The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces 9780198790501, 0198790503

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The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Title Pages Hugo Meijer, Marco Wyss

(p.i) The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces (p.ii) (p.iii) The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces

(p.iv) Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Oxford University Press 2018 The moral rights of the authors have been asserted First Edition published in 2018 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

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Dedication

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Dedication Hugo Meijer, Marco Wyss

(p.v) To Ingrid, Laura André, Bert (p.vi)

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Foreword: National Defence at a Time of Doubt

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

(p.vii) Foreword: National Defence at a Time of Doubt Lawrence Freedman

STUDENTS of international affairs have a tendency to believe that they are living through a uniquely transformational period, full of uncertainty and with hitherto unimagined dark possibilities lurking round the corner. We might now look back to the cold war and see a time of remarkable stability, when the international hierarchy was understood, the dividing lines between the two blocs were well established, and a shared fear of nuclear deterrence ensured caution. Yet that was not always how it appeared at the time, from the alarms in the 1950s that the nuclear arms race was spinning out of control to the great crises of the early 1960s in Berlin and Cuba. Even once these crises had been survived, the literature of the time is full of warnings about the determination of the Soviet leadership to get into a war-winning position, and how they were cowing sections of European opinion into an appeasing mentality (‘Finlandization’) or were making advances in the Third World to get into a position to cut the West off from its raw materials. NATO was forever in disarray, caught up in intractable disputes about burden-sharing and whether the Americans were leading their allies into disaster or were on the verge of abandoning them. There was a period in the mid-1970s that was particularly gloomy when the United States was hampered by the Watergate scandal and Western economies were coping with the dramatic rise in the oil price, inflation, and stagnation. The early 1990s, with the cold war now over, is recalled as one of cheerful optimism. The Soviet bloc dissolved with good grace, and liberal democracy look set to be embraced by all. Yet at the time reasons were found to be wary of the future. There were warnings (not all misplaced) that great power politics would return

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Foreword: National Defence at a Time of Doubt as toxic as ever or that nationalism could also replace socialism as a ruling ideology and that ethnic tensions were ready to rush to the fore. So it is entirely possible that historians will look back to our times and wonder what the fuss was all about. To be sure there is a general sense of foreboding, but it does not focus on a particular scenario. The reasons why a great power makes little sense and will probably be avoided remain as compelling as they have been since 1945. The international economy has regained its equilibrium after the 2008 financial crisis and for the moment energy supplies seem plentiful. Climate change remains a worry, although its implications for security remain unclear. There are major geopolitical changes underway, notably China’s rise to superpower status, and this has caused tensions, but these have thus far been managed, and Europeans tend to think that this is largely an issue for the Asia–Pacific region and not their own. Yet the sense that big changes are underway that will have a major impact on our security is hard to avoid. It is often described in terms of an unravelling of the liberal international order that was established in the years after 1945 and has by and large served (p.viii) the international community well. The concerns that an era is about to end focuses on the quality of American leadership, but also on whether values are sufficiently shared and interests recognized to be in common for the West to stick together through whatever crises may be coming. This may not yet be a time of great transformations, but it is a time of doubts, of not quite knowing how the institutions and systems that have developed over many decades, and thus far adapted well to new circumstances, will cope with their next severe test. One reason for doubt is that the two countries that have long been to the fore in setting the Western security agenda have been losing their interest in this role for some time. This is more than a Brexit or Trump phenomenon. The United Kingdom and then the United States both developed their global positions (and in the UK case an empire) as a result of their naval mastery. This enabled them to exercise influence around the globe and act whenever their interests were threatened and also to encourage international trade in a way that helped them grow prosperous. The British Empire has been long consigned to history and the United Kingdom can no longer really consider itself a global power with a distinctive set of international interests that might need protecting by force. Yet it has not been left in a particularly exposed position. For decades British leaders worried about Dean Acheson’s 1962 jibe that their country had lost an empire without finding a role, assuming that Acheson deserved an answer and that there was a special role that only the United Kingdom could perform. One regular favourite was as a bridge between North America and Europe, though this, as with such claims, could not withstand much scrutiny. Only in its close ties with the United States, especially in the nuclear and intelligence fields, did the United Kingdom offer something different from other European nations. Page 2 of 6

 

Foreword: National Defence at a Time of Doubt What has been ducked was the possibility that there was no unique role and that this might not matter. The advantage of being an island on the western edge of Europe is that it takes less to guarantee national security than if it were placed closer to the likely trouble spots in the former Soviet space, the Balkans, or the Mediterranean. This is not to say that it is ready to opt out, although the Brexit vote was an indication that it might be. British leaders still assert a sense of responsibility, not least because of the United Kingdom’s role as a Permanent Member of the United Nations (UN) Security Council, and it will not explicitly embrace passivity. But, when new issues arise, it no longer seems to be anxious to take a forward position. One reason for this is that for a whole range of reasons, from the long ties of history and culture and a similar geopolitical outlook, the United Kingdom feels most comfortable when acting together with the United States. If the United States was active, then the United Kingdom was also likely to be engaged. But, by the same token, if the United States concluded that it wished to accept fewer of the burdens of international leadership, then so might the United Kingdom. The British example is not the normal one cited when one is thinking about the consequences should America ease back on its leadership role. Japan and South Korea, Saudi Arabia, and Israel would have more pressing reasons to be concerned. In Europe those closer to the trouble spots would have more reason to reassess their security policies. But this illustrates the importance of American leadership in pulling others along. The United States accepted in the 1950s a set of alliance obligations and other treaty commitments that gives it an unparalleled position in international affairs. This went against the isolationism and neutralist instincts of the interwar years. Where disengagement (p.ix) prior to 1939 did not prevent major war, engagement after 1945 has helped prevent a Third World War. But disengagement has always had its attractions and a constituency in the United States, not least because it removed the country from territorial risk. For whatever reasons, President Trump picked an old isolationist slogan in ‘America First’ for his inaugural address in January 2017. But the issue has been around for some time. Until the attacks of 9/11 it was more tentative in dealing with crises that did not touch directly on its alliance responsibilities. As a result of the draining counterinsurgency operations in Iraq and Afghanistan, the United States now appears fatigued by its international responsibilities and is looking to reduce its liabilities. This was the case even under President Obama. Trump has given mixed signals on this as on so much else, as his inclination has been to appear belligerent on any issue in which the United States is being tested, while at the same time talking openly about being ready to abandon established US positions on free trade and alliance obligations. Even though he does not always actually follow through, the net effect has been to aggravate that ever-present element of doubt about whether the United States will honour its alliance

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Foreword: National Defence at a Time of Doubt obligations. Despite the rhetoric, so far mainstream policies have been sustained. One reason for anxiety is that Russia has taken a belligerent turn. This was evident in the war with Georgia in 2008 and the much more severe confrontation with Ukraine that has been underway since 2014. During the 1990s Moscow began to feel it was being taken for granted. The problems faced in securing distinctive Russian interests through institutional mechanisms left Moscow isolated diplomatically. The promotion of Western concepts of the good life and good government were seen as a neocolonialist effort to create a global system that suits Western purposes and denies alternative cultures. President Putin’s dislike of the ‘colour revolutions’ in other former Soviet republics leads to his fear that one will be triggered in Russia. This was one—defensive—reason for the attack on Ukraine, a punishment for a popular swing away from closer ties with Russia to the European Union (EU). But the annexation of Crimea, aggression in eastern Ukraine, and the menacing of countries such as Estonia have served to isolate Russia further. The conflict with Ukraine has not changed in character (although it remains violent) since the autumn of 2014, and Russia has not taken military moves against others. Its room for manoeuvre has been limited by a weak economy, because of sanctions and the fall of commodity prices, and a more demanding intervention in Syria. It invested in Donald Trump during the 2016 election campaign, but its interference may have backfired, as the evidence of Russian interference has ended up with Trump’s hands being tied and deeper sanctions in place. Yet the evidence that Trump would have liked to work more closely with Putin has unnerved Europeans. He has also created another source of doubt. During his short tenure in the White House he has shown extraordinary levels of incompetence and disregard for the normal conventions of public life. While many agreed with Trump’s pressure on his NATO allies to spend more on defence, the idea that the shortfall was in some way owed to the United States provided more evidence of ignorance of how the alliance works. This has been mystifying and alarming for those who have traditionally looked to the United States for political leadership. All this has been more corrosive than transformational, weakening the position of the United States without displacing it. Such behaviour encourages hedging, with allies thinking about alternative arrangements without rushing to put them in place in the hope that they might not be necessary. (p.x) More serious is his challenge to a collection of core principles that have helped hold together the West. Whether or not his challenges to free trade amount to much, his evident dislike for the underlying principle has chipped away at one of the conceptual foundations of the post-1945 international order. Pulling out of the Paris accords on climate change, his distaste for social liberalism, his readiness to dismiss statements he does not like as ‘fake news’, Page 4 of 6

 

Foreword: National Defence at a Time of Doubt and his refusal to make human rights a prominent feature of foreign policy distance his administration from the European establishment. They legitimize attitudes that are certainly current in Europe, and in this way help undermine the consensus that facilitates cooperation across the Atlantic and within Europe. This is not to argue that these principles are beyond challenge, or that they have suffered by being part of an elite outlook that can come over as being complacent and indifferent to the views and circumstances of ordinary people. Yet, where it gets a hold of a government, it can lead to a creeping authoritarianism—even in allies such as Turkey, Poland, and Hungary. One hedge for Europeans against the loss of American leadership is to build up the EU’s Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP). It was long a Gaullist aspiration to exclude the ‘Anglo-Saxons’ from European affairs, and the idea that the EU could look after its own defences appealed to those who believed that it could never really be complete until it could take on all the functions of a state, including war-making. When the cold war came to an end, and it was unclear in both Washington and Brussels whether the United States needed to play much of a future role in regional affairs, then the Europeans looked to play a more assertive role in sorting out local crises. The first test came in the summer of 1991 in Yugoslavia. European ministers proclaimed this as Europe’s hour—a time to demonstrate its crisis-management capabilities. Its palpable failure, with the issue effectively handed over to the UN and NATO, diminished rather than enhanced the EU’s reputation. This encouraged the view that it was preferable to have the Americans involved, but there had to be some provisions made just in case they did decide to disengage. This was the origin of the CSDP, which was launched with great fanfare by President Chirac of France and Prime Minister Blair of Britain at Saint-Malo in 1998. It soon got bogged down in institutional wrangles—over how the CSDP should relate to NATO and what functions could be usefully duplicated. In the event, CSDP has tended to concentrate on important tasks, such as peacekeeping missions or dealing with piracy and refugee issues, where there has been no need for an American input, but not on the big security issues, such as deterrence and coping with conflicts like Ukraine (although on the economic sanctions side the EU already plays a leading role). As the United Kingdom has always been opposed to the more ambitious proposals for a European defence force, its impending departure from the EU has appeared to open up the possibility of the issue being revived. The problems that have always hampered the replacement of NATO with the EU remain. First, most do not want to signal to the United States that it could manage without them lest they persuade Washington that it was safe for it to go. Only the United States can provide nuclear deterrence and the military weight to cope with a developing conflict. Does France expect to take over the job of extended deterrence from the United States? Second, doing more is expensive. There have long been complaints from the United States that European countries have not spent enough on defence and that their military capabilities Page 5 of 6

 

Foreword: National Defence at a Time of Doubt are in poor repair. Third, the rhetoric tends to get muddled, so that any cooperation, including on weapons procurement or joint units organized bilaterally or trilaterally, or the sort of modest missions currently undertaken under the CSDP heading, are presented as (p.xi) moves towards an integrated European entity. Fourth, even with greater integration, the ability to deploy forces would still be limited by the particular interests of individual countries, especially in relation to major crises outside Europe. How many countries would wish to join France, for example, in one of its overseas operations? There is no evidence that Germans are keen to act on behalf of other European countries, such as the Baltic states, if attacked by Russia. In principle, of course, Europe should have the resources to deter Russia, which has a GDP equivalent to Spain and well below that of Germany, France and the United Kingdom, but that will require major investment. This is the context against which national defence policies are currently being formulated. It is one in which it is hard to make a case for a ‘peace dividend’, but nor is there an emergency (other than perhaps for the non-NATO countries bordering Russia, and Russia itself). Governments are thinking more about defence policies but without yet striking out in new directions. It is the lack of confidence about where this might all lead that justifies a careful look at where countries currently stand in terms of their national defence policies. It is very difficult to see what options there might be for the future, how well they might cope with the distinctive challenges, whether from Russia or North Africa and the Middle East, and the extent to which the context actually shapes the policies. As the contributions to this excellent volume show, national governments still respond to national needs in their defence-planning and procurement, shaped by their countries’ histories, cultures, and circumstances. They have done so through the decades of alliance and latterly the CSDP, and will continue to do so in the future. Great geopolitical movements create the dangers of conflict, and so they deserve our attention, but there are also changes going on all the time in national capabilities, and they also deserve our attention. With the publication of this volume there will be no excuse not to be informed about what is going on at the national level and the implications for the management of future crises and conflicts. August 2017 (p.xii)

