining with Iran against Iraq. With both Iraq and Iran exhausted by the war, they agreed to a ceasefire ahead of a negotiated end to the war. This then freed up the Iraqi army to attack the Kurds in what was called the An-Anfal (Spoils of War) Campaign (formally starting in 1986). This campaign was notable for its massacres of civilians and the widespread use of VX (nerve) gas. It is believed that up to 180,000 Kurds were killed in these campaigns, with a million of the population of 3.5 million Iraqi Kurds being displaced and thousands of Kurdish villages being destroyed. The campaign was described as genocidal in intent (HRW 1991, 1993). In response to Iraq’s invasion of neighboring Kuwait the previous year, in 1991 the United States led a coalition of forces to expel Iraqi forces from Kuwait. At the conclusion of the short, five-week war, US President George Bush called on the Iraqi people to stage their own uprising. There was a number of uprisings in response, notably by Iraqi Shia Muslims in the south and, once again by the PDK under the leadership of Massoud Barzani and by the PUK under Jalal Talabani in the north. While Kurdish forces captured Ranya, Sulaimaniya and the oil center of Kirkuk, they could not hold them against heavy Iraqi artillery attack and retreated to the mountains. In response, the United States and its allies declared two ‘no fly zones’, to protect Shias in the south from air attack, and Kurds in the north. With this protection from air attacks, the Kurds in effect established an autonomous region and, in 1992, held elections for a regional government – the first free elections in Iraqi history. Partly in response to these events, a group of tribal Kurdish chieftains who had been in alliance with the Hussein regime established the Mosul Vilayet Council to call for an act of self-determination. Several of them subsequently joined Surchi the Kurdistan Conservative Party (van Bruinessen 2005:65). The PDK and the PUK split the vote largely along regional geographic lines in the 1992 elections, with the PDK in the north and PUK in the south. While they agreed to divide government posts between them, tensions remained and in May 1994 fighting broke out between PDK and PUK forces. To secure victory, in August 1996, the PDK’s Barzani called on the assistance of the Iraqi government; the PUK meanwhile was receiving assistance from Iran. With the aid of the Iraqi army, the PDK drove the PUK from Iraqi Kurdistan’s major cities, but the PUK regrouped and retook Suleimani and parts of Hawler province south of the Kurdish capital of Erbil. The civil war was ended in 1998 by a Washingtonbrokered peace agreement, which left Iraqi Kurdistan divided between the two parties and their regional bases. After the US-led invasion of Iraq in 2003, the PDK and PUK gradually established a unified KRG. Barzani became a member of the Iraqi Governing Council and was the president of the council in April 2004. He was elected as the President

Separatism in the Middle-East 135 of Iraqi Kurdistan by its parliament in 2005. Even though the KRG has run what was, in effect, an independent state in Kurdish Iraq since 1992, the Iraqi government has remained adamant that the region should formally remain a part of Iraq. A large part of its motivation is, as it was with the colonial British who created Iraq, to secure the Kirkuk oil fields to help prop up the Iraqi economy, as well as a regular flow of oil to the then administering United Kingdom. Following the US and allied invasion of Iraq in 2003, the KRG consolidated its control over much of the Kurdish territory, including the largely Yazidi area of Sinjar and multi-ethnic Kirkuk. The KRG region was subsequently widely regarded as being relatively peaceful, organized and as having a successful economy. An unofficial referendum on independence was held in 2005, alongside scheduled Iraqi parliamentary elections; the vote returned 98.98 per cent in favor of independence (KurdMedia 2005). ‘A nation subjected to 80 years of oppression, enslavement and genocide, … with 200,000 of their sons and daughters lying in mass graves, … their identity, freedom and human rights denied …, it is only natural and human for them to choose liberation versus occupation, freedom versus slavery, selfdetermination versus despotism’ (Kamal Mirawdeli, in KurdMedia 2005) While the 2005 referendum was overwhelmingly in favor of independence, it was intended more as a means of providing a clearer measure of preference rather than the generally accepted assumption that the Kurdish people wished to become independent. This then paved the way for an ‘official’ referendum on independence, delayed several times and finally due to be held in 2014. However, in 2014 the Peshmerga joined the fight against Islamic State, becoming the most successful ground force in that battle (as was the YPG in neighboring Syria). As Iraqi forces dissolved in the face of Islamic State attacks, the Peshmerga defeated Islamic State in Iraq and occupied territories it had long been claimed as Kurdish but which had previously been claimed by Iraq as non-Kurdish and occupied by Iraqi forces. As a result of engaging in the war against Islamic State, the KRG again put off its plans to hold a referendum on Kurdish independence until after the liberation of Mosul, finally proceeding in 2017 with a non-binding referendum on whether the region should become independent. The legality of the referendum was disputed by the Iraqi government, with Iraq’s Supreme Court ordering the suspension of the referendum while it assessed whether it complied with Iraq’s constitution. Syria, Turkey and Iran, each having significant Kurdish minorities, expressed their opposition to the referendum, as did Saudi Arabia. Most non-regional governments also expressed their opposition to the referendum, although Israel supported it as did, unsurprisingly, a number of other separatist movements. Despite ethnic minorities in ‘disputed areas’ also opposing the referendum, it went ahead on 25 September 2017, including an allowance for a vote by the Kurdish diaspora. The result from a 72 per cent turnout rate over just

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over four and a half million voters was that just under 93 per cent voted in favor of independence, with just over 7 per cent voting against it (KHEC 2017). The purpose of the referendum was to legitimize the KRG’s discussions with the Iraqi government about Kurdistan’s independence. However, such talks were rejected, with Iraqi Prime Minister Haider al-Abadi demanding that the referendum result be cancelled and that talks be entered into within the framework of the Iraqi constitution. With the KRG refusing to give ground, the Iraqi government closed traffic to KRG airports and threatened to retake ‘disputed’ towns, including Kirkuk. When the PDK Peshmerga refused to leave the towns, on 15 October 2017 the Iraqi army, using US-supplied tanks, attacked, retaking 40 per cent of the territory held by the KRG. The PUK refused to militarily support the PDK, again splitting the two main Kurdish parties. With the Peshmerga’s necessary withdrawal in the face of an armored attack, Masoud Barzani resigned as KRG President. Iraq’s Supreme Court ruled on 6 November that, in order to preserve Iraq’s unity, no Iraqi province was allowed to secede (Rasheed 2017). The KRG announced, in turn, that it would respect the Supreme Court’s ruling. The Kurdish state-building project had come to an ignominious end. Despite the Iraqi military occupation of Kirkuk and the surrounding area, the director general of information at the Peshmerga Ministry in Erbil, Major General Abubaker Ahmed Mohamed, described the referendum as very successful, saying: ‘It didn’t fail because of people’s votes but only because of the agendas of our neighboring countries’ (Westcott 2019a). The vote was, Abubakar said, ‘a message from a Kurdish nation … that we deserve to be a country. … The referendum doesn’t mean independence right away, but when the right time comes we can use it’ (Westcott 2019a). Then KRG President Masoud Barzani said the Kurds had a right to self-determination. ‘We have our geography, land, and culture’, he said. ‘We have our own language. We refuse to be subordinates’ (Westcott 2019a). As to the loss of Kirkuk: ‘We will never accept Kurdistan without Kirkuk. We fought a lot for it in the past and we’ll never give up’, according to Sulaymaniah KRG force commander, Sheikh Jafar Mustafa (Westcott 2019b). This reflected that, historically, Kirkuk was part of the Kurdish area. At least as importantly, however, it also reflected the importance of controlling the strategically critical Kirkuk oil fields (Dirri 2019). Having previously been KRG Prime Minister from 2006 to 2009 and 2012 to 2019, Nechirvan Idris Barzani was elected as KRG President in the middle of 2019. As Prime Minister, in 2014 he established an office for the rescue of Yazidis still being held by Islamic State and pledged to continue that work. He also supported minority and women’s rights. Nechirvan Idris Barzani continued the Barzani family’s tight grip on political power in northern Kurdistan and, by extension, in the KRG. He was replaced as Prime Minister by his cousin and son of Masoud Barzani, Masrour Barzani. The aspiration for an independent Iraqi Kurdistan may have been set back in 2017 but there was little doubt it remained a compelling sentiment for many, probably most Iraqi Kurds. In the interim, they continued to enjoy a high degree of autonomy, if within an area reduced from that which, at their peak, they controlled.

Separatism in the Middle-East 137 In all, it might be said that the Middle-East, for all its tensions and conflicted relations, is relatively less the locus of separatism than might otherwise be expected. For a moment it appeared that the Islamic State could carve out a new territory from the sometimes fragile constructions that were the inheritors of colonial machinations. Yet the goal of Islamic State was not to establish a new state across an arbitrary border but to do away with borders by assuming control of the state/s. It was, in this sense, a revolutionary rather than separatist organization, if a puritanical and exceptionally violent one. Similarly, when Syria’s ethnic groups rebelled against the dominant Alawi government they did not, with the arguable exception of the Syrian Kurds, seek to establish territory based on their ethnic specificities but rather to change the nature of the regime that ruled the state as such. Even the Syrian Kurds, practicing their more recent brand of libertarian socialism, sought a different set of relations within the state, or without a state. Only the Iraqi Kurds had made a specific contemporary claim to establishing a wholly independent state, while Yemen’s STC was at once a separatist organization but at the same time mounting a challenge for the devolution of the state to one that had previously existed. It was this type of claim, of return to the state prior to amalgamation, that was also put by an even more successful separatist movement on the other side of the Gulf of Aden, which is addressed in the next chapter.

Notes 1 It is worth noting that one of the authors of this article was a member of the Turkish National Police so the objectivity of this characterisation of the PKK cannot be taken as uncompromised. 2 Interviews conducted in 2019. The Kurdish representatives and their location cannot be identified as the PKK is widely proscribed as a ‘terrorist’ organization. 3 The proposition that if all states ascribe to the same values then the requirement for states becomes redundant. 4 Islamic State attempted to undertake a genocide of monotheistic, Sharfadin/Dasnibelieving Kurdish dialect speaking Yazidis, about 50,000 of whom were trapped at Mount Sinjar in northern Iraq; in 2016, an Islamic State siege was broken by YPG and PKK fighters who opened a corridor for them to Rojava. 5 Based on observations as an election observer coordinator and in discussion with other election observation mission heads 1999–2018. 6 Kuwait had been divided from Iraq by the colonial British in 1921 in order to secure Kuwaiti oil and, for strategic reasons, to limit Iraqi access to the sea.

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Separatism in Africa

As a continent largely constructed of states based on imperial colonies, with little or no regard for pre-existing polities, ethnicities or tensions, it is remarkable that Africa does not have more separatist movements than it does. This is not to suggest that it has few such movements, but that its numerous militant anti-state organizations are or have often been conflated with or subsumed by other agendas including external interest, greed (or economic desperation), displacement and invasion. The case studies in this chapter are chosen because they represent quite different iterations of separatist responses (allowing that Western Sahara is less ‘separatist’ in a formal sense and more so armed opposition to an illegal invasion and occupation). One of the intriguing characteristics of Africa is that, despite its states being so arbitrarily constructed, its leaders and its key continental organization, the African Union (AU) have been and remain strongly committed to preserving the geo-political status quo. In part this reflects some of the key ideas of the original anti-colonial liberation movements; that tribal differences were less important than striving together for independence which, in turn, marked the civic nationalism of the early liberation movements over the ethno-nationalism common to most separatist movements. Similarly, there was and remains a strong recognition for the successor state concept based on uti possidetis, or the successor state assuming the territory of the prior colonial construction. Within this is an implicit recognition that, for most states, should they start to devolve along ethno-tribal lines or even pre-colonial national lines, the fragmentation and devolution of states would continue almost ad infinitum. Finally, there is the political economy and political psychology of elite formation and maintenance, which implies the value to a state’s elite in retaining the geo-political status quo (Englebert and Hummel 2005). Yet for all of this, the aspirations of post-colonial unity (much less civic nationalism) and the wishes of elites have not stopped numbers of African states facing internal rebellions of a variety of kinds. Even where they have challenged the state order, rather than try to leave the state, these have commonly based on either the idea of ethno-tribal distinction and grievances within particular groups or, importantly, the aspirations of disenfranchised former elites and the capacity for their claims to receive client-patron support. Recently independent African states

Separatism in Africa 139 in many cases suffered economic decline; ‘political freedoms metamorphized into one-party systems or military dictatorships; the standard of living of the common people deteriorated while few enriched themselves … ; and … persons and groups became in danger if they called for correction’ (Samatar in Jama 2011:93). It was therefore unsurprising, Samatar said, that so many ended in war and state failure. At the time of writing, at the close of 21st century’s second decade, there were perhaps some four dozen separatist movements in Africa, at various stages of organization or rebellion, with some being little more than a historical memory and virtually all reflecting more than one agenda, not all of which were aligned with ultimately establishing a separate state. For some, where the state had failed to secure a basic livelihood, the option of force of arms had greater appeal if, even based on particular ethnic groups, the goal was more of survival – if in practice armed banditry – than of establishing the machinery of a new state.

Zanzibar The area of one of the slave markets at the back of Zanzibar’s old Stonetown tells a chilling tale of the social and economic foundations of this small but once influential sultanate. Slave raiding parties ran as wide as the Congo basin and throughout East Africa’s hinterland in the Great Lakes region, most captured people destined for the slave markets of Zanzibar, which was the slave hub for East Africa. From here, each year up to 50,000 unhappy souls (Petterson 2002:24) would be sold to slavers from throughout the Middle East, across the Indian Ocean and to places further afield such as Brazil and Cuba. Many, however, were retained on the Zanzibar islands of Unguja and Pemba (Kimambo et al. 2017:93), where they came to make up a large proportion of the population of about 1.3 million. Zanzibar is a semi-independent part of Tanzania, being a group of islands located north-east of the capital of Dar-es-Salaam. The main islands include Ungunja (the island commonly known as Zanzibar), Pemba, Latham and Mafia. Zanzibar united with Tanganyika in 1964 to form the United Republic of Tanzania. Zanzibar has a semi-autonomous status, with its own immigration and customs processes under the ‘Revolutionary Government of Zanzibar’. In relation to its unity with the mainland, the Association for Islamic Mobilization and Propagation (Uamsho) has tapped into a long-standing groundswell of discontent. Uamsho is an Islamic group registered in 2001 as a non-governmental organization seeking to return Zanzibar to being a fully independent island state and to restoring Islamic laws and ways of living on the islands. Uamsho was accused by the Tanzanian government of turning into a political group and spreading hatred among the people of Zanzibar, if not fomenting armed rebellion. The islands that comprise Zanzibar have a mixed and distinctly cosmopolitan history; they were first subdued by the Persians, whose name for the place, zanbar (black coast) has remained. They were followed, in 1509, by the Portuguese, who occupied the islands of Ungunja, Pemba and Mafia. Arabs arrived in 1652,

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with the Omani empire subduing Zanzibar and Pate, which thereafter became an Omani protectorate. Ethnic influences now include those who are descendent or returned Arabs, with ethnic prejudices and historical and contemporary racism reflected in the position of Arabs (about 17 per cent) vis-à-vis both locals and mainlanders and their linguistic and cultural variations. The ‘Shirazis’ were Zanzibaris of mixed Persian-African origin, although possibly including Arab and other influences dating from around the 12th century (Chittick 1968). While the name ‘Shirazi’ continues, the group has long since been absorbed by the wider Waswahili mix (Kimambo et al. 2017:81) and, since the 1940s, has primarily referred to indigenous groups such as the Hadimu, Tumbatu and Pemba. These are distinct from Zanzibaris who are more recent African descendants, overwhelmingly of slaves from the mainland (Kimambo et al. 2017:159). Because of its strategic location for trade, in 1840 the Omani state transferred its capital from Muscat to Zanzibar (Kimambo et al. 2017:69). Under Omani rule, local Africans on Zanzibar were forcibly removed from the most productive land to make room for clove plantations, with many required to undertake corvee labor alongside slaves brought from the mainland. Arabs were less intrusive on the island of Pemba where a mixed population became involved in clove production. The indigenous Hadimu, Tumbatu and mixed-race locals may not have been slaves, but they were displaced initially by Omani Arabs establishing clove plantations, then, by the descendants of slaves who were brought in to work on the plantations. The pre-colonial economy was built on slavery, supplemented by elephant ivory and spices. Despite attempting to bury their slave origins, due to the attached stigma, resentments and hatred built up over centuries of deep-seated discrimination inevitably spilled over. In the mid-19th century, Europeans became increasingly involved in trade with Zanzibar, with a joint French-British treaty recognizing the independence of Zanzibar from Oman in 1862 (Bennett 1978). The United Kingdom had been pressuring Zanzibar to end its role as the nucleus of the Arab slave trade since the early to mid-19th century and, in 1890, UK encouraged Zanzibar to submit to becoming protectorate as a means of ensuring compliance (Gjerso 2015). The slave trade was not, however, ended until 1876. Slavery continued as a legal practice in Zanzibar until 1897, ending when the UK consolidated its control over the ‘protectorate’ in 1896 after what has been dubbed ‘the world’s shortest war’, at 38 minutes, and the removal of the sultan (Frankly 2006). In 1919, the United Kingdom assumed administration of German colonial Tanganyika under a League of Nations mandate. UK administration of Zanzibar, under the guise of the protectorate, was separated from that of Kenya, being more closely associated with British Tanganyika, in 1925. Similar to other colonies, the British administration created a highly differentiated system of racially identifiable economic and social classes in Zanzibari society. In broad terms, particularly during the British colonial era, the British constituted the colonial administrative class, the South Asians, the merchant and minor administrative class, and the Arabs the ruling elite. In this arrangement, the

Separatism in Africa 141 African Zanzibaris were a disenfranchised laboring underclass (Kimambo et al. 2017:150). This encouraged non-privileged and socially excluded groups to form the resistant and counter-balancing forces against colonial linkages. Within this context, Zanzibar was also influenced by the ideologies of PanAfricanism as well as ethnic nationalisms which helped construct an evolving, dynamic and flexible politics of Zanzibari (or Swahili) society. As with the rest of colonial Africa, the 1950s were a period of change ahead of independence. The movement towards independence in Tanganyika and, by extension, Zanzibar, gained ground in 1954 when Julius Nyerere founded the Tanganyika African National Union (TANU). Competing parties were subsequently founded, giving organizational structure to tensions and inter-ethnic political violence that has permeated local politics since. Tanganyika became independent in 1961, with Nyerere as Prime Minister. Mainland Africans in Zanzibar wanted to delay independence until more education enabled them to compete with Arabs on equal terms; they asked for ‘time to learn’ (Lofchie 1965:167). In December 1963, the UK ended its protectorate status for Zanzibar, leaving it as a Sultanate. The political dynamism of a divided and angry society was set against economic and political exclusion and, following the voluntary withdrawal of the colonial British from Zanzibar in January 1964, a leftist revolution broke the ruling elite order. Citing historical memories of slavery and a desire to expel exploitative outsiders, Zanzibar was convulsed by violence, toppling the sultanate in January 1964. This then led to an internal power struggle, with the revolution’s own leader John Okello being toppled within weeks by Sheik Abeid Karume (Burgess 2018). Between 5,000 and 15,000 people, mostly Arab and Indian merchants, died in the related rampages (Ibrahim 2015). That same year, as part of its commitment to Pan-Africanism, an agreement between political elites saw Zanzibar join Tanganyika to form the United Republic of Tanzania, with Zanzibar maintaining political and economic autonomy for more than a decade after the union. Despite having an avowedly leftist revolutionary flavor and a pro-education agenda, the anger of the early 1960s lacked clear ideological or economic direction. Many Zanzibaris knew what they did not want but had not yet developed coherent political goals. ‘All politics is complex, but few places combine the contending histories and subsequent complexities as do the much fought over islands off Africa’s eastern coast’ (Myers 2002). The articulation of grievances conflated disquiet over local politics and the problems that entailed with Zanzibar’s federation with Tanganyika as Tanzania. Like most else about Zanzibar’s politics, joining with Tanganyika to create Tanzania was not decided through a plebiscite, referendum or other forms of explicit public agreement. As an unaccountable revolutionary elite-driven process, supporting a continuation of an unaccountable ‘revolutionary’ elite, relations with the mainland necessarily became a focal point for expressions of political discontent. The nationalist and ethno-racial tensions and, occasionally, violence that has convulsed Zanzibar was similar in many ways to the tumultuous period leading up to the 1964 revolution. Ethnicity, class, and regional identities which manifested

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in the 1964 revolution have since changed over the subsequent decades, not least the way in which relations with the mainland have come to be a defining characteristic of discontent and which have given birth to a sentiment seeking to disengage Zanzibar from what was, at the outset, an elite-driven agreement to join with the mainland. The revolution did not end political turmoil, however, with a series of assassinations of political figures and business leaders in the late 1960s allegedly ordered by Karume. In 1972, as President of Zanzibar and Vice President of Tanzania, Karume was himself assassinated. In 1980 an alleged coup plot in Zanzibar was discovered and, in 1984, anti-union anger over proposed constitutional changes to limit Zanzibar’s autonomy led to the resignation of the Zanzibar president and a reshuffling of the government (van Donge and Liviga 1986). Amid continuing tensions, in 1986 and 1988, further coup plots were uncovered. Following the end of the Cold War, in 1992 the Tanzanian National Assembly amended the constitution to allow for multiparty politics. Parties were restricted however and were not allowed to have religious, tribal or ethnic motives, could not advocate the break-up of Tanzania or advocate the use of violence as a means of attaining political objectives. In that same year, Zanzibar unilaterally joined the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) in violation of the Union Constitution. Zanzibar was later forced to withdraw from the OIC. The year 1993 and throughout the 1990s and into the 2000s saw protests in favor of separation from the mainland, political repression and occasional rounds of deadly turmoil between Muslims and Christians, and Arabs and Indians, as well as protests, party clashes and rioting over fraudulent electoral process (ICG 2019). That Tanzania’s ruling party, the Chama Cha Mapinduzi (CCM, or Party of the Revolution) and its forerunner parties have been in power since independence has further exacerbated political tensions. Zanzibar’s complex of competing and overlapping influences means that politics is divided by a number of identifying factors, including ethnicity, political allegiance, class and patron-client relations (see Jean-Francois Bayart et al. 1999). As Brown noted, the two characteristics which have continued to dominate the political life of Zanzibar have been the ‘regionalized division of interests between the islands of Pemba and Unguja (Zanzibar) and elite-dominated politics characterized by resistance to open political competition and democratic governance’ (Brown 2010). Zanzibar’s discomfort at being incorporated into the contemporary state of Tanzania reflects not their oppression or neglect but rather displacement as the dominant regional group by ‘subordinate groups using revolutionary violence’ (see Horowitz 2000:34). At least some Zanzibaris continue to resent incorporation into Tanzania, in particular what they see as differences between if not a clash of cultures. Although relatively relaxed by some Islamic standards, Zanzibaris are almost exclusively Muslim and see that as a major point of difference with the approximately 50 per cent Christian mainland neighbors. Government comprises the two parties of the ruling coalition within a dominant party framework, along with a limited democratic opposition. Corruption,

Separatism in Africa 143 which undermines economic performance and rule of law, occurs at both high, official levels of government, through nepotism and patron-client relations, as well as petty local extortion, particularly by police and other small local powerholders. Tanzania as a whole falls about mid-way on the corruption index scale (see Gray 2015) and Zanzibar appears to be at least as corrupt as the rest of the country. As with other predominantly Muslim states with unresponsive government and high level of corruption, Zanzibar has seen a rise in Islamic extremism, driven in part by local resentment towards the central government they believe discriminates against them. Reports of attacks against non-Muslim’s including against residents and tourists and shootings of Catholic priests in 2012 and 2013 were linked to the growing presence of Islamist militants in Zanzibar (Minority Rights, undated). Tensions associated with these events were compounded when a proposal that Tanzania be restructured as a federation was blocked by the country’s Constitutional Assembly. In April 2012, the governments of Tanzania and Zanzibar intervened and stopped all Uamsho meetings, demonstrations, gatherings or lectures until further notice. The group continued to conduct lectures, claiming to be exercising its freedom of speech. As a result, there were a number of clashes between Uamsho members and police. Two churches were also burned, although Uamsho denied its supporters were involved. The leader of Uamsho, Sheikh Farid Hadi Ahmed, called for a dress code for foreigners, who make up Zanzibar’s large tourism industry, restricting the consumption of alcohol, and the establishment of an independent Zanzibari state under a constitution based on Sharia law. In 2012, Tanzanian President Jakaya Kikwete told constitutional review commissioners at their swearing-in ceremony that they should not entertain any talk of Zanzibar seceding, as this year’s constitutional review proceeds (Webb 2012, TRAC 2020). Zanzibar’s main opposition party, the Civic United Front (CUF), also called for secession, but under a secular constitution. The CUF denied that it is linked to Uamsho. Zanzibaris who want a referendum on the issue were angered, and the secession movement seems to have gathered momentum since (East African 2018). In 2018, the Zanzibar Rights of Freedom and Autonomy group petitioning the East African Court of Justice had an application to strike out Zanzibar’s unity with the mainland ruled as invalid. A court judge said the applicants were neither prepared to submit such an application nor capable of stating the grounds for the application (East African 2018). The discoveries of offshore oil in both Zanzibari and Tanganyikan waters could also play a role in the growing calls for separation, with increasing calls for independence being intended to secure potential natural resource wealth. At the least there were competing economic demands as well as potential political and legal complications (Throup 2016). These complications included disputes over the allocation of revenues from the resources, the effects of resource exports on the value of local currency and market competitiveness, competition for subsidiary contracts, the potential for corruption.