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List of Figures

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

(p.xvii) List of Figures Hugo Meijer, Marco Wyss

8.1 The frequency of foreign policy topics in NSC press briefings, 1991– 2002 161 8.2 The frequency of foreign policy topics in NSC press briefings, 2003– 2011 162 8.3 The frequency of foreign policy topics in NSC press briefings, 2012– 2017 163 8.4 Military expenditure of Turkey, 1991–2016 172 8.5 Military expenditure by country, 1991–2016 173 12.1 Defence spending by Belarus, 1997–2015 242 15.1 Military spending by NATO members, 1993–2015 287 15.2 Composition of defence spending, Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia, 1999–2014 288 15.3 Participation in international operations, Czechoslovakia/Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia, 1990–2015 291 21.1 NATO European defence spending in 2016: meeting the 2% of GDP target 385 24.1 Top-level governance of UK–French defence cooperation 431 25.1 Number of German and French operations by frame, 1990–2015 454 26.1 Aggregate European military expenditures, 1989–2015 472 39.1 Alternative weapons acquisition strategies 679 39.2 The hierarchical structure of defence industries in the value chain 683 39.3 Government measures to protect national defence industries from international competition 684 40.1 European collaboration activities, 1961–1995 697 40.2 Project participations per group, 1961–1995 697

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List of Figures 40.3 Collaborative defence equipment procurement expenditure per group, 2005–2011 700 50.1 Annual number of active military operations and civilian missions, 2003–2016 878 50.2 Aggregate numbers of CSDP troops and personnel per year, 2003– 2015 878 (p.xviii)

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List of Tables

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

(p.xix) List of Tables Hugo Meijer, Marco Wyss

2.1 Foreign deployments of German armed forces, 1990–2015 59 2.2 Number of German armed forces deployed abroad (troops), and mission spectrum, 1989–2014 60 2.3 The Bundeswehr’s key characteristics, 1989–2014 66 2.4 Classification of German security policy styles, 1990–2015 68 3.1 Comparative size of key elements of armed forces, 1990–1998 77 5.1 Major international Italian military operations in the post-cold war era 116 7.1 Military expenditure and troop deployment, Portugal and Spain, after the cold war 146 11.1 The Baltic States’ armed forces by service, 1995–2015 216 11.2 The Baltic States’ defence spending, 1993–2015 220 12.1 Main categories of Belarus equipment 244 20.1 Danish and Norwegian armed forces, 1990–2010 370 25.1 Regularized bilateral Franco-German intergovernmentalism since 1963 442 25.2 Franco-German Cooperation: Facilitating and inhibiting factors 455 43.1 Tentative classification of unmanned aerial vehicles 748 44.1 Sample of cyber-defence and cyber-surveillance companies in France 765 44.2 Sample of cyber-defence and cyber-surveillance companies in Germany 768 44.3 Sample of cyber-defence and cyber-surveillance solutions providers in the United Kingdom 771 44.4 Sample of cyber-defence and cyber-surveillance companies in Italy 773

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List of Tables 44.5 Sample of cyber-defence and cyber-surveillance solutions providers in Spain 775 44.6 Sample of cyber-defence and cyber-surveillance solutions providers in Sweden 776 48.1 Characteristic features of Russian military operations, 1992–2016 850 50.1 CSDP military operations and civilian missions, 2003–2016 874 50.2 Dimensions of diversity in CSDP military operations 877 51.1 Concluded NATO operations in the post-cold war period 895 51.2 Continuing and post-Afghanistan NATO operations 902 51.3 Significant NATO exercises in 2015 905 51.4 NATO operations: Participation and risk, 1996–2014 908 51.5 Operations, 2014–2016 909 51.6 Exercises, 2015 909 (p.xx)

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Notes on Contributors

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

(p.xxi) Notes on Contributors Hugo Meijer, Marco Wyss

1. Editors Dr Hugo Meijer is Marie Skłodowska-Curie Fellow at the European University Institute (EUI), Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies, and the Academic Director of the European Initiative on Security Studies (EISS). Previously, he was Lecturer in Defence Studies at King’s College London (2013–16) and a Researcher at the Institute for Strategic Research (IRSEM, Paris, 2016–17). He received his Ph.D. in International Relations from Sciences Po in 2013 (summa cum laude) and currently works on Western defence and security policies in the Asia–Pacific. Recent publications: La Politique étrangère: Approches disciplinaires [Foreign Policy: Disciplinary Approaches], co-edited with Christian Lequesne (Montreal University Press, 2018); Trading with the Enemy: The Making of US Export Control Policy toward the People’s Republic of China (Oxford University Press, 2016); Origins and Evolution of the US Rebalance toward Asia: Diplomatic, Military, and Economic Dimensions (ed.) (Palgrave Macmillan, 2015). He has also published in such journals as the Journal of Strategic Studies, European Journal of International Security, and the Journal of Cold War Studies. Dr Marco Wyss is Lecturer in the International History of the Cold War at Lancaster University, a Research Fellow at the University of the Free State, an Associate Fellow at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies, and a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society. Previously, he was a Senior Lecturer in Politics and Contemporary History at the University of Chichester, and a Senior Researcher at the Center for Security Page 1 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Studies, ETH Zurich. He gained his Ph.D. from the Universities of Nottingham and Neuchâtel, and currently works on Britain’s and France’s postcolonial security roles in West Africa. Marco is co-editor of the ‘New Perspectives on the Cold War’ book series (Brill), and the editor of the International Journal of Military History and Historiography. He is the author of, among other works, Arms Transfers, Neutrality and Britain’s Role in the Cold War (Brill, 2013), and co-editor of Peacekeeping in Africa (Routledge, 2014), Neutrality and Neutralism in the Global Cold War (Routledge, 2016), and Europe and China in the Cold War (Brill, forthcoming). His articles have been published in such journals as the Journal of Contemporary History, International History Review, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, Cold War History, RUSI Journal, Journal of Cold War Studies, and Historical Journal.

(p.xxii) 2. Chapter Authors Dr Jan Joel Andersson is Policy Officer at the European Defence Agency in Brussels. He wrote his contribution to this volume while working at the EU Institute for Security Studies in Paris as Senior Analyst of military capability development and defence industry issues. Previously, Dr Andersson was Dragas Distinguished Visiting Professor of International Studies at Old Dominion University in Norfolk, Virginia, and Senior Research Fellow and Head of Defence Studies at the Swedish Institute of International Affairs in Stockholm. A graduate of Uppsala University and Fulbright scholar, he received his MA and Ph.D. in Political Science from the University of California at Berkeley. His recent publications include ‘The Race to the Bottom: Submarine Proliferation and International Security’, US Naval War College Review (2015), and ‘Nordic NATO’, Foreign Affairs (2014). Dr Christian F. Anrig is Deputy Director of Doctrine, Swiss Air Force. From 2007 to 2009, he was a Lecturer in the Defence Studies Department of King’s College London. The author of The Quest for Relevant Air Power (Air University Press, 2011), he has also published various book chapters and articles on air power and its ramifications for European nations. Dr Anrig is a reviewer for Air & Space Power Journal. Air forces and institutions across Europe have invited him as a speaker on air power. Dr Félix Arteaga is Senior Analyst for Security and Defence at the Elcano Royal Institute, and Professor of European Security at the Instituto General Gutierrez Mellado (MoD-UNED, Madrid). He researches and lectures on international security, and defence and security policies. He has been the peer reviewer for Portugal and Spain under the ‘European Page 2 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Defence Monitoring’ Research Project for the European Defence Agency, Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik (SWP), 2012–15, and he has also contributed to the chapter on ‘Spain and the CSDP’ in Daniel Fiott (ed.), The Common Security and Defence Policy: National Perspectives (Egmont Institute, Institute for European Studies, Academy Press). Dr Jordan Baev is Professor of Contemporary History and Senior Research Fellow of Security Studies at Rakovski National Defense College, and a Visiting Professor at Sofia University. Since 1998 he has been Vice-President of the Bulgarian Association of Military History. Dr Baev is a member of the Editorial Boards of Voennoistoricheski Sbornik [Military History Journal] in Sofia and Strategic Monitor in Bucharest. Since 1980 he has written more than 250 publications in twelve languages, including nine monographs and textbooks, on cold war diplomatic, military, and intelligence history, international terrorism, peacekeeping, and civil–military relations. Matthias Bieri is a Researcher in the Swiss and Euro-Atlantic Security Team of the think tank at the Center for Security Studies (CSS) at ETH Zurich. He studied at the University of Fribourg and the Free University of Berlin, and completed his studies with a Master’s degree in History. Before joining the CSS, Matthias Bieri worked for the Swiss Delegation to the OSCE in Vienna, where he was involved in the work related to the OSCE’s politico-military dimension. He is the co-editor of the policy brief series CSS Analyses in Security Policy. (p.xxiii) Felix Biermann is a Research Fellow at the Ludwig Maximilian University (LMU) Munich (Germany). His research focuses on European Studies, International Relations theory, and defence cooperation. He holds a Bachelor’s in Philosophy and Economics from Bayreuth University, as well as a Master of Public Policy from the Willy Brandt School of Public Policy at Erfurt University. After completing his studies, he worked in public sector consulting and provided advice on budgetary questions for both federal and local administrations. Dr Vincent Boulanin is a Researcher at the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI). He works on issues related to the production, use, and control of emerging military and security technologies, notably cyber-security technologies and autonomous weapons systems. He received his Ph.D. in political science from the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris. His recent publications include (with Renaud Bellais) ‘Toward a High-Tech “Limes” on the Edges of Europe? Managing the External Borders of the European Union’, in Page 3 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Elisabeth Vallet (ed.), Borders, Fences and Walls: State of Insecurity (Ashgate, 2014), and ‘Cyber Security and the Arms Industry’, SIPRI Yearbook 2013: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security (Oxford University Press, 2013). Mark Bromley has been Co-Director of the Dual-Use and Arms Trade Control Programme at the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) since April 2014. Before this, he was employed with the SIPRI Arms Transfers Programme, as a Research Associate from 2003, as a Researcher from 2006, and as a Senior Researcher from 2009. Previously, he was a policy analyst for the British American Security Information Council (BASIC). Mark’s work at SIPRI focuses on international arms transfers, governmental transparency in the field of arms exports, and the workings of national, regional, and international strategic trade control regimes and instruments. Dr Dionysios Chourchoulis is adjunct lecturer of Greek History at the Hellenic Open University, and adjunct lecturer of History of International Relations at the Ionian University. He holds a Ph.D. from the School of History, Queen Mary University of London. His thesis has been published as a monograph entitled The Southern Flank of NATO, 1951–1959: Military Strategy or Political Stabilization (Lexington Books, 2014). He also holds an MA in modern and contemporary Greek history from the National & Kapodistrian University of Athens, as well as an M.Sc. in history of international relations from the London School of Economics and Political Science. His academic interests include political, military, and economic history during the twentieth century (with an emphasis on the cold war period) in the Balkans, the Eastern Mediterranean, and the Middle East. Dr Fabrizio Coticchia is Assistant Professor of Political Science at the University of Genoa. Previously, he was a Jean Monnet Fellow, European University Institute (EUI). His fields of research are contemporary warfare, European military transformation, strategic narratives and security issues, political parties and defence policy, Italian and European defence policy, and development cooperation. His books include: Italian Military Operations Abroad: Just Don’t Call it War, with Pietro Ignazi and Giampiero Giacomello (Palgrave, 2012), La guerra che non c’era. Opinione pubblica e interventi militari italiani (Egea, 2014), Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? The Transformation of Italian Armed Forces in Comparative Perspective, with Francesco N. Moro (Ashgate, 2015), and Italian Foreign Policy under (p.xxiv) Matteo Renzi: A Domestically-Focused Outsider and the World, with J. Davidson (Lexington, forthcoming). Page 4 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Andrew M. Dorman is Professor of International Security at King’s College London and the Commissioning Editor of International Affairs, the journal of the Royal Institute of International Affairs, Chatham House. At King’s he leads the new Centre for British Defence and Security Studies. He has published widely on aspects of British defence and security policy, European security, and defence transformation. His research focuses on the interaction of policy and strategy, utilizing the case studies of British defence and security policy and European security. He has held grants with the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC), British Academy, Leverhulme Trust, Ministry of Defence, and US Army War College. He trained as a Chartered Accountant with KPMG, qualifying in 1990 before returning to academia. He has previously taught at the University of Birmingham, where he completed his Master’s and doctoral degrees, and the Royal Naval College Greenwich. Frédérick Douzet is Professor at the French Institute of Geopolitics of the University of Paris 8, and Castex Chair of Cyber Strategy (Institut des hautes études de défense nationale, IHEDN/Airbus Group). She is a member of the editorial boards of the reviews Hérodote and Sécurité et Stratégies, and received several awards for her research: FIC Book Prize for strategic thinking (2015); France-Berkeley Fund Award for Outstanding Young Scholar (2014); Alphonse Milne Edwards book prize from the Society of Geography (2008); Ernest Lemonon book prize from the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences (2008); and Best Paper Award from the Urban Affairs Association (2009). She was nominated junior member of the Institut Universitaire de France in 2006. Her publications include: Les Conflits dans le monde (Armand Colin, 2011), Géographie des conflits (La Documentation française, 2012), 50 fiches pour comprendre la géopolitique (Bréal, 2010), and Dictionnaire des banlieues (Larousse, 2009). Since 2012, she has published four books (two co-edited), twelve book chapters, and over fifteen peer-reviewed articles and conference contributions, and given dozens of talks to various audiences. Her current research interests deal with the geopolitics of cyberspace. She was appointed director of the Castex Chair of Cyber Strategy in February 2013. Robert Egnell is Professor of Military Sociology and Head of the Department for Security, Strategy, and Leadership at the Swedish Defence University. Professor Egnell received his Ph.D. (2008) in War Studies from King’s College, London. He has previously been a Visiting Professor and Director of teaching in the Security Studies Program at Georgetown University, a Senior Researcher at the Swedish Defence Research Page 5 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Agency, and an Assistant Lecturer at the University of Dar es Salaam. His publications include numerous articles in academic peer review journals, as well as four books: Gender, Military Effectiveness and Organizational Change: The Swedish Model (Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), Counterinsurgency in Crisis: Britain and the Challenges of Modern Warfare (Columbia University Press, 2013), New Agendas in Statebuilding: Hybridity, Contingency and History (Routledge, 2013), and Complex Peace Operations and Civil–Military Relations: Winning the Peace (Routledge, 2009). Dr Filip Ejdus is a Marie Curie Fellow at the School of Sociology, Politics and International Studies (University of Bristol), and an Assistant Professor at the Faculty of Political Sciences (University of Belgrade). In the broadest sense, his research looks at the management of (in)security during crises and beyond borders, while his geographic expertise is the (p.xxv) Western Balkans, Middle East, and the Horn of Africa. In his current project, he studies the local ownership principle in EU crisis-management interventions. Additionally, he has been closely involved with the security policy community as a board member of the Belgrade Centre for Security Policy, academic coordinator at the Belgrade Security Forum, and the co-chair of the Regional Stability in South East Europe Study Group at the Partnership for Peace Consortium of Defence Academies and Security Studies Institutes. Sir Lawrence Freedman has been Professor of War Studies at King’s College London since 1982. He became head of the School of Social Science and Public Policy at King’s in 2000 and was appointed Vice-Principal in 2003. Before joining King’s, he held research appointments at Nuffield College Oxford, the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), and the Royal Institute of International Affairs. He was appointed Official Historian of the Falklands Campaign in 1997. Professor Freedman has written extensively on nuclear strategy and the cold war, as well as commentating regularly on contemporary security issues. Among his books are Kennedy’s Wars: Berlin, Cuba, Laos and Vietnam (Oxford University Press, 2000), The Evolution of Nuclear Strategy (3rd edn, Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), Deterrence (Polity Press, 2005), the two volumes Official History of the Falklands Campaign (2nd edn, Routledge, 2007) and an Adelphi Paper on The Transformation in Strategic Affairs (Routledge, 2004). A Choice of Enemies: America Confronts the Middle East (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2008) won the 2009 Lionel Gelber Prize and Duke of Westminster Medal for Military Literature. His most recent book is Strategy: A History (Oxford University Press, 2013). Page 6 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Dr Andrew Futter is a Senior Lecturer in International Politics at the University of Leicester, United Kingdom. His work focuses on contemporary nuclear weapons issues, including ballistic missile defence, proliferation, the changing nature of deterrence, and new challenges to the utility and perception of nuclear forces. He has published two books, Ballistic Missile Defence and US National Security Policy (Routledge, 2013) and The Politics of Nuclear Weapons (Sage, 2015), and written widely for numerous peer-reviewed and professional publications. He is currently working on an ESRC-funded Future Research Leaders project, looking at how cyber weapons and the advent of a new information age are challenging, transforming, and impacting on the role, efficacy, and thinking that underpin nuclear weapons and strategy. Dr Bastian Giegerich is the Director of Defence and Military Analysis at the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS) in London. Having been affiliated with the IISS since 2005, he worked for the German Ministry of Defence and the German armed forces between 2010 and 2015 in various research and policy roles. Dr Giegerich holds a Ph.D. in International Relations from the London School of Economics and Political Science, and an MA in Political Science from the University of Potsdam, Germany. Dr Andrea Gilli is an International Security Program postdoctoral fellow at the Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs, John F. Kennedy School of Government, Harvard University, and was a post-doctoral fellow at both the Center for Security Studies, Metropolitan University Prague and at the Center for International Security and Cooperation, Stanford University, when his chapter was written. Andrea works on technological change, military innovations, and international security. He holds a Ph.D. in Social and (p.xxvi) Political Science from the European University Institute (EUI) in Florence. In 2015 he was awarded the European Defence Agency and Egmont Institute’s biannual prize for the best dissertation on European defence, security, and strategy. Andrea has provided consulting services to both private and public organizations, including the EU Military Committee and the US Department of Defence’s Office of Net Assessment, and he has worked and conducted research for, or been associated with, several institutions, including the NATO Defense College, the Royal United Services Institute, the European Union Institute for Security Studies, the Saltzman Institute for War and Peace Studies at Columbia University in New York, and the Center for International Security and Cooperation at Stanford University. Andrea is a 2015 alumnus of the Page 7 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Summer Workshop on the Analysis of Military Operations and Strategy (SWAMOS), and his research has been published in International Security, Security Studies and the RUSI Journal. Dr Mauro Gilli is a Senior Researcher in Military Technology and International Security at the Center for Security Studies of ETH Zurich. He holds a Ph.D. in Political Science from Northwestern University (Evanston, IL), an MA from the School of Advanced International Studies of Johns Hopkins University (Washington, DC), and a BA from the University of Turin. He is an alumnus of the International Policy Summer Institute of the Bridging the Gap Project at the American University (2017); of the Summer Workshop on the Analysis of Military Operations and Strategy of the Saltzman Institute for War and Peace Studies of Columbia University (2014); and of Empirical Implication of Theoretical Models Summer Schools at the Harris School of Public Policy of the University of Chicago (2011). During the academic year 2015/16 he was a postdoctoral fellow at the Dickey Center for International Understanding of Dartmouth College. His research has been funded by the Smith Richardson Foundation, the Roberta Buffet Institute for Global Studies, and the Kellogg School of Management, and has been published in Security Studies, Washington Post-Monkey Cage, Diplomat, PLOS-One, and Social Science Quarterly. Richard Gowan was previously Research Director at New York University’s Center on International Cooperation (CIC) and is a Senior Policy Fellow at the European Council on Foreign Relations (ECFR). He is also an adjunct professor at Columbia University’s Center for International Conflict Resolution (CICR). At CIC, he was the first coordinator of the Annual Review of Global Peace Operations and editor of the first Review of Political Missions. For ECFR, Gowan has written on EU–UN relations, human rights, and European crisis management. Gowan writes a column (‘Diplomatic Fallout’) for www.worldpoliticsreview.com, and has also published opinion pieces in Foreign Policy, the International Herald Tribune, Politico, and other publications, in addition to academic essays in Global Governance, International Peacekeeping, and various edited volumes. He has been quoted on peacekeeping and crisis diplomacy in The Economist, the Financial Times, and the Guardian, and on the drinking habits of some UN diplomats in the New York Times. Dr Ryan Grauer is an Associate Professor of International Affairs in the Graduate School of Public and International Affairs at the University of Pittsburgh. His current research examines the sources of military Page 8 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors power, the global diffusion of military doctrines, and soldier surrender and desertion in war. He is the author of Commanding Military Power (Cambridge University Press, 2016), which investigates the impact of militaries’ organizational capacity to manage emergent information about the state of the battlefield on their combat power. His other work has been published in the journals World Politics, Security (p.xxvii) Studies, and the Journal of Global Security Studies. He received his Ph.D. in Political Science from the University of Pennsylvania. Dr Yaprak Gürsoy is a Lecturer at Aston University. Prior to joining Aston, she was an Associate Professor at Istanbul Bilgi University and a Senior Member of St Antony’s College, University of Oxford, in 2016/17. Her research interests include comparative politics, regime change, civil–military relations, Greek politics, and populism. She is the author of Between Military Rule and Democracy: Regime Consolidation in Greece, Turkey, and Beyond (University of Michigan Press, 2017) and The Transformation of Civil–Military Relations in Turkey (in Turkish, Istanbul Bilgi University Press, 2013). Her articles have appeared in numerous journals, including Political Science Quarterly, Democratization, South European Society and Politics, Turkish Studies, and the Journal of Political and Military Sociology. Dr Gürsoy has been serving as the Vice-President of the International Political Science Association (IPSA) Research Committee on Armed Forces and Society since 2011 and in 2016 was awarded with the Science Academy Young Scientists Award (BAGEP) given to promising Turkish scientists. Flemming Splidsboel Hansen is a Senior Researcher and Research Coordinator at the Danish Institute for International Studies. He previously served as Head of the Politico-Military Department at the OSCE in Tajikistan, Research Director at the Danish Defence College, Analyst with the Danish Defence Intelligence Service, and Assistant Professor at the Central European University in Budapest. His research interests include security and defence policies in the former Soviet Union, identity politics, and integration in the post-Soviet space. Dr Gunther Hauser holds the Chair of the section of International Security at the National Defence Academy in Vienna. Since completing his academic training in political science and international law at the Universities of Innsbruck and Salzburg, he has been working on the security and defence issues of Austria and the EU, NATO, the OSCE, and the UN, as well as on Chinese foreign and defence policy, and has published widely on these topics since 2000. His chair’s focus in research and Page 9 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors teaching is on strategic concepts of major powers and international security organizations. Professor Keith Hayward is a consultant and writer on aerospace and aviation issues. He was formerly Professor of International Relations at Staffordshire University, Head of Economic and Political Affairs at the SBAC, the UK aerospace trade association, and, until January 2015, Head of Research at the Royal Aeronautical Society in London. He has been a consultant or advisor to several company and government departments, the latter including the UK Ministry of Defence and the Department of Business, Innovation and Skills. He has also acted as an advisor to the UK House of Commons Trade and Industry Committee and the US Congress Office of Technology Assessment. He has taken part in a number of collaborative studies of the space industry on behalf of the Commission of the European Union and the European Space Agency. He is the author of several books and over a hundred articles and chapters on aerospace and aviation issues. He is a Fellow of the Royal Aeronautical Society and of the French Air and Space Academy. Dr Masha Hedberg is the James Andersen Adjunct Professor of European and Eurasian Studies at the School of Advanced International Studies (SAIS), Johns Hopkins University. She also is a Visiting Fellow at the Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies, European (p.xxviii) University Institute, where she was previously a Jean Monnet Fellow. She holds a Ph.D. from Harvard University. Her current research focuses on post-Soviet geopolitics; EU–Russian foreign policy and trade relations; and the comparative political economy of Russia, the former Soviet Union, and Eastern and Central Europe. Dr Dorle Hellmuth is Associate Professor of Politics at the Catholic University of America and serves as the academic director of the politics department’s parliamentary internship programmes in Europe. Her book Counterterrorism and the State (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015) analyses post-9/11 counterterrorism decision-making and responses in the United States, Germany, the United Kingdom, and France. She has briefed members of parliament, law enforcement, and government representatives on counterterrorism, national security, and defence issues. She is a non-resident fellow at the American Institute for Contemporary German Studies (AICGS) and serves as a fellow at the German Institute on Radicalization and DeRadicalization Studies (GIRDS). Her research and teaching cover world politics, particularly the study of transatlantic security, counterterrorism, counter-radicalization, homeland security, Page 10 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors European and general comparative politics, and American foreign policy. Professor Hellmuth held previous appointments as Assistant Professor at the American University’s School of International Service and as Research Fellow at the National War College, National Defense University. Adrian Hyde-Price is Professor of Political Science at the Department of Political Science, Gothenburg University. He has previously held chairs of International Politics at the Universities of Bath and Leicester, and has also held academic posts at the Universities of Birmingham, Southampton, and Manchester. His main areas of research are European security, German foreign and security policy, and international relations theory. His main publications include The Challenge of Multipolarity: European Security in the Twenty-First Century (Routledge, 2007);Germany and European Order (Manchester University Press, 2000); The International Politics of East Central Europe (Manchester University Press, 1996); European Security beyond the Cold War: Four Scenarios for the Year 2010 (Sage, 1991); and British Foreign Policy and the Anglican Church: Christian Engagement with the Contemporary World (co-edited, Ashgate, 2008). Andres Kasekamp is Professor of Baltic Politics at the Johan Skytte Institute for Political Studies at the University of Tartu in Estonia. He is a graduate of the University of Toronto and holds a Ph.D. in modern history from University College London (1996). He served as the Director of the Estonian Foreign Policy Institute from 2000 to 2013. His A History of the Baltic States (Palgrave Macmillan, 2010) was awarded the Baltic Assembly Science Prize and has been translated into nine languages. He is President-Elect of the Association for the Advancement of Baltic Studies and an Honorary Fellow of the Baltic Defence College. Dr Lucas Kello is Senior Lecturer in International Relations at the University of Oxford, where he serves as Director of the Cyber Studies Programme. He is also Co-director of the interdisciplinary Centre for Doctoral Training in Cyber Security in the Department of Computer Science. Previously, he was a joint research fellow in the International Security Program and Cyber Project at Harvard University’s Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs. He was also a member of the Harvard–MIT multiyear project on Explorations in Cyber International Relations. He remains affiliated with Harvard as an associate of the Belfer Center’s Science, Technology, and Public Policy Program and Cyber Project. (p.xxix) His recent publications include ‘The Meaning of the Cyber Revolution: Perils to Theory and Page 11 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Statecraft’ in International Security, ‘The Virtual Weapon: Dilemmas and Future Scenarios’ in Politique étrangère, and ‘Security’ in The Oxford Companion to International Relations. Dr Benjamin Kienzle is a Lecturer in Defence Studies and an Associate Researcher at the Centre for Science & Security Studies (CSSS) at King’s College London. Previously, he was the Marie Curie Fellow at CSSS, where he implemented a project on the increasing interaction between the European Union and international non-proliferation institutions in the field of nuclear and chemical weapons. His current research focuses on multilateral security cooperation, in particular in Europe. He has published articles in this area in a number of journals, including International Affairs, Cooperation and Conflict, Mediterranean Politics, European Security, and the Journal of World Trade. Dr Wim Klinkert is Professor of Modern Military History at the Faculty of Military Studies of the Netherlands Defence Academy in Breda, and of Dutch Military History at the University of Amsterdam. He also lectures on military history at the Dutch Staff College. He has published several books and articles on late-nineteenth- and twentieth-century Dutch military history. His recent publications include Small Powers in the Age of Total War, 1900–1940 (with Prof. Herman Amersfoort), and Defending Neutrality: The Netherlands Prepares for War, 1900–1925, both published by Brill in 2011 and 2013 respectively. Recent articles have been published in the Journal of Intelligence History, Journal for First World War Studies, and the Yearbook of International Humanitarian Law. With Herman Amersfoort he supervises a Ph.D. project on the changes within the different branches of the Dutch armed forces in the period 1989–93. Currently, he is participating in an extensive project to publish a multi-volume military history of the Netherlands (1550–2010), supervised by the Netherlands Institute for Military History. Dr Ina Kraft (née Wiesner) is the head of a project on multinationality and international armed forces at the Bundeswehr Center of Military History and Social Sciences in Potsdam, Germany. She received her Ph.D. in Political and Social Sciences from the European University Institute in Florence, Italy. Her research interests include the sociology of military technology, German military transformation, and methodology in the social sciences. She is the author of Importing the American Way of War? Network-Centric Warfare in the UK and Germany (Nomos, 2013), and the editor of German Defence Politics (Nomos, 2013). Recent publications include ‘Process Tracing in Case Studies’ (with Pascal Vennesson), in the Routledge Handbook of Page 12 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Research Methods in Military Studies (Routledge, 2014), and ‘UAV for R2P?: Exploring the Effectiveness and Legitimacy of Drones’, in Precision Strike Warfare and International Intervention (Routledge, 2015). Dr Ulrich Krotz is Professor at the European University Institute, where he holds the Chair in International Relations in the Department of Political and Social Sciences and the Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies. He is Director of the Schuman Centre’s programme on Europe in the World. He is the author of Shaping Europe: France, Germany, and Embedded Bilateralism from the Elysée Treaty to Twenty-First Century Politics (with Joachim Schild) (Oxford University Press, hardback 2013, paperback 2015); Flying Tiger: International Relations Theory and the Politics of Advanced Weapons (Oxford University Press, 2011); and History and Foreign Policy in France and Germany (Palgrave Macmillan, (p.xxx) 2015). His journal publications have appeared in, among others, World Politics, International Security, International Affairs, the European Journal of International Relations, Foreign Policy Analysis, West European Politics, and the Journal of Common Market Studies. Dr Ulrich Kühn is a Senior Research Associate at the Vienna Center for Disarmament and Non-Proliferation of the James Martin Center for Nonproliferation Studies, Middlebury Institute of International Studies at Monterey, a Nonresident Scholar with the Nuclear Policy Program at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, and a member of the trilateral Deep Cuts Commission. Previously, he worked for the German Federal Foreign Office. In 2011 he was awarded a United Nations Fellowship on Disarmament. Kühn is an alumnus of the ZEIT Foundation Ebelin und Gerd Bucerius and a former Stanton Nuclear Security Fellow. He has published on deterrence and arms control, international security institutions, and transatlantic security. Professor Julian Lindley-French, Ph.D., MA (Distinction), MA (Oxon), is Vice-President of the Atlantic Treaty Association, a Senior Fellow at the Institute of Statecraft in London, Director of Europa Analytica in the Netherlands, a Distinguished Visiting Research Fellow at the National Defense University in Washington, DC, and a Fellow of the Canadian Global Affairs Institute. His many books include the Oxford Handbook of War (Oxford University Press, 2014),Little Britain? Twenty-First Century Strategic Challenges for a Middling European Power (CS Publishing, 2015),NATO: The Enduring Alliance