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Somaliland The dusty streets of the rough-hewn provincial town of Hargeisa, sitting to the semi-arid north-west of the dysfunctional state of Somalia, just south of Djibouti, would seem an unlikely capital for an independent state. Yet the claimed state of Somaliland, which has been functionally independent since 1991, has in practice achieved precisely that status. Somaliland issues its own passports, has its own currency, runs its own bureaucracy with a fair degree of efficiency, and generally functions as a moderately effective developing country, if not as well as some more established examples then at least better than many. Not only is Somaliland independent in all but formal external recognition, there seems little prospect that Somalia proper will be able to bring the northwestern breakaway state back into the political fold. The memory of a civil war, which involved what has been claimed to be a genocide and which certainly constituted a war crime, seemed to have cemented the status of geographic and clan divisions. Somaliland is a relatively well organized and moderately prospering country (based primarily on meat exports to the Gulf states – SLCCIA 2019). This is in contrast, since around 1990, to the consistently failed state status of Somalia, in which extremisms competed for political control, rule of law has been weak to non-existent and its economy in tatters. This sharp distinction only adds to what might be identified as a degree of self-satisfaction by Somalilanders with their separate state of affairs. Indeed, Somaliland is highly unusual in that it does not correspond to a number of the conventional key criteria for separatism. The people of Somaliland are ethnically, linguistically and religiously indistinguishable from their southern neighbors. Somalilanders tend to be highly observant Muslims, if at the time of writing still having avoided the salafi jihadism of Al Qaeda-linked organizations such as Somalia’s Al Shabaab. Somalia, including Somaliland, comprised a series of successive sultanates ruling sometimes overlapping areas in the approximate region of present-day Somalia, including Somaliland. Colonial Germany was first to try to colonize the region but abandoned its efforts, allowing Italy to colonize Somalia and the UK to colonize the northern area now referred to as Somaliland, first through coastal protectorates and then through outright invasion (Issa-Salwe 1996:34–35). Away from the coast, Somalis fiercely resisted colonization, with the ‘Dervishes’ defeating the British on four occasions. Somaliland was not fully subdued until 1920, when the UK could afford to focus its considerable military against domestic resistance (Lewis 2002:Ch IV). Historically, Somaliland is based on what was British Somaliland, acquired following the Somaliland Campaign between 1900 and 1920. It was politically and administratively distinct from Italian Somaliland, acquired in two phases, in 1888–1889, a few years after the Berlin Conference which divided most of Africa between the major European colonial powers. According to then Somaliland Foreign Minister, Mohamad Omar: ‘The colonial powers ruled with very different styles. British indirect rule allowed traditional

Separatism in Africa 145 structures to remain while Italian fascism replaced traditional structures with a highly centralized and punitive state (Samatar in Jama 2011:101). Italy restructured the social hierarchy in Italian Somaliland …, disrupting historic clan ties. By contrast, British Somaliland was a protectorate and never fully colonized, interference with clan structures was minimal and the region was administered with a lighter touch’ (Omar 2011:20). Upon independence in 1960, Somaliland joined Italian Somalia to form the Somali Republic as a democratic state. After unification, with the state highly centralized in Mogadishu, Somaliland found itself in political and economic isolation (Omar 2011:21). Like many post-colonial democracies, however, Somalia’s was not destined to last, with President Abdirashid Ali Shermarke being shot dead by one of his own bodyguards while on a visit to what is now Somaliland, in October 1969. His assassination was followed soon after by a military coup, led by army commander Major General Mohamed Siad Barre. Initially establishing itself as the Supreme Revolutionary Council with Barre at its head, by 1976 it had transformed itself into the Somali Revolutionary Socialist Party in a renamed one-party Marxist Somali Democratic Republic. ‘… after the military coup a slow process of recolonizing Somaliland by Somalia began until, in the later years of the regime, it culminated in internal suppression, destruction and attempted genocide (Samatar in Jama 2011:86 ‘Where I Stand’). Assuming support from its ally the Soviet Union, in 1977, Somalia invaded Ethiopia in a bid to secure the largely ethnic Somali Ogaden border region. The Soviet Union, however, angered by the invasion, withdrew its support for Somalia, which it transferred to Ethiopia, along with 1,000 military ‘advisers’. Cuba sent 16,000 troops to Ethiopia while two brigades were sent from South Yemen; the United States, instead, offered support to Somalia. With Ethiopia strengthened, the tide of the invasion was turned and by the following year Somalia renounced its claim to the Ogaden region. Somalia suffered a third of its invasion force killed and the Somali state and economy were left in disarray. ‘By the end of the Somali-Ethiopian War of 1977–1978, it became evident to all who could think clearly that the continued existence of this regime undermined the future existence of the nation itself’ (Samatar in Jama 2011:113). In 1978, dissident government officials and troops attempted a coup against Barre; it failed and many of its participants were arrested and summarily executed. By the mid to late 1980s, disenchantment with Barre’s increasingly totalitarian rule led to dissidents, supported by Ethiopia’s Derg, to organize resistance movements. These included the clan-based southern United Somali Congress, the Somali Salvation Democratic Front in the north-east and the Somali National Movement (SNM) in the northwest. Barre’s regime attempted to purge the Isaaq clan-based SNM, resulting in what has been referred to as the Isaaq Genocide (Mburu 2002). Between 1987 and 1989, somewhere between 50,000 and 200,000 people were systematically killed, with hundreds of thousands more displaced into Ethiopia and around 1.5 million land mines being planted in SNM territory (Harper 2012). Hargeisa was largely

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destroyed during this war, while other major towns were similarly damaged and whole villages were erased (Kusow 1994). For the SNM, the war transitioned from being one intended to restore democracy in Somalia to independence for Somaliland. The combined armed opposition groups eventually managed to overthrow the Barre government in 1991, following which Somaliland declared independence. Rather than being an organization that sought to break away from a single post-colonial entity, Somaliland’s claim for independence is primarily based on its historic status as a separate colony. ‘Unlike some other secessionist claims, Somaliland’s independence does not violate the principle of uti posedetus’, based on Somaliland’s separate colonial existence (Omar 2011:23). As a state comprised of two post-colonial entities, Somalilanders are well versed in previous failed political unions, including the United Arab Republic, Mali and Senegal, Senegal and Gambia, and Eritrea and Ethiopia. According to Phillips, Somaliland’s claim to independence is based on three criteria (Phillips 2020:5–6): that it has achieved peace and stability while Somalia has descended into failed state status (2020:48–75); that Somaliland is autonomous not only from Somalia but also from international agencies and institutions and hence from their norms about state status (from which it received no support during its war with the capital); and that, in contrast to Somalia, Somaliland has eschewed political violence (Phillips 2020:136–164). That Somaliland has been able to assert its claim to independence militarily, and that Somalia has since 1991 lacked the capacity to challenge that claim, further entrenches Somaliland’s assertion of independence. This is further buttressed by Somaliland’s relative political and economic success, in stark contrast to the chaos and failed state status of Somalia (Venugopalan 2017; Menkhaus 2006). Unlike Somalia, Somaliland has, since 1996, ‘avoided major internal conflicts and man-made famines. Today, they feed themselves, have one of the lowest malnutrition rates in Africa, and are putting in place the future edifices of a viable system of governance’ (Samatar in Jama 2011:121). Samatar added that ‘I can recall no other example of a liberation movement which won power through the barrel of a gun and which was simultaneously so uninterested in ruling with its gun’ (Samatar in Jama 2011:122). Somaliland’s acceptance of difference and internal opposition was reflected in elders from two clans, the Gadabursi and the Dhulbahante, as ‘interested outsiders’ mediating at a major SNM conference in Borama (Walls and Kibble 2011:65; Walls 2009). The SNM administration was replaced in 1993, against the wishes of its then leaders, but consolidating Somaliland’s transition to democracy. During this transition process, Somaliland employed effective, centuries-old traditions of inter-clan conflict resolution (see Phillips 2020:85–90). As it has transitioned, Somaliland has continued to employ a mix of imported and traditional systems designed to represent people and resolve differences. Somaliland’s Shuura (parliament) reflects the traditional ‘tree of discussion’. Somaliland’s previously clan-selected Guurti (upper house) is now elected. According to Samatar, Somaliland’s traditional nomadic culture is essentially

Separatism in Africa 147 democratic (Samatar in Jama 2011:105). In this, Somali tradition and Islamic faith have been melded with the requirements of a modern state (Walls and Kibble 2011:106).The transition has been towards more conventional democratic norms, but has rested on traditional consultation and consensus within and between clans (Samatar in Jama 2011:101). Somaliland has since held successful, locally organized free and fair democratic elections, has managed to defuse regional tensions through traditional dispute settlement procedures, and has imposed a relatively high degree – for Africa and especially in relation to Somalia – of non-repressive law and order. Somalilanders are readily prepared to inform outsiders, with a clear degree of pleasure and pride, that ‘This is Somaliland!’.1 Somaliland has seen an increase in women’s political representation from 5 per cent to 20 per cent, but women were still relatively excluded from other decision-making areas (Walls and Kibble 2011:71). ‘Another disappointing trend has seen the continuation of the tendency of previous administrations to solve disagreements with the media by imprisoning journalists on dubious charges’ although Somaliland news media can be intentionally strident and controversial, and report under-researched and potentially inaccurate stories (Walls and Kibble 2011:74–75). ‘The transition will have passed another milestone if that criticism starts to focus more on policy and less on what must certainly in part be kinshiprelated personal attacks’, yet acknowledging that it had made ‘great strides to date’ (Walls and Kibble 2011:76–77). Somalilanders quickly reinforce the difference between Somaliland and Somalia. Somalia has many terrorists, they say; Somaliland has none. Somalia is dangerous; Somaliland is (relatively) safe. It was summed up as ‘Same people, same language, same culture, same religion, but different politics’, according to one 20-year-old Hargeisa resident. In a variation of the ‘love it or leave it’ form of nationalism, one older Somalilander said, laughingly: ‘Welcome to Somaliland. Support our revolution or go away!’2 The ‘revolution’ was at the time of writing three decades old, yet there was still a sense of its achievement, parallel to that experienced in the early years of many post-revolutionary societies. There were also signs of its cost in the number of older amputees, predominantly men who would have been of fighting age 30 years before. Somaliland remains in dispute with neighboring Puntland, an autonomous state of federated Somalia, over control and incorporation of three autonomous districts claimed by both; Cayn, Sool and Sanaag. Puntland was supported by mercenaries from Sercen International and makes its claim to the districts based on kinship ties; Somaliland claims the districts on the basis of them being part of the former British Trust Territory of Somaliland, of which it is the successor. A third group, of the Dhulbahante clan, proclaimed the independence of the three districts as Khatumo State in 2012. Somaliland, with the support of Ethiopia, defeated Puntland forces in a number of clashes over the disputed districts. To the extent that there is a functional government in Somalia, it recognizes Somaliland’s internal claims to the districts.

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Ethiopia is supportive of Somaliland on the basis that it provides the otherwise land-locked Ethiopia with access to a sea port. The claimed state of Somaliland is only formally recognized as a state by Ethiopia, but does have diplomatic representative offices in Kenya, South Africa, United Arab Emirates, the United Kingdom, Sweden, Denmark, Italy and the United States, and maintains an embassy in Somalia’s capital of Mogadishu. While the territory remains unproblematic, both Mogadishu and the rest of the world seem content to allow Somaliland to continue with its self-administration.

Western Sahara The western-most corner of Algeria, near the border with Morocco, Western Sahara and Mauritania, is a desolate and unforgiving place, where summer temperatures reach and sometimes exceed 50 °C. This barren plateau type of desert is known as hammada (rocky plain largely devoid of soil and hence vegetation) and this area in particular has historically been referred to as ‘the Devil’s Garden’. It is an apt name for an environment where sustaining life is impossible without reliance on external support. It is in this area, near the Algerian town of Tindouf, that the Popular Front for the Liberation of Saguía el-Hamra and Rio de Oro (Frente Popular de Liberacion de Saguía el-Hamra y Rio de Oro, or Polisario Front) administers refugee camps for Saharawi people displaced by Morocco’s 1975 invasion of Spanish Sahara (later known as Western Sahara). Around 175,000 people live in the six camps of the area, surviving on aid from Algeria, South Africa and the wider international community. The camps are named after towns in occupied Western Sahara, including Dakhla, El-Aaiun, Smara and Awserd, as well as Boujdour and the administrative camp of Rabouni. The Polisario Front also administers the ‘liberated’ territory of Western Sahara, known as the Saharawi Arab Democratic Republic (al-Jumhuriyah al-‘Arabiyah aṣ-Ṣaḥrawiyah ad-Dimuqraṭiyah, or Republica Arabe Saharaui Democratica, known by the acronym SADR). It is in this desolate, all but forgotten place that the more than four-decade old claim to Western Saharan independence was again building towards armed conflict. A growing, young population, educated but with very few jobs, almost no opportunities and little future, was pushing for SADR to reclaim their land from Moroccan occupation. As the Saharawi refugees waited in these remote and desolate camps, their compatriots in occupied Western Sahara were regularly subjected to abuse and oppression; dissent is not allowed in occupied Western Sahara and is dealt with harshly, often through extra-judicial means. Meanwhile the relative, if finite, wealth that might provide a basis for Saharawis to build more complete lives in a future independent state was being sold by Morocco to foreign companies (WSRW 2014). Faced with being locked into an indefinite and futile future in ‘the Devil’s Garden’ or pressing the issue militarily, with some hope of breaking the current deadlock, the latter was a live option. Should the issue of Morocco’s occupation of Western Sahara not be settled, there was a corresponding likelihood of a return to war in north-west Africa.

Separatism in Africa 149 The oasis of Tindouf, in the middle of this otherwise uninhabitable land, had been settled in 1852 by one of the Saharan tribes, the Tajakant, which, along with other regional tribes, were descendants of Arabic Beni Hassan tribe that had conquered the north of Africa in the 11th century and which blended with local Berber and Tuareg tribes. As a result of tribal conflict, 43 years later, the Tajakant were displaced by the Sanajar-Berber Reguibat tribe. Both tribes continue to be dominant in the region, including in Western Sahara. The colonial French did not reach Tindouf until 1934, when they established it as an outpost of French Algeria. Although Morocco claims historical ownership of a much greater region than it now occupies, historical maps show that, for example in 1595, it was divided into two provinces, together being smaller than current Morocco, excluding Western Sahara. In the following century, an expansionist Morocco seized territory as far south as Senegal, but in 1765 signed a peace treaty with Spain recognizing it did not have authority over Tekna tribes in the border area between Morocco and Western Sahara. While the Tekna continued to acknowledge Moroccan sovereignty, their territory marked the boundary of the Moroccan state. The Spanish had, since the 17th century, used ports in what was to become Western Sahara to facilitate the slave trade from Mauritania. When the French occupied Algeria and imposed a protectorate over Morocco, they set the southern limit of the protectorate at the Draa River (just north of the current southern border). The French did not delineate the southern land border in the desert on the basis that it was uninhabitable. Spain controlled the north of Morocco and what was to become Spanish Sahara between just south of the Draa River in Morocco and Mauritania. The Reguibat resisted Spanish colonialism, not being subdued in what was Spanish Sahara until 1934, a half a century after Spain’s colonial takeover. Following its independence from France in 1956, Morocco claimed the remote oasis of Tindouf, but so had the recently independent Algeria. The 1963 ‘Sand War’ ensured that Tindouf remained as part of Algeria and thus set the international boundaries of the new state. From the dying days of European colonialism, the position of the United Nations had been that there should be a referendum among the indigenous population of Spanish Sahara to settle the status of the Spanish colony. With the growth of a new national consciousness among still colonized peoples, in 1971 a group of Saharawi students formed a political organization that, two years later, would become the Polisario Front. The intention of the Polisario Front was to end Spanish colonialism in Spanish Sahara, to which end the organization initiated a guerrilla campaign against the colonial administration. The Polisario Front grew quickly, especially with the defection of Saharawi Spanish troops. Spain backed the National Saharawi Union Party (Partido de Union Nacional Saharaui, or PUNS), privileging ties with Spain. Morocco moved to secure Spanish Sahara on the basis of claimed historical links between its royal family and the Saharawi people, while Mauritania claimed Spanish Sahara based on a common ethnicity. In June 1975, a visiting UN envoy, Simeon Ake, noted

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that there was ‘overwhelming consensus’ in Spanish Sahara for independence (Shelley 2004:171–172). In response to this move towards decolonization, the Moroccan army began attacks from early October 1975 and the following month initiated its ‘Green March’ of about 350,000 military-supported civilians to occupy Spanish Sahara. Under pressure from Morocco, in mid-November 1975, Spain signed the ‘Madrid Accords’, which divided the colony between Morocco and Mauritania, just four days later ratifying the contradictory ‘Law on the Decolonisation of Sahara’. As Morocco and Mauritania invaded, war with the Polisario Front ensued. In February 1976, the Polisario Front declared the SADR. With war raging, Saharawi refugees flooded across the border to what were to become the camps near Tindouf. Though severely outnumbered, the Algerian-backed Polisario Front had initial military successes to the extent that, in 1978, the under-staffed and divided Mauritanian army had to withdraw. The following year, Mauritania formally recognized SADR. By August 1979, however, Morocco had annexed that southern part of Western Sahara abandoned by Mauritania. Between 1982 and 1987, Morocco built a series of six sand walls, each further consolidating its territorial control over Western Sahara. The last wall partitioned Western Sahara with around 70 per cent of the territory inside the ‘useful’ zone. The arid and resourcepoor outer region (‘liberated zones’) remained under SADR control. Under international law, Morocco’s invasion of Spanish Sahara remains illegal (Corell 2002b). However, the military stalemate created by the construction of the 1987 wall meant that the parties eventually agreed to an internationally monitored referendum on self-determination for the Saharawi people in 1988, ratified in 1991 (UNSC 1991). This was to be implemented and monitored by the United Nations Mission for Referendum in Western Sahara (MINURSO), which has continued to have its mandate renewed by the UN Security Council. Morocco has since refused to allow the ballot to proceed. Initial disputes were over who would be eligible to vote, with the Polisario Front arguing in favor on those included in the last Spanish census and their descendants, and Morocco claiming the right to vote by settlers since then. There have been a number of attempts to find a settlement to the Western Sahara problem but, despite no progress, the 1988 ceasefire between the Polisario Front and Morocco has largely been held. There have been further attempts to find a resolution, including the Houston Agreement of 1997 for a referendum in 1998 (not implemented) and the subsequent Moroccan-drafted ‘Baker Plan I’ of 2001 (Mundy 2004:130–148) and ‘Baker Plan II’ of 2003, which was endorsed by the United Nations Security Council (UNSC 2003) but which Morocco refused to accept. The Baker Plans were followed by the Manhasset Negotiations of 2007– 2008, which similarly failed to find a solution to the deadlock. Morocco has since put forward an ‘autonomy’ proposal for Western Sahara, in which the territory could be self-administering within the state of Morocco. There is, little faith among Saharawis in that autonomy being genuine, noting the proposal does not include an alternative to autonomy. The Polisario Front has, however, said it will accept the autonomy proposal if the Saharawi people

Separatism in Africa 151 are allowed to vote on it with an alternative to autonomy. Former UN Under Secretary-General for Legal Affairs, Hans Corell, meanwhile, has written that the UNSC should simply declare Western Sahara independent (Corell 2015). Western Sahara continues to be listed by the United Nations as a non-selfgoverning territory, with Spain as its de jure administering authority, which Spain refuses to accept (UNGA 1945:73e; Corell 2015). The United Nations also acknowledges Morocco as the de facto administering authority for 80 per cent of the territory and SADR as the de facto administering authority for the other 20 per cent of the territory (UNSC 2013). The Polisario Front has expressed frustration with Morocco and the failure of an internationally mediated settlement that allows a democratic vote (AFP 2016). There was, therefore, explicit recognition within the SADR administration that returning to war was possible. The view that the Polisari Front may return to war followed comments by SADR Foreign Minister Mohammed Salem in 2014 when, in response to a pledge by Morocco’s King Mohammad to maintain its presence in Western Sahara ‘until the end of time’, he said: ‘We will have no other choice but to return to armed struggle’ (WT 2014). SADR re-engaged in fighting with Morocco in November 2020, following a Moroccan incursion into the ‘liberated zone’. This did not initially escalate tensions between Algeria and Morocco which, despite recently more normalized relations, have a history of antagonism dating back to the ‘Sand War’ of 1963, in particular over the territory around Tindouf (Jacobs 2012). As one Saharawi leader said, it would take only a small incident for the situation to descend into war.3 According to SADR Prime Minister Abd Alkadar Taleb Omar, the Polisario Front did not wish to return to full-scale war if that was avoidable. ‘We will consider all options for the future’, he said. ‘We have been very patient and waited many years. We have the support of many friends, especially in the African Union. But France and Spain are blocking progress [towards the referendum]’. Omar said: ‘There is much conflict in this region’, he noted, ‘and we wish to avoid adding to that if we are able to do so’.4 The Governor of Awserd camp and member of Polisario Front Secretariat, Salek Baba Hasana was more blunt: ‘We prefer a peaceful solution in accordance with international law and UN Security Council resolutions. But there has been a weakness of the UN to impose a solution. Morocco’s affiliation with France, as a permanent member [with power of veto] has blocked a resolution through the UN Security Council. But we have not lost hope in an international solution. But if it fails, all other choices are on the table, including armed struggle’.5 On the question of Saharawi autonomy within Morocco, he replied: ‘we are just talking about autonomy or independence. There cannot be a solution without respect for the right of self-determination. The presence of Morocco [in Western Sahara] is colonial and illegal. This is a decolonization case. There is no state that acknowledges the sovereignty of Morocco over Western Sahara’. While it is correct that no country formally recognizes Morocco’s legal sovereignty over Western Sahara, more than 20 countries either support Morocco’s territorial claim

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over Western Sahara or support an autonomy proposal under Moroccan sovereignty. However, SADR is recognized by 84 countries and the AU (of which it is a member), while the UN Security Council has approved more than a hundred resolutions in favor of self-determination for Western Sahara.6 Of international organizations, only the Organization of Islamic Cooperation recognizes Morocco’s sovereignty over Western Sahara. The SADR Minister Delegate for Asia and former ambassador to UN and Washington, Mouloud Said argued that France has primarily been behind the impasse which has led to the Polisario Front again considering returning to war. ‘There were several attempts under James Baker to find a resolution to the problem, but the French stopped him [in the UN Security Council]. So the situation depends on more than the Moroccan position, but the French position. The French like to see this part of the world as their back yard’.7 Minister Mouloud acknowledged that diplomatic pressure had to date not been sufficient and that there might need to be a crisis that paralleled that in relation to Timor-Leste, with which SADR sees itself most closely aligned in terms of the characteristics of its struggle. The view of SADR’s Minister for Education, Mariam Salek Hmada, was that Polisario Front’s commitment to education had led to growing frustration and an increasing desire for a final resolution. ‘The path to freedom is knowledge. If you don’t have education you don’t know the meaning of freedom’, she said. ‘But there are no markets and no jobs for our youth. The UN can’t solve the problem of the referendum or of the plundering of resources without any benefit to the indigenous people. This has created frustration among the youth in particular. The youth have been pressing Polisario to go back to war as the talks between the UN and Morocco are just a waste of time’.8 According to Mouloud Said: ‘The UN has lost all credibility it had with the people. That leaves the leadership up against the wall. There is frustration and disappointment. Some people say we should not have stopped the war in ’91. This frustration makes people more upset than they were in 1975. They are more ready for war’. Unsurprisingly, there were Polisario leaders who were more in favor of returning to full-scale conflict to press the issue of Western Sahara’s self-determination, and those who preferred a diplomatic path, defining the key factions within the organization. With a return to fighting in late 2020 and the formal ending of the ceasefire which had held since 1991, the ‘diplomatic’ faction, more favorably viewed by Algeria, appeared to be losing its advantage at the time of writing.

Ethnic Difference As with most case studies, the driving force behind a number of other African separatist claims is essentially ethnic difference and marginalization. In this respect, the claims of Somaliland, Zanzibar and Western Sahara do not completely support the separatist mold. Somaliland has clan-based and historical differences, Zanzibar weaves elements of religion into older resentments, and Western Sahara seeks to throw off an invader.

Separatism in Africa 153 Each has a delineated territory, a sense of grievance and each has a distinct group identity. But they do not fit the conventional separatist model of being an ethnic minority arbitrarily included in the post-colonial state and then forming a separatist claim around ethnic exclusion or repression. It is to more conventional ethnic claims that this chapter now turns.