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Notes on Contributors (Routledge, 2015), and The New Geopolitics of Terror: Demons & Dragons (Routledge, 2017). Dr Mauro Mantovani has been Head of the Chair for Strategic Studies at the Swiss Military Academy at ETH Zurich since 2009. Since completion of his academic training as a historian at the University of Zurich, he has been working on security and defence issues of Switzerland as well as on international military conflicts, and has published widely on these topics since 1991. His chair’s focus in research and teaching is in strategic theory, the transformation of armed forces in Europe, and geostrategic and military operations analyses. From 2011 to 2017, he was the editor-in-chief of the International Journal of Military History and Historiography (Brill). Dr Andrew A. Michta is the Dean of the College of International and Security Studies at the George C. Marshall European Center for Security Studies in Garmisch, Germany. He holds a Ph.D. in international relations from Johns Hopkins University. His areas of expertise are international security, NATO, and European politics and security, with a special focus on Central Europe and the Baltic States. Prior to coming to the Marshall Center, he was Professor of National Security Affairs at the US Naval War College, an Adjunct Fellow at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, and an affiliate of the Minda de Gunzburg Center for European Studies at Harvard University. From 1988 to 2015 he was the M. W. Buckman Distinguished Professor of International Studies at Rhodes College. His other positions include Senior Fellow at CEPA; Senior Transatlantic Fellow at GMFUS and the founding director of the GMFUS Warsaw office; a Senior Scholar at the Woodrow Wilson Center in Washington, DC; Professor of National Security Studies at the Marshall Center; a Visiting Scholar at the Hoover Institution at Stanford University, a Public Policy Scholar at the Wilson Center, and a Research Associate at IERES at the George Washington University. He writes the column ‘On Europe and Security’ in the American Interest and is a regular contributor to Carnegie Europe’s flagship blog Strategic (p.xxxi) Europe. He has written several books on US and European politics and security. His most recent book, with Paal Hilde, is The Future of NATO: Regional (University of Michigan Press, 2014). Dr Christian Nünlist is a Senior Researcher at the Center for Security Studies (CSS) at ETH Zurich and directs the CSS think-tank team ‘Swiss and EuroAtlantic Security’. He studied history, international relations, and international law and received his MA and his Ph.D. from the University of Zurich. He is the co-editor of Origins of the European Page 14 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Security System (Routledge, 2008), and his articles have appeared in Cold War History, Journal of Transatlantic Studies, and Security and Human Rights. He has published several articles on the Swiss OSCE Chairmanship of 2014. He is the co-editor of the monthly CSS Analyses in Security Policy, as well as the annual Bulletin zur schweizerischen Sicherheitspolitik. Dr Michal Onderco is Assistant Professor of International Relations at Erasmus University Rotterdam. He received his Ph.D. in Political Science at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam in 2014. Previously he was a Fulbright researcher at Columbia University (2012/13); and Max Weber Fellow at the European University Institute (2014/15). His research interests include international institutions, international security, and the role of ideas in shaping foreign policy. His work has been published or is forthcoming in, among others, International Studies Quarterly, European Security, Journal of International Relations and Development, and Nonproliferation Review. He is the author of Iran’s Nuclear Program and the Global South (Palgrave, forthcoming). Together with Wolfgang Wagner and Wouter Werner, he co-edited Deviance in International Relations: ‘Rogue States’ and International Security (Palgrave, 2014). Dr Alice Pannier is Assistant Professor of European Studies and International Relations at the Paul H. Nitze School of Advanced International Studies (SAIS), Johns Hopkins University, Washington, DC. Previously, she was a postdoctoral fellow at the Institute for Strategic Research of the French Ministry of Defence (IRSEM). Her research areas include European security and transatlantic relations, French and British foreign and defence policies, military interventions, and cooperation in armament. Alice Pannier earned her Ph.D. from Sciences Po, Paris, with joint supervision from King’s College London. Her doctoral thesis focused on contemporary Franco-British defence cooperation and is currently being adapted into a book. Magnus Petersson is Professor of Modern History at the Norwegian Institute for Defence Studies. He teaches and supervises regularly at the Norwegian Defence University College, the University of Oslo, and Stockholm University. Recent publications include: The US NATO Debate: From Libya to Ukraine (Bloomsbury Academic, 2015); NATO’s European Allies: Military Capability and Political Will (co-edited with Janne Haaland Matlary) (Palgrave Macmillan, 2013); and European Defense Planning and the Ukraine Crisis: Two Contrasting Views (with Andres Vosman) (Paris and Brussels: IFRI, 2014). Mark Phythian Page 15 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors is Professor of Politics in the Department of Politics and International Relations at the University of Leicester. His research interests are in the areas of intelligence, national security, and foreign policy. He is the author or editor/co-editor of a number of books, including: The Politics of British Arms Sales since 1964 (Manchester University Press, 2000); The Labour Party, War and International Relations 1945–2006 (p.xxxii) (Routledge, 2007); Intelligence in an Insecure World (with Peter Gill) (2nd edn, Polity Press, 2012); and (as editor) Understanding the Intelligence Cycle (Routledge, 2013); as well as numerous journal articles and book chapters. He is co-editor of the leading intelligence journal Intelligence and National Security, and a Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences. Leonid Polyakov is Chairman of the Expert Board, Center for Army, Conversion and Disarmament Studies (CACDS), Kyiv, Ukraine. He is also a Senior Fellow, Institute for Strategic Studies ‘New Ukraine’, and External Consultant to the Razumkov Center, Ukraine. He has worked as Deputy Minister of Defence from March to May 2014, as ViceMinister of Defence from 2005 to 2008, and as Director of Military Programs at the Razumkov Center from 2000 to 2005. Mr Polyakov is a graduate of the US Army War College and Frunze Military Academy, Moscow. His twenty years of military service cover command postings in the Soviet Army, including a combat tour in Afghanistan, and service in the General Staff of the Ukrainian Armed Forces. He is the author of over a hundred articles and monographs on issues related to international security, national security governance, defence institution building, and security and defence transformation. His major publications include Building Integrity in Defence Establishments: A Ukrainian Case Study (CACDS, 2012); US–Ukraine Relations and Value for Interoperability (US Army Strategic Studies Institute, 2004); and Ukrainian–NATO Relations and New Prospects for Peacekeeping (Royal Institute of International Affairs, Chatham House, 2003). Bruno Cardoso Reis holds an M.Phil. in Historical Studies from Cambridge University and a Ph.D. in War Studies from King’s College London. He was from 2011 to 2017 a Research Fellow at the Institute of Social Sciences at the University of Lisbon. He is an advisor to the National Defence Institute of Portugal and an Associate Researcher at the Michael Howard Centre for Military History at King’s College London. Since 2017 he has been an Assistant Professor at the Centre for Social Research and Intervention at the University Institute of Lisbon, and has been a Visiting Lecturer at a number of universities. He has published on security issues and irregular warfare, notably with Page 16 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Andrew Mumford, The Theory and Practice of Irregular Warfare (Routledge, 2013). Dr Peter Roberts is the Senior Research Fellow for Sea Power and C4ISTAR at the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI). He runs conferences, workshops, and research projects in these areas. His twenty-five years of military experience as a naval officer was broadened by working with various navies, armies, and air forces from across the world, including time with intelligence agencies within the United States in the realm of transnational crime and terrorism. He advised foreign governments in strategy and tactics against contemporary challenges. His final posts in the military were in offensive cyber operations and capability planning. Peter Roberts has a Master’s from King’s College London, is a Visiting Lecturer at the University of Portsmouth, and a Fellow of the Chartered Management Institute. He has been called to give evidence to the House of Commons Defence Select Committee, as well as provide advice to foreign military chiefs. He features regularly in the international media. Professor Robert I. Rotberg is Founding Director of the Harvard Kennedy School’s Program on Intrastate Conflict and President Emeritus of the World Peace Foundation, as well as Fellow, Woodrow Wilson International Center, and Fellow, American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He edited When States Fail (Princeton University Press, 2004), and (p.xxxiii) wrote many other books, including On Governance: What It Is, What It Measures and Its Policy Uses (2015); Governance and Innovation in Africa: South Africa after Mandela (Centre for International Governance Innovation, 2014); Africa Emerges: Consummate Challenges, Abundant Opportunities (Polity Press, 2013); and Transformative Political Leadership: Making a Difference in the Developing World (University of Chicago Press, 2012). Sten Rynning is Professor of International Relations at the Department of Political Science, University of Southern Denmark, where he also heads the Center for War Studies. He sits on the board of the Danish Atlantic Treaty Association, the advisory board of the Danish Defence College, and the editorial board of the European Journal of International Security. He was a visiting fellow at NATO’s Defence College, Rome, in 2012 and was President of the Nordic International Studies Association in 2011–15. Since early 2017 he has been a Fulbright scholar and Visiting Researcher at the School of International Service, American University, in Washington, DC. Sten Rynning is the author of numerous books and articles, including NATO in Afghanistan: The Liberal Disconnect (Stanford University Press, Page 17 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors 2012), co-author (with Theo Farrell and Terry Terriff) of Transforming Military Power Since the Cold War: Britain, France, and the United States, 1991–2012 (Cambridge University Press, 2013), and ‘The False Promise of Continental Concert: Russia, the West, and the Necessary Balance of Power’, in International Affairs (2015). Olivier Schmitt is Associate Professor of International Relations at the Department of Political Science, University of Southern Denmark, where he is also a member of the Center for War Studies. He is the Vice-President and Scientific Director of the French Association for War and Strategic Studies (AEGES) and a reserve officer in the French navy. He has won several awards for his academic work, including the Alexander George award and the Patricia Weitsman award from the International Studies Association. He guest-edited a special issue of the Journal of Strategic Studies on France’s defence policy and his most recent book is Allies that Count: Junior Partners in Coalition Warfare (Georgetown University Press, 2017). Dr Ian Speller is a Senior Lecturer and Director of the Centre for Military History and Strategic Studies at the National University of Ireland Maynooth. He also lectures at the Irish Military College and has contributed to the ongoing Irish Defence Review. Prior to this he was a Senior Lecturer in the Defence Studies Department at King’s College London and the UK Joint Services Command and Staff College. His main research interests lie within the fields of maritime strategy/naval warfare and contemporary defence policy. Recent publications include Understanding Naval Warfare (Routledge, 2014); Small Navies (co-editor) (Ashgate, 2014); and Understanding Modern Warfare (co-author) (2nd edn, Cambridge University Press, forthcoming). James Sperling is Professor of Political Science at the University of Akron. In 2015 he was a Fernand Braudel Senior Fellow at the European University Institute and Senior Fellow at the Institute of Advanced Studies, the University of Bologna. He has published widely on German foreign policy, transatlantic relations, and regional security governance. His current research projects include the co-authored What’s Wrong with NATO and How to Fix It (to be published by Polity Press). His most recent publication is the edited Handbook of Governance and Security (Edward Elgar, 2014). (p.xxxiv) Dr Igor Sutyagin is Senior Research Fellow in Russian Studies at the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI). His research is concerned with political– military aspects of the Russian foreign policy and domestic situation, Page 18 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors as well as Russia’s conventional armed forces developments. Prior to joining RUSI, Dr Sutyagin worked at the Institute for US and Canadian Studies (Russian Academy of Science), in the Political– Military Studies Department, where he held the position of the Head of Section, the US military–technical and military–economic policy. He has written over 120 articles and books published in seven countries, including more than twenty-five articles in the specialist magazines of the Russian General Staff, Main Naval Staff, and the Ministry of Defence. He is also the co-author of the book Russian Strategic Nuclear Weapons. Igor has a Ph.D. in History of Foreign Policy and International Relations (1995) from the Institute for US and Canadian Studies in Moscow and a Master’s degree in Radio-Physics from the Physics Department, Moscow State University (1988). He is a graduate of the College of International and Security Studies (Senior Executive Course) at the George C. Marshall European Сenter for Security Studies (Garmisch-Partenkirchen, 1999). Dr Christopher Tuck is a Senior Lecturer with the Department of Defence Studies, King’s College London, based at the United Kingdom’s Joint Services Command and Staff College (JSCSC). Prior to this, he was a lecturer at the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst. His research interests include modern land warfare, British counterinsurgency, and the problems of war termination. His recent publications include Understanding Land Warfare (Routledge, 2014); Confrontation, Strategy and War Termination: Britain’s Conflict with Indonesia, 1963–66 (Ashgate, 2013); and British Propaganda and Wars of Empire (co-editor) (Ashgate, 2014). Matthew Uttley is Professor of Defence Studies at King’s College London. He was formerly the Academic Director of the King’s Policy Institute at King’s College London. He was previously the Head of the King’s Defence Studies Department and Dean of Academic Studies at the Joint Services Command and Staff College, Shrivenham (2006–12). He has published widely on the historical and contemporary dimensions of UK defence policy, defence economics, weapons acquisition, and professional military education. He has acted as an advisor and expert reviewer for a number of bodies, including the National Audit Office, European Commission, Ministry of Defence’s Development, Concepts and Doctrine Centre, and the Economic and Social Research Council. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts (FRSA) and the Royal Historical Society (FRHistS), and Adjunct Professor at the Baltic Defence College, Tartu, Estonia. Mark Webber