Katanga The creation of post-colonial states not only raises questions of the relatively arbitrary inclusion of diverse groups of peoples and often the limited capacity of the new states, but also the economic interests vested in the former colonial entity. These interests may oppose the creation of an independent state or, where that state has secured independence, might seek to prevail upon it to continue or even expand those economic interests. Where, for a range of possible reasons, the state is reluctant to oblige, such economic interests can either attempt to derail the new state’s government, or to encourage others to seek separation from the new state in order to create a new state more aligned with (or controlled by) those economic interests. Such was the case with the then newly decolonized state of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). The Congo was one of the last parts of Africa to be explored by Europeans, primarily due to indigenous resistance beyond the Congo River’s first cataract, 160 kilometers inland from the Atlantic. Having failed to secure other colonial possessions in the European race for African colonies, through a series of dissembling maneuvers, King Leopold of Belgium acquired the Congo as a personal fief at the 1884–1885 Berlin Conference. Although promising a ‘civilising’ mission under what was erroneously referred to as the ‘Congo Free State’, Leopold’s rule resulted in great barbarism by Belgian trading companies coercing unwilling inhabitants to work for them and inflicting gross punishment for not reaching quotas of rubber production. Various reports indicate that starvation and disease during the Free State period (1885–1908) killed anywhere from 20 per cent (Vellut 2005:9) to half (Hochschild 2005:4–5; see also Weisbord 2003) of the population of some 20 million people. The ensuing scandal led the Belgian parliament to assume control of the colony, as the Belgian Congo, in 1908. Direct hierarchical rule set against a large, urbanized workforce spawned an anti-colonial resistance movement after World War II. But the movement was split by factionalism and, upon achieving independence in 1960, the country almost immediately descended into a series of ideologically, regionally and ethnically driven civil wars, pushed along by external interests, in what was known as the ‘Congo Crisis’. The Congo Crisis was constituted of a series of civil wars, as well as being a proxy conflict in the Cold War, in which the Soviet Union and the United States supported opposing factions. Almost immediately upon independence on 30 June 1960, Congolese soldiers mutinied against their European officers, quickly turning into an anti-European pogrom. Belgium responded by sending troops to protect resident Belgians, and less than two weeks after independence encouraging

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the southern, mineral-rich province of Katanga to secede under the leadership of Moise Tshombe supported by Belgian mercenaries (Mockler 1987:37–55). Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba sought US support, which was rejected. As the larger crisis grew, the United Nations sent in peacekeepers who, being neutral, did not actively assist the central government. After issuing a series of ultimatums to the United Nations, Lumumba turned to the Soviet Union for assistance, which responded by sending advisers and planes to fly Lumumba’s troops into Katanga. With Lumumba having aligned with the Soviet Union, in September 1960 the United States and Belgium encouraged his removal from office by Joseph Kasavubu after the CIA station chief told him that Lumumba intended to assassinate him. Lumumba was arrested by army chief of staff Joseph-Desire Mobutu who handed him over to Belgian-led Katanga troops (Mockler 1987:37–55) who executed him on 17 January 1961 (USDS undated). The secession of Katanga was economically viable because of financial support from, and in many respects was conducted on behalf of, the large Belgian mining company Union Miniere du Haut Katanga. Prior to independence, Katanga contributed almost half of the Congo’s income, but received only 20 per cent of state spending, more than on an equitable per capita basis but significantly less than its contribution. In 1959, Belgian profits from the Union Miniere were in excess of 3.5 billion Belgian francs, and export duties paid to the Congolese government constituted around half of government revenue. The company produced 60 per cent of the uranium in the West, 73 per cent of the cobalt, and 10 per cent of the copper, and had some 24 Congo affiliates including hydroelectric plants, chemical factories and railways. During Katanga’s secession, Union Miniere transferred the equivalent of 35 million dollars (US) into Tshombe's bank account, as an ‘advance’ on 1960 taxes to the central government (Jabulani 1967:40–61). With strong revenues flowing from mining, Tshombe built up Katanga’s military force, including hundreds of European and South African mercenaries and many thousands of locally recruited troops (Lefever 1965; Gerad-Libois 1966:114–115, 155–174). Following a more substantial military intervention by the United Nations Operation in the Congo (ONUC) forces, the independent state of Katanga was dissolved in 1963 and reintegrated with the rest of the country. Mobutu became president of the DRC in a coup in 1965. The DRC and Katanga, have continued to be mired in conflict, initially with the Katangan Congolese National Liberation Front (FLNC). The FLNC was formed in neighboring Angola from Katanga troops in exile following the defeat of independent Katanga. In Angola, the FLNC fought on behalf of the Portuguese colonial government against Angola’s ultimately successful independence movement. Finding Angola unfriendly following independence in 1974, the FLNC returned to Katanga (renamed Shaba, 1972–1997, after the name of the pre-colonial state, translating as ‘Copper’) where it launched insurrections in 1977 and 1978 (the Shaba I and Shaba II wars). The group was legalized as a political party in 1991, participating in the First Congolese War on the losing side. Since that time, mai-mai (self-defense militias) have formed in order to protect local communities from roving bands of soldiers, but also developing their

Separatism in Africa 155 own military status and having been at the core of continuing separatist sentiment in Katanga. The DRC has, since the mid-1990s been enmeshed in two internal wars, following overflow from neighboring countries (in particular Rwanda). Out of the second of these wars, Katanga warlord Gedeon Kyungu Mutanga was arrested in 2006 and, in 2009, sentenced to death for crimes against humanity. However, in 2011 he escaped after members of his militia broke him out of prison. Once free, Mutanga formed the Mai Kata Katanga (Katanga Secession Militia) to secure Katanga from Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda operating in the south-east of the province. Mai Kata Katanga operations peaked in 2013 when rebels took the provincial capital of Katanga and the Congo's second city, Lubumbashi, carrying the flag of the former secessionist state of Katanga. In 2016, Mutanga surrendered himself along with some hundreds of fighters to DRC authorities. Despite avowing to enter mainstream politics, Mai Kata Katanga attacks continued, including raids into Lubumbashi, up to the time of writing. North and South Kivu provinces in the DRC’s east also continued to be sites of militant activity, with an armed group attacking UN peacekeepers in North Kivu province in 2017, killing 15 Tanzanian and 5 Congolese soldiers, and wounding 50. The attack is believed to have been perpetrated by the Islamist Allied Democratic Forces, which originated in western Uganda but operated across the border from their base in the Ruwenzori Mountains and in the Semliki Valley straddling western Uganda and eastern North Kivu (Oakford 2017). Congolese soldiers were also suspected of having committed earlier attacks sometimes ascribed to the IADF. As a consequence of the DRC’s ‘mesh of conflicts’, in 2013 in the country’s east alone, there were 9 major armed groups among 29 in the whole nation (IRIN 2013). The number of internally displaced persons had reached a record 4.1 million by 2017 (Stearns and Vogel 2017). A number of groups operating in North and South Kivu launch their operations from, or are supported by, neighboring countries, including Burundi, Rwanda, Tanzania, and Uganda. While most of these armed groups operated in particular territories, which they controlled under warlords, they did not often have a clearly articulated vision of an alternative state and could not, generally, be considered as separatist movements in the manner of those others discussed in this book. Rather, they were more simply large armed criminal groups, or armed groups with shifting political agendas depending on the opportunities present. However, what was clear was a weak central government, historically high levels of corruption, mismanagement of brutality and high levels of poverty, all coalesced around grievances expressed by groups often sharing cultural ties. In this respect, then, the DRC stood as an illustration of the near inevitability of armed anti-state claims which, if a formal claim to geo-political authority suited, could manifest as separatism. ‘Inevitably, some regions will be richer (less poor) than others, and if the ethnic claim to power combines with relative wealth, the case for secession is strong’, noted Wallerstein (1961:88). ‘[E]very African nation, large or small, federal or unitary, has its Katanga’.

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Biafra Among the more notable African separatist movements, perhaps that of Biafra is best known among those with a longer memory. In particular, Biafra’s nominal secession from Nigeria between 1967 and 1970 resulted in between one and three million deaths and became a by-word for famine (Metz 1991). The attempt by Biafra to secede from Nigeria was an almost text-book case of a minority ethnic group, the Igbo, with its own pre-colonial history of political unity within a defined territory being marginalized and occasionally persecuted by the state’s ethnic majority and its distant government. That Biafra occupied a region with substantial oil production meant it was economically valuable and strategically important to Nigeria, and to its former colonial master, the United Kingdom, which wished to retain secure access to that oil (Uche 2008). Upon independence in 1963, Nigeria was formed of three regions; the predominantly Muslim north and the predominantly Christian south which was further divided into the Yoruba West of the Niger River and the Igbo East of the Niger. There had been long-standing ethnic, religious, political and economic tensions between the Igbo and the Yoruba and particularly with the Muslim North. Nigeria’s 1964–1965 elections were marred by heightened political tensions, corruption and voting irregularities and followed by riots. An Igbo-led military coup supposed to end corruption and re-establish a centralized state was followed by a northern-led counter-coup, which further alienated the Igbo from the state. Riots in the North in 1966 left between 80 and 100,000 Igbo dead, half of them being children, and more than a million uprooted and fleeing to the south, with the army divided along regional lines. The 29th of September 1966 was the worst day of the massacres and has since been remembered as ‘Black Thursday’ (Levey 2014:266; Achebe 2012:80–83, 122). Nigerian politics was all but irretrievably fragmented, with the Eastern regional government saying it would use locally collected tax to resettle those who had fled from violence in the North and, facing increasing opposition, then threatening to secede. Having rejected what was held out by the central government as a compromise arrangement, but including an end to the regions and the creation of numerous smaller states which meant the Igbo would lose control of the region’s oil supplies, in 1967 the Eastern regional legislature voted to declare Biafra independent. The central government responded by moving militarily against the separatists, attempting to cut them off from external support, including food. Both Nigeria and Biafra were supported by external powers, with Nigeria receiving support predominantly from the USSR and the United Kingdom, and Biafra from some African states. The Biafran separatists had some early victories but, effectively blockaded, they were compelled to surrender their claims by 1970 (Baxter 2015). Yet rather than address the drivers of separatism, the state embarked on what amounted to a program of punishment through land loss and economic isolation. Unsurprisingly, local resentment continued, with a number of armed and political groups appearing in the early 21st century, including the Indigenous People of Biafra, the Biafra Zionist Movement, Biafra Rebirth and the Movement for the

Separatism in Africa 157 Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra, which has a Biafran ‘government in exile’. These groups are supported by the Igbo, Ijaw, Ibibio, and Annang ethnic groups (Elisha 2017). The Niger Delta in particular remained an area of militant anti-government activity and generalized small arms proliferation (Isumonah 2013) under the banner of the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND). MEND came into being following government heavy-handedness towards civil protests about excessive exploitation and despoliation of the region, including shooting protesters and murdering protest leaders. The Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP) also in the delta region remained a non-militant organization at the time of writing. In Nigeria’s Islamic north, an Islamic State-linked group, Boko Haram (‘Westernisation Forbidden’, formally Jama’atu Ahli is-Sunnah lid-Da'wati walJihad or ‘Community of Sunnah for Proselytisation and Jihad’), has waged a struggle since the early 2000s and particularly since 2009 to establish an independent Islamic state. More than 15,000 people have been killed in that conflict.

Darfur The Darfur region of western Sudan has been in a state of war with the government of Sudan since 2003, in on and off peace talks since 2010 aimed at bringing an end to the rebellion. Darfur was historically independent but brought into Sudan’s political orbit as an autonomous region under an emir in 1875. Following a British invasion of Sudan in 1899, Darfur was administered as an independent protectorate, but merged with Sudan in 1916 under Anglo-Egyptian administration to ward off Ottoman expansion. Darfur remained as part of Sudan at independence in 1956. Armed conflict broke out in Darfur in 2003 with the non-Arab Darfur Liberation Front (now the Sudan Liberation Movement/Army, or SLM/Army) claiming economic and political discrimination and marginalization by Sudan’s government. The conflict has pitted the Sudanese military, police and the Janjaweed militia (mostly recruited from Arabized indigenous Africans and a smaller number of Bedouin of the northern Rizeigat) against the SLM/A (divided into three factions) and the Justice and Equality Movement (JEM), recruited primarily from sub-Saharan African Fur, Zaghawa and Masalit ethnic groups (Cockett 2010). The war, sometimes referred to as the ‘Landcruiser War’ due to the use of fourwheel drive vehicles, was marked by atrocities against civilians, including internally displaced people. The war has been notable for its government campaign of ethnic cleansing against Darfur’s non-Arabs, particularly by the Janjaweed (Mounted Gunman) militia, leading to the deaths of between 100,000 and 500,000 from direct violence, starvation and disease, with around three million displaced in what has been called the ‘Darfur Genocide’ (Cockett 2010:191). As a result of this ethnic cleansing, Sudan’s then president, Omar al-Bashir, was indicted by the International Criminal Court on charges of genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity (ICC 2010).

158 Separatism in Africa Peace talks between SLM officials and the government of Sudan have progressed haltingly, although in December 2019 a framework agreement facilitated by the United Nations – African Union Hybrid Operation in Darfur (UNAMID) was signed by Sudan’s Transitional Government and Darfuri rebel groups (UNAMID 2019). Despite this progress, intercommunal violence continued in Darfur (UNAMID 2020).

Mali Despite African leaders’ desires to respect and retain post-colonial borders, a number of African states remain affected by significant separatist movements. Mali in particular is a deeply conflicted state, particularly in the north of the country where several armed non-state groups competed with the government for regional control. The group with the clearest separatist agenda is the National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad (MNLA), which was founded around 2011. The MNLA was formed when a number of militant ethnic Tuareg groups in the north of Mali coalesced (Saraceno 2015). The MNLA seeks an independent Azawad, comprising the northern 60 per cent of Mali. Most MNLA fighters and secessionists are from the Tuareg ethnic group, who claim marginalization and economic deprivation relative to the south of the country. The claimed state of Azawad includes the historic cities of Gao and Timbuktu but is otherwise largely desert and is sparsely populated. The MNLA currently combats Islamist jihadist groups also operating in the north of Mali, including the Jamaat Tawhid wal Jihad fi Gharb Afriqa (Movement for Oneness and Jihad in West Africa), Harakat Ansar Dine (Religious Supporters Movement, which wants to establish an Islamic state in northern Mali), Al Qaeda in the Maghreb (AQIM) and the al-Mouwakoune Bi-Dima (Signed in Blood Batallion) led by Algerian Moktar bel-Moktar, as well as Mali government and French forces. The Islamist groups tend to occupy desert areas while the MNLA and its allies control the towns and hinterland, particularly in the southern part of northern Mali (see Boeke and Tisseron 2014). In 2014, the MNLA joined with four other Tuareg and Arab separatist organizations to form the Coalition des Mouvements de l'Azawad (or CMA, Coalition of Movements for Azawad). It remains the dominant partner in that coalition. The Coordination des Mouvements de l’Entente (CME, or Coalition of Informally Allied Movements), largely comprised of MNLA and other splinter groups, was also a secular separatist organization in northern Mali. After on and off talks, the MNLA signed a ceasefire agreement with the Mali government in 2015. While the agreement proposed ‘federalism in all but name’ (Guardian 2015), at the time of writing the agreement had not been properly implanted, conflict continued and the MNLA had had not rescinded occupied territory to the government (Nationalia 2015). In 2016, the United Nations established the United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali (MINUSMA); however, the effectiveness of the mission quickly declined, with conflict continuing, including attacks against UN personnel. ‘The real war

Separatism in Africa 159 will be won by whoever wins over the population’, a UN officer in Mali noted in a report. ‘And for now, the state is perceived to not even be trying’ (UN News 2019).

Oromo The Oromo Liberation Front began to coalesce from sporadic resistance against the Ethiopian government of Haille Selasi following his regime’s 1967 outlawing of an Oromo civil society organization associated with political violence. This was followed by the mass arrest and killing of the organization’s members. The OLF was formally created in 1973 and has continued to seek independence of the Oromia region, a large area located in the western half (excluding the southwest) of Ethiopia. The Oromos had argued they were subject to what they call ‘Abyssinian colonial rule’. While the OLF and its Oromo Liberation Army (OLA) participated in the war which in 1991 overthrew the communist one-party Ethiopian state, it had an often difficult relationship with the Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) coalition. Despite its prominence in the post-war government, the EPDRF established a rival Oromo organization which led to tensions and eventually conflict (Jalata 1998:12–13). By 1992, the OLF and its EPDRF counterpart were engaged in hostilities and assassinations, with the OLF withdrawing from the government, to which the government responded by attacking OLF camps and killing thousands of its members and arresting some 20,000 more. Outnumbered, the OLF turned to guerrilla warfare, with its leadership and much of the OLA escaping abroad, largely to Eritrea where they established a headquarters. In 2008, an OLA leader surrendered to the Ethiopian government, saying he wanted to pursue democratic reform, taking about half of the OLA’s fighters with him. Despite continuing fighting, in 2018 the OLF and OLA reached a peace agreement with the government of Ethiopia under then new, reformist, ethnic Oromo Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed (africanews.com 2018) (who, for brokering a series of conflict resolutions, was awarded the 2019 Nobel Peace Prize). In November 2020, The Tigray Peoples Liberation Front (TPLF), formerly a key actor in the Addis Ababa government, held elections in opposition to central government demands not to do so. This followed deteriorating relations between the central government and the TPLF over allegations of its former corruption and abuse of power in office and claims the central government attempts to diminish Tigrayan autonomy. Within weeks, the central government had sent troops against the TPLF and occupied the Tigrayan capital of Mek’ele. Tigrayan forces, meanwhile retreated to the countryside to conduct a guerrilla war.

Camaroon Having been a German colony following the European colonial carve up of Africa, Cameroon was administered by France and the United Kingdom following World

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War I, with each having responsibility for its own multi-ethnic regions. The Southern Cameroons became autonomous and self-governing in 1958, leading to a sense of linguistic and administrative distinction which marked the post-independence period. French Cameroun achieved independence in 1960, with British Southern Cameroons (to the west of the country, bordering Nigeria) following in 1961. Although initially conceived as a federated state, Cameroon became a united republic in 1972 under a single party government. Federation and then later unity only partially disguised concern by Southern Cameroonians that they were not allowed the choice of independence separate from French Cameroon. After years of one-party rule, political turmoil and economic crisis following unification, Cameroon returned to multiparty politics in 1990. Having begun as a reaction to claims of Francophone political and economic privilege in the early 1980s, from around 1990 a movement in southern Cameroon began to call for greater regional autonomy and, eventually, independence as the state of Ambazonia. The dispute reached a crisis point in 2017 following protests in favor of English in classrooms and courts and against economic discrimination in southern Cameroon (Iyare and Essomba 2017), quickly descending into open warfare between generally poorly armed separatists and the Cameroon military and pro-unity militias (Craig 2020), supported by France and the United States (Freudenthal 2018; ACLED 2017).

Senegal Casamance is a territory in the south of Senegal that includes the Casamance River, is largely populated by the Jola people and is all but cut off from the rest of Senegal by the Gambia, which is a separate country following the River Gambie through the middle of Senegal. The Jola are a minority ethnic group in Senegal who had a history of colonization distinct from the rest of Senegal (Portuguese and then incorporated later by the French and administered separately; Fall 2010:5, 6) and, claiming economic marginalization, have sought independent status. Dalberto claims that the original idea of a separation of the Casamance from the rest of Senegal arose during the process of decolonization and was first considered by the colonial French authorities in secret discussions with the representatives of the Casamance in the lead-up to the 1958 referendum on independence (formally over the new French Constitution, rejection of which would lead to independence). The possibility of an independent Casamance was then taken up by local political leaders who saw it as a possible answer to the debates over postindependence representation (Dalberto 2020). In 1982, the Movement of Democratic Forces of Casamance (MFDC) advocating for separation was formed which, from 1990, became an active movement by the forces to separate Casamance from Senegal. After three failed ceasefires, in 2004, the movement struck a deal with then-Senegalese President Abdoulaye Wade; however, the deal collapsed and fighting between the MFDC militia and

Separatism in Africa 161 the Senegalese army, and the widespread displacement of Jola people, continued (Fall 2010; Evans 2007).

Conclusion If the idea of the Westphalian state is essentially European, there is an argument to suggest that it reflected European needs and circumstances at the time it came into being. That peoples could be reasonably able to be grouped together, if imperfectly, around core language and cultural groups made increasing sense as local rulers tried to cohere their respective polities. The advent of industrialization in turn gave rise to an increasing standardization of ‘type’, not least around a standardized language, a common educational curriculum and the increasing prevalence of print media (see Anderson 1991). The nationalisms that arose in Europe in the late 19th century were very much a product of these processes, as were the states that in most cases came to represent them. However, no such process was undertaken in Africa, where polities existed but often in ways that were not clearly delineated, with sovereignty being a malleable quality and, in many cases, with there being few or no large-scale sophisticated political structures, much less institutions. Consciousness around identity was well formed, but not with the formality and uniformity of Europe’s nationalist projects, nor in many cases with the confluence of the national project with the idea of a delineated state. Thus, when European colonizers carved up Africa as their own, they imposed European-style hard borders where they had rarely existed and, for administrative purposes, degrees of uniformity, along with widespread exploitation and, too often depredation. It was reasonable that these colonized peoples wanted to throw off the colonial yoke, not least as their elites benefitted from European-style education and awareness of Europe’s modernist relative advantages. Cohering around a common cause and common struggle made sense, while the retention of hard borders based on former colonies was simple and had the apparent advantages that modernization was supposed to bring. Modernization, however, proved to be elusive for many, and perhaps inappropriate as a development brief in any case. The promises of liberation were rarely met, for structural as well as human reasons and, without modernization and the development of politics based on a common cultural identity more or less divided by economic interest, politics devolved to the ethnic and clientist. This necessarily meant some marginalized ethnic groups were excluded. Revisiting the logic of the state in such circumstances often left more question marks than answers and, with histories of colonial and anti-colonial violence, weak and often fragile states resorted to those few qualities of compulsion they had. Resentment and reaction were predictable, as was the separatism they engendered. It may be that Africa’s countries’ saving grace is that their elites have tended more to want to capture the state, and its spoils, rather than leave it, and civil

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wars have tended to exceed separatist wars for this reason. This has, however, perpetuated the conditions in which separatist claims have arisen. With an internal logic that regularly continues to default to degrees of corruption, oppression and alienation, Africa is likely to continue to experience separatist claims for some time to come.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6

Comment by passer-by in Hargeisa, June 2019. Discussion, Hargeisa, June 2019. Discussion with the author, Rabouni camp, 10 April 2015. Interview with the author, Rabouni camp, 12 April 2015. Interview with the author, Awserd camp, 11 April 2015. 44 resolutions since 1991 are listed at MINURSO, United Nations Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara, www.un.org/en/peacekeeping/missions/minurso/r esolutions.shtmla accessed 15 August 2015) 7 Interview with the author, Awserd camp, 11 April 2015. 8 Interview with the author, Rabouni camp, 12 April 2015.

9

Separatism in South Asia

South Asia has a long history of formally structured states with, until the advent of colonialism, some of its polities rivaling or surpassing those of the West for sophistication and organization. Yet such states did not encompass all South Asian peoples, and some had distinct histories and states that were later bundled into larger colonial and then post-colonial complexes that rarely reflected their wishes. As a part of colonial ‘tidiness’, border peoples in unincorporated territories were also subsumed into larger colonial entities, by way of delineating hard or Westphalian borders where none had previously existed. Various states, largely based on or in reaction to Indian empires, rose and fell prior to colonialism and, in many respects, their legacies continue to linger. But it was the formal delineation of territories under the colonial system, particularly by the United Kingdom, which gave rise to lasting state legacies. The case studies here represent different iterations of post-colonial state organization and the foundations for and manifestations of separatist claims. The case studies have been chosen because, coming from the geographic extremities of South Asia, they demonstrate that separatism is not limited to one area. They are also illustrative of the variation in types of separatist movements. Importantly, in a region rich with culture and religion, religious difference is an underlying theme of these movements, if not necessarily their defining condition or, always, motivation.

Sri Lanka and the Tamils The provincial town of Kilinochchi, about 100 kilometers south of Jaffna, on Sri Lanka’s A9 highway running north to south the length of the island. It was intended to be a temporary ‘capital’ for the intended state of Tamil Eelam, following their loss to the Sri Lankan Army of Jaffna in 1995 and Trincomalee in 2004 (the latter assisted by a regional split within the LTTE). Jaffna was marked by a heavy military presence and the A9 was dotted every few hundred meters with military posts, creating tightly spaced ‘kill zones’. Crossing Elephant Pass and entering the territory in 2006 was defined by conventional immigration and customs procedures, with the town itself reflecting the duties of an autonomous provincial capital.1

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Kilinochchi had its own hospital, orphanages (mostly for the children of parents killed in the separatist war), a taxation system, bank, a police force that imposed speed limits on roads with the use of speed cameras, a judiciary and the start of a new university.2 It also had, at this time, a highly disciplined army, at its peak more than 20,000 (Mehta 2010:158), a handful of small sea attack craft and a few light aircraft. Over four stages of conflict from 1981 until 2009, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (better known as Tamil Tigers, or LTTE) had eliminated or consolidated control over other Tamil separatist groups (Swamy 2006:218–223) and grown to establish a state within a state. It had also moved from guerrilla warfare to conventional warfare, in which it was effective but ultimately out-manned and outgunned. The Tamil Tigers had also alienated its friends in India by assassinating Rajiv Gandhi in 1991. The LTTE ordering Tamils not to vote in the 2004 elections allowed hardliner Mahinda Rajapaksa to win by a slim majority, who then went on to build up Sri Lanka’s military with a view to crushing the separatist movement. While the LTTE was finally defeated, with the loss of tens of thousands of civilian lives, in 2009, the fall had begun in 2006, when the Sri Lankan army launched its first probing attacks against Kilinochchi since the signing of a ceasefire in 2002. Having come close to establishing at least an autonomous governing area within Sri Lanka, LTTE leader Velupillai Prabhakaran, wanted to first return Trincomalee to LTTE control before agreeing to formalizing autonomy or federation within the Sri Lankan state.3 This was a fatal mistake for the LTTE, and for himself. On 16 May 2009, the war by the government of Sri Lanka against the LTTE was concluded when, after weeks of shelling, the final Tiger stronghold on a small stretch of beach near the north-eastern town of Mullaitivu was overrun. It has been estimated that up to 20,000 civilians were killed in shelling and the final assault, while all of the remaining LTTE leadership, including Velupillai Prabhakaran, were summarily executed, as were many of its fighters. It seemed that, after more than three decades of fighting, the LTTE’s struggle for an independent homeland in the north and east of Sri Lanka had ended. The LTTE’s struggle had been the culmination of a longer struggle by Sri Lanka’s Tamil minority, initially for greater equity in the running of the Sri Lankan state and, when that failed, for independence. At first sight, this absolute military defeat of an organization that had constructed itself first and foremost as a military force would seem to have spelled the end of Tamil aspirations. Yet within three months of the defeat, the Tamil diaspora had established a Global Tamil Forum to organize a new effort to seek an ethnically based redistribution of political power in Sri Lanka. The goal of the Forum was still functional independence for the Tamil people, but the method would be, for the time being, diplomatic rather than military. The military option was, however, not entirely closed off should the diplomatic path fail, as it had in the past. What drove Tamils to seek greater equity in the running of the Sri Lankan state, what then drove them to support the LTTE, and why the LTTE sought

Separatism in South Asia 165 independence, was a series of long-standing grievances that followed the of the post-colonial Sri Lankan state to rule equitably on behalf of all its citizens. These grievances were unable to be successfully negotiated and were, ultimately, unable to be resolved within the political framework that was available at the time. This led to a breakdown in inter-group relations, social conflict and, finally, war. Where such grievances were unable to be adequately resolved, or where the expression of such grievance itself is responded to with violence, it was in turn reciprocated. In this respect, the LTTE of Sri Lanka were almost a textbook case of how separatism arises; the geographically specific, linguistically, culturally and religiously differentiated group with a profound set of grievances felt, overwhelmingly, that it had few choices but to oppose the state. Pre-colonialism states Sri Lanka was and remains a clear example of where colonial overlays failed to recognize prior historical competition, in which two ancient kingdoms remained at loggerheads on an island which, ironically, lent one of its earlier names to the word ‘serendipity’. Sri Lanka’s Buddhist Sinhalese occupy the southern and most arable two thirds of the island, while Hindu Tamils predominantly occupy the northern third and, in recent history, the north-east. Both communities had separate, often antagonistic, states. There is also a small community of Muslim Tamils and Malays largely living in the north-west, and a small number of (mixed race and religion) Burgers. A sharply reduced number of ‘Hill Country’, or Indian, Tamils continue to live in the highlands, although they have not been recognized as Sri Lankan and half or more of their population was forced to go to India, from where their forebears had arrived, predominantly in the 19th century (Yogasundram 2006:227, 276). After Portuguese, Dutch and then British colonialism, in 1948, Sri Lanka (Ceylon as it was then) received independence as a unitary rather than as a federated state or two separate states. As with British colonial practice elsewhere, the main colonial minority was favored for administrative work and received equal status under an external education policy. However, following independence, the country’s majority Sinhalese increasingly introduced pro-Sinhalese policies, excluding and marginalizing ethnic Tamils. Most notable among these moves was the introduction of the 1956 ‘Sinhala Only’ Act, which excluded Tamils from government jobs and education and led to inter-communal conflict (Yogasundram 2006:284). Although this legislation was later removed, it caused significant tensions between the two communities and was emblematic of a sense of ethnic ‘ownership’ of the state to the exclusion of minorities. Ethnic tensions in Sri Lanka were high from before independence in 1948, and notably from the 1956 election of the Sri Lanka Freedom Party under Prime Minister Solomon Bandaranaike as the self-proclaimed ‘defender of the besieged Sinhalese culture’ (Nubin 2002:123). Bandaranaike oversaw the introduction of the Sinhala Only Act, which privileged the country’s majority Sinhalese population and their religion of Buddhism over the minority Hindu and Muslim Tamils.