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Notes on Contributors is Professor of International Politics and Head of Government and Society, School of Government and Society, University of Birmingham. He has published widely on Russian foreign policy, security governance, the enlargement of NATO, and the EU. His current research is focused on NATO as an actor in the contemporary international system. He is co-editor (with Adrian Hyde-Price) of Theorizing NATO (Routledge) and co-author of What’s Wrong with NATO and How to Fix It (to be published by Polity Press). Moritz Weiss is Senior Lecturer in International Relations at the Ludwig Maximilian University (LMU) Munich (Germany). He received his Ph.D. in Political Science from Jacobs University Bremen. Afterwards, at the University of St Gallen (Switzerland), he worked as a political consultant for Switzerland’s Departments of Defence and Foreign (p.xxxv) Affairs. His research focuses on security studies, international relations theory, and the political economy of arms production. His articles have appeared in numerous peer-reviewed journals including Security Studies, European Journal of International Security, Journal of Common Market Studies, Review of International Political Economy, and Journal of European Public Policy. Dr Alex S. Wilner is an Assistant Professor at the Norman Paterson School of International Affairs (NPSIA), Carleton University, Canada. He teaches classes on intelligence, terrorism, national security policy, and strategic foresight. His books include Deterring Rational Fanatics (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015), and Deterring Terrorism: Theory and Practice, co-edited with Andreas Wenger (Stanford University Press, 2012). In 2016 he was awarded a prestigious research grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada to explore cyber deterrence. Prior to joining NPSIA, Dr Wilner held a variety of positions at Policy Horizons Canada, the University of Toronto, the National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START), and the ETH Zurich. Katharina Wolf is a Research Assistant at the Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies in the Global Governance Programme. Her doctoral research examines when and in which format European states intervene militarily in humanitarian crises. She holds a M.A. degree in International Relations from the University of Nottingham and a M.A. degree in International Administration and Conflict Management from the University of Konstanz. During her doctoral research Katharina worked at the European Union Institute for Security Studies in Paris, where she researched European and global defence Page 20 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors spending patterns. Her publications include Global defence spending 2015: the big picture (EUISS publication, 2016), Putting numbers on capabilities: Defence inflation vs. cost escalation (EUISS publication, 2015), and Defence spending in 2014: the big picture (with Antonio Missiroli) (EUISS publication, 2015). Katerina Wright is a J.D. Candidate at the New York University School of Law. She is also an external collaborator with the programme on Europe in the World in the Global Governance Programme, Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies at the European University Institute. From 2011 to 2013, she worked in Washington, DC, for Avascent, an international research and consulting firm, where she carried out analyses on American, European, and other global defence and public sector markets. As a consultant, she helped launch Avascent’s European office in Paris in 2013–14, specializing there in the fields of European, NATO, and national level defence. In her current research she is focusing on EU foreign policy, the EU Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP), and transatlantic relations. Her publications include ‘Opportunities Abound in NATO Defence Market’, published in the National Defense Magazine. Dr Olivier Zajec, a graduate of the Military Academy Saint-Cyr and of Sciences Po Paris, is Assistant Professor of Political Science at the University of Lyon III, as well as Research Fellow at both the Centre Lyonnais d’Études de Sécurité Internationale et Défense (CLESID), and the Institut de Stratégie Comparée (ISC, Paris). He also teaches strategic theory at the French War College (2011–present) and at the Royal Centre for High Military Studies (Kenitra, Morocco), and is a lecturer at the Institut des Hautes Études de Défense Nationale (IHEDN, Paris). His current research interests bear on the realist theory of (p.xxxvi) international relations, transatlantic defence policies, and the theory of war. He is the author of the first intellectual biography of Nicholas J. Spykman (Presses Universitaires de Paris-Sorbonne, 2016). Dr Katarzyna Zysk is an Associate Professor and Director of Research at the Norwegian Institute for Defence Studies in Oslo, where she also serves as deputy for the director of the Institute. She was a Visiting Scholar at the Center for International Security and Cooperation (CISAC) at Stanford University, and a Visiting Research Fellow at the Changing Character of War Programme at the University of Oxford. She is also a member of the Hoover Institution’s Arctic Security Initiative at Stanford University and was a Research Fellow (resident and nonresident) at the US Naval War College—Center for Naval Warfare Page 21 of 22

 

Notes on Contributors Studies, where she also cooperated with the War Gaming Department. In 2016 she served as an Acting Dean of the Norwegian Defence University College, where she also teaches regularly. Dr Zysk has an academic background in international relations and international history. Following her Ph.D. thesis on NATO enlargement (2006), her research has focused on security and strategic studies, in particular military change in Russia, Russian security and defence policy, the Russian Navy, geopolitics, maritime security and international order at sea in the Arctic, and Russian military strategy.

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Introduction

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Introduction Beyond CSDP: The Resurgence of National Armed Forces in Europe Hugo Meijer Marco Wyss

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0001

Abstract and Keywords The introduction, which sets the stage for The Handbook, contends that, when it comes to European security and defence, analytical precedence should be given back to Europe’s national defence policies and armed forces. Therefore, it first addresses the different historical stages in the rise and decline of the CSDP and the transformation of national armed forces in Europe since the end of the cold war. Then, it questions the seemingly unjustified predominance of the CSDP visà-vis the comparative study of national defence policies in the literature on European defence. With the case made for the ‘analytical resurgence’ of national armed forces in Europe, the third section demonstrates the fruitfulness of such a demarche by summarizing the central findings of The Handbook. What emerges from the rich and diverse range of contributions in this volume is that national armed forces have regained their central importance. Keywords:   national armed forces, Europe, defence, transformation, common security and defence policy

IN summer 2016, the European Union (EU) released A Global Strategy for its Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP). Under the heading ‘Security and Defence’, it calls on Europeans to ‘take greater responsibility for our security. We must be ready and able to deter, respond to, and protect ourselves against external threats’.1 This is probably the boldest among a number of the strategy’s ambitions. Even though some leading European foreign and security policy Page 1 of 40

 

Introduction pundits have tried to portray the document as a good starting point to make the CFSP more effective,2 its weaknesses and unrealistic call for ‘strategic autonomy’ have attracted sharp criticism.3 Despite the EU’s foreign and security policy achievements, notably within the framework of the European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP)/Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP), strategic autonomy remains a distant ideal. Not only has European defence integration been limited and even stalled since the early 2010s, but, as will be shown, there has also been a related trend towards the renationalization of security and defence in Europe. It is increasingly evident that the era of enthusiasm for European security and defence following the Franco-British Saint-Malo Declaration of 19984 and, especially, the first and preceding EU security strategy —A Secure (p.2) Europe in a Better World—of 2003,5 has ebbed away.6 Moreover, the European project itself has come under increasing pressure, and the United Kingdom, one of Europe’s major military powers, is in the process of leaving the union.7 Whereas the new strategy acknowledges some of these difficulties, it is not binding for EU member states, nor does it set out the ways and means to achieve strategic autonomy. This is, to say the least, not particularly strategic.8 What A Global Strategy does well, however, is to identify the threats and challenges Europe faces, notably those emanating from an increasingly assertive and militarily resurgent Russia.9 After more than two decades since the end of the cold war, the successor state to the Soviet Union has thus ‘regained’ its place as the focal point for European defence. Yet, ever since the Pleven Plan10 was put forward in the early stages of the cold war, a European defence community has failed to materialize.11 The European powers are, as a consequence, somehow reminiscent of Renaissance Italy, where rich yet militarily relatively weak city states and kingdoms such as Florence, Milan, and Naples did not join forces, and their disunity ultimately allowed France and the Holy Roman Empire to project their power into the Italian peninsula.12 To push the analogy further might risk the trap of anachronism, but most European states have preferred to rely on a US-backed North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) to protect their national interests and face the perceived threat of the Soviet Union in the cold war and now Russia. The importance of the Atlantic Alliance, and implicitly the failure of European defence integration, is also acknowledged by the new EU strategy.13 In the light of the still limited defence integration, the editors of The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces contend that, when it comes to European security and defence, analytical precedence should be refocused on Europe’s national defence policies and armed forces for two main interconnected reasons. The first one is historical. Since the end of the cold war, defence and security policy in Europe has (p.3) witnessed two concurrent trends towards European integration and national transformation. On the one hand, European defence integration through the ESDP/CSDP (hereafter CSDP) Page 2 of 40

 

Introduction has undergone a pattern of emergence, rise, and gridlock during the 1990s, 2000s, and 2010s respectively. Despite significant institutional development, almost three decades after the fall of the Berlin Wall the political and military reach of CSDP remains quite limited and hampered by diverging national interests.14 Moreover, since the early 2010s Europe has witnessed a trend towards a renewed focus on territorial defence and the related national defence capabilities.15 On the other hand, Europe’s national defence policies and armed forces have experienced significant qualitative, quantitative, and organizational transformation in response to a shifting threat environment that includes a resurgent Russia, transnational terrorism, cyber-security challenges, the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD), civil wars, and neighbouring failing states, among others. Accordingly, the combination of the rise and decline of the CSDP, on the one hand, and of persistent national defence transformation throughout the post-cold war, on the other, calls for a renewed attention to national security and defence policy as the analytical starting point in the study of European defence and security. The second reason pertains to the extant literature on European defence. In this twin movement of European defence integration and national transformation, the literature has overwhelmingly privileged the CSDP at the expense of the cross-European comparative study of national defence policies and armed forces. In fact, a major imbalance—if not an inverse correlation—exists between, on the one hand, the relative depth and breadth of historical change in European defence integration versus national defence policies and, on the other, the extent to which they have been respectively covered in the literature. Despite the limited scope of the CSDP and the persistence in the process of national defence transformation since the end of the cold war, the literature on European defence has been dominated by a focus on the CSDP and by a neglect of the comparative study of national defence policies and armed forces in Europe. Given the imbalance between the historical record and the focus of the extant literature, the first ambition of The Handbook is, at the conceptual level, to refocus the attention on, and to give analytical precedence to, national defence policy and armed forces in Europe. Re-emphasizing the crucial importance of cross-European comparisons of national defence policies and armed forces does not equate to abandoning the study of the CSDP and of the trans-European integrative patterns in the field of defence and security. Reinvigorating the national level as a key unit of analysis, and in a comparative approach, is in fact a condition sine qua non for investigating defence cooperation in its multiple configurations (bilateral, minilateral, multilateral) and levels (intergovernmental and trans-/supranational), but without losing track of the foundational dimension of the national level. While taking (p.4) into account the role of the CSDP in European defence and security, The Handbook shows how the CSDP fits—and its relatively limited role—within the complex patchwork of national defence policies and of bilateral and mini-/multilateral arrangements that compose Page 3 of 40

 

Introduction Europe’s security architecture.16 The second and related ambition of The Handbook is, at the empirical level, to provide the first geographically and thematically comprehensive presentation and analysis of the evolution of the national security and defence policies, strategies, doctrines, capabilities, and military operations, as well as the alliances and security partnerships, of Europe’s armed forces in response to the security challenges Europe has faced since the end of the cold war. Thereby, it provides a comprehensive set of case studies of the defence policies and armed forces not only of the major, but also of most medium and lesser European powers.17 In order to support the intellectual case outlined here, this Introduction is structured as follows. The first two sections respectively outline the two central rationales for re-emphasizing the study of national armed forces in Europe. The first addresses the different historical stages in the rise and decline of the CSDP and in the transformation of national armed forces in Europe since the end of the cold war. The second then questions the seemingly unjustified predominance of CSDP vis-à-vis the comparative study of national defence policies in the literature on European defence. With the case made for the ‘analytical resurgence’ of national armed forces in Europe, the third section demonstrates the fruitfulness of such a démarche by summarizing the central findings of The Handbook. What emerges from the rich and diverse range of contributions in this volume is not only that national armed forces are here to stay, but that they have also regained their central importance.

(p.5) Reframing European Defence The evolution of Europe’s national defence policies and armed forces since the end of the cold war has been closely connected to, and frequently overshadowed by, European defence integration. This should not come as a surprise, because the overcoming of the cold war order went hand in hand with European integration. The processes of European defence integration and national armed forces transformation largely converged chronologically, but diverged qualitatively. The EU, its member states, and the other European powers have shared the same regional threat environment, albeit with subregional and local differences; and the rise of CFSP provoked a significant degree of enthusiasm within Brussels, the think-tank world and, notably, academia. Yet, as already stated, The Handbook argues that the analytical precedence should be given back to Europe’s national defence policies and armed forces, not only because fully integrated European armed forces have failed to emerge, but also because the pendulum has swung back towards a national approach to defence in Europe.18 Moreover, despite the ‘fog’ of CSDP and early post-cold war delusions about a more secure world,19 national armed forces have remained at the core of European defence. Finally, the transformation of European armed forces since the end of the cold war has been significant. In order to reframe European defence, what follows is a brief presentation of the three different stages in the

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Introduction twofold evolution of, respectively, European defence integration and national transformation. CSDP: Emergence, Rise, Gridlock

The foundations for the emergence of European defence integration were laid with the end of the cold war. In exchange for French President François Mitterrand’s acceptance of German reunification, Chancellor Helmut Kohl agreed to accelerate European political and monetary integration. This paved the way for the Maastricht Treaty and the CFSP in 1993.20 The latter proved, however, to be largely ineffective in addressing the protracted wars in the Balkans that haunted Europe in the 1990s. In order to gain the capability and capacity to deal with crises in Europe and its neighbourhood, the EU decided—in close consultation with NATO—to move ahead with European defence integration. Following the Franco-British Saint-Malo Declaration, the 1999 Cologne Summit officially established the ESDP by absorbing the Western European Union (WEU), which had proved ineffective despite resuscitation attempts after the cold war. Thereafter began the second stage and ‘golden age’ of European defence integration. The EU institutionalized the ESDP, strengthened its military capabilities, promoted interoperability, and integrated defence procurement, agreed on its first European Security Strategy (ESS),21 and launched a number of ambitious peace-support and crisis-management (p.6) operations. The European Defence Agency (EDA) was also created in 2004 to enhance capacity development and intra-European armaments cooperation. By the mid-2000s, the enthusiasm for such developments led some analysts to go so far as to stress that Europe would become the next superpower and challenge American primacy in world politics.22 This process culminated in the rebranding of the ESDP as the CSDP through the Lisbon Treaty of 2007, which entered into force in 2009 and aimed to streamline the hydra-like structure that had emerged over the years.23 The Military Committee (EUMC) and the Military Staff (EUMS) were integrated in the newly born European External Action Service (EEAS).24 But, despite the improved organizational functioning of the CSDP, a third stage, marked by disillusionment, has since set in. With the notable exception of the EU NAVFOR Operation ‘Atalanta’, more muscular European military operations have become increasingly rare.25 Moreover, the operational record and effectiveness of the EU’s more ambitious military missions such as EUFOR RD Congo and EUFOR Chad/CAR have been questioned, and most European powers, as illustrated by the Malian crisis, have no stomach for new major EU-led military operations. The era when the EU optimistically launched its first military mission outside Europe with Operation ‘Artemis’ in 2003 seems far away, and the focus has increasingly shifted to civilian missions and capacity building.26 Finally, largely because of the persistence of diverging national interests and threat perceptions, and despite a Page 5 of 40

 

Introduction militarily resurgent Russia, a truly integrated European defence has yet to materialize. As Anand Menon points out, most EU member states share a growing disillusionment vis-à-vis the CSDP and ‘seem increasingly to doubt the utility of an EU policy that was largely their own creation’.27 This trend has been reinforced in the aftermath of the 2011 intervention in Libya, undertaken within a NATO rather than a CSDP framework.28 (p.7) To be sure, it is not impossible that the combination of Brexit, Russia’s increased assertiveness, the American preoccupation with China and the Asia– Pacific more generally,29 and the Presidency of Donald Trump—who has cast doubts over US defence commitments to Europe—might provide an impetus for small and incremental steps in European defence integration. The 2017 decision to create an EU Military Planning and Conduct Capability (MPCC) within the EU military staff, tasked with the command of non-executive military CSDP missions,30 and other initiatives, including the European Defence Fund (EDF) within the framework of the European Defence Action Plan,31 the strengthening of the ‘permanent structured cooperation’ (PESCO) mechanism,32 as well as the discussions around the resuscitation of the long-standing ambition of creating a common EU army,33 have indeed generated considerable expectations and debate among pundits.34 But the persistence of major intra-European national divergences in terms of threat perceptions, the imbalances in capabilities, and the consequent challenges of defining a shared hierarchization of the main security challenges and military tasks, and thus of devising joint priorities, shed considerable doubt on, while not outright precluding, the prospect of a truly integrated European defence. These factors are empirically substantiated in the contributions to The Handbook, which suggest that a common European defence policy appears to be a distant hope rather than a present reality. Transforming National Armed Forces

Russia, as the post-cold war successor to the Soviet Union, has, by contrast, had a more significant effect than the European integration project on national security and defence policies in Europe. More generally, the evolution of the European security environment in (p.8) the three decades following the fall of the Berlin Wall seems to have had in some ways an almost diametrically opposed effect on national armed forces to that on European defence integration. While the absence of a major conventional threat from Russia benefited European defence integration in the late 1990s and early 2000s, it also led to declining national defence budgets and a shift away from territorial defence. Similarly, the Kremlin’s subsequent increased military assertiveness has led European capitals to rediscover the importance of territorial defence. Consequently, national defence policies and armed forces in Europe have roughly also experienced what approximates to a three-stage process since the end of the cold war. In this process, NATO has had an overarching influence acting as both a key enabler and a shaper of national defence policies and military transformation in Europe.

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Introduction After the withdrawal of the Red Army from Central and Eastern Europe following the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the disintegration of the Warsaw Pact and the Soviet Union, Western Europe was left without a major conventional military threat.35 Moreover, the decline of Russia seemed to continue unabated for the remainder of the 1990s.36 The ‘unipolar moment’, with the United States as the sole remaining superpower, seemed confirmed.37 Meanwhile, the USbacked NATO umbrella was continuously expanded eastwards, ahead of the future expansion of the EU.38 This set the stage for the first transformation phase of European armed forces, which lasted until the turn of the century. Initially, the European powers cashed in the so-called peace dividend, and reduced their military personnel and equipment without fundamental strategic, doctrinal, or material reorientations. The lessons of the 1991 Gulf War, which was a showcase for US military power and the ongoing Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA), the subsequent Balkan Wars, and the emergence of transnational threats stimulated a military transformation process in most European countries.39 This led to a strategic and doctrinal shift away from territorial (p.9) defence to humanitarian and peace-support operations, further troop reductions, professionalization, the abolition of conscription (in most cases), increased operability, and standardization of doctrine.40 These developments overlapped with a second phase, which began with the military interventions in Afghanistan in 2001 and Iraq in 2003, and continued with the resulting counterinsurgency (COIN) operations in both countries. This first completed the shift towards expeditionary warfare,41 and then led to what has been called a ‘new counterinsurgency era’.42 As a result, the countries participating in the two invasions and/or the counterinsurgency campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq not only rediscovered and developed past counterinsurgency doctrines,43 but also continued the transformation of their armed forces to enable them to fight alongside allies abroad. This accelerated the process of what Anthony King has called ‘concentration’ and ‘transnationalization’ to create smaller yet more capable and internationally connected armed forces.44 In an increasingly generalized trend, European armed forces were reorganized into a modular and thus more flexible structure, further reduced in size and professionalized, and re-equipped with new weapons platforms and communication equipment in the aim to improve their reaction time, force projection capability, operational sustainability, interoperability, and effectiveness. Yet this transformation process was impeded by persistent budget pressures on Europe’s armed forces and marked by inconsistency because of different security outlooks, political priorities, and strategic cultures in Europe. This led to what has been called a ‘transformation gap’, not only between the United States and its European allies, but also within Europe.45 Moreover, the enthusiasm for expeditionary warfare and COIN was not shared across the entire continent, and some non-allied or neutral countries, for instance, focused instead on domestic tasks as a substitute for territorial defence.46 Page 7 of 40

 

Introduction Meanwhile, the pendulum has swung back with a third and ongoing transformation phase. This most recent phase, which overlapped with the second, set in train a double crisis that emerged towards the end of the 2000s. On the one hand, the lengthy campaign and lack of progress in Afghanistan led to disillusionment with COIN, and a desire to avoid (p.10) having to fight an insurgency on the ground in the future.47 On the other hand, the global financial crisis was followed by cuts to already overstretched defence budgets.48 As a result, not only did the European appetite for expeditionary warfare dramatically decline, but also the capabilities and capacities of Europe’s armed forces were further reduced.49 This ‘strategic retreat’ did not last for long, and was transformed into a ‘strategic reorientation’ as soon as the European economy was on its way to recovery and the continent seemed to be confronted with new threats and challenges. Simultaneous to a widespread disillusionment with the EU and a resurgence of the nation state,50 many European powers have increasingly seen themselves challenged by a militarily resurgent and assertive Russia—especially in the wake of the Ukrainian crisis and the annexation of Crimea51—together with an Islamist terrorist threat on their national territories,52 and cyber-security challenges.53 Even though defence spending as a percentage of GDP remains historically low and often well below NATO’s 2 per cent target, this increasingly tense European security environment has led to higher defence budgets after decades of cuts.54 Yet more importantly, and as the chapters of The Handbook show, Europe’s armed forces have ‘rediscovered’ their traditional territorial defence role and become increasingly involved in what is called ‘homeland security’ in the United States. The threat not only of terrorism, but also of conventional war—as announced in the mid-2000s by Colin Gray—is again real.55 This overall trend towards the renationalization of national armed forces, with a return to territorial defence—mostly in the context of NATO—has contributed to further de-emphasizing the relative importance of CSDP in European defence and security. In sum, given the rise and decline in European defence integration and the persistence in the process of national defence transformation since the fall of the Berlin Wall, the historical evolution of, and recent trends in, European defence and security thus call for a renewed attention to national defence policies and armed forces.