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They key ingredients for separatism, then, including separate language, cultural identity, geography and grievance were already in place almost as soon as Sri Lanka had achieved independence. With Tamils feeling that they were being, in effect, punished, it was only surprising that separatist sentiment took as long as it did to manifest. The fall-out from this discriminatory language legislation was such that Bandaranaike was forced to backtrack but, for doing so, was assassinated in 1959 by an extremist Buddhist monk (Yogasundram 2006:287). Interethnic tensions continued, with outbursts of mob violence. The year 1962 saw an attempted military coup and in 1964 around 600,000 third generation and fourth generation ‘Indian’ Tamils were forcibly removed to India. To be a Tamil, it seemed, was to not be recognized by the state as having a legitimate place. In 1972 and again in 1987, the predominantly Sinhalese Marxist Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna party (JVP, or Peoples Liberation Front) launched insurrections that were bloodily suppressed. From 1976, young Tamil militants, including the forerunner to the LTTE, began organizing as armed groups. The 1981 burning of Jaffna Library by government forces, including numerous irreplaceable historic scrolls deemed of critical importance to Tamil culture (Gunasingam 2005:34), hardened Tamil resistance. An attack by a proto-LTTE group on a Sri Lankan army convoy in 1983 sparked anti-Tamil riots, leaving hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Tamils dead in Colombo in what became known as ‘Black July’. This event effectively marked the beginning of civil war (sometimes referred to as Eelam War I). The war, fought over four phases (Eelam Wars I, II, III and IV), was noted for its bitterness, with the Tamil Tigers using suicide bombing as a tactical weapon, as well as for targeted political assassinations. In 1987, India intervened in the war, intending to be a neutral party, having previously been sympathetic to Tamils. However, its attempts to disarm the LTTE were resisted, leading to clashes and then all-out fighting. The Indian army withdrew from Sri Lanka in 1989 (Swamy 2006:Chs 9, 10; Kantha 2005:Ch 18). In retribution for this conflict, in 1991 the LTTE used a suicide bomber to assassinate India’s former prime minister Rajiv Gandhi.4 Sri Lanka’s Muslims, predominantly ethnic Tamils, about 10 per cent of the population, were at the margins of these more recent conflicts, excluded as Tamil speakers but at odds with the more numerous Hindu Tamils. However, they also had long been subject to Sinhalese persecution, with anti-Muslim riots dating back at least as far as the early 20th century. As the Tamil Tiger war progressed, Sinhalese Buddhism became more radicalized, with some Sinhalese claiming that all of Sri Lanka should be exclusively Buddhist. When Sri Lanka’s army commander General Sarath Fonseka said: ‘I strongly believe that this country belongs to the Sinhalese’ (in Hussain 2009), he went on to explain that ethnic minorities ‘can live in this country with us’ but could not ‘demand undue things’, he was imposing an ethnic majoritarian view of national organization, in which minorities were tolerated only so long as they complied with majority wishes.

Separatism in South Asia 167 After a pause following the conflict with the Indian army, war (Eelam War II) in Sri Lanka resumed. Among other LTTE military achievements, in 1993 the LTTE assassinated Sri Lankan President Ranasinghe Premadasa (Kingsbury 2012:70). In 1995 there was a short ceasefire, followed by what has been called ‘Eelam War III’, in which the LTTE scored numerous military successes (Kingsbury 2012:70– 71). At its peak, around 2000, the LTTE controlled around three quarters of north and north-eastern Sri Lanka. In 2002, a Norwegian-sponsored peace process led to a ceasefire in which both sides would remain within the demarcated territory. This allowed the LTTE to effectively establish a ‘state within a state’. While this arrangement marked a respite from hostilities, more chauvinist Sinhalese called for the complete destruction of the LTTE. The LTTE almost caused its own destruction in 2004, however, when the organization split between its central command and its eastern command, headed by Vinayagamoorthy Muralitharan (better known as Colonel Karuna Amman). Karuna said that he left the LTTE because it ignored regional issues. However, the LTTE was at that time investigating Karuna for corruption and had asked him to present himself at LTTE headquarters, which was tantamount to a death sentence.5 Karuna’s defection, with most of the eastern fighters, seriously weakened the LTTE and, with the ‘Karuna Faction’ fighting with the Sri Lankan army, cleared the east of its LTTE presence, leaving the organization limited to the central north of the country. On 26 December 2004, a massive tsunami swept across the southern and eastern coast of Sri Lanka, causing widespread destruction and loss of life. As the international community came to offer relief, disputes arose between the Sri Lankan government and the LTTE over responsibility for the relief and redevelopment effort in LTTE-controlled areas. It was from around this time that the ceasefire began to fragment, with the LTTE unilaterally withdrawing from further peace talks in 2006. In response, in 2007 the government formally announced an end to the ceasefire and launched a major offensive in the north, quickly making significant territorial gains, taking Kilinochchi in early 2009. By this stage the LTTE was withdrawing towards the north-east coast, taking a large civilian population with it. The LTTE were finally cornered in a civilian ‘no fire zone’ of 10 square kilometers on the beach near Mullaitivu, where the Sri Lankan government had encouraged civilians to flee. The LTTE refused to allow civilians to leave the ‘zone’, killing them if they tried to escape. Government forces shelled and bombed the area, causing a high number of casualties among the approximately 330,000 civilians trapped with the LTTE. On 16 May 2009, Sri Lankan forces broke through the last defense of the ‘no fire zone’ and the LTTE was defeated. A number of senior LTTE officers and officials who attempted to surrender were summarily executed, along with numerous suspected LTTE fighters. Following the war, the government established a ‘Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission’, which produced limited recommendations and which was subsequently almost entirely ignored by the government (AI 2011). The United Nations similarly held an inquiry into the conduct of the Tamil

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war, finding that numerous credible allegations of serious violations of international humanitarian law and international human rights law were committed both by the Government of Sri Lanka and the LTTE, including war crimes and crimes against humanity. The Panel found credible allegations associated with the final stages of the war, between September 2008 and 19 May 2009, in which around 330,000 civilians were trapped into a decreasing area, held hostage by the LTTE. The Government had encouraged the civilian population to concentrate in ‘no fire zones’ after indicating that it would cease the use of heavy weapons, but instead engaged in large-scale shelling of three such zones, including the United Nations hub, food distribution lines and near International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) ships picking up the wounded and their relatives from the beaches. According to the UN report, tens of thousands were killed between January and May 2009, many of whom were killed in the ‘no fire zones’ in the final few days (UNSSC Panel 2011). The death toll from this last phase of the war has been widely estimated to be more than 40,000, most of whom were civilians.6 Around 6,000 were killed in the ‘no fire zone’. In total, more than 100,000 civilians and perhaps 50,000 fighters were estimated to have been killed in the war.7 A Victor’s Peace In 2009, the Sri Lanka armed forces had militarily defeated the LTTE. From the perspective of many, perhaps most, Tamils, the war was one about not just creating a new, independent state for Sri Lanka’s Tamils, but throwing off decades of repression, marginalization and persecution. The Tamil war failed and, as a consequence, the repression, persecution and marginalization continued apace. Yet the LTTE’s struggle and the government’s war with it was not just a domestic issue but involved wider geo-politics. It was those wider geo-politics that helped bring the war to an end. It is also those wider geo-politics that allow the Sri Lankan government to continue with its policies which, in many respects, have borne many of the hallmarks of genocide (see Kingsbury 2012:Ch 4). Events in post-war Sri Lanka have been underpinned by three key themes: Colombo’s triumphalist ‘victor’s peace’ (Pararajasingham 2019); the way in which Beijing’s has pursued its ties with Colombo as part of its own wider geopolitical strategy, and New Delhi’s and Washington’s somewhat belated attempts to return themselves to positions of influence in Colombo. For China, a strategic hold in Sri Lanka places the island state in a prime position in its global Belt and Road strategy to become the world’s economic superpower, as well as being a key part of its ‘String of Pearls’ strategy which locates strategic bases across the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Critically, too, after India’s blundered intervention in the Sri Lanka-LTTE war in 1987, China has taken advantage of underlying anti-Indian sentiment and distrust, building a forward base – nominally a port – at Hambantota, just a short distance from China’s key regional rival, India.

Separatism in South Asia 169 India has been keenly aware, even alarmed by this shift in regional influence, seeing the regional strategic balance tilted in China’s geographic favor, and has sought to rekindle positive relations in Colombo. While this may be too little, too late, it has helped create a situation where China and India compete for Sri Lanka’s favors, benefitting the government in Colombo. This has not least been at the expense of Tamils who are metaphorically and sometimes literally kicked around as a political football. So, too, the United States as a global actor has found itself engaged in Sri Lanka’s politics, by way of attempting to thwart its growing global rival, China’s influence. But most importantly, in defeating the LTTE, successive Sri Lankan governments have not moved to heal past wounds and repair a deeply damaged polity but have embarked on a triumphalist ‘victor’s peace’ at the expense of building unity and equity (Pararajasingham 2019). Sri Lanka’s majority Sinhalese Buddhist population has always had a chauvinist nationalist inflection to its political expression (Yogasundram 2006:283) but, in the later years of the war and in its peace, this has metastasized to the point where the country’s minorities only suffered as unwanted guests. Though no longer at war, Sri Lanka’s Tamils continue to live at the country’s social and political margins in lands still, a decade later, under military occupation. The ‘… violence, divisions, anxiety, fear and hate, endures, despite promises of progress via a thin veneer of development and reconciliation’ (Groundviews 2020). The scope, and rationale, for separatist conflict to again break out continues to be fueled by such ‘winner take all’ policies.

Jammu-Kashmir It is rare, although not unheard of, that a government facing separatism sets out to engage in action that it knows in advance will worsen separatist sentiment. But, when that government is set on creating rather than avoiding confrontation as part of its domestic political agenda, then exacerbating a problem with a region prone to separatist sentiment may conversely appeal directly to a particularly nationalist chauvinist electorate. More commonly, however, it is governments taking a security approach to political issues that fuels grievances and deepens and entrenches separatist sentiment and associated conflict. Many governments engage in this type of behavior under the misapprehension that the application of force can resolve the growth of separatist sentiment. This is correct, but only when the opportunity costs of separatist claims and the remoteness of their success vastly overwhelms the rationale for continuing with such claims, and usually at a very high human price. Even then, in many cases, separatists often feel they have little or no choice but to continue with their claim, that there is no alternative point on the political spectrum that remains available to them. The exacerbation and entrenching of separatist sentiment in the northern Indian state of Jammu-Kashmir (hereafter referred to as Kashmir) was an all but inevitable outcome of the Indian government’s unilateral decision in August 2019 to rescind Article 370 of the Indian Constitution, which provided for Jammu-Kashmir’s

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status as a quasi-autonomous state. Jammu and Kashmir had an elected assembly with limited powers, while the Buddhist majority district of Ladakh was ruled by an appointed official. The Indian president, however, retained the right to revoke autonomy under the ‘Temporary, Transitional and Special Provisions’ of the constitution under section 3 of Article 370. Accompanying the decision was the insertion of 10,000 paramilitary personnel and cutting off internal and external communication (telephone, internet). Having been declared to be a ‘Union Territory’ rather than a state, policing powers in Jammu-Kashmir shifted from the state to the national government. The districts that comprise the strategically important Ladakh region, about a quarter of the larger Jammu-Kashmir area, were removed from Kashmiri policing and had a new police force created. The decision by the Indian government to rescind the state’s quasi-autonomous status reflected a triumphalist nationalist assertion by Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP, Indian People’s Party) government. The move could be read as the Indian government more assertively stamping its strategic claim on the disputed region, including at the cost of local inhabitants who felt less ‘Indian’ and much more Kashmiri, if not Pakistani or, indeed, Chinese. The assertion of Kashmir’s changed status in turn reflected India being increasingly defined along nationalist Hindu lines. Such could also be seen in the eastern state of Assam, where millions of local Muslims were under threat of having their citizenship revoked (The Economist 2019:10). The move could also be understood as an assertively nationalist Indian thumbing its nose at archrivals Pakistan and China, both of which occupy smaller amounts of the disputed Kashmiri territory. The Jammu-Kashmir region had long been subject to separatist conflict, with at least 47,000 killed (Connelly 2019). The casualty rate dropped in 2008 but grew sharply again in the 2010s. According to a UN report on the region, Indian security forces had used excessive force against civilians ‘that led to unlawful killings and a very high number of injuries’ among other human rights abuses, including mass rape (UNHCHR 2019). ‘Impunity for human rights violations and lack of access to justice are key human rights challenges in the state of Jammu and Kashmir’, the report says, noting that the Armed Forces (Jammu and Kashmir) Special Powers Act 1990 (AFSPA) and the Jammu and Kashmir Public Safety Act 1978 (PSA) have ‘created structures that obstruct the normal course of law, impede accountability and jeopardize the right to remedy for victims of human rights violations’ (UNHCHR 2019). The BJP government described the UN report as ‘fallacious’ and ‘tendentious’, which is a common type of government rebuttal for criticisms which, on face value, have considerable merit. This type of rebuttal works on the principle that the repeated rejection of truth can become ‘truth’, at least for a specific audience. This model of truth-avoidance or truth-replacement has become increasingly common in 21st-century states seeking to appeal to a populist nationalist sentiment. That this ‘anti-truth’ creates division, or is rejected from beyond the

Separatism in South Asia 171 state in question, only confirms to the core group the validity of their mutual solidarity. The BJP has its roots in the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS, or National Patriotic Organization), which was a far-right volunteer paramilitary Hindu nationalist organization. The RSS was founded in 1925 in reaction to British colonialism, but quickly became a reactionary force opposed to concessions for ethnic or religious minorities, in particular Muslims. Senior members of the RSS openly admired Nazi leader Adolph Hitler and Fascist Benito Mussolini (Ghosh 2012). The RSS was opposed to Indian independence leader Mahatma Gandhi’s concessions towards Muslims in his bid to retain a unified post-colonial state. It was a former RSS member, Nathuram Vinayak Godse, who assassinated Gandhi in 1948 because of his proposed concessions towards Muslims (Mallot 2012:75– 76). Godse had left the RSS in 1940 to form the openly violent nationalist Hindu Rashtra Dal (Hindu Nationalist Team) (Hansen 1999:249). The BJP came to power in India in 2014 with an openly nationalist agenda, including ending Kashmir’s special provisions. The decision to remove the region’s special status was a central election promise of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, when the BJP returned to power with a large majority in the 2019 elections. Voter turn-out in Kashmir was a low 29 per cent, compared with a 67 per cent voter turn-out average across the country, indicating a high level of disengagement from or trust in the national political process. The BJP waited until its strong electoral win of 2019 before implementing its Hindu nationalist plan. According to the BJP, ahead of the 2019 elections, the Indian government had ‘made all necessary efforts to ensure peace in Jammu and Kashmir through decisive actions and a firm policy’ (Connelly 2019). Despite the government’s claims, India’s hard line under its nationalist Hindu government had actually driven many younger Kashmiris towards militancy rather than away from it. The move by the government, unsurprisingly, led to several protests. The removal of state status followed a 2018 decision to suspend the region’s state status, pending the 2019 elections and a formalization of that process. Modi said the removal of Kashmir’s special status would help bring a ‘new era’ of peace and development to the region (Hodge 2019). The history of difficulty in Jammu-Kashmir followed the end of Sikh rule in 1846 as the British consolidated their sub-continental empire. Control of the area was assumed by the Hindu Drogas in the south but incorporating the predominantly Muslim plains and mountains to the north. In 1932, local leader Sheik Abdullah organized the All Jammu and Kashmir Muslim Conference, with a view to promoting a secular future for the multi-faith kingdom. He increasingly shared this view with the secular, leftist Congress Party rather than what was perceived to be the more feudal Muslim League, which was to be the main party of Pakistani independence. Renamed the National Conference, a faction split off to join the Muslim League. When India and Pakistan were divided upon independence in 1947, Kashmiri Maharaja Hari Singh vacillated until Pakistani army officers commanding heavily armed volunteer tribesman moved towards Ladakh and Srinagar, raping and

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looting as they went. The Maharaja called for British and Indian help. If Indian troops were to be sent, it was decided, the Maharaja would have to accept Jammu and Kashmir becoming part of India (Banerjee 2009:34–35). From a Pakistani perspective, there had been a ‘wave of communal massacres’. Tens of thousands of Muslims in Kashmir were murdered by Hindu and Sikh extremists, in particular from the precursor organization to India’s ruling BJP, the RSS (Bhasin 2015). These massacres led to demobilized soldiers and others from the Poonch region to link up with tribal fighters in the area adjoining Afghanistan to form a militia. The intention of this militia was to seize Kashmir on behalf of Pakistan (Blom 2009:136). More than 20,000 non-Muslims were murdered by the militia. Relations between India and Pakistan worsened, with Pakistan aligning itself with the West and India joining the non-aligned movement. A United Nations Security Council (UNSC) Resolution No. 47 (1948) on Kashmir notes the desire of India and Pakistan that ‘the question of the accession of Jammu and Kashmir to India or Pakistan should be decided through the democratic method of a free and impartial plebiscite’. The resolution had three key parts, the first being the withdrawal of all Pakistanis sent to fight in the disputed region, the second being that India draw down its own presence to the level required for the normal application of law and order, and the third that there be a plebiscite to determine Kashmir’s future. None of these three parts was implemented at the time or has since been implemented, nor have subsequent (minor) modifications to the resolution been enacted. A war was fought between India and Pakistan over Jammu and Kashmir in 1965 and Kashmir was again included in fighting in 1971 in the war for the independence of Bangladesh. Sheik Abdullah was imprisoned in 1953 for what were said to have been his plans for independence for Jammu and Kashmir. In 1975 Abdullah signed a document accepting the territory was part of India, becoming its chief minister until his death in 1982. Abdullah was succeeded by his son but was ousted by the state governor, Jag Mohan Malhotra, in 1984, creating a climate of political instability. Though re-elected in 1987, the elections were said to have been rigged, followed by opposition Muslim United Front candidates, polling agents and counting agents being arrested after the elections (Wani and Surwirta 2013:186). This encouraged unrest among the state’s Muslims, with armed separatist groups forming soon after (Hussain 2009:45; Wani and Surwirta 2013:185). Separatist and pro-Pakistani sentiment has existed in Kashmir since Kashmir joined with India, but it only really became a pronounced issue from the 1980s. By the 1980s, it was increasingly apparent that the Soviet Union could not win the war it was fighting in Afghanistan. In significant part the reason for that was because what are, or become, wars to subdue domestic populations are usually only successful with mass casualties or the threat of mass casualties; the Soviet Union’s role in Afghanistan was, ostensibly, to prop up the government in Kabul rather than destroy the country as such. In large part, too, the terrain lent itself to guerrilla activity over conventional warfighting and, not least, the Afghan mujahideen were skilled and resilient fighters.

Separatism in South Asia 173 However, external support for the mujahideen also played an important role. The provision of weapons by the United States helped them redress the equipment imbalance they faced, while the provision of arms, training, advice and sanctuary principally by the Pakistani Inter Services Intelligence agency (ISI). This in turn reflected a Pakistani desire to secure Afghanistan as a fallback position for defense in-depth should Pakistan again face another war from, and invasion by, India. What Pakistan and, in particular the ISI, learned from this exercise was that guerrilla warfare could bring down what was at the time a global superpower. This, then, had lessons for Pakistan’s interest in securing Kashmir from India and, through ISI’s support for Muslim activists, led to the first outbreaks of violence in 1986 that created the current separatist climate (Bakaya and Bhatti 2003). Since 1989 in particular, Jammu and Kashmir have been subject to a secessionist jihad (holy struggle) or intifada (uprising), facilitated by the supply of weapons from Pakistan, along with training and other forms of support and strengthened links with Afghanistan’s Taliban. Separatist organizations that have been active in Kashmir include the al Qaeda-linked Harkat-ul-Jihad al-Islami, Lashkar-e-Taiba, Jaish-e-Mohammed and Harkat-ul-Mujahideen (the latter two founded or assisted in foundation by Pakistan’s military-based ISI, the pro-Pakistan unity Hizbul Mujahideen (in part supported by ISI), Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant – Khorasan Province (ISIL-KP), the ISI-supported Al-Badr, and the nominally secular, pro-independence Jammu-Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF). At the time of writing, the JKLF was in a state of ceasefire after being attacked by the Hizbul Mujahideen, on ISI orders, because of its stand on independence rather than becoming a part of Pakistan (Blom 2009:138). The ISI has a history of both supporting and repressing armed Islamist organizations (see Martin 2019:137– 138, 430), seeking to use them for inter-state activities but then limit them when their attention has turned inward towards Pakistan. With the jihad failing, from 1995 there was an injection of foreign insurgents (Banjeree 2009:35; Hussain 2009:48). In significant part, these insurgents were proxies for the Pakistan army, employing the model it had used in support of the mujahideen in Afghanistan. In employing these proxies, or ‘clients’, the Pakistan army limited its role supervision, preparation and arming, but allowed them broad scope in terms of recruitment, ideological motivation and financing (Blom 2009:135). Despite a significant Indian military presence (up to 600,000 troops), allegations of excessive military force against civilians (Hussain 2009:45) and regular (if sometimes allegedly fraudulent) elections, separatist violence has continued, if unevenly, since. There have also been allegations of significant human rights violations against Muslim Kashmiris (Hussain 2009:45–46) and the Indian and Pakistani armies have regularly clashed over the Line of Control that formally demarcates the territory. As Hussain (2009:51) has noted, the hardening of positions by both India and Pakistan make an agreed resolution to the status of Jammu and Kashmir all but impossible. Short of internal self-rule (Hussain 2009:53) or a formal partition of the territory which would allocate to Pakistan a greater area

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than it currently controls, conflict and what is claimed to be Indian repression is likely to continue. There were a variety of proposals about ways forward for the Kashmir conflict, and the Indian and Pakistani governments have both waxed and waned around them. Tensions along the Line of Control have ebbed and flowed, with occasional clashes but little that was likely to escalate. However, the revocation of Article 370 has, in a sense, created a tabula rasa, in that the conditions which underpinned all previous discussion and calculation on the subject have been fundamentally subverted. There is, in effect, no common ground left over which to potentially negotiate. Given that both India and Pakistan are nuclear armed states, there remained, therefore, considerable concern that as soon as India reduced its heightened level of internal security, there would be a fresh outbreak of communal and/or separatist violence. This would, in turn, have implications for India-Pakistan bilateral relations, given that India would very likely regard Pakistan as being behind such potential violence. Tensions between Indian and Pakistan vary in intensity, largely (although not solely) over the Kashmir issue, and it is possible that, should India feel its increasingly nationalist interests (or pride) threatened or attacked it would respond in kind. The concern within India and Pakistan, and throughout much of the rest of the world, is that any future conflict between the two states over the status of Kashmir could quickly escalate, to the point where there could be an exchange of nuclear weapons.

The remote North-East hills – Nagaland Among the mountains and foothills of the southern Himalayas, up from the tea plantations of Assam and Manipur by the Myanmar border, sits Nagaland. To be in Nagaland, among its 16 recognized tribes, does not feel in any way to be in India. The only reminders that this area is a part of that larger country are the occasional Indian official and the extensive Indian military patrols. The north-east region more generally shares international borders with China, Bhutan, Myanmar and Bangladesh. The 22 kilometer-wide Siliguri corridor between Nepal, Bhutan and Bangladesh connects the north-east with the rest of India. The corridor was created upon the 1947 partition of India to allow travel between India proper and the more remote north-east region. Though an obscure part of the world, the effective geographic isolation of this part of India, and its linguistic and religious differences, mark it as not of Hinduised India and among the more arbitrary of post-colonial incorporations. During the colonial period there was considerable trade through this region, especially after the development of tea plantations of Darjeeling and Assam and the discovery of oil. Because of its positioning along four borders and its effective control of potential entry points to China, the north-east is of great strategic importance to India. South-west of Dimapur in Nagaland state, near the Intaki National Park, is the separatist military Camp Hebron. Here, armed, avowedly

Separatism in South Asia 175 Maoist soldiers bear on their shirt collars a red Christian cross set against a yellow background, representing a claim to a separate and independent Nagaland. Their identity is marked, as soldiers, as distinctly in contrast to the predominantly Hindu India. The territory of Nagalim (Greater Nagaland) claimed by Naga independence movements consists of all the Naga-inhabited areas of neighboring Assam, Manipur, Arunachal Pradesh and some north-western portions Myanmar, which it considers to be the rightful homeland of the Nagas. The area claimed as Nagalim lies in the Patkai range at the junction of China, India and Myanmar. The proposed Nagalim has a population of about 4.5 million and spreads over approximately 120,000 square kilometers in contrast to the present State of Nagaland that has an area of 16,527 square kilometers. Nagalim is recognized as the ancestral domain of the Nagas by the Unrepresented Nations and Peoples Organization (UNPO). Separatism in Nagaland has been a feature of the region since the 1950s, from soon after the area was incorporated into India. There have been more than 20 insurgent groups from among the region’s 220 ethnic groups operating against the Indian government across the seven states, with many having a regional revolutionary focus while others are more nationalist or separatist in orientation. A number of these groups are listed by the Indian government as terrorist organizations. Only two organizations, both factions of the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN), of five such NSCN factions, were operational in a meaningful sense by the end of the second decade of the 2000s. They were the larger NSCN-IM (Isak-Muivah), which operated in Indian territory, and the United National Liberation Front of Western South East Asia (UNLFW, more commonly known as the NSCN-K/Khaplang), which operated along the Indian border in north-western Myanmar. After operating in each other’s territories, and with subsequent conflict between them, in 2015, the two groups agreed to restrict their presence to each side of the India-Myanmar border.8 Origins of Naga separatism The Sino-Tibetan-speaking Nagas had been regarded as a separate group from the others in India under British colonial administration and Nagaland was characterized as an ‘Excluded Area’ and was intended to be beyond the scope of the new constitution. There was nothing that bound the Nagas to the rest of India other than the colonial British drawing of a border, the 1914 ‘McMahon Line’, with China through a strategically important but historically ambiguous region. The British drew hard boundaries in areas where there had been none, some of which were subsequently subjects of contention. Bhutan’s border with China was similarly demarcated in 1890, with territory south of the Chumbi Valley being Bhutanese, even though this area had historically been part of the trading region of the Tibetan, and hence Chinese, frontier trading market of Yadong. In reality, the border areas between the two countries were always in the remote and undefined frontiers of the respective empires, until the imperial British imposed a fixed

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border in the late 19th century. China and Bhutan agreed to respect the 1890 status quo in 1988 and again in 1998. In that any state could have laid claim over Naga lands, it was perhaps the state of Assam, although even here the relationship was distant and marked by regular warfare. In practice, although not united, the Nagas functionally ruled themselves. The Burman state invaded the Naga hills in 1816 (Nagas are from the same Sino-Tibetan language family as Burmans and, in Myanmar, are known as ‘Chin’) and occupied the region until they were forced out by the expanding colonial British in 1826. The British had a keen interest in the tea estates of Assam, but their growing interests there were hampered by Naga raids, leading to retaliatory military action. The British consolidated their control of most of the territory between 1879 and 1892, although there continued to be resistance to British rule until around 1922, by which stage the region was incorporated into the colonial Assam administration. Assertions of an independent Naga identity were, however, never very far from the surface. It was from this time, too, that American missionaries began to visit, and live in the region, bringing with them their own Baptist version of Christianity. Having previously been animist head-hunters, the Nagas were converted, with Baptist Christianity playing a strong role in Naga social and cultural life, and further marking their separate cultural identity from the rest of India. Reminders of the Nagas’ head-hunting past, however, remains commonplace, with skull symbols being a common decorative motif. In 1929, the Nagas submitted their first written statement on independence to the British Government’s India Statutory (Simon) Commission. In this, they demanded that, upon colonial departure from the sub-continent, the Nagas be left as they were when the British first found them (NPMHR 2019). According to the memorandum: ‘we should not be thrust to the mercy of other people who could never subjugate us, but leave us alone to determine ourselves as in ancient time’ (Peseyie 1929). The memorandum went on to be viewed as ‘the Magna Carta of Naga National Politics’ (Peseyie 1929). As India was moving towards independence, a movement for Naga self-determination was formalized in 1946 as the Naga National Council (NNC) the leadership of Angami Zapu Phizo's leadership. NNC leaders representing 10 Naga tribal groups, and the Governor of Assam, Sir Akbar Hydari, signed an agreement which granted Nagas rights over their lands and legislative and executive powers. The agreement contained a number of provisions which, taken together, effectively allowed for full autonomy of the Nagas for a period of 10 years, after which time the agreement could be continued or a new agreement be entered into. Interpretation of this last clause was, however, contested. Nagas understood it as allowing the option of independence after the 10 years had expired, while the government of India understood it to mean the option of an entirely new agreement between both parties. The agreement did not specify either option, but simply allows for ‘a new agreement regarding the future of the Naga people’ (NAHA 1947). Despite the terms of the agreement, Phizo rejected it as it did not

Separatism in South Asia 177 explicitly address the question of Naga sovereignty, declaring Naga independence on 14 August 1947. In an assertion of Naga independence, a Naga National Plebiscite was conducted on 16 May 1951 with, according to the Naga Peoples Movement for Human Rights, 99.9 per cent of respondents voting for independence (about 7,000 tribesmen put their thumb print against a long list of printed names). The outcome of the ballot was communicated to the United Nations, although it was rejected by India as a ‘political hoax’ (Yonuo 1974:202). Nagas boycotted the Indian elections held the following year. The Nagas’ aspirations for independence were flatly rejected by Indian prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru, who said: ‘Whether heaven falls and the rivers run red with blood, I will not allow Nagas to be independent’, and that ‘I will station one Indian soldier for every tree in Nagaland and I will crush the Nagas within one week’ (Krome 2019). This threat was manifested, in 1953, in the military occupation of the Naga region, employing the draconian Assam Maintenance of Public Order (Autonomous District) Act. In 1954, Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and Burmese Premier U Nu met at Kohima and agreed to demarcate the Naga territory between them. Burmese Nagas initially fought against the then Burmese government, eventually being granted autonomous self-rule. From the earliest days of anti-Indian activism, the Nagas had received support from Pakistan, establishing sanctuaries in East Pakistan. It was through Pakistan that the Nagas first came into contact with China. After the 1962 Sino-Indian War over the status of Arunachal Pradesh, China began to take a more active interest in the Naga struggle, actively supporting it from 1967 (Lintner 2012:xi–xii, 28–41). Thus the Nagas’ struggle for independence was, at least in part, also used as a pawn in a regional power game (Lintner 2012:Ch 2). With no movement from India, in 1956 the more radical wing of the NNC created the Federal Government of Nagaland, with its own underground army. In response, India stepped up its military activity, quickly leading to armed conflict (Goswami 2015:43–44). The Indian army was brutal in its actions, particularly towards Naga civilians, upon whom it committed mass murder and rape (Zachariah 2004:283), deepening resentment towards India and embedding a sense of grievance among the Nagas. To facilitate military operations in Nagaland, in 1958 the Indian Parliament enacted the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, giving unlimited powers to the Indian military to arrest, search or seize without warrant and to ‘shoot and kill’ with full legal immunity. Such was the violence of that period that it has become embedded in Naga folklore and continues to inform a dislike and distrust of the Indian state (Goswami 2015:47–49). In a bid to quell the unrest, a Naga State (if smaller than the Naga lands) was established by the central government in 1963. The Nagas also received considerable external support from China during the late 1960s and 1970s, reflecting an interest by the Chinese government in fomenting strife along India’s borders with a view to establishing a strategic corridor should future conflict break out between the two regional powers. In 1944, Japan had similarly attempted to invade India from Burma (now Myanmar) through Manipur and Nagaland. But, in a 64-day

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battle, were stopped in the area at the town of Kohima in a defeat that spelled the end of the Japanese advance in Asia. It was the loss of bases in East Pakistan, as Bangladesh in 1972, and continued Indian military pressure, which led to the signing of the 1975 Shillong Peace Accord. The agreement was, however, regarded as a betrayal by some militant Naga leaders, splitting the movement into those who accepted the status of the agreement and those who rejected it. Thuingaleng Muivah, Isak Chisi Swu and S.S. Khaplang rejected the agreement and instead created the NSCN. The NSCN was, however, riven by internal personal and tribal rivalries exacerbated by India’s planting of false information about the loyalties of key members, resulting in an internal military showdown in 1988 and the creation of the two main NSCN factions, NSCN-IM and NSCM-K. Each organization reached a ceasefire with the Indian government, in 1997 and 2001, respectively, although fratricidal conflict continued between these groups and other Naga factions until an internal Naga agreement was reached in 2014 (Lenten Agreement 2014). In 1997, the Indian government and the NSCN-IM reached a ceasefire agreement, intended to allow talks towards resolving the Naga issue. It took almost 20 years for those talks to meaningfully commence, even if no agreement of substance was subsequently reached. Moreover, the agreement effectively confined the NSCN-IM to their camps and Nagaland continued to be heavily patrolled by the Indian army (GoI-NSCN 1997). This meant there continued to be occasional continuing human rights abuses, such as the murder of two teenagers, aged 13 years and 14 years, in 2015.9 In response, there have been rare Naga attacks against the Indian military. Following one NSCN-K attack on an army convoy, that faction was declared a terrorist organization. The NSCN-IM, for its part, continued in talks with the Indian government over the status of Nagaland. NSCN General-Secretary Thuingaleng Muivah said he was confident his organization could reach a settlement on the future status of Nagaland, if being vague as to how this status might differ from the existing state of Nagaland.10 In 2017 it announced it believed it was close to a settlement with the Indian government. The NSCN-IM claimed that the Indian government in 2015 recognized ‘the legitimate right of the Nagas to the integration of all Naga territories’ (NSCN 2019). According to a spokesperson for the collective Naga organizations on why Nagas continued to press for independence: ‘The key driver is nothing else but just the fact that Nagas are not Indians and will never be Indians. We are two different people in every way of our history and life’. He added that: ‘the key impediments are always the habitual behavior of the Indian Government going back on its word. The latest [example of] which may even derail the peace talks is the Government of India refusing to allow Nagas to have their own flag and constitution’.11 The NSCN-IM continues, from its camps, to run a parallel government to that of the government of the State of Nagaland, providing education, healthcare and judicial and dispute resolution functions utilizing customary law under relevant ministries. It also has a tax collection system to fund such activities. The taxes

Separatism in South Asia 179 also fund the NSCN-IM army, of around 5,000 full-time members. For a deeply devout population of Christian Baptists, the NSCN-IM also supports church activity which, along with its use of customary law, deeply embeds it within the local population. Despite having entered into talks, the Indian government appeared to be playing a long game with Naga separatists. The NSCN-IM was effectively confined to its camps and no longer presented a threat to Indian control of the Naga region. But, more importantly, the organization’s leaders were aging and would eventually die (NSCN-IM co-leader Isak Chisi Swu died in 2016). It appeared that the Indian government expected that their campaign for an independent Nagaland would also die with them.

Conclusion As with other areas that had been colonized, South Asia was as prone to postcolonial fall-out, and in particular separatism as any other part of the world, the major ‘separatist’ division occurring prior to independence and hence the creation of two states rather than the initially proposed one. Even with this division, the contemporary states that comprise the region are as ethnically multi-faceted as any in the world, and more so than most. The states themselves inherited relatively strong institutional foundations but did not fully translate those foundations into a wholly inclusive political society, or not one that was accepted by all of their constituent members. Beyond these case studies is the issue of Pakistan’s (until 2018 semi-autonomous) and otherwise seemingly untamable Federally Administered Tribal Areas, their seven distinct districts (formally ‘agences’), in particular North Waziristan, and the further six Frontier Regions. Even Bangladesh, which claims to be the only state established on the basis of a single language and ethnicity, similarly incorporates a dozen non-Bengali ethnic groups that in some cases see themselves as much apart from as within the formal state. They are, however, overwhelmingly too small, at a total of a little under two per cent of the population, to present a meaningful challenge to the state. Further, within India ‘proper’, separatist movements have come, and sometimes gone, highlighting the disparate patchwork of ethnicities and interests that have comprised this complex sub-continent. Where India in particular has been successful at maintaining broad unity, it has been through its (sometimes shoddy) maintenance of plural electoral politics in the guise of parliamentary democracy, divided between 28 federated states and 8 union territories. Noting the exceptions of the north and north-east regions, this has generally allowed enough flexibility to accommodate significant regional difference without threatening the fabric of the state. It is this last point that points the way towards the resolution of at least some separatist claims, and which conversely highlights the political failure to address initial tensions which have led to separatist claims. Sometimes a multi-ethnic state may more convincingly retain its unity by loosening, rather than tightening, the tie that binds. Where states insist on tight centralized control, they may experience a

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desire to escape its embrace; with greater room to move, conversely, autonomous regions may be more willing to remain within a looser overall structure.

Notes 1 Observed by the author, May 2006. 2 Observed by the author, May 2006. 3 Interview with head of the LTTE political wing and its chief negotiator, Suppayya Paramu Tamilselvan, Kilinochche, May 2006. 4 Confirmed in an interview by the author with the political head of the LTTE, Suppayya Paramu Thamilselvan, Kilinochche, 16 May 2006. 5 As stated to the author by senior LTTE cadres, Kilinochche, May 2006. 6 According to unofficial US estimates. The US State Department has determined that figure to be at the lower end of probable estimates. 7 Based on a total of annual recorded deaths by the Tamil Centre for Human Rights. 8 This was the outcome of a peace agreement between four militant Naga factions which had, from time to time, fought each other over territory and ‘taxation’. The author mediated these negotiations. 9 According to a statement from the Naga Peoples Movement for Human Rights, Kohima, 19 July 2015. 10 interview with the author, Camp Hebron, 26 August 2013. 11 Correspondence with the author, 2 September 2019.

10 Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific

South-east Asia and the Pacific represent a mix of pre-colonial polities ranging from clan and village chieftaincies to sultanates and political mandalas which in turn segued into empires. Each responded differently to colonialism and each came into the post-colonial era with varying degrees of comfort or otherwise in relation to colonialism’s successor states. Myanmar, Indonesia and the Philippines are clearly composite states and, regardless of claims made by the states to official histories or mythologies, none have a strong claim to a pre-colonial unity that corresponds to post-colonial entities and each has separatist movements. In the Pacific region, states as such did not exist prior to colonization but, generally, there has been a relatively high degree of cultural affinity. The post-colonial Solomon Island-related Bougainville being joined with the eastern half of the island of New Guinea; Papua New Guinea (PNG) was an exception, while New Caledonia is formally part of France, reflecting a marginally tenable colonial sleight of hand (and, as a case of late colonialism, is not included here). The case studies of the Asia-Pacific region therefore reflect a distinct iteration of the colonial experience and post-colonial separatist tendencies.

The fractured mandala The confluence of the Tibetan glacier-sourced N'Mai and Mali Rivers at the beginning of the Irrawaddy River in Kachin State was the planned site of the Myitsone Dam. The dam would have flooded significant areas held by the Kachin Independence Organization/Army (KIO/A). The site sits to the north of about 40 kilometers of villages and churches relocated by the government from the fractious Kachin hills. A t-shirt for sale at the confluence read: ‘No Myitsone Dam!’ It was the government’s plan for this dam at the confluence, after a 17-year ceasefire, that helped reignite the Kachin War that had begun in 1961. It was a provocative t-shirt for this area. The mountains to the west go to the territory of the Kuki Nagas (NSCN-K, see Chapter Nine), who operate an autonomous zone on the Kachin side of the Indian (Nagaland) border in Myanmar’s Sagaing State. About 30 ks to the east is China. The KIO/A has a number of enclaves along the Chinese border and,

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given there are almost no roads on the Myanmar side of the border, use Chinese roads to commute between their bases. So close is the KIO/A to China, in practical terms, that it uses the Chinese Yuan for trade, with its headquarters about 60 ks south-east of Myitkyina at Lai Sin, near Laiza, and other camps being wired into the Chinese electricity grid, telephone network and internet (Dean 2012:123). In between, of Kachin State’s 27 ‘townships’ (districts), only 8 could be traveled to without special permission due to the activity of the KIO/A. So conflicted has been the area, at one point, Myanmar’s military, the Tatmadaw (Royal Army), was even bombing the outskirts of Myitkyina, where the KIA had a strong presence and where support for the KIO/A is rarely far from, and often above, the surface. The claims of Myanmar’s various armed groups reflect the imposition of relatively arbitrary colonial borders and the inclusion within the post-colonial state of historically antagonistic groups. In short, the question was less why there was conflict in Myanmar and, perhaps, more why Myanmar existed as a state and, in particular, a unitary state (despite recognizing internal ‘state’ boundaries). Despite having all of the appearances of an independence struggle, the Kachin conflict is based on a claim to a high degree of local autonomy under a redrafted Myanmar constitution. The KIO/A claims reflect recognition that, as a landlocked and relatively underdeveloped territory, the state and its people would fare better in a loose federal arrangement with the other states of Myanmar, rather than alone. The KIO/A’s claims also go to the post-colonial construction of Myanmar (formerly Burma) and the long-standing claims of a number of other ethnic-based organizations. The Kachin movement has been chosen from Myanmar’s plethora of separatist organizations because it is the largest and longest running. Divisions between the Kachins (and other Myanmar ethnic minorities) and ethnic Burmese (Bama) date to pre-colonial times, when what was to become Myanmar was a Burmese empire. The imperial Burmese state was constructed as a political ‘mandala’, in which power was concentrated at its center and became more dispersed towards an often reluctantly included periphery (see Dellios 2003; Stuart-Fox 1998:14–15; and Wolters 1999:27, among others, on the conception of the mandala as a metaphor for Indianized South-east Asian pre-colonial states). It is from these times that the deeply embedded conceptions of Burma Pyima (center of ruling, civilization) and Burma pyinay (subordinate, inferior) came to characterize relations between ethnic Burmese and Myanmar’s ethnic minorities. The colonial British retained as they found them the outer boundaries of the Burmese imperial state, if colonialism gave the outer edges a more definite definition. But they also ruled the pyima and the pyinay differently, subjecting the former to direct rule but forming close alliances with and often recruiting the latter, thus deepening historical antipathies. Conflict between the Kachins and ethnic Burmese was further deepened during World War II, when Kachins fighting against the Japanese imperial army was attacked by the Japanese allied, ethnically Burmese Burma Independence Army (BIA). In these attacks, the BIA perpetrated atrocities against pro-British minorities, including the Kachins,

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 183 It was these profound antipathies that led, ahead of Burma’s independence, to the 1947 Panglong conference between independence leader Aung San and ethnic minority representatives of which led to an agreement that the independent state would recognize the ‘full autonomy’ of the ethnic groups in the administration of their internal affairs (Panglong Agreement 1947, Point 5). It also led to the insertion into Burma’s 1948 constitution of Chapter Ten which allowed the secession of states after 10 years of independence. The Chapter Ten provisions have never been allowed to be implemented. Myanmar has thus been described as, ‘a country of ill-fitting ethnic nationalities crammed into one state united only by a long-gone colonial power… sharing little common memory and only a vague vision of integration into one society’ (Badgley 2004:17–18). A number of ethnic groups have thus wanted to separate from the state or come to a very different constitutional arrangement about their relationship with the state. This has, in turn, been used by the military to justify its involvement in Myanmar’s domestic politics. Upon independence in 1948, the country almost immediately fell into revolutionary and ethnic conflict. Elections were held, primarily in central Burma, in 1951, but the state was in turmoil. Democratic elections were also held in 1956, with the ‘frontier’ states complaining that they received, but did not determine, local policy. As friction with the frontier states increased, in 1958, Prime Minister U Nu asked the military to take over ahead of fresh elections in 1960. The elections were held and U Nu and his new Union Party were returned to government, if facing increasing ‘frontier’ demands for federation. Added to the government making Buddhism the state religion, when many minorities were not Buddhist, led to riots, especially in Kachin State. Feeling increasingly isolated from the state, in 1961 the Kachins established the KIO/A. As minority leaders gathered in Rangoon (Yangon) to finalize their claim for federation in early 1962, the military arrested them and seized power in a coup (Smith 1998:219–227), which it did not relinquish for 53 years. Over 20 armed ethnic organizations, with perhaps up to 100,000 troops, have battled successive Bamar and Tatmadaw-dominated governments. The termination of the 1962 Federal Amendment Proposal by military coup, with the pretext of saving the Union and maintaining national unity, resulted in almost six decades of ethnic conflict. As with much else in Myanmar’s ethnic politics, a number of armed groups have signed ceasefire agreements with the government (with some breaking and then remaking those agreements), ethnic alliances have come and gone, and a number of armed ethnic groups have split, reformed and otherwise changed, not least through internal power struggles. To illustrate just some of the complexity of armed ethnic politics in Myanmar, in the 2015 elections, long time New Democratic Army-Kachin leader (NDAK) Zahkung Ting Ying barred candidates from the National League for Democracy (NLD) from campaigning in territory he had long ruled in the north-eastern Kachin State. The NDAK was the successor to a KIO unit led by Zahkun Ting Ying that broke away from the KIO in 1968 to join forces with the Communist Party of Burma (CPB). In 1989 following the collapse of the CPB, Ting Ying created the

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NDAK, agreeing to a ceasefire with the central government. The NDAK officially disbanded in 2009 when it became part of the country’s Border Guard Force under nominal Tatmadaw direction, in reality simply taking on a new, officially sanctioned guise to continue business as usual. The NDAK has been described as a tightly controlled business cartel, involved in logging, metals mining and opium poppy cultivation and heroin and amphetamine production in the north-eastern Kachin State's Chipwe, Sadung and Tsawlaw townships (KWAT 2014; Routray 2015). The NDAK agreement with the Tatmadaw was one of a number of such agreements with armed ethnic groups beginning in 1989. A key element in achieving these ceasefire agreements was allowing armed groups to keep their weapons, control their own territory and, in effect, to engage in illegal activity such as drug production without state interference (Meehan 2011). In particular, the Wa and Kokang groups continued to run autonomous narco-territories in the north-east of Shan state. There appeared to be a firmly established conflict economy in the north of Myanmar, including the KIO/A. Recognizing that development and national prosperity could not be achieved without ending the country’s long-running civil wars, the Tatmadaw-based Union Solidarity and Development Party government called for a nationwide peace process in 2011. However, the haste to produce a concrete sign of progress before President Thein Sein left office resulted in a partial Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement in October 2015, which only eight armed organizations signed. The remaining 13 refused, including several of the largest and most influential armed non-state organizations. In January 2016, a ‘Union Peace Conference’ was undermined by continuing, or renewed, conflict between the Tatmadaw and armed nonstate groups, including the KIO/A. According to the KIO/A then foreign affairs spokesman, Colonel La Awng, while the KIO/A remained willing to enter into peace talks, the Tatmadaw continued to undermine such possible talks by attacking KIO/A bases as talks were to begin. He said it appeared that the Tatmadaw was intentionally trying to undermine the peace process in order to support its own political and economic interests. This was the key factor that prevented the KIO/A and other key armed ethnic groups from signing the ceasefire agreement of October 2015, he said.1 La Awng added that the previous ceasefire agreement collapsed in 2011 following the KIO/A’s refusal to be co-opted into the Tatmadaw’s Border Guard Forces (BGF) program, and plans by the Myanmar government to allow China to construct the Myitsone Dam without the approval of local residents who would be displaced. The other ceasefire agreement non-signatory groups similarly did not agree to be co-opted into the BGF, he said. The KIO/A no longer wants just a ceasefire agreement, ‘but a comprehensive political agreement involving all ethnic groups based on the principle of the 1947 Panglong agreement’ (La Awng 2013). The requirement for a redrafting of the constitution to allow for a federal arrangement under a ‘21st century Panglong’ agreement with ethnic minorities was also identified by former Shan politician and analyst Sai Wansai (2017). Despite

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 185 Myanmar’s moves towards democratization, ‘The continuity in Tatmadaw domination, which began with a military coup in 1962, is not ended’ (Wansai 2017). As Wansai (2017) and many others have noted, the main obstacle to a resolution to Myanmar’s internal conflicts, including that in Kachin State, is that the constitution does not allow for a federal system or a more genuinely devolved autonomy. It was widely accepted that the Tatmadaw would not only not allow constitutional changes but, via the constitution it wrote and had passed in 2008, it also controlled options for constitutional change. The Tatmadaw holds veto power in the legislature via its 25 per cent reserved membership, with constitutional changes requiring a 75 per cent vote. It also has the reserve power to intervene in, or replace, the elected government at any time and for any reason it chooses. This means that although an elected government might wish to find a resolution to Myanmar’s continuing conflicts, they do not have the autonomous power to do so. In this respect Myanmar had only democratized to the extent allowed by the Tatmadaw, which continued to be the final arbiter of key political decisions. Tatmadaw also controls the key security ministries of home affairs, defense and border affairs, which further gives it day-to-day operational control of these portfolios. Despite having reached a ceasefire agreement with the government to allow possible talks to proceed, the Tatmadaw and the KIA continued to be locked in conflict, with the Tatmadaw appearing to be belligerent (RFA 2019). The continuing presence of armed non-state groups, in particular the KIO/A, and the inability of the state to reach peace agreements with them continued to rationalize the Tatmadaw’s internal political and security role, including in the lead-up to and following the 2015 elections.2 This in turn directly benefitted Tatmadaw officers engaged in private (legal and illegal) business dealings, who were beneficiaries of the Tatmadaw’s extensive institutional business interests and those who either did not trust the transition to a civilian-led government or who sought to retain the Tatmadaw’s active long-term role in state affairs.

Muslims in a Buddhist country The southern area of Thailand has been home to Muslim Malay separatist aspirations since the 1960s, regularly spilling over into violence both by separatists and by the Thai government and its military. The southern movement for separation from Thailand is broadly characterized as the Betubuhan Perpaduan Pembebasan Pattani (better known as the Patani United Liberation Organization, or PULO). The organization has, however, been anything but united since the early 1990s and there were several armed Muslim Malay groups operating in the region with the same or similar claims for independence. The inclusion of the former sultanate of Patani within Thailand reflects historic Siamese (Thai) political and military regional hegemony. Its status as part of Siam was locked in place by the imperial British under an agreement, in 1826, in which the United Kingdom recognized Patani as part of Thailand in

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exchange for trading rights in the then Siamese provinces of the former sultanates of Kelantan and Terengganu. Under the terms of the subsequent AngloSiamese Treaty of 1909, these two territories, plus Kedah and Perlis became constituent states of the Federation of Malaysia, while Patani remained under Thai jurisdiction. In conventional separatist terms, the southern Thailand insurgency can be understood as an ethnic group with close cultural and historic ties to a neighboring country having been subsumed into a state with a very different culture, religion and language (Yusuf 2007; Chalk 2008:2; Albritton 2010). While characterized by the Thai government as primarily a reflection of an internationalist jihadi agenda, the southern Muslim Malay rebellion is much more readily defined in conventional separatist terms (Zawacki 2012), the jihadi element of which reflects Muslim conceptions of ‘struggle’, in this case for independence. The region of Patani is based on the former sultanate of Patani, including what are now the provinces of Pattani,3 Singgora (Thai: Songkhla), Ligor (Thai: Nakhon Si Thammarat), Lingga, Satun, Yala and Malaysia’s Kelantan sultanate. During the 13th–16th centuries, the Sultanate of Patani was an independent state straddling the Isthmus of Kra and acting as an alternative conduit to the sometimes troubled Straits of Malacca between the Pacific and Indian Oceans (Syukri 2005:Ch 2). From around the 16th century, Patani was required to pay tribute to the more powerful Siamese kingdoms of Sukhothai and Ayutthaya. When Ayutthaya fell to the Burmese in 1767, the Sultanate of Patani ceased its tributary relationship, but was again brought under Siamese suzerainty under the Thai King Rama I in 1786 (PULO 2020; Syukri 2005:Ch 3). In more recent terms, the re-casting of Siam as Thailand in the 1930s and the associated requirement for cultural uniformity, including around language, religion and outwards signs of public identity (Parks 2012:248–250; Walker 2009), clashed with local Malay Muslim identity. During World War II, Japan helped Thailand expand its territorial control, including into British Malaya, which by way of negative reaction reaffirmed the links between Thai Malay Muslims and British Malay Muslims. In a bid to restore the sultanate’s independence, the last son of the Raja of Patani, Tengku (Lord) Mahmud Mahyuddin allied himself with the British, launching guerrilla attacks against the Japanese, in the hope that Patani would be granted independence after an Allied victory. After the war, with the colonial British relying on Thailand to help control the beginnings of the cross-border incursions by the Malayan Communist Party, Patani stayed firmly under Thai control. Thailand’s nationalist linguistic policies continued in the post-war era, leading to resistance in the Muslim Malay south. This led to the formation of several insurgent groups seeking the independence of Patani. As Malaya moved towards decolonization, the Gabungan Melayu Patani Raya (GAMPAR – Greater United Patani Association) was formed (officially in 1944 but more active in the post-war years) and was, in Malaya, quickly banned by the British. The Patani People’s Movement was formed in 1947, if with similar limited success. Anti-Thai