(p.11) A Glaring Imbalance: The Literature on the CSDP and National Armed Forces A second central reason for refocusing on national armed forces in Europe is that, in this twin movement of European integration and national transformation, the overwhelming majority of the literature has focused on the CSDP while largely neglecting, with only a few notable exceptions, the comparative evolution of national defence and security policy and armed forces at the cross-European level.

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Introduction Despite its very limited military output, the CSDP has been the focus of a burgeoning body of scholarly literature.56 This seemingly paradoxical phenomenon resulted not only from the enthusiasm for European defence integration in the wake of the rise of the CSDP, but also from the concomitant decline of defence- and military-focused strategic studies at the expense of security studies, following the broadening of the concept of security and the focus on its non-military dimensions,57 and the consolidation of European studies as an academic subdiscipline58—which jointly contributed to the neglect of the study of national defence policy and armed forces in Europe. Without attempting to provide an exhaustive review, which goes beyond the scope of this Introduction, we can identify five clusters of enquiry in the literature on the CSDP. First, a large body of works seeks to explain the drivers of the rise and evolution of the CSDP by applying theoretical approaches from political science and international relations. This puts forward competing explanatory factors derived from realism,59 (p.12) constructivism,60 or neo-institutionalism,61 among others.62 A second strand in the literature analyses the decision-making processes and the institutional arrangements of the CSDP. This body of research aims to assess whether Europe’s institutional architecture in the field of defence and security is intergovernmental or supranational, or consists of a multilevel security governance.63 A third cluster focuses on the aggregation of military capabilities under the CSDP, on intra-European arms cooperation, and on the persistence of the so-called capabilities–expectations gap.64 Focusing on the demand side, these works examine the institutional framework that has emerged over time to develop joint European defence capabilities, including the Organisation Conjointe de Coopération en (p.13) Matière d’Armement (OCCAR) or the EDA.65 The external operations, both civilian and military, undertaken by the EU under the CSDP banner constitute a fourth major research area. These works examine the drivers and effectiveness of the range of operations conducted by the EU in south-eastern Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia since the early 2000s.66 Finally, the literature delves into the contentious relationship between NATO and the CSDP in the provision of security on the continent. It analyses issues such as the potential development of Europe’s ‘strategic autonomy’ vis-à-vis NATO, the transatlantic burden-sharing and capability gap, or the question of geographical/functional division of labour —and more broadly the patterns of cooperation and competition—between the two organizations.67 While scholars disagree on the extent to which the EU has fully emerged as an actor in military affairs on the world stage,68 these five different clusters of literature all share a tendency to focus on a trans-/ supranational level of analysis. Throughout the post-cold war period, the scholarly literature on European defence and security has thus adopted a predominantly ‘CSDP-centric’ perspective. Accordingly, of the two main trends that have characterized Europe’s defence since the end of the fall of the Berlin Wall—namely, European Page 9 of 40

 

Introduction integration and national transformation—the latter (p.14) has been significantly neglected. Indeed, very few cross-national studies have analysed and compared the evolution of national defence policies and the transformation of their armed forces across Europe; and, when doing so, they have focused on only a small selection of major European powers, such as the United Kingdom, France, and Germany (and seldom on medium or lesser powers, such as Poland, Spain, or Norway).69 In addition, several of these studies have focused specifically on the contributions of individual major powers to the CSDP, therefore using the CSDP as their organizing compass.70 Furthermore, in such comparative studies, many lesser European powers are often absent altogether, such as Albania, Ireland, or Slovakia, to name just a few. Finally, the very few comparative studies that include a ‘large N’ of European countries tend either to focus only on specific issues or aspects (for example, strategic culture71) or to provide year-by-year snapshots.72 In other words, by predominantly focusing on the CSDP, the extant literature has neglected a fundamental analytical dimension—namely, the systematic comparison of national defence policies and armed forces across Europe in the post-cold war era. The editors of The Handbook therefore argue for the need to move beyond a ‘CSDP-centric’ perspective and to re-emphasize the crossEuropean comparative study of national defence policies and armed forces. A truly cross-European comparison of the evolution of national defence policy and armed forces remains a glaring blindspot. The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces aims to fill this gap.

Central Findings: Common Patterns versus Divergences In order to fill the above intellectual, empirical, and scholarly gaps, The Handbook gathers fifty-one contributions by leading and emerging scholars on European defence and international security from around the world. It is organized in six parts that collectively demonstrate the fruitfulness of giving analytical precedence back to the comparative study of national defence policies and armed forces across Europe. The first and most extensive part offers country-based assessments of the evolution of the national defence (p.15) policies of the major, medium, and lesser powers of Europe in the post-cold war period. The focus on national security strategies, military doctrines, force structures, and interventions in each of these chapters enables international comparisons to be drawn. Part II then analyses the web of alliances and security partnerships (bilateral and multilateral) developed by European states to cooperate in the provision of national security. This is followed by four thematic parts that respectively zoom in on: the array of security challenges faced by European states and their armed forces, ranging from interstate (e.g., conventional warfare) through intra-state and transnational (e.g., failed states, terrorism, or proliferation), to emerging security challenges (e.g., cyber) (Part III); the national security strategies and doctrines developed in response to these challenges in five domains (land, sea, air, outer space, and cyber) and in Page 10 of 40

 

Introduction different areas such as counterinsurgency, counterterrorism, non-proliferation, or intelligence (Part IV); and the military capabilities, and the underlying defence and technological industrial base, brought to bear to support national strategies and doctrines (Part V). Finally, Part VI draws upon the previously discussed strategies, doctrines, and capabilities to examine European armed forces in action in national or multilateral military operations conducted to tackle existing security challenges. Each of these parts therefore contributes to a diverse range of strands in the literature on European defence and in the larger field of security studies. The geographical scope of The Handbook is significantly larger than the present borders of the EU. Not only are these borders subject to change over the time period considered (for example, the successive enlargements or Brexit), but memberships in the EU and NATO do not coincide, with some EU countries not being members of NATO and vice versa. Furthermore, and equally importantly, a broader range of countries have historically participated in and directly impacted upon European defence and security. These include major powers like Russia (both the historical (cold war) and the current reference point for European defence and security), medium powers such as Turkey and Ukraine, and lesser powers in the Balkans, as well as Belarus, Switzerland, or Norway. The geographical reach of The Handbook is therefore large and covers a great variety of countries that differ in terms of historical trajectory, size, geography, and political outlook. For analytical clarity, the country-based chapters in Part I of The Handbook are thus divided into three groups: major, medium, and lesser powers.73 Part II examines alliances and security partnerships in Europe focusing on different forms of multilateral security cooperation (NATO, CSDP, and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE)), and on two major bilateral relationships (Franco-UK and Franco-German). Part III sheds light on the variety of security challenges affecting Europe as a whole, while highlighting subregional specificities when relevant. The subsequent two thematic parts (strategies and doctrines; and capabilities) could not cover, because of space constraints, each one of the European countries. Therefore, in analysing the strategies and doctrines as well as the capabilities of European armed forces, the thematic chapters in Parts IV and V focus on cross-European patterns of continuity/change and of convergence/divergence. They do so, first, by analysing and comparing Europe’s major powers and, secondly, by examining selective samples of medium and lesser powers. Finally, Part VI focuses on the national operations of the most active major powers (France, the United Kingdom, and Russia) and then (p.16) on the contributions of European armed forces to multilateral operations (under CSDP, NATO, and UN banners). What emerges from these pages is a rich, diverse, and complex portrait of the shifting patterns in the national defence policies and armed forces of Europe, and the security environment in which they have operated since the fall of the Berlin Wall. By focusing on the entire post-cold war period (since 1989/91), the Page 11 of 40

 

Introduction contributions to the volume provide historical depth to the analysis of such patterns—something that year-by-year snapshots or mere contemporary analysis cannot provide. Rather than engaging in a description of each individual chapter of The Handbook, the overview below summarizes the central findings on the common, cross-European trends that emerge from each part of The Handbook while also highlighting, when relevant, intra-European divergences. Part I: National Defence Policies

Part I provides an in-depth analysis of the evolution of the national security strategies, military doctrines, forces structures, and interventions of individual European countries since the end of the cold war—ranging from major through medium to lesser powers. The findings of Part I contribute to the literature on military transformation,74 though with a broader focus. This military transformation literature has hitherto shown how, selectively emulating the United States (including via NATO standards),75 European armed forces have been reorganized, in the post-cold war period, along three distinct innovations aimed at improving military effectiveness. These innovations have been: networking forces through information and communications technologies; developing effects-based operations (EBOs), which link the destruction of targets to intended military, political, and psychological effects; and forging a modular and flexible force structure for expeditionary missions.76 Furthermore, it has been shown that military interventions have a feedback-loop effect on the transformation of national armed forces through processes of adaptation in wartime.77 The contributions of Part I confirm some of these broader patterns, while also showing a larger pool of countries, as well as subregional or national variations. But Part (p.17) I goes beyond this literature by providing more comprehensive findings—not only on military transformation but also on the broader evolution of defence policies, including threat assessments, decisionmaking institutional architectures, changing nuclear doctrines, the expansion of the mission spectrum, or the thickening of international defence cooperation (including through minilateralism) in Europe. Major Powers

Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, the threat perceptions of the four major powers in Europe (the United Kingdom, France, Germany, and Russia) have expanded beyond the cold war concerns over large-scale conventional warfare towards a more diffuse and diversified threat assessment, increasingly including asymmetrical, non-state, and transnational security challenges. However, starting in the 2010s, and in particular after the Ukrainian crisis and Moscow’s annexation of Crimea, the three West European major powers have also gradually factored Russia’s newly assertive behaviour—and the prospect of conventional war—back in their threat assessments. Reciprocally, Russia’s perception of continued Western military–technological superiority and the

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Introduction growing tensions over Ukraine have given new urgency to its sense of insecurity and encirclement. Concomitantly, the force structures of both Western major military powers and Russia have followed a partly similar trajectory, though with uneven capabilities and national idiosyncrasies, towards a modular, more flexible force structure with an emphasis on joint, network-centric forces. The mission spectrum of Western major powers has significantly broadened, from cold war territorial defence to a crisis-management and expeditionary force, with a focus on multinational combined forces and interoperability. Meanwhile, France is the only major power to deploy armed forces on its national territory for domestic security purposes, though the United Kingdom briefly deployed troops in the wake of the Manchester attack of May 2017 to support police forces.78 Yet all three major West European powers appear to have responded to rising tensions with Russia by re-emphasizing territorial defence as a core mission, largely within a NATO framework. The institutional architectures governing national defence policy vary significantly across these four major powers, ranging from tightly centralized decision-making systems (Russia), high executive autonomy (the United Kingdom and, especially, France), or strong parliamentary oversight (Germany). As further detailed in Part VI, since the 1990s, Western major powers have enhanced their participation in multinational interventions ranging from low- to high-intensity operations. Despite Germany and France’s non-participation in the Iraq War, this trend is apparent in all major Western European powers, even in Germany, where a significant development has been the growing involvement in international military operations despite the domestic constraints on the use of force. Russia has instead tended to privilege unilateral interventions in its near abroad. Of the three nuclear powers, the nuclear doctrines of France and the United Kingdom have gradually converged towards a rebalancing of the mix of conventional/nuclear forces in their overall defence policies in favour of conventional forces, and towards the acceptance of ballistic missile defences. In contrast, (p.18) Russia has sought to compensate for its conventional inferiority vis-à-vis NATO by elevating the role of nuclear weapons in its defence policy, by abandoning the no-first-use pledge, by envisaging the possible use of limited nuclear strikes to de-escalate a conflict, as well as by pursuing nonmilitary means (for example, cyber and electronic warfare, information campaigns, and covert operations). While Europe’s major Western powers face the common challenge of how to finance defence efforts given significant budget and resource constraints, Moscow’s defence budget has steadily increased. This increase has come, however, from a very low post-cold war defence-spending level, and Russia’s modernization efforts have been undermined by socioeconomic and demographic challenges, among other factors.