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 187 sentiment reached an early peak in 1948 when around 1,000 Patani Muslims attacked Thai police in Narathiwat, with 400 attackers and 30 police officers being killed. With the banning of GAMPAR, the Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN, or Revolutionary National Front) was formed in 1963, followed by PULO in 1968 under Tuanku Biyo Kodoniyo, and the Barisan Islam Pembebasan Patani (BIPP, or Patani Islamic Liberation Front) in 1970 (known until 1986 as the Patani National Liberation Front). In 2001, the BRN evolved to become the BRNKoordinasi (BRN-K, or Revolutionary National Front-Coordination ), which was a harder-line Salafi jihadist organization spearheading the southern insurgency and rejecting cooperation with other Patani separatist groups as well as talks with the Thai government. During the 1980s, tensions arose between more nationalist separatists and those who wished to pursue a more Islamist agenda. As a result, the struggle, or most factions in the struggle, assumed what appears to be a radical Islamist ideology, with the discourse of the separatist struggle shifting towards calling for a jihad against the Thai state, its local agents and their Muslim allies (Wattana 2007). The intention since at least the turn of the century has not just been to establish an independent state but to establish an Islamic state (Patani Darussalam) (Liow 2004). Multiple groups By 1992, PULO had split into three factions. The first was the PULO Leadership Council with its armed unit the ‘Kasdan Army’. The second faction was the Majlis Perbarisan Tentera Pulo (MPTP, or PULO Army Command Council), with the third faction being the remnant original PULO. In 1995, further rifts emerged among the core leaders of PULO, leading to the creation of the PULO 88, also known as Abu Jihad PULO. These factions were thrown into confusion with the arrests of a number of their leaders in 1998, with morale falling and some members surrendering to Thai authorities. It was this malaise that allowed other, more radical jihadi groups such as the Salafist BRN-K to fill the void, becoming arguably the key insurgent group in southern Thailand. The intent of BRN-K was to make southern Thailand ungovernable. The most violent group, the Runda Kumpulan Kecil (RKK, or Small Patrol Units), is based on a core of young Salafists who broke away from the BRN-K in 2000. The RKK claims to have around 500 members who operate in small commando-type units which have been responsible for a number of bombings and other attacks (TRAC 2020b), including in 2004 a raid on an arms depot in Narathiwat Province and the murder of a 64-year-old Buddhist monk (Scupin 2013; Chalk 2008:2). These attacks led to the imposition of martial law, which worsened rather than improved the security situation in southern Thailand. Other armed Islamist separatist groups operating in southern Thailand include the Gerakan Mujahidin Islam Patani (GMIP, or Patani Islamic Holy Warriors

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Movement) which experienced a revival after 2001 and, like the BRN-K, had more hard-line Islamist political goals. The Barisan Bersatu Mujahidin Patani (BBMP or United Patani Holy Warrior Front) was established in 1985 as a radical Islamist splinter group from the Barisan Nasional Pembebasan Patani (BNPP, or National Front for the Liberation of Patani). It is unclear how many fighters these groups have individually or together, with claims tending to be greater (up to 15,000) or smaller (as few as 500) depending on the objectives of the claimant. There are also some links between the more Salafi jihadist of the Patani separatist groups with Al Qaeda and Islamic State, principally through the now defunct Jema’ah Islamiyah (JI)and its splinter groups (Jamaah Ansharut Tauhid, Jamaah Ansharusy Syariah). While no longer the largest or most active, PULO remains the best known of the Malay Muslim separatist organizations. PULO targets collaborators and associates of the Thai government, including teachers, civil servants, soldiers and policemen. PULO proper has four stars on its flag and claims to be the most recognized as representative of Patani Malay Muslims. Towards 20202, it also appeared to be coalescing the various PULO and other armed groups within a broadly agreed framework and was calling on the international community to help broker a settlement to the southern Thailand conflict. In 2009, PULO announced that it and GMIP had agreed to join forces. The agreement included allowing PULO’s representative to speak on political issues, with their armed wings forming the Patani Liberation Army. Separatist violence Between 2004 and 2008, more than 3,000 people were killed in southern Thailand, although with occasional attacks occurring elsewhere in Thailand. Following an attack against the army, in 2004 soldiers raided the 16th century Krue Se Mosque in Pattani, killing all 32 suspected separatist fighters inside, followed by the deaths of 7 protesters in Tak Bai. A further 78 Malay Muslims died after being crushed and suffocated during transportation to detention. Relatively unrestrained violence was practiced both by more radical of the Patani separatist movements, as well as the security forces. Despite occasional ceasefires, or offers of ceasefire (e.g. BRN 2013), hostilities continued. Government forces peaked at more than 60,000 in the southern provinces, while assassinations, ambushes, and improvised explosive device attacks continued. While the death toll in the region declined in the second decade of the 21st century (The Nation 2017), it had far from ended, with attacks continuing (AFP) 2019), leaving more than 7,000 dead since 2004. What this conflict illustrated was the basic intractability of a government with a long-term commitment to homogenizing its culture around a commonly, but not universally, shared ideal. While there were moments when it looked like one of the many governments might accommodate cultural and religious difference, or possibly even contemplate a degree of regional autonomy, the relatively quick change between governments of very different agendas meant there was little perceived commitment to such compromise. This, in turn, left many Malay

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 189 Muslims in southern Thailand feeling on edge and uncomfortable with the central government. That many could reach across the border to unofficial sympathy (Storey 2007), and degrees of support, to their cultural and historical cousins only reconfirmed, to them, the inappropriateness of their existing relationship with the culturally dominant state. This had all the classical makings of a fairly common type of separatist movement, but from the 1980s onwards an increasingly prominent Islamist inflection acted as both an explanatory tool and a model for organization. At base, however, the radicalization of Malay Muslims in southern Thailand at least in part reflected a retreat in the face of what was perceived to be an oppressive state, as well as what has been characterized as an awaking of a more assertive global Islamic agenda. As Yusuf (2007) in particular noted, trying to characterize, explain or diminish Malay Muslim separatism in southern Thailand by attributing it to global jihadi Islamism, while useful for Thai state propaganda, missed the key point. This was and remains a distinct linguistic, religious and cultural minority with historical ties to its southern neighbors which, being on the periphery of an empire at a time when it was, as it were, frozen in aspic, was condemned by another colonial power to remain its captive. It was this understanding that informed its deep desire, therefore, to escape.

The Muslim south: Mindanao Having recently expelled Islamic ‘Moors’ from Spain, when the Spanish first arrived in the southern Philippines in the late 16th century they were dismayed to find that Islam had already begun to take root there. Islam was still only just making inroads into animist religious practices in the north and center of the archipelago and was eventually replaced by Spanish Catholicism. But Islam was more deeply rooted in the south. Spanish colonization of the Philippines faced a number of revolts, but none more so than in Mindanao, where Islam flourished in a number of inter-linked sultanates. The Muslim peoples of Mindanao lived in independent sultanates, notably of Sulu and Maguindanao, until the advent of Spanish and then American colonialism, to which they refused to concede. Although there have been ebbs and flows, Mindanao Muslims have been engaged in a more or less continuous battle against outsiders since the early 17th century. In particular, the colonial policy of settling Christian Visayans in Mindanao from the early 20th century further displaced and alienated indigenous katawhang lumad (indigenous peoples). Mindanao Muslims continue to resist central government authority under various guises, including recently as the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) and Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG) (see George 1980). Attempts at reaching peace agreements, facilitated by third parties such as Libya, Indonesia and Malaysia were, until the second decade of the 2000s, only partially successful. Notably, a peace agreement between the government of the Republic of the Philippines and the MNLF in September 1996 quickly unraveled as a result of poor implementation and government executive manipulation,

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formally collapsed in 2001. A subsequent peace agreement, with the MILF, foundered on legal appeal, although a further agreement had been reached and was in the process of being implemented at the time of writing. The ‘Moros’ of Mindanao – named after the Spanish Moors – were only incorporated into Spanish rule in 1878, when the Sultan of Sulu signed a peace agreement with the colonial Spanish administration in Manila. In its Spanish iteration, Mindanao and the Sulu Archipelago ceded full sovereignty to Spain (OGGP 1878). The local Tausug language version, however, described the region as a ‘protectorate’, allowing a Spanish presence in Jolo while retaining meaningful independence in all matters, including taxation, but for external defense (Saleeby 1908:230–233). When Spain ceded the Philippines to the United States in 1898, it included Mindanao and the Sulu archipelago as part of a claimed sovereign colony. The subsequent ‘Kiram-Bates Treaty’ of 1899 perpetuated the competing understandings deriving from the differing wording of the Spanish and then English and Arabic language documents (Fulton 2009:43–58). The effect of this was that the United States understood Mindanao to be part of the colonial transaction and thus part of the Philippines proper. The first three years of US rule were relatively uneventful but, when the United States attempted to remake Moro society after an American image in 1903, there was immediate resistance, leading to a series of bloody battles between ‘Moros’ and the US Army over the next 10 years. In 1914, the US Army was replaced by civil government, although Moro resistance continued to what they perceived to be outside rule. In 1920, control over Mindanao was handed over to the Filipinodominated colonial legislature. The Moros never accepted defeat, however, or the incorporation into the Philippine state acceptance of that defeat would have implied. Following the Philippines’ independence in 1946, its governments attempted to resolve problems with landless peasants that had been fueling a communist rebellion by relocating many of them to Mindanao. Disputes over land ownership almost inevitably arose as the Philippines government refused to recognize the Moro’s customary – technically informal – tenure, leading to deep-seated distrust of the government by the Moros. Already feeling discriminated against in areas of housing and education by the Catholic government, when Muslim army trainees angry over their mission and pay began to rebel on the island of Corregidor in 1968, a number – as few as 28 by government accounts and as many as 200 by MNLF estimates – were killed (or murdered, depending on perspective) by their Christian colleagues. Deeply angered by this event, a number of Mindanao Muslims decided to separate from the Philippines. The first Islamic independence group, under the leadership of academic Nur Misuari, was the Mindanao Independence Movement which. in the early 1970s, morphed into the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) (May 2003:143). At its height, the MNLF had around 30,000 armed combatants. In 1976 the Tripoli peace agreement saw a ceasefire and agreement to establish an autonomous Muslim region including 13 provinces in the south (GRP-MNLF 1976),

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 191 addressing several of the southern Muslims’ key concerns. Despite the ceasefire, the Philippines government failed to fulfil its agreement to establish an autonomous Muslim region, leading to internal disagreements and a split within the MNLF and the establishment, under Salamat Hashim, of the more hard-line MILF in 1981. The Tripoli Agreement was finally implemented in 1996 but, by then, the separatist rebellion had taken on a new lease of life and a different orientation under the MILF. In 1996, in a bid to end violence in Mindanao, the Philippines government finally agreed to create the more limited Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao with Nur Misuari as governor. While the MNLF accepted the agreement, the MILF did not. Following a failure of the Arroyo government to fully implement the 1996 agreement (citing Misuari’s administrative incompetence but also in large part due to executive manipulation), in 2001 the agreement formally collapsed (May 2002). Misuari responded by leading an unsuccessful rebellion and, upon its failure, fled the country. He was captured in Malaysia the following year and sent back to the Philippines where he was placed under house arrest. Misuari was allowed bail in 2008. The MNLF has, however, since declined as a military and political force, with most of its members since joining the MILF. The MILF signed its own ceasefire agreement in 1997 but this was abandoned by President Joseph Estrada in 2000 in what appeared to be an attempt to win over ‘nationalist’ (i.e. Catholic) sentiment. Recognizing that neither side could achieve a military victory, and being in what is termed a ‘hurting stalemate’, peace talks resumed in 2007 but a Memorandum of Agreement on the definition of Ancestral Domain (MOA-AD) that had been initialed by both the government and the MILF was rejected by the Philippines Supreme Court in 2008, leading to a renewed fighting4. The MOA-AD was the foundation for a comprehensive peace agreement on high level of regional autonomy,5 which finally progressed in 2012 with the signing of a new peace agreement, including the replacement of the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARRM) as agreed under the 1976 agreement with the Bangsamoro (Moro homeland). According to a spokesperson for the MILF: ‘The main driver of the MILF's struggle is our aspiration – burning desire – to regain our right to freedom and self-determination’. Noting the start of implementing the Bangsamoro Organic Law and its privileging of the MILF in that process in 2012 (GRP-MILF 2012), he said: ‘With the MILF in control of the Bangsamoro Transition Authority after the successful passage of the Bangsamoro Organic Law we believe that we are closer to the realization of our objective’.6 In particular, ‘The Framework Agreement serves as the overarching architecture for the Mindanao peace process and provides the foundation for a just and enduring peace in Mindanao. It defines the powers and structures of the new Bangsamoro entity that will replace the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM). It sets the principles, processes and mechanisms that will shape the new relations between the Central Government and the Bangsamoro’ (GRP-MILF 2012).

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Within the 2012 agreement, the central government reserved powers on defense and external security, foreign policy, coinage and monetary policy, citizenship and naturalization, and the postal service, although allowing the Bangsamoro powers to enter into economic agreements (already allowed under Republic Act No. 9054), as well as have the power to levy its own taxes and to share in wealth from local resources (GRP-MILF 2012:IV). While the agreement ensured democratic processes, accountability and civil and political rights, it also provided for a judicial system based on Islamic law (shariah), although only applying to Muslims, as well as a civil judicial system and respect for customary rights and traditions. The territory ascribed to this agreement, however, did not include all of Mindanao or even all of the Muslim area of Mindanao, but a number of eastern provinces and the Sulu Archipelago. This inclusion reflected the outcome of a 2001 plebiscite on inclusion in the ARMM and reflected the extent of Christian movement to Mindanao over the 20th century. Under Section VIII of the agreement, the MILF agreed to a gradual phasing out of its armed forces, rather than a quick decommissioning as has been common with most other such agreements. This concession reflected both the military capacity of the MILF to make conditions on its own terms, and a cautious approach to the implementation of other elements of the agreement. This was concurrent with the AFP transferring their security function to a Bangsamoro police force. A MILF break-away faction, the ‘Maute Group’ (formally Islamic State of Lanao), also operated in the Lanao del Sur region of Mindanao and occupied the town of Marawi in Lanao del Sur for from May until October 2017. Following that event, the seven Maute brothers who led the group were killed, although it was believed to still be operating as small cells with members of the ASG. Another, small, Maute-linked group operating in the south-east of Mindanao was the Ansar Khalifa Philippines, as well as the MILF break-away faction the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF). Apart from the MILF and the remnants of the MNLF, the Abu Sayyef Group (ASG) in the Sulu Archipelago also continued to engage in a more regionally specific, if somewhat notorious, separatist campaign. The ASG was established in 1991, also as an MNLF break-away, and formally seeks to establish an independent Islamic province in the Sulu area (islands of Jolo and Basilan and Zamboanga on Mindanao). While this area approximates the pre-colonial Sulu sultanate, Basilan in particular is also one of the most impoverished parts of the Philippines. The ASG has since appeared to develop a wider Islamist orientation. The Philippines government considered the ASG to be a local branch of the regional Jemaah Islamiyah organization, which in turn had links to Al Qaeda.7 Some of ASG’s senior members had previous experience fighting with the mujahedeen in Afghanistan, from which it developed its extremist ideology. The ASG was estimated to have had a maximum strength of about 1000 fighters, reduced to 2-400 including the loss of senior leaders by 2010, but with a large, active support base. While the ASG is regarded as an Islamist separatist organization, in a number of ways it replicates the practices of previous inhabitants of

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 193 the archipelago who engaged in piracy, kidnapping and ransom and extortion. Some observers believed that the ASG had functionally moved away from its original political aims and functioned largely as a criminal rather than ideological organization. While it appeared there was a proliferation of armed Islamist organizations in the southern Philippines, this should be understood within the context of the proliferation of small, private armed groups throughout the Philippines generally and in Mindanao in particular. Most provinces and larger municipalities (most of which are Christian) have politically linked private armed groups. There are also a large number of heavily armed criminal gangs operating across Mindanao. As noted from previous agreements with the government of the Philippines, it always remained possible that the 2012 GRP-MILF agreement would not be fully implemented from the government side, that there could be spoilers intending to disrupt implementation, or that there could be further constitutional challenges. For the MILF, factions within the organization had to be brought to heel to ensure unity of organizational purpose, which is a common precondition of the success of any peace agreement. The MILF appeared to have achieved that unity, at least within its own organization, as the agreement was in the process of being implemented. But, should it, or elements of it, fail, there continued to be a large faction that wished to fight for complete independence.

One Nation, One Soul An interesting illustration of ‘asymmetric’ warfare has been the long-running conflict between West Papuan separatists and the Republic of Indonesia, which dates back to the mid-1960s. There was perhaps up to six or seven hundred guerrilla fighters organized into four or possibly five distinct military units with differing political allegiances fighting an occupation force of somewhere around 30,000–36,000 soldiers (plus a few thousand from other TNI corps, of a military force of more than 300,000) and around 14,500 armed police (Supriatma 2013). While the TNI and police lack some degree of military discipline and have varying degrees of training, they are equipped as well as most standing armies. By way of contrast, the West Papuan guerrillas had an assortment of light weapons, including captured automatic weapons, single shot rifles, shotguns and, not uncommonly, bows and arrows. It is one of, if not the, most unequal and militarily unlikely of armed separatist conflicts. Yet this inequality of force has not dimmed the desire of many – probably most – West Papuans for independence, nor armed opposition to inroads, literally, by the Indonesian state. In early December 2018, a local group affiliated with the West Papuan independence movement, Tentara Pembebasan Nasional Papua Barat (TPNPB, or West Papua National Independence Army) kidnapped 25 Indonesian construction workers in the highland Nduga area, murdering 22 of them. On the scale of international atrocities, it was not one of the great massacres. It was, however, an unusual act by armed men claiming to be from the TPNPB, which previously

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had a more limited history of violence (usually small ambushes and less frequent kidnappings). The kidnap and killings followed one of the construction workers taking photos of one of the local TPNPB members the previous day. The construction workers were building a new road through the remote Nduga region as part of the Indonesian government’s attempt to bring ‘development’ to West Papua. However, local West Papuans regarded the road as facilitating further Indonesian penetration of their homeland and subsequently greater control. They also claimed that the construction workers were Indonesian military personnel. While two of the kidnapped workers were TNI members, the others were employees recruited from nearby islands. The TPNPB group marched the kidnapped workers and, nearby, ordered them to squat and shot them. 14 were killed and 11 pretended to be dead. As the TPBPB were leaving, the 11 attempted to escape, with 5 being caught and killed. Four managed to find a local TNI post, which was then attacked by the TPNPB group, killing one soldier. What was remarkable about this event was the deliberate if seemingly poorly planned manner in which these murders were carried out showed a casual disregard for human life, as well as for the predictable consequences inflicted on local people in the aftermath of that event. This in turn reflected the acculturation of violence in an area known for its brutal tribal warfare but was unusual in that it lacked the ritualization of combat as part of the killing and was simply a shortsighted method of removing a problem. ‘Indonesians’ – that is, non-Melanesians – were seen by many, probably most, Melanesian West Papuans as invaders. Armed resistance to their presence was not systematic but, as with Timor-Leste, the mere existence of an armed force helped keep alive the focus of the struggle for independence. And this, for separatist organizations, is as often as not, the purpose of armed struggle, which is intended to underpin either negotiated outcomes or prompt external intervention. There is much reason for ethnic Melanesian West Papuans to seek separation from Indonesia, including considerable evidence of massacres, continuing human rights abuses and structural discrimination against them, as well as pronounced cultural, religious and historical differences. But in terms of international recognition it is part of Indonesia and no country beyond the south-west Pacific has challenged that recognition. Continued incorporation of the territory into the Indonesia is also a fundamental tenet of that state, which no influential country has been prepared to question. The West Papua independence movement grew out of Dutch plans to allow independence for West Papua (then Dutch New Guinea). Having been excised from Indonesia upon independence in 1948, during the 1950s the colonial Dutch groomed West Papuan leaders for separate independence, establishing a New Guinea Council in 1961 to that end. However, Indonesia argued that it should be the successor to the Dutch East Indies in its entirety, including West Papua. Indonesia’s charismatic President Sukarno made the ‘return’ of West Papua a key rallying point for his country at a time when his own presidency was beginning to unravel.

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 195 In 1962, Indonesia launched an unsuccessful military campaign to wrest the colony from the Dutch. But as a result of American pressure – and despite misgivings within the State Department at the time (USDS 1995) – the Dutch handed over West Papua to the UN in 1962, which in turn handed it to Indonesia in 1963. The conflict started after Indonesia’s occupation of West Papua in 1963 under the terms of the ‘New York Agreement’, ceding authority for the territory from the Netherlands to Indonesia via a year of UN administration. The 1969 UN administered ‘Act of Free Choice’ (referred to by pro-independence West Papuans as ‘Act of No Choice’) saw a little over a thousand village heads 'vote' for incorporation into Indonesia. Most, if not all, ‘voters’ were coerced at gunpoint. Despite this sham vote not being in keeping with the terms of 1962 New York agreement which said that ‘(consultative councils) would be instructed on procedures to assess the will of the population’ (Adams and Anwar 2005:219), the UN formally acknowledged the outcome of the ballot as having fulfilled the agreement, ceding West Papua to Indonesia. The term ‘West Papua’ here describes the western half of the island of Papua, the eastern half of which is Papua New Guinea. West Papuans, who had been preparing for independence, protested at each stage of this process. In 1965 they established the Free Papua Organization (Organisasi Papua Merdeka, or OPM) and declared ‘independence’ in 1971. The OPM and its military wing, the Papua National Army (Tentara Papua Nasional, or TPN) began a low level campaign of insurrection, leading to massive TNI responses. Particularly from the late 1960s, there were mass human rights violations including massacres, murder, torture, rape and disappearances. There are no accurate assessments of the loss of life as a result of various TNI campaigns, but the death toll and related loss of life is estimated to at least be in the several tens and probably hundreds of thousands. After a half a century of incorporation as part of Indonesia and following a period of generally declining violence, 2018 saw a marked upsurge in Papuaninitiated violence. This increased violence appeared to demonstrate that, even after so much time, anti-Indonesian sentiment remained as strong as when it had first started, if not more organized and hence stronger. Factors contributing to this increased violence include greater Indonesian inroads – literally – into the territory and a higher level of unification and organization by West Papuan separatists. But, not least, there is also a rising tide of anger over deeply ingrained and institutionalized Indonesian racism, dislocation and discrimination by other Indonesians towards West Papuan ethnic Melanesians. In a bid to quell simmering unrest, West Papua was granted ‘special autonomy’ in 2001. However, while this resulted in a few more West Papuans getting government jobs, extra funding generated under the ‘autonomy’ legislation was largely syphoned off, and it did not create any greater autonomy in practice. The hollowness of this gesture was compounded by the later division of West Papua into two provinces, Papua and West Papua, initially with a plan for a third province, as a mechanism for of TNI divide and control. Not least, this partition was in contravention of the 2001 ‘special autonomy’ legislation.

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Following an attempt by Indonesia’s first ‘reform’ president, Abdurrahman Wahid and an expression of wishing to do the same by President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, when President Joko Widodo came to power in 2014, he promised to resolve continuing grievances in West Papua. His first attempt was to open the territory to more outsiders. This was immediately countermanded by his own military. Trying to understand structural reasons for discontent, Widodo’s advisers decided that despite West Papua’s substantial contribution to the Indonesian economy, Melanesian West Papuan discontent was driven by their low level of economic development. The territory has Indonesia’s highest poverty rate, at almost 28 per cent (JP 2019a) and around a third are illiterate, which is double the illiteracy of the next most illiterate province. With about 40 per cent of West Papua’s population of four million being non-Melanesian, and the main economic beneficiaries, this means that the poverty and illiteracy rate among Melanesian West Papuans is proportionately even higher. To address this, Widodo authorized new infrastructure projects, including road works into remote areas (Chauvel 2018). This was intended to facilitate greater trade. However, the experience has been that greater access into remote regions meant greater exploitation of natural resources, including illegal timber logging and external migration. The murder or disappearance of 17 Indonesian construction workers and a soldier in the Nduga area in December 2018 was a direct consequence of such locally unwanted road works. This attack was quickly claimed for the OPM and its TPNPB. However, it was carried out by a group with a tenuous link to the OPM-TPNPB. The term ‘OPM’ had not reflected the wider West Papuan resistance for many years and was undermined by the existence of a larger and more coherent organization, the United Liberation Movement for West Papua (ULMWP), which is recognized by the pro-West Papua Melanesian Spearhead Group of countries. The ULMWP was formed in 2014 in response to concerns that West Papuans lacked a united voice. The ULMWP is comprised of West Papua’s three largest coalitions, the West Papua National Coalition for Liberation,8 the National Federal Republic of West Papua and the National Parliament of West Papua. Benny Wenda was elected as chair of the ULMWP in December 2017. It was Wenda who, in 2017, organized a petition signed by some 1.8 million West Papuans calling for a referendum on independence that was presented to the United Nations. Civil society groups such as the National Committee for West Papua (KNPB), which is closely associated with the ULMWP, proposed making West Papua ungovernable in order to bring Indonesia to the negotiating table. Competition for higher level political organization, and the KNPB’s ‘ungovernability’ plan, provided a framework for rioting in September 2019. These riots led to a claimed 33 or more West Papuan deaths (HRW 2019 – West Papuans claimed more than 40 deaths) and the deaths of more than a dozen Indonesians. The trigger for those events was, however, continued mistreatment by Indonesian authorities, including a school teacher who called a Melanesian pupil ‘monkey’.

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 197 The subsequent student protest was met by the usual heavy-handed paramilitary police response. These events, in the capital Jayapura and regional center of Wamena, followed rioting the month before over West Papuan university students in the Javanese city of Surabaya being attacked by police and a pro-Jakarta mob. Melanesian West Papuans are viewed, without foundation, by most Indonesians as being culturally and intellectually inferior, a view that permeates Indonesia’s government and even its universities.9 While thousands of migrants from Indonesia fled West Papua in response to the violence, thousands more Indonesian soldiers and paramilitary police arrived. Disturbingly, West Papua has also seen an influx of Islamist jihadi groups, including the Islamic State-linked Jamaah Ansharut Daulah (JAD), bent on revenge. JAD is a successor organization to Jemaah Islamiyah. Another, Islamist group, the Islamic Defenders Front (FPI), has also called for jihad in West Papua. The Islamic Jihad Front (FJI) has openly called for violent jihad in West Papua, establishing a jihadist ‘reception centre’ in Wamena. ProJakarta militias have been active in West Papua since the early 2000s and have usually worked in cooperation with the local police or army. It was such militias, along with police and the army, that were responsible for some of the deaths of West Papuans in September 2019. West Papuans have been calling for United Nations intervention for decades, but more loudly since the killing of the road workers in 2018. The UN’s Commissioner for Human Rights, Michelle Bachelet, said she wanted to travel to West Papua to conduct investigations but, to date, has been refused permission to enter by the Indonesian government. President Widodo has since tried to find ways forward (JP 2019b) but he lacked support in Indonesia’s legislature for a substantial political shift on West Papua. This was compounded by a large section of Indonesian society, including its army, being deeply opposed to loosening Jakarta’s still tight grip. With former generals Wiranto and Riyamizard Rycudu being in turn Widodo’s Politics and Security Minister and Defense Minister, the president had boxed himself into a small political corner on the issue. On the West Papuan side, the independence movement faced a number of hurdles, not least being the lack of unity of the independence movement. This improved under the leadership of the ULMWP, but the continued assertion of primacy by the older, if smaller, OPM remained problematic for the larger movement. Further, many West Papuans look for inspiration to Timor-Leste and its successful bid for independence in 1999. But Timor-Leste was not recognized as part of Indonesia by the UN, which allowed the UN to facilitating the ballot for selfdetermination. West Papua is recognized by the UN as part of Indonesia, which complicates any potential UN involvement. Further to this, not only is Indonesia globally supported in its incorporation of West Papua, except by a handful of countries in the south-west Pacific, but the global moment in favor of humanitarian intervention appears to have passed. There is simply much less appetite for multilateral intervention in the affairs of a single state that there was in the 1990s.

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And, of course, such intervention would need to be agreed to by the recipient state, which Indonesia only accepted in a moment of political turmoil and profound economic vulnerability and which has also passed. Finally, there is a view that, if independence movements are to be successful, they must achieve not just a simple majority but, especially in highly contested environments, a super-majority. To achieve less is to invite civil war. West Papua’s indigenous population appear to be overwhelmingly united behind independence and would probably return a vote in the order of 80 to 90 per cent in favor should such a vote be held. The problem was that up to 40 per cent of West Papua’s population was not Melanesian and would be likely to vote against independence. The Indonesian military has always assumed it had primacy of responsibility for West Papuan political affairs. It has made clear that, should there be even a hint of such a vote, it would step in to stop that dead. An independent future for the troubled territory does not, then, look promising. Bougainville Access to resources may not have been the only factor that sparked the Bougaiville crisis, but the issue of mining, the displacement of local people and competing notions of ownership were key contributors to the conflict and its outcome. The main island of the autonomous PNG region of Bougainville might never have been part of the larger country but for the vagaries of colonial inclusion. That Bougainville was also home to the world’s largest copper mine and one of the large gold mines prior to its closure, due to war, in 1989, was central to its inclusion in the larger state. Bougainville was nominally joined with PNG as a result of German incorporation into its colony of German New Guinea in 1899 and, from 1920, under a League of Nations and then UN mandate under Australia until 1975. In 1975, upon PNG’s independence, Bougainville attempted to establish itself as the separate state of the Republic of the North Solomons, named after the island group to its south with which it is geographically and culturally most connected. This early bid for separate status failed, however, and in 1976 Bougainville was incorporated into PNG, if with some degree of autonomy. One view was that Bougainville’s incorporation into PNG was less a result of colonial history and more that income from the islands’ Rio Tinto owned Bougainville Copper Limited operated Panguna mine would help underwrite the fledgling PNG economy. Until 1988, the Panguna mine provided between 40 and 45 per cent of PNG’s total gross domestic product (GDP). Bougainville received between 0.5 and 1.25 per cent of the total profits from the mine, while local landowners did not receive a direct return. The mine, begun in 1972, proved to have a fabulously rich mineral lode, but quickly alienated local Bougainvilleans who had already understood themselves as separate to the people of PNG (Westerman 2019), whom they sometimes disparagingly referred to as ‘redskins’. The Panguna mine disrupted the traditional lives of local Bougainvilleans, with many being displaced and receiving little or no compensation for their loss

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 199 of land. This was compounded by the mine’s destruction of the local environment, including polluting waterways with toxic mine tailings, destroying fertile cropping and hunting lands, and helping make extinct a species of fruit bat. Moreover, local residents felt they were being excluded from a fair share of the massive income being generated by the mine. In part this in turn reflected competing understandings of ownership. Under general Australian and hence PNG law, ownership of land does not extend to its mineral resources under the land’s surface (the actual depth varies). From the beginning of the 20th century, Bougainville was the site of extensive US missionary work, including imparting legal understandings common to the United States. Under US law, ownership of the land commonly implies ownership of the minerals underneath it, and this was imparted to local Bougainvilleans. As mining commenced, in 1972, there was a fundamental disagreement over conceptions of rights and the application of law. In the late 1970s, a landowner group led by former mine employee and Panguna landowner Francis Ona presented Bougainville Copper Limited and its major shareholder Rio Tinto with a multi-billion dollar bill for land restoration. Rio Tino and Bougainville Copper Limited refused the compensation, saying they were complying with the law. With a prior sense of separateness from PNG, in geographic, cultural and political terms, by 1988 this disagreement descended into open violence when Ona and his supporters broke into the mine’s stores, stole explosives and blew up the mine’s power lines. This event marked the beginning of the separatist war led by Ona and the Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) (Neubauer 2018). Reflecting long held aspirations for independence and sense of difference with PNG, ‘Despite the central role of the Panguna mine in the conflict, it is probably more a catalyst than a direct cause of the war in the classical sense’ (McMillan 1998). Papua New Guinea sent its army to crush the rebels but failed to defeat the poorly trained and equipped BRA. The PNG army then resorted to burning villages and engaging in violence with impunity. This only hardened the resolve of Bougainvilleans against PNG. In the face of deepened resistance and little military progress, the PNG Defence Force (PNGDF) was withdrawn in 1990. With the military approach having failed, the PNG government resorted to an air and sea blockade of Bougainville, increasing hardship on the islands and contributing to a growing death toll. The blockade was intended in large part to stop support for the BRA from neighboring Solomon Islands, which was believed to have offered sanctuary to BRA fighters and a source of supplies and weapons. In 1992-93, the PNGDF launched a number of raids into Solomon Islands territory in pursuit of BRA guerrillas. On one occasion they exchanged fire with Solomon Islands police (May 2004:172). The PNGDF returned to Bougainville but, incapable of quelling the unrest, in 1997 the PNG government started to explore employing mercenaries to help quash the local armed movement. By this stage, there were around 800 PNGDF personnel and 150 police riot squad based in Bougainville, along with around 1,500 pro-PNG Bougainville Resistance Forces (BRF) armed by the PNGDF. They faced a BRA of around 2000 by this stage armed with a mixture of around

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500 modern small arms and a large number of World War II vintage and homemade weapons (Londey 2004:219–222). Unable to defeat the BRA and taking casualties, the PNG government turned to the UK company Sandline International to bring in mercenaries, which in turn outsourced its requirements to the South Africa-based Executive Outcomes private military company. The mercenaries landed in PNG but, with strong opposition from PNG’s key external supporter, Australia, and within the PNGDF, the PNGDF revolted, arrested the mercenary team and, as a result, brought down the then PNG government (Bonyhady 2020). As a consequence, and after the deaths of some 20,000 people, or about eight per cent of the island’s population, PNG was prepared to look for alternatives to a military solution to the uprising. A peace process facilitated by New Zealand saw an end to the conflict in 1998 (McMillan 1998) and an agreement in 2001 ensuring local autonomy. A multinational Peace Monitoring Group (PMG) under Australian leadership was deployed to oversee the ceasefire, including the disarming of the BRA and the BRF, and the implementation of a referendum on independence from PNG as a condition of the agreement. Under the agreement, the Autonomous Bougainville Government was established, which has operated in the region since. The autonomous government has its own executive, legislative and judicial branches, a police force and the authority to make most decisions free from oversight or veto from the PNG government. The Panguna mine has remained closed since the onset of violence and following the ceasefire agreement remained a ‘no go’ area policed by the local Meekamui Tribal Government and its Meekamui Defense Force (formerly the BRA). The Meekamui Tribal Government is dominated by local Panguna landowners. Meekamui Tribal Government President Philip Miriori was Francis Ona’s former private cabinet secretary, while Vice President was Stanley Ona was a son of Francis Ona, who died of malaria in 2005. The referendum greater autonomy within PNG or full independence was held between 23 November and 7 December 2019. On a voter turn-out of 87.4 per cent, 97.7 per cent were in favor of independence (Bohane 2019). However, the vote was not binding and the PNG government had to agree to the outcome of the referendum for it to be implemented. It was expected that the PNG government would attempt to offer a compromise to Bougainville’s leaders to stave off full independence. It was, however, an offer that Bougainvilleans were unlikely to accept (Westerman 2019). Should Bougainville achieve independence, there is a queue of parties interested in re-opening the Panguna mine (Clark 2020), which would deliver greater benefits to local landowners under a revised 2015 Bougainville Mining Act. Proposed watered down legislation was rejected by the Bougainville Parliamentary legislative committee. Philip Miriori said: ‘This legislation is opposed by each and every Panguna Landowner Association, local government bodies and all sections of the community. It will be a disaster for the mining industry in Bougainville and will ensure Panguna is never reopened’ (Clark 2020).

Separatism in South-east Asia and the Pacific 201 However, Miriori acknowledged the benefits that could flow to Bougainvilleans, who on average earn around $1100 a year. ‘Both the Autonomous Bougainville Government and the national government want Panguna to be reopened, so that it can reduce the dependency of Bougainville on the PNG national budget and enable us to deliver fiscal self-reliance for all Bougainvilleans’, Miriori said (Clark 2020). An independent Bougainville would require a source of income in order to establish economic viability and, as with nearby Timor-Leste, could benefit by allocating resource income into a sovereign wealth fund. Being almost entirely reliant, however, on a single source of resource income, as other similar experiences in developing countries has shown, was fraught with difficulties and, perhaps, political danger. Bougainville was (and is at the time of writing), a fairly conventional case of a distinct ethnic group being incorporated into the larger post-colonial state for access by the state to resources. While there had been pre-existing tensions between many Bougainvilleans and the larger state, they were exacerbated by the manner in which the key resource was used and how the local people were not only effectively excluded from any of its benefits but. When violence erupted they were further alienated from the state by the actions of the state’s military. As with some other states, the separatists in question were supported by, or had access to, a neighboring country which itself was briefly embroiled in the conflict. The failure of a military solution to what could have been resolved as a political economy issue and the attempted introduction of a foreign mercenary force was enough to bring down a state government and ultimately place it in a position of relative equality, or weakness, in mediated peace talks. The Bougainville story is not yet complete, but it stands as a remarkable case of a separatist claim that is close to joining the very limited ranks of successful separatist movements.

Conclusion The region of Southeast Asia and the Pacific has been highly prone to separatist claims, in large part reflecting post-colonial states replicating, or worse, colonialism’s oppression and marginalization. Having thrown off colonial masters, rather than be inclusive and equitable, post-colonial elites have commonly excluded minorities from decision making, even at a consultative level, and have thus alienated groups that were, at independence, supposed to have shared in equal citizenship status. In part this has, in turn, been a consequence of the overtly constructed character of multi-ethnic post-colonial states. But in part, too, such separatist sentiment has been a consequence of the failure of state elites to be inclusive, often for economic reasons, or because of deeply ingrained attitudes of superiority and inferiority. Many minorities across the region have wondered, aloud, at the benefit being part of such states, and have been acutely aware of the costs. If the balance has been compelling, it has been to reject the state rather than embrace it.

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As with elsewhere, however, the struggle for separation has been costly and, with the exception of East Timor (as discussed in Chapter Five), to date unsuccessful. The separatist claims of Myanmar’s plethora of armed non-state groups have waxed and waned, not least according to their own elites’ interests in doing economic deals with the country’s military. But key organizations, in particular the KIO/A, have done little more than seek ceasefires, which in turn have not provided lasting resolutions to their claims. Thailand’s insistence on cultural uniformity may have achieved a relatively high degree of success elsewhere in the country, bringing the northern Lan Na and north-eastern Isan into the national fold, along with Bangkok’s ethnic Chinese. But it has only served to highlight difference in the south, where the Malay people draw on a very different history, language, religion and culture. So, too, in the Philippines, where if there is little emphasis on national uniformity there is a central indifference to the distinct history and culture of the Muslim south. In West Papua the problem stems from being a late inclusion in the Indonesian state, the profound exploitation of their homeland and the deeply entrenched racism towards indigenous Melanesians by Malay Indonesians, too often manifested as state-sanctioned brutality. A similar situation of exploitation and violent cultural difference characterized the Bougainville situation. The drivers of grievance, group identity and territory marked each of these case studies in common. But each, for the own reason, faced all but insurmountable challenges to successful separation.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Interview with the author, undisclosed location, 25 June 2016. Author communication with KIO 1 November 2015. Spelled with double ‘tt’ in Thai iterations in English. See Santos 2001 on constitutional limitations to peace processes in the Philippines. See Rood 2005 on civil society in helping forge peace in Mindanao. Correspondence with the author, 28 August 2019. See Anthony 2008 for a fictitious treatment of the phenomenon. The author assisted a number of smaller pro-independence groups over 2008–2012 to form the WPNCL as a precursor to greater unity among such groups. 9 I was once embarrassed to share a platform with an Indonesian Professor of Anthropology who spoke of West Papuans in disparaging and deeply condescending terms.

11 Conclusion

As the world increasingly globalizes, what has been claimed as the exclusive sovereignty of states has, in practice, diminished and there is a wider agreement about a basic set of norms or principles for political behavior within, as well as between and across, states (if often observed in the breech or by nominal procedure rather than substance). Separatist movements have adapted to these global norms, seeing in their normative frameworks rationalisations of and arguments for their claims contrasted against what they claim to be the signal failures of the states from which they wish to separate. In this, like other movements that have sought fundamental change, separatist movements have sought an explanatory method and organizing principle, depending on their outlook and the prevailing ideas of the age: nationalism, state socialism, theocracy, democracy (conceived as self-determination) or libertarian state devolution, among others. Regardless of ideological orientation, there remain common themes among separatist movements and characteristics that are common across many, perhaps most, of them. Among the first principles of separatist movements, as outlined in Chapter 3, is that of grievance. It is obvious enough, but worth re-stating given so many states and state actors are blind to the reasons why particular groups rise against them. Grievances can be driven by many factors, from economic or other material exclusion, marginalization or loss to group-based repression, historical antipathies or competing conceptions of what constitutes a good, equitable and just life. A number of grievances may be present in many cases, in varying proportions and even changing over time as one grievance takes precedence, in rhetorical or lived terms, over others; what starts as a protest against marginalization or exclusion might easily segue into opposition to brutalization. Each of the case studies noted in the preceding chapters illustrates the point about grievance, with most reflecting, at some point, grievances of the most serious kind, as well as associated lesser grievances. It is worth re-stating that individuals will rarely risk their well-being or that of loved ones and community without compelling reason. Such reasons sit at the very heart of separatist movements. It is clear that, without cause for grievance or a sense of resentment, separatist sentiment is highly unlikely to manifest as a concerted push for separate territorial status. It is even more unlikely that such a sentiment would manifest as

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violence, given the potential or actual costs associated with such actions. Fear can be a motivating factor in some cases, where people are afraid of the actions of an oppressive class or group and seek to respond to that fear by pre-emptively challenging that class or group. Similarly, a sense of hatred (Peterson 2002:168–170) or, indeed, rage (implying substitute rather than principle targets) which may be born of a deep sense of grievance or resentment may help fuel separatist sentiment, but this is most likely to follow rather than precede the initial driver. In this, grievance or resentment can give rise to ethnic or other group animosity and drives the processes and principle outcomes of separatist action (see Peterson 2002:256). In each of the case studies, self-identifying groups had been excluded from equal and consistent rules of law as full state citizens. While such exclusion usually precipitates separatism, in part, too, exclusion may result from separatist activity which in turn allows government agents to legitimize ‘othering’ of disgruntled groups and to construct them as ‘anti-state’ and hence, in functional terms, beyond the law. However, in most of the case studies, representative groups of the ethnic minorities had questioned or not accepted the extent to which they had been incorporated as full and equal citizens in the first instance, or had been compelled to accept citizenship in ways that were structurally (economically, politically) limiting. It is also worth re-stating that a sense of grievance will exacerbate any pre-existing sense of separateness and that there is a mutually reinforcing (and sometimes self-referential) logic once the path towards separation has been trodden upon. Grievance is, therefore, a necessary element of separatist claims, and must also be of sufficient circumstance to merit such action. The next first principle that has been demonstrated, also as outlined in Chapter 3, is for all separatist movements that they be based upon and generally reflect the aspirations of a politically bonded group of people. The bonding of such a group may come from a commonality of opposing oppression or exclusion but is more usually based around a core language and/or other cultural markers that distinguish the group in question from the dominant group of the state. There are some cases where the core language is also the ‘language of oppression’ (e.g. Indonesian: West Papua), where linguistically disparate groups find other points of common cultural identity which is expressed through the common language of the state. But this is less, rather than more, common. However it is conceived, though, if there is not a common political bond between the people who share a grievance then they are unlikely to come together to claim redress for that grievance or, indeed, be able to come together. Sharing a grievance alone is rarely enough, as has been shown, given the tendencies of many more loosely bonded separatist movements to splinter, fragment and very often end up destroying themselves or being destroyed. While some states are more coherent in their internal organization than others, and some even claim to be the geo-institutional manifestation of a ‘nation’ (hence ‘nation-states’), all states are to some extent constructed. Institutions give organizational form to a specific territory and compel a degree of social compliance with that particular manifestation. Where the state is broadly equitable and plural, there

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is usually sufficient room for accommodation of different, sometimes competing, socio-political ideologies or group interests. Where the state is inequitable or does not comfortably accommodate a range of differences, there is a greater likelihood of intra-state conflict. Where such conflict is over the inherent character of the state as such, such conflict tends to be revolutionary; where such conflict rejects the validity of the state in relation to a particular group or territory, that conflict tends to be separatist in character. In many cases, separatist movements will reject the state on both ideological and group grounds. In conventional conflict theory, to come into being separatist movements require an ‘enabler’ and a trigger (Lawrence 2010). An enabler is conventionally thought of as a person or organization which gives structure to a grievance and shapes its direction. This may be the case but, similarly, the creation of such an enabler can arise organically out of the needs of an already mobilized group. That is, an enabler need not, Svengali-like, create a movement where none had previously existed, but at most channel or give more coherent form (and often charismatic leadership to) a pre-existing grievance and, at a minimum, arise from the anarchy of an unstructured grievance to help give it better focus and effect. Attempts to address separatist movements by trying to devolve their cause to the organizing of an individual or small group may be rhetorically convenient for states, but they rarely understand why such movements exist. And it is axiomatic that if one wishes to address a problem, one must first accurately understand how the problem came about. The ‘trigger’, or event, that tips grievance into action, may be a particular manifestation of the cause of grievance. A ‘trigger’ may be a key act of exclusion or violence, or just the simple act of routinised repression or act of carelessness which alone means little but which might be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back. It is similarly insufficient to attribute the appearance of a separatist movement to a specific event, even if such an event marks the formal beginning of a separatist conflict. As the Tamil Tigers illustrated in their formative days, the Black July events, that have been widely seen as marking the start of their war with the Sri Lankan state, were in fact a response to a previous attack (the ambush of soldiers). This was in turn in retribution for a further prior outrage (the burning of the Jaffna library) (Tucker 2018:395), devolving all the way back to competing conceptions of the state to the point of independence, and even before. Attributing social conflict to a single trigger and enabler may satisfy a frame of analysis, but it is at best a starting point for further understanding. If one seeks a starting point, then, it is perhaps that separatist movements are, if nothing else, claims for self-determination. Wilsonian conception of the self-determination of nations was expressed as a noble ideal but with its focus primarily on the subservient nations of post–World War I Europe. It might be claimed this is a particularly Eurocentric view of self-determination and the validity of nations and that would largely be correct. The simple fact is that When US President Wilson conceived of his noble ideal, and its 21 principles, the colonies

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of the world were overwhelmingly still that – colonies – though in some cases starting to have nascent independence movements, were not much in the forethinking of global powers of the time. Claims to independence may be couched in Wilsonian terms, with associated calls upon supra-national bodies such as the United Nations to intervene to resolve such claims but are rarely supported in such terms. Despite the lofty aims of its mandate, the UN is a product of its constituent parts and is thus quite imperfect. The UN reflects the interests of its members, not least the Permanent Five (P5) of the UN’s Security Council, each of which has veto power on the actions of others thereby reinforcing and reflecting their usually different and often competing strategic interests. As such, the UN is primarily committed to the preservation of states and does not support the dismantling of states, other than where the state in question has agreed with – or been compelled to agree with – its dismemberment. Even the Chapter Seven powers of the UNSC to intervene in intrastate disputes are largely ignored on the grounds that one or the other of the UNSC P5 members will have a strategic interest in retaining the authority of a particular regime or the unity of the said state. This means that international intervention, even on humanitarian grounds, is problematic and rare. The UN does not, therefore, support a wide reading of conceptions of self-determination and is often reluctant to support international UN intervention. Thus, except for separatist movements that enjoy the support of neighbors or other near countries, usually for their own strategic reasons rather than a sense of moral duty, most separatist movements are left to fend for themselves. And for the states which they challenge, and their allies, that is how it should be. The question of external support for separatist movements is not a necessary one for their existence. It is, however, an important consideration for the capacity to survive, much less to successfully prosecute their claims. This then raises the question of sanctuary and whether this is a prerequisite for the existence of separatist movements. In short, if a separatist movement does not have some form of sanctuary it may start but will struggle to survive. Sanctuary may be, however, as simple as a sympathetic home or other social gathering place, a familiar set of streets or neighborhood, although in such environments separatists tend to be constrained and fighting in landscapes more easily controlled by states. Hence they tend to more commonly choose to stage their operations from the countryside or other geography in which separatists may feel more at home than their opponents or pursuers. Commonly, separatists have access to a less easily navigated territory, which not only lends itself to asymmetric warfare but which, be it mountains, an island or a desert, or simply being on this side of a river or waterway rather than that, by its very nature may have helped define the separate identity of the group in question. But if that sanctuary is within the state from which the group is seeking separation, by definition the state and its forces will have the capacity to enter and attack within that territory without fear, in most cases, of external retribution. Where a separatist movement has the opportunity for sanctuary in a neighbouring country, the state from which they seek to separate is more limited in its capacity to

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pursue them. Such a sanctuary may be available because of the implicit or explicit support for the movement by that country or simply because there is little legal authority across what may be ambiguous or isolated boundaries. States have been known to cross international borders in pursuit of separatists (or other armed nonstate actors) but are generally more reluctant to do so for fear of provoking conflict with that other state, particularly if that that state is sympathetic towards separatists or has poor relations with the state from which the separatists are trying to separate. The idea of pursuing an enemy across international borders received a new lease of life, if perhaps less so legitimacy, by the United States developing its doctrine of pre-emptive or ‘forward defence’, in which an enemy could be attacked, or a threat neutralized, in another country. However, like much international ‘law’, this doctrine only had the authority to be imposed by a capacity to impose it. Few states could engage in active military or police operations in another state without the agreement of that state, for fear of risking quite serious repercussions, including all-out war. However, as a dependent principle, an active external state, or states, can make the difference between the success or failure of a separatist movement, as has been demonstrated by at least some of the case studies that were successful in breaking away from pre-existing states (e.g. Bangladesh, East Timor, Kosovo). That is, having a more powerful external sponsor or state ultimately prepared to step in either directly or indirectly can tip the balance of possible success in ways that a non-state separatist movement cannot. Similarly, the strength or weakness of the state, as a dependent principle, will have a major impact on the capacity of the state to resist, seek compromise or be defeated by a separatist movement. States in disarray, which have lost the support of a majority of their people or which are facing multiple rebellions or other serious challenges – failed or failing states such as Somalia or Sudan – are more likely to seek compromise or acceptance of separation than are strong states or states with strong external backing which can more easily resist separatist claims. In this, there is a distinction between a state which is ‘strong’ because it is competent, well organized and has generalized legitimacy (which is less likely to give rise to a separatist movement from the outset) and a state which is ‘strong’ because it has highly centralized, possibly authoritarian, control, a large and relatively competent military or state security apparatus and sufficient economic stability to sustain opposition towards an armed non-state actor. This then goes back to the constructed nature of states. As earlier noted, states tend to be primarily based on a claim to ‘nation’ and thus being its geo-institutional manifestation, or else they are based on an allegiance to a set of norms that prevail within a particular territory. Where one or the other prevails there tends not to be claims to separation; where one or, more often, both do not exist in principle or, more usually, in practice, there is much more likely to be the dependent principle of a gap in the sense of state illegitimacy which may be addressed, according to one form of pycho-social logic, by separating from it. This then returns to the third and, again, previously outlined first principle for a separatist movement, and that is that it needs to be based on, to reflect, or

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to claim a particular territory. Usually, as demonstrated by the case studies, the territory will be either the ‘homeland’ of the group in question or be the claimed homeland, perhaps based on some historical or other irredentist claim. The precise boundaries of this territory may or may not be exactly delineated; what appears to be most important, however, is that there is a shared sense by the group in relation to the territory it claims as its own and which, in particular, it seeks to separate from a pre-existing state. There can be instances where, for strategic or economic reasons, a bonded political group claiming a particular territory can be persuaded to give up some of that territory, or to exchange it for other territories. But this is uncommon and mostly occurs where there has been a military loss of the territory in question, or a fundamental shift in ethnic composition (or both), and claims to that territory have been superseded by what, in military terms are referred to as, ‘facts on the ground’, as in the immediate Kurdish claim to the city of Kirkuk in Iraq. That territory may, however, continue to be claimed or included in the rhetoric about or mythologizing of ‘homeland’ and may form part of or be grounds for an extended grievance over loss and the territorial diminution of identity. While not every separatist movement is based on the creation of states from colonies, the overwhelming majority are. This includes the historical colonization of neighboring territories by contemporary states, such as to be found in Europe. Other, more far-flung, colonies were often more arbitrary in their construction. Although providing a unity of purpose in the decolonization process and then claiming territorial legitimacy derived from the principle of uti possidetis, the subsequent states faced a common set of fundamental problems. In this, Decolonization set in motion a chain reaction, the ultimate impact of which has yet to be felt. … As some groups moved to succeed to the power of the former colonialists, others were heard to claim that self-determination was still incomplete, for they had not achieved their own independence. (Horowitz 2000:4) Problems faced by most post-colonial states, and which constitute dependent principles, included (and may still include) a lack of institutional capacity, a history of non-plural incorporation and no agreement on dispute resolution mechanisms (of which free and fair elections according to the ‘rules of the game’ are often key) and usually limited funds over which there is a relatively high level of competition for patron–client purposes. This situation was (and in many cases still is) commonly set against a high level of expectation (with the promises of the benefits of ‘freedom’ rarely being matched by the reality and, indeed, often a further fall in material living conditions), a history of understanding top–down military rather than bottom–up inclusive political order and, within the context of limited capacities for response, a reliance on force over the equal and consistent rule of law. Fragile and often brittle, states under challenge usually retreat to the maintenance and retention of the state as being its own (public) justification (it being awkward to claim rent-seeking behavior or plunder as a legitimate rationale). That

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the political actors which make such claims often have a personal or group vested interest in the status quo further increases their reluctance to accommodate challenge, diminution or dismemberment. In the most extreme cases, the multi-group post-colonial state may be claimed, in the end, on behalf of one particular group, to the functional exclusion of others. This provides not just fertile ground for excluded group discontent but a compelling logic for leaving the state which in any case does not represent excluded group interests. ‘Nationalism’ has, since the early to mid-20th century, been identified as a key source of conflict not least in relation to notions of self-determination because the concept of ‘nation’ and what it specifically constitutes is contested. Such unity that anti-colonial independence movements might have had under colonialism is or was often shallow and prone to fracture once colonial power has gone. Given that many post-colonial states develop politics along (vertical or parallel) ethnic rather than (horizontal or hierarchical) class lines, this creates potential for vertically social division between groups over economic and political exclusion, protest and repression, resulting in separatist claims. These claims can be manipulated or exacerbated where there are strong economic incentives and may otherwise become entrenched through a cycle of rebellion and repression, furthering separatist sentiments. So, too, where the state claims to represent the ‘nation’, the logic of excluded groups may be to understand ‘nation’ as not just a bonded political identity but as a bonded common interest. This then tells smaller or subservient state groups that if the larger or dominant group can constitute itself as a ‘nation’ then so too can the smaller or subservient groups, thus establishing a priori parity; with the simple act of a claim, subservience is replaced by rhetorical equality. The trick, then, is how to give that rhetorical claim material substance. In the case of East Timor, this issue was resolved by the territory achieving independence. In that there remained civic unrest following independence, this was ideological and communal (Kingsbury 2009) and did not formally represent a separatist claim. In that ethnic divisions had been problematic, these were intended to be largely addressed by the devolution of state authority to the district level (a process far from complete, despite having been underway for a decade at the time of writing). In Aceh, the issue of rule of law as the critical component of an acceptable form of citizenship was addressed by ending conflict and introducing a form of democratic governance, by limiting the scope and operations particularly of the military but also of the police, and by introducing basic human rights provisions and ensuring rule of law (MOU 2005:1.4, 2). In Pattani, it was the abrogation of rule of law under Thailand’s Thaksin government that escalated separatist conflict, which arose in the late 1940s following the imposition of a particular national identity. So too in Sri Lanka, where ethnic Tamils were structurally excluded from participating in the state, including access to rule of law, as a consequence of Sinhalese being made the national language in 1956 and, following the formal if not effective rescinding of that law in 1988. In Mindanao’s Muslim regions, rule of law was diminished by relatively arbitrary and religiously differentiated military violence, which continued to fuel support

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for separatist claims, while in West Papua indigenous Melanesians were for the greater part effectively second-class citizens, or less, being subject to rule by law and its sometimes arbitrary and often brutal interpretation. In large part, the lack of equal and consistent rule of law in the case studies reflects a lack of accountability by state institutions to minority groups, and conversely it is invariably when there is accountability, via a representative political process, that rule of law has applied. This then raised the prospect of accountable representative political processes providing a source of resolution to ethnic minority claims. This then devolves to the question not just of representation, presumed in this instance to equate to more or less substantive democracy (Grugel 2002:6), but accountability, which means the representatives in question actually have to represent the people in question in a direct sense, to be ‘of’ them, most directly through proximity an ethnic commonality, or local political responsibility. This is especially so if there remains an inherent lack of trust in either the capacity or intentions of central authority. Finally, the devolution of political authority calls into question the status of the centralised state and raises the spectre of polities evolving beyond Westphalian sovereignty (see e.g. Ohmae 1995). In part this can be seen to have occurred through the advent and, though relatively rare, interventions of multilateral institutions such as the UN, the IMF and the International Criminal Court. In part, too, state sovereignty has been undermined by the Responsibility to Protect paradigm that evolved after the mass slaughter of Rwanda (e.g. Interfet/UNTAET PKF in East Timor 1999–2002), and acceptance of third-party monitoring in places such as Aceh (EU and ASEAN 2005–2007), Sri Lanka (Norway, 2002–2007) and Mindanao (Libya, Malaysia and Brunei, 2004-continuing). As states develop stronger civic institutions, apply rule of law and have accountable representative government, central authority exists primarily to ensure civic welfare, security and state coordination. Having been born of fragile circumstances, some post-colonial states have begun to consider loosening the ties that bind them sometimes too tightly. This then raises questions about whether the fundamental if aspirational principles which drive separatist movements can be met within a state that embraces (or at least accepts) those same or similar principles? Can localism be protected and celebrated within the context of legal and greater economic equality? What role can notions of universal citizenship or cosmopolitanism play in helping to address separatist claims? Most states do not want separatism to succeed and that they are usually even unwilling to make major compromises in order to retain an overarching sense of state unity. Very often, states will resort to punitive, including military, measures in order to compel compliance by reluctant constituent groups and this can prove too costly for such movements to bear and hence provide a solution to their claims. On the other hand, such repression can also exacerbate separatist tendencies and more firmly entrench separatist movements. Similarly, if less commonly due to relative capacities of states and non-state organisations, separatist movements may themselves make the price of opposition

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so high that, facing a ‘hurting stalemate’, the state is compelled to accept a fundamental change to its ordering. In less common and more extreme cases, such as that of South Sudan, the state may simply be defeated. In each case a resolution is reached, if allowing for the continuity of a reciprocal historical grievance to rear its head in the future. To illustrate these points, Canada’s separatist Quebecoise have pushed for an independent Fracophone state since the early 1960s, arguing that their inclusion in Canada was a consequence of British colonialism, being a dependent rather than a first principle. The Quebecoise identify a territory in which they are dominant and with which they have a historical association, they have a distinct language and have been concerned for its potential for diminution, and they have claimed to be relatively economically marginalised. However, despite both a civil and, for a period, violent campaign for independence, when the Quebecoise were given the opportunity to vote on the issue in 1980, 60 per cent voted against a consociational model and in 1995 a (slim) majority voted against simple independence. Polling in the 2010s showed that around 60 per cent of Quebecoise were opposed to independence. Working against Quebec’s independence was that Canada is a bilingual country in all official institutions, that rule of law is applied equally regardless of language group and that, other than acts of violence, Canada has not attempted to suppress separatist claims. In this, the lack of compulsion about being Canadian within the context of rule of law has been among Canada’s most attractive features, contrasted with states that have compelled inclusion and thus engendered even greater rejection. Canada is, in this respect, an illustration of civic forms of the state as a functional antidote to separatist claims. There are numerous factors, as dependent principles, that contribute towards a sustainable separatist movement, with external support or safe havens, as a dependent principle, being high among them. A strong economic foundation, good leadership, a high degree of internal unity and a relatively high degree of training and discipline also make a difference between movements that are relatively weak or incapable of achieving change and those that can last over the longer term. Similarly, a weak, divided, chaotic and undisciplined state government also provides a suitable environment for separatist continuation. What is most common, however, is that the claims of separatist movements can almost always be addressed early in the cycle of grievance and rebellion. This is by states not willing to institutionalise notions of fairness and justice for all citizens, including adequate political representation, equal treatment and opportunities, consistent and just rule of law and a desire to resolve rather than exacerbate problems. That is, if states recognize that the grievances felt by separatist movements may be justified and sincerely attempt to address those grievances then there is a very good chance that the grievances – and rebellion – can be forestalled. The failure of most states which face separatist rebellions is, however, that they signally fail to implement such basic rights for all citizens equally.

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Index

Abkhazia 116 Abu Sayyaf Group 68, 189–193 Aceh 73, 88–92, 209, 210 Act of Union 92 actors, non-state 50, 58, 130, 132; armed non-state 68, 70; external (interests/ intervention) 4, 5, 12, 30, 49, 51, 52, 54, 70, 71, 74 Afghanistan 68, 172, 173, 192 Africa 5, 138–162; sub-Saharan 68, 85, 185 African Union 138, 151, 158 Albania/n 83 Algeria 148–152; War for Independence 64 Algiers, Battle of 64 All Pakistan Awami Muslim League 75; Awami League 76 Al Qaeda 64–65, 144, 158, 173, 188, 192 Al Shabaab 144 Angola 154 Arabic 149, 190 Arab Spring 113, 120, 122, 123 Armatoloia 14 Armenia 116; Armenian Genocide 120; Armenians 120 ASEAN 210 Asian Financial Crisis 82 Assam 74 asymmetric warfare 51, 60 Athens 14 Aung San 183 Austro-Hungarian Empire 11, 26, 27, 112 Azerbaijan 116 Bahrain 123 Balfour Declaration 119 Balkans 16, 83, 85, 97; isation 88 Bangladesh 8, 74–77, 174, 178, 179, 207; Liberation War 76

Barcelona 105 Barre, Siad 68, 145 Barzani family 128, 132, 136 Basque 12, 95, 106; Homeland and Liberty (ETA) 65, 96 Basur 128, 129, 131, 132 Belfast Agreement 96, 99, 100 Belgium 16–18, 153; German region 95; mercenaries 154 Belgium, creation of 16–18, 96 Bengal 74–75 Bengali (people, language) 74, 179; Bengali Language Movement 75 Bengal Provincial Muslim League 74 Berber 149 Berlin Conference 153 Bhutan 174, 176 Biafra 156–157 Black July 71, 166, 205 Bloody Sunday 99 bonded people 31, 36–37, 51, 82, 83, 87, 92, 204–205, 209; see also ‘nation’ Bosnia 83, 84 Bougainville 181, 198–201 British East India Company 74 Brunei 210 buddhism/ist 165, 169 buffer state 17, 96, 107, 115, 131 Burma, Burman/ese 10, 177, 182, 186 Burundi 155 Camaroon 159–160 Cambodia, Khmer Rouge 65 Canada 211 Casamance 160 Catalonia 96, 105–111 Catalonian European Democratic Party (PdeCAT) 106, 108 Catholic/ism 81, 83, 96, 97, 98, 99, 143, 190

246

Index

Caucasus 68, 115–117 Central Asia 68 Chechnya 116 Chile 23 China 10, 11, 122, 168, 169, 174, 176, 181, 182; Chinese 202 Christian 83, 85, 142, 156, 175, 176, 179, 189, 192 citizens/ship 4, 7, 13, 18, 19, 36, 41, 44, 98, 103, 113, 165, 201, 204, 209, 210, 211 civic state/values 12, 26, 27, 35, 37, 39, 46, 105, 130, 138, 143, 209, 210, 211 Clandestine Front 81 client/patron-client 1, 42, 45, 46, 47, 51, 69, 87, 138, 142, 143, 208 Cold War 1, 7, 51, 69, 78, 86, 122, 142, 153 Colombia 23 Colonial/ism 10, 42, 45–46; American 189; British 74, 85, 93, 121, 144–145, 157, 161, 163, 165, 175–176, 182, 198, 209; Dutch 88, 90, 194; French 149, 181; Italy 77–78, 145, 185–186, 211; Portugal 80; post- 66, 165–166, 179, 182, 201, 205–206, 208; Spanish 149, 189 Confederacy, Confederated States of America see US Civil War confederalism 129 conflict ix, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 13, 15, 18, 19, 21, 24, 30, 39, 41, 42, 45, 50–72, 73, 76, 80, 82, 84, 87, 88, 98, 99, 100, 109, 115, 116, 118, 120–123, 126, 127, 133, 148, 149, 151–154, 157, 158, 159, 164–167, 169, 170, 174, 175, 177, 178, 182–185, 188, 193, 195, 198–201, 205, 207, 209; resolution 32, 33, 146; trap 30–31 Congo, Democratic Republic 153–155 Congo Free State 153 Congo River 153 contiguous, contiguity 10–11 counterinsurgency 31, 58 Crimea 95, 113–114 Crisis Management Initiative 91 Croatia, Republic of Herzeg-Bosnia 95 Cuba 79 Culloden 104 culture 39, 147 Czeck 96 Czeckoslovakia 3, 95 Czeck Republic 73, 95

Dacca 74, 76 Dagestan 116 Darfur 157–158 Decolonisation 6, 150 Denmark 148 dependency 41–42 Dinka 44, 87 Diyarbakir 124, 125, 127 Djibouti 144 Donetsk 112 Draa River 149 drug production 184 Dublin 92, 99 Dutch 96, 165 Easter Rising 93 East Timor 4, 53, 80, 202, 207, -ese 88 Edinburgh 101, 102 Egypt 121, 123 Eighty Years War 13, 17 Empire 10–11; Burmese 182; Roman 12, 13, 46 Eritrea 3, 77, 146 Eritrean People’s Liberation Front 77, 79, 80 Ethiopia 3, 51, 78, 145, 159; Derg 77, 79, 145, 146, 147 Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front 79 ethnic/ity 31, 32, 33, 39, 42, 46–47, 69, 84, 87, 113, 141, 152–153, 157, 182, 183, 184, 186, 195, 202, 209; ethnic nationalism 51, 82, 83; multi- 90, 179 Europe 5, 10, 12, 95–117, 161, 205 European Union 96, 100, 101, 102, 210 external support 206–207 Falintil 53, 81 Filiki Eteria 14 financial gain 1; see also ‘greed and grievance’ Finland, Aland Framtid 96 Flemings 96 Flemish, language 96 force 2; balance of 48 France 15, 16, 17, 21, 23, 95, 96, 159, 181 Francophone 211 French 96, 160 Fretilin 80 Gaelic, language 104 GAM – Gerakan Acheh Merdeka (Free Aceh Movement) 88–92; GAM Military

Index (Angkatan Gerakan Acheh Merdeka, or A-GAM) 53, 57 Gambia 146 Gandhi, Rajiv 166 Genocide 48, 79, 84, 93, 120, 135, 137, 144, 169; Darfur 157; Isaaq 145–146 Georgia 116 Germany, Nazi 111, 112 Gheg, language 83 Global Financial Crisis 109, 110, 116 Great War 118; see also World War I Greece, Greek 10; Revolution 13–15 greed 1, 40, 41, 138 grievance 1, 2, 3, 7, 9, 17, 18, 19, 24, 29, 31–34, 36, 40–44, 45, 47, 48, 49, 60, 65, 67, 70–77, 80, 82, 83, 84, 87, 88, 90, 92, 95, 101, 106, 115, 118, 119, 122, 125, 138, 141, 153, 155, 165, 166, 169, 177, 196, 202, 203–204, 205, 211; economic 30, 48 Guerrilla, warfare 59–61; see also non-conventional and asymmetric warfare Gulf of Aden 121, 137 Gusmao, Xanana 71, 80, 81, 82 Habibie, B.J. 82 Hadi, Abdrabbuh Mansur 122, 123 Haile Selassie 78 Hamas 65 Hargeisa 144, 145–146 Hindu 165, 170, 171 Hindu Bengal Congress 74 Holy Roman Empire 16 Homeland 26, 29, 34, 36, 53, 65, 86, 118, 119, 125, 132, 175, 191, 194, 202, 208 Houthi 122, 124 IMF 210 impunity 170, 199 India 3, 74, 76, 164, 169, 169–174, 175–179 Indonesia 7, 11, 73, 80, 88, 181, 189, 193–198, 204 Ingushetia 116 Interfet 82, 210 International Criminal Court 210 Iran 120, 123 Iraq 68, 118, 119, 120, 125, 207 Iraqi-Kurdish War 133 Ireland 92–94, 96, 97, 100, 103; Great Famine 93; Northern 93, 94, 96–101 Irish National Army 94

247

Irish Republican Army 65, 94, 97, 99, 100; continuity 99; Irish National Liberation Army (splinter group) 99; provisional 92, 97, 99; real 99 Islam 81; Ismaili 120, 121; Salafi 116, 144, 187, 188; Shia 74, 120, 121, 134; Sunni 119, 120, 121; Zaydi 121; see also Muslim Islamic/ist/ism 74, 86, 142, 147, 187, 189, 192, 197; Allied Democratic Forces 155; jihadis 158, 197 Islamic State 65, 127, 135, 137, 192 Israel 65, 86 Italy 148; Lega Norde 95 Jaffna 166 James I, King 103 Jammu-Kashmir 169–174 Javanese 89 Jordan 118, 121, 123 Kabardino-Balkaria 116 Kachin, State 181; Independence Army/ Organisation 181–185, 202; War 181 Katanga 153–155 Kenya 85, 126, 148 Kilinochchi 163, 167 Kiram-Bates Treaty 190 Kirkuk 132, 133, 135, 207 Kivu, North, South 155 Klephts 14 Klerk, de, Frederik 63 Kosovo 3, 73, 82—85, 95, 207; Kosovars 83; Republika Srpska 95 Krishak Praja Party (Farmer-People’s Party) 74 Kurdistan 125, 132, 134–135; Democratic Party 133; Kurdish Iraq 131–137; Kurdistan Regional Government 128, 131–132, 135, 136 kurds/ish 119, 124–137, 208; Democratic Union Party 127; Kurdish Mosul 119; Workers Party 124–131 Kuwait 123, 132 Lahore Resolution 75 language/linguistic 75, 83, 85, 96, 106, 108, 111, 116, 147, 160, 161, 165, 166, 176, 179, 186, 189, 190, 202, 204 Lebanon 68, 118 legitimacy, illegitimacy 2, 11–12, 29, 43–45, 58, 63, 204, 207 Leopold, King 153

248

Index

liberation 11 Libya 68, 91, 189, 210 Line of Control 173, 174 Lithuania 112 Londonderry 98 Louisiana Purchase 18 LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam) 57, 64; see also Tamil Tigers Lumumba, Patrice 154 Luxemburg 13 Madrid Accords 150 Malacca Straits 89, 186 Malay (people) 88, 185, 202 Malaysia 186, 189, 210; break with Singapore 3; Federation 3 Mali 146, 158–159 Mandela, Nelson 63 Manila 189 Marxism-Leninism 126 Mauritania 149, 150 Mediterranean 10 Melanesian 194, 195, 210 Mexico 18–19 M’hidi, Larbi Ben 64 Middle East 5, 118–137 MILF (Moro Islamic Liberation Front) 57, 68, 189–193 military intervention 4, 68, 74, 82, 92, 98, 113–114, 132, 150, 197, 206; Indian 166 military/paramilitary 64–67; French 158 militia 154, 155,160 Mindanao 7, 189–193, 210 minerals 154 Missouri Compromise 20 MNLF (Moro National Liberation Front) 68, 189–193 MOA-AD 191 Mobutu, Joseph-Desire 154 Modi, Narendra 170, 171 Moldova 14 Mongol Empire10 Montenegro 83 Morocco 11, 123, 148–152 Mughal Empire 74 Mullaitivu 164, 167 Munster, Peace of 13 Muslim 7, 83, 85, 119, 142, 143, 144, 156, 170, 173, 202; anti- 166; Bengali 74; Eritrean 78; Mindanao 189–193, 202, 209; southern Thailand 185–189; Tamil 165; see also Islam Muslim Brotherhood 64

Myanmar 11, 40, 53, 68, 174, 181–185, 202; Nationwide Ceasefire Ament 184; see also Burma myth/ology 3, 32 Naga 174; land/lim 174–179, 181 Nagorno Karabakh 116 nation 10, 42, 43, 124, 128, 136, 209; Kurdish 125; nationalism/ist 48, 82, 93, 95, 101, 104, 107, 108, 115, 116, 161, 170; nation-state 12, 35, 37–40, 130; secular nationalism 74 National Awami Party 75 National Liberation Front (FLN) 64 NATO 83, 84, 112 Netherlands 13, 17, 96; Hapsburg 16, 96; languages 17 New Caledonia 181 Nigeria 156–157 North Ossestia 116 Norway 167, 210 NSCN-IM (National Socialist Council of Nagaland/lim-Isak-Muiva) 57 Nuer 44, 87 Ocalan, Abdullah 124, 126, 128, 129 oil 78, 85, 86, 87, 89, 115, 132–137, 143, 156, 174 Omani empire 140 oppression 1, 53, 54, 65, 128, 130, 135, 142, 148, 162, 201, 204 optimism 1 Organization of the Islamic Conference 142 Oromo 15 Ottoman Empire, Ottoman/s 10, 13, 27, 118, 124, 132, 157; and Greece 14–15; and Serbia 25 Pacific 181, 193–202 Pakistan 3, 74, 75, 170–174, 177, 179; East 76, 177, 178; federation 75; West 76 Palestine 118, 119; West Bank and Gaza 119 Pan-Africanism 141 Panama 23–24, 103; Canal 23–24; Panama Railroad 24 Panglong Agreement 183 Papua-New Guinea 181, 195, 198–201 para-military 65–67 Patani/Pattani 185–189, 209 People’s Protection Units 127, 131, 135; Women’s Protection Units 127

Index Peshmerga 128, 132, 135, 136 Philhellenes 15 Philippines 7, 181, 189–193, 202 Poland 111 Polisario Front 148–153 Portugal 80, 82, 154, 165 Prabhakaran, Velupillai 164 Protestant 96, 97, 98 PRRI-Permesta (Pemerintah Revolusioner Republik Indonesia-Piagam Perjuangan Semesta, or Revolutionary Government of the Republic of Indonesia-Universal Struggle Charter) 53, 90 PULO 187–189 Puntland 147 Putin, Vladimir 112 Quebec/Quebecoise 211 Rajapaksa, Mahinda 164 rationality 1 Red Sea 121 religion 98, 103, 121, 147, 165, 186, 189, 202; groups 158 repression 48, 69, 70, 71, 75, 81, 84, 91, 92, 107, 108, 111, 142, 153, 168, 174, 203 resources 198–201 Responsibility to Protect 85, 210 rights 7 Rojava 127, 129 Royal Ulster Constabulary 98 Russia 10, 15, 111–117, 130 Rwanda 155 Sahara 148; tribes 149 Saharawi Arab Democratic Republic 148–153 Saleh, Ali Abdullah 122 Sand War 149 Santa Cruz Massacre 82 Saudi Arabia 121, 122, 124, 135 Scotland, Scottish 12, 13, 101–105 Scottish National Party (SNP) 102, 104, 105 Scottish Parliament 104 secession/ism, terminology 5–6 self-determination 2, 29 Senegal 146, 160–161 Separatism: terminology 5–6; definition 11, 30 Serbia, Serb 10, 16, 24, 83, 84 sharia 143

249

Shuura 146 Siliguri Corridor 174 Singapore 3 Sinhala 165, -only 165 Sinhalese 165, 169 Sinn Fein 94, 98, 101 slavery 18, 20–21, 140 Slovakia 95–96 Solomon Islands 181, 198, 199, 200 Somalia 40, 51, 68, 69, 78, 207 Somaliland 68, 69, 144–148, 152–153 Somali National Movement 57 South Africa 148; mercenaries 154, 200 South Asia 5, 163–180; South Asians 140 Southeast Asia 5, 181–202 Southern Sudanese Liberation Movement 86 Southern Transitional Council 123 South Moluccas Republic 53 South Ossetia 117 South Sudan 3, 85–88, 211 sovereign 3, 8, 18, 20, 27, 46, 50, 52, 68, 75, 89, 95, 128, 131, 157, 190, 201 sovereignty 2, 3, 12, 13, 18, 27, 29, 34, 35, 44, 47, 52, 73, 88, 119, 128, 149, 151, 152, 161, 177, 190, 203, 210 Spain 12, 13, 96, 105–111; Empire 27, 46; Hapsburgs 16; independence from 23; Netherlands 17; War of Succession 17 Sri Lanka 7, 40, 57, 64, 163–169, 205, 209, 210 stability 6; threat to 2 state 6, 10, 12, 33, 48–49, 128, 130, 161, 182, 201, 204, 207, 209, 210; Armenian 124; capacity 31, 46; definition of 29; Kurdish 124; monopoly on use of force 52; sovereign 8, 128; Sri Lankan 164; statehood 5; Westphalian 161 Stonetown 139 structural conditions 4 structural marginalisation 1 Sudan 3, 51, 85, 123, 157, 207 Sudanese Civil War, First 86 Sudan People’s Defense Force/Democratic Front 87 Sudan Peoples’ Liberation Movement/ Army 86, 87 Suharto 82, 88, 91 Sulu Archipelago 190 superpower 1 Swahili (language) 141; Waswahili (people) 140 Sweden 148 Switzerland 12

250

Index

Sykes-Picot Treaty 118 Syria 40, 68, 118, 119, 120, 137; civil war 127; Democratic Forces 127; Kurdish 125–131; Turkish invasion of northern 127 Tamils 163–169, 209 Tamil Tigers 7, 61, 65, 70–71, 163–169, 205; Black Tigers 64; see also LTTE Tanganyika 140, 141 Tanzania 139–144, 155 Tatarstan 116 Tatmadaw (Royal Army, Myanmar) 53, 182–185 territory 3, 33–36, 43, 48, 68, 82, 83, 87, 92, 207–208, 209; territorial integrity 3, 6 terrorism/ist 7, 30, 51, 63–65, 100, 130, 147 Texas 18–19 Thailand 185–189, 202, 209 theory 5, 29–49 Thirty Years War 13, 107 Tigray 159; Peoples Liberation Front 159 Tigris River 124 Timor-Leste see East Timor Tindouf 149 TNI (Tentara Nasional Indonesia) 53, 82, 193–198 Tosk, language 83 TPN (Papua National Army) 53, 54, 193–194, 195, 196 Treaty of Kars 119 Treaty of Lausanne 119, 124 Treaty of Sevres 118, 119, 124 Treaty of Union 103 trigger 205 Trincomalee 163, 164 Tripoli Agreement 191 Troubles, The 97 Tsunami, Boxing Day (2004) 91 Tuareg 149, 158 Turkey 74, 119, 124–131 Uamsho 139 Uganda 155 UK, United Kingdom 12, 15, 17, 21, 100, 101–105, 112, 123, 140, 144, 148, 156, 159, 163; Brexit 96, 100–101, 105; Welsh Plaid Cymru 96

Ukraine 95, 111–115 Ulster Volunteer Force 98 United Arab Emirates 123 United Arab Republic 146 United Liberation Movement for West Papua 196 United States (of America) 112, 123, 127, 130, 132, 134, 148, 153, 154, 195, 205; civil war 19–23, 27; Mexico 18; Panama 23–24; Revolutionary War 65 UN/United Nations 4, 11, 80, 82, 83, 84, 88, 154, 155, 177, 195, 197, 206, 210; MINURSO 150, 151; MINUSMA 158; UNAMID 158; UNCHR 197; UNOC 154; UNPO 175; UN Security Council 150, 206; UNTAET 210 Urdu, language 75 USSR 3, 10, 12, 65, 73, 79, 112, 121, 145, 153, 154, 172; see also Soviet Union uti possidetis 97, 138, 146, 208 violence 2, 42, 53; -logic of 52–59, 71 Wales 12 Walloon, language 96 Walloons, people 96 warlord/ism 68–69, 155 Western Sahara (also Spanish Sahara) 11, 148–153 West Papua 53, 193–198, 204, 210 Westphalia, Treaty/Peace of 34; post 3, 12, 13; sovereignty 27, 95, 210 Widodo, Joko 196 World War I 205; see also Great War World War II 111, 186, 200; post 3, 73, 153, 182, 186 Yazidis 130, 132 Yemen 51, 79, 120, 121–124, 137; Aden Protectorate 121; Arab Republic 121; civil war 122; Hadhramaut Tribal Alliance 124; North 120–123; Republic of 122; South 121–123 Yudhoyono, Susilo Bambang 91, 196 Yugoslavia 12, 73; former 83, 95 Yushchenko, Victor 112 Zanzibar 139–143, 152–153