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Introduction Medium Powers

While the defence policies of Europe’s medium powers share several common characteristics, there have also been significant differences in defence outlooks across Southern, south-eastern, Central, and Eastern Europe.79 A shared trend since the end of the cold war appears to be the expansion of the concept of security in their successive national security strategy documents, with threat assessments increasingly including so-called non-traditional security challenges, such as terrorism, organized crime, and WMD proliferation. Furthermore, as with Western Europe’s major powers, this broadening of the definition of ‘security’ has gone hand in hand with the development of the so-called comprehensive approach, aimed at blending all instruments of national power (civilian and military), and at enhancing cooperation between government departments to tackle such challenges. Important differences in emphasis nonetheless persist in the hierarchization of security challenges. In particular, in contrast to Southern European states—which continue to perceive a diffuse threat environment and focus on challenges on NATO’s southern flank (for example, terrorism and migrant smuggling networks)—former Soviet or Sovietcontrolled Central and Eastern European medium powers have come to single out Russia as their first security concern, increasingly after Russia’s war in Georgia in 2008, but even more so since the 2010s. Given its history of recurrently falling prey to rival major powers, Poland, for instance, has consistently put Russia at the top of its security concerns throughout the postcold war period. Ukraine’s threat perception vis-à-vis Moscow, instead, has risen and fallen multiple times since the end of the cold war and its independence from the Soviet Union, leading to oscillations in Kyiv’s defence policy between NATO and Russia—until Moscow’s aggression in eastern Ukraine and its annexation of Crimea have led Kyiv to move resolutely towards closer ties with NATO. Just as for the major powers, the range of missions of the armed forces of Europe’s medium powers has expanded to include crisis-management and peace operations since the 1990s and in numerous cases counterinsurgency in the 2000s, with a force structure tailored for joint and interoperable expeditionary operations. All these medium powers have become increasingly active in multinational operations in the post-cold war era, within a UN, NATO, and/or CSDP framework or as part of ‘coalitions of the willing’. Turkey, for instance, has participated in a variety of multinational peacekeeping operations—while also (p.19) conducting unilateral operations (for example, Iraq and Syria)—and Ukraine has participated in Peace-Support Operations (PSOs) as a way to maintain readiness. Italy, Portugal, and Spain have also used their armed forces on national soil to carry out or support homeland security missions. More recently, while Southern European states have been less directly affected by Moscow’s assertive behaviour, both Kyiv and Warsaw have re-emphasized the central task of territorial defence and deterrence. Within NATO, as Andrew A. Page 14 of 40

 

Introduction Michta stresses, Poland has become a ‘vocal advocate’, together with other countries in Eastern and north-eastern Europe, ‘for NATO to return to its traditional territorial defence function’. The overall pattern towards a revaluation of territorial defence can also be observed among Europe’s lesser powers. Lesser Powers

Among European armed forces, those of the lesser powers display the greatest variety in terms of defence policy trajectories.80 The hierarchization in their threat perceptions, the objectives of their military transformation processes, their propensity to use military force, or their relationship with NATO and the EU have been profoundly shaped by their history, their geographical location, and their surrounding ‘local’ security environment. Before we assess subregional patterns, it is possible to identify some cross-European dynamics. In the first two decades after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the cold war, virtually all of Europe’s lesser powers—just like the major and medium powers—expanded the mission spectrum of their armed forces beyond territorial defence towards crisis management and tended to blend civilian and military instruments to address a broadened range of security challenges. Since the growing tensions with Russia in the 2010s, however, a general trend appears to be the return to an emphasis on territorial defence, though with some exceptions, as will be detailed, in Southern and south-eastern Europe in particular. A significant common challenge has been how to manage the combination of limited or shrinking budgets and ever more complex and diverse military tasks, especially after the financial crisis in the late 2000s. While this challenge has affected major and medium powers as well, it has impacted lesser powers more severely, given that they have fewer resources. Thirdly, what emerges from Part I is the overarching influence of NATO as an enabler and shaper of military transformation. Membership of NATO, the prospect of it, or the participation in the Atlantic Alliance’s Partnership for Peace (PfP) programme have led to a partial convergence in the national security strategies, forces structures, and contributions to multinational operations. Finally, while participation in international interventions significantly expanded in the 1990s and 2000s, it has rapidly decreased in the 2010s after the perceived failures and the financial costs of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the 2008 economic crisis, and Russia’s more assertive behaviour in the East—the combination of which has required a reprioritization of scarce resources. (p.20) The lesser powers in Northern, north-eastern, Eastern, and Central Europe have been considerably influenced by their history and geographical location either as former members of the Warsaw Pact or because of their proximity to it.81 Those countries that were Soviet Republics or members of the

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Introduction Warsaw Pact—that is in north-eastern, eastern, and Central Europe—have experienced three broad stages in the evolution of their defence policies. In the 1990s, they underwent complex transitions and democratization processes combined, in most cases, with a rapprochement with NATO through the PfP programme, and their successive accession as members of the alliance. In this period, the acute sense of insecurity vis-à-vis Moscow drove the reorientation towards, and the gradual integration in, the European and transatlantic security architecture. Their armed forces were moulded by the Soviet Union’s cold war influence and priorities, and were thus largely characterized by a focus on territorial defence and conventional warfare on the continent, by ageing Soviet-designed technology, and by large conscript armies. The gradual rapprochement with and subsequent accession to NATO translated into profound reforms, including in civil–military relations with the aim of depoliticizing the military. The modernization of their armed forces was aimed at downsizing personnel and heavy machinery and transitioning towards smaller, rapid-reaction mobile forces capable of participating in NATO- and EU-led peace-support operations. In the second phase, during the 2000s, these new members of NATO and the EU pursued the modernization of their armed forces, largely influenced by NATO standards and, to a lesser extent, by the EU and its 2003 European Security Strategy. Their national security strategy documents increasingly emphasized ‘non-traditional’ security threats, and, concomitantly, they moved towards force structures tailored for expeditionary warfare and crisis management. By becoming increasingly engaged in international operations, as Masha Hedberg and Andres Kasekamp argue, they thus reoriented ‘their traditional agenda of territorial security in order to make more resources available for NATO and for EU mobile needs’. By the 2010s, however, an increasingly tense regional environment, with Russia’s intervention in Ukraine and its assertive stance vis-à-vis the Baltics, led these lesser powers to refocus on conventional security threats and territorial defence and to reduce their participation in multinational interventions. Interestingly, there have been some exceptions to these trends. In Eastern Europe, for instance, while official documents in the Czech Republic and Slovakia reflect a rising threat perception vis-à-vis Russia, Hungary does not appear to have followed the same path. Northern Europe has also been characterized by national variations that are attributable in part to the countries’ histories before and during the cold war, and their geographical location. The two Nordic NATO members, Denmark and Norway, have clearly opted for the development of small, professional, and mobile expeditionary forces for multinational operations. The two neutral states, Finland and Sweden, remain outside NATO but have both moved gradually Page 16 of 40

 

Introduction towards greater operational cooperation with the alliance. At the same time, while Finland has never given up its focus on territorial defence, Sweden moved (p.21) from a conscript force tailored for territorial defence in the 1990s to a smaller professional expeditionary force suited for PSOs in the 2000s. This process seemed to be confirmed with the abolition of the draft in 2010. But, in response to Russia’s military actions in its neighbourhood, Stockholm has shifted its focus back to territorial defence and in 2017 reinstated conscription. The paths followed in Southern and south-eastern European states have been markedly different from those in the north and the east. In the first decade after the cold war, while the former members of the Warsaw Pact were engaging in democratic transition processes, Yugoslavia—a non-aligned country during most of the cold war—disintegrated into several independent states and descended into a prolonged, decade-long series of wars. It was only in the 2000s that the countries of what had become former Yugoslavia initiated a process of military modernization away from conscript, mass-mobilization armed forces. Croatia joined NATO and embarked on a process of transformation consistent with NATO standards, towards a professional, downsized force structure. Serbia, by contrast, while seeking greater cooperation with the Atlantic Alliance, has maintained a more ambivalent position, seeking EU but not NATO membership, while pursuing close ties with Russia. Further south, in Greece and Albania, the threat perception has also been significantly different from that in other European subregions. Especially in the 1990s, the main security threat was perceived in Athens to come from Turkey as well as from instability in the Balkans. Accordingly, Greek armed forces focused on territorial defence and aimed at deterring conventional aggression. As Greek– Turkish tensions receded in the 2000s, Athens moved towards NATO standards, increasingly focused on ‘non-traditional’ security challenges (for example, international crime, piracy, or terrorism), and restructured its military towards smaller and mobile forces. Nonetheless, the defence transformations of Greece, and even more so of Albania, have been hampered by considerable budgetary difficulties, especially since the 2008 financial crisis. The lesser powers in Western Europe have perceived a much more benign and stable regional environment than their counterparts in north- and south-eastern Europe since the end of the cold war. The Netherlands and Belgium have resolutely shifted away from traditional territorial tasks to focus, through PSOs and the comprehensive approach, on a diverse and more diffuse array of nonstate threats. They also share a scepticism vis-à-vis the use of military force in international affairs. While both countries are members of the EU and NATO, Belgium has put more emphasis, in relative terms, on defence cooperation within the EU, while the Netherlands has maintained a more Atlanticist perspective.

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Introduction Besides the subregional specificities in the evolution of defence policies in Europe, what emerges from Part I is also what could be labelled the ‘variety of neutrality’. The neutral lesser powers share a common legacy, originating from the cold war, of eschewing military alliances. However, their military transformation processes have been shaped by diverging threat perceptions and interpretations of what neutrality entails. This has led some neutral powers to cooperate mostly within the NATO and EU frameworks, while others have focused on domestic and homeland defence tasks. While Finland and Sweden face a tenser regional environment, the geographical locations of Austria, Ireland, and Switzerland have placed them far from a direct military threat since the collapse of the Soviet Union and the disintegration of the Warsaw Pact. Distant from potential threats on or from the continent, Ireland has devoted significant resources to internal security challenges, in particular in relation to the border with Northern Ireland. Austria and Switzerland have (p.22) downsized their forces and widened their armed forces’ mission spectrum to include disaster relief and peace missions as well as counterterrorism and, more recently, cyber defence, while maintaining territorial defence as the core mission. Belarus stands as a formally neutral country, caught in the rising tensions between NATO and Russia. In the post-cold war period, Minsk has perceived a more benign regional security environment than its closest partner, Moscow, and has maintained a less confrontational stance vis-à-vis the West. In short, the content of the status of a neutral country, and its implications for defence policy, vary significantly across Europe. A final general trend in the evolution of defence policy in Europe that emerges from Part I and cuts across major, medium, and lesser powers has been the thickening of bilateral and, interestingly, minilateral defence cooperation both within Europe and between European states and external countries. This pattern —which arguably deserves greater attention in the scholarly research—is partly consistent with Antony King’s findings on the ‘transnationalization’ of European armed forces, though he focuses exclusively on the tactical and operational level.82 The drivers of such developments include (in isolation or combined): the need to achieve cost efficiency through pooling and sharing in order to manage the combined challenge of an expanding mission spectrum and limited (if not shrinking) resources; the will to foster interoperability with, or within, NATO; gridlock in multilateral defence cooperation in Europe; and/or, in some cases, changing perceptions of the regional threat environment. While intra-European cooperation in arms procurement is explored in Part V, the contributions to Part I bring to light a rich variety of minilateral defence cooperation initiatives that tend to coalesce in subregional clusters. In south-western Europe and the larger western Mediterranean, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, and Malta participate in the so-called 5+5 Defence Initiative with Algeria, Libya, Morocco, Mauritania, and Tunisia to foster cooperation in areas such as surveillance and maritime security, air security, and training and Page 18 of 40

 

Introduction research. Portugal, meanwhile, maintains defence ties with the Lusophone world through the Community of Portuguese Language Countries, which Lisbon considers as a third defence priority together with NATO and the EU. In south-eastern Europe, minilateral initiatives include, among others, the Regional Cooperation Council (RCC) and the South-Eastern Europe Defence Ministerial (SEDM) process. Also, trilateral political and military cooperation has developed between Greece, Cyprus, and Israel in different areas, such as air, naval, and aeronautical exercises. Greece and Israel have also signed a bilateral security cooperation agreement. In Central Europe, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovakia, and Poland cooperate on training, education, and the development of the Visegrád Battlegroup battalion, among other things, in the so-called Visegrád Group (also called Visegrád 4 or V4). The Czech (p.23) Republic, Slovakia, and Hungary have also strengthened trilateral cooperation in military sharing and joint procurement. In Northern Europe, the Nordic Defence Cooperation (NORDEFCO) brings together Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway, and Sweden—and occasionally the Baltic states—in a broad range of areas, such as land, sea, and air operations, logistic support, education, and research and development, among many others. The three Baltic states (Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania), meanwhile, have developed several trilateral initiatives, including a peacekeeping battalion (the Baltic Battalion (BALTBAT), the Baltic Naval Squadron (BALTRON), the Baltic Air Surveillance Network (BALTNET), and the Baltic Defence College (BALTDEFCOL). At the bilateral level, Finland and Sweden have tightened their defence cooperation, including in the areas of training and exercises and in air and maritime surveillance. In Western Europe, bilateralism trumps minilateralism. Enhanced bilateral defence partnerships include, besides the Franco-UK and Franco-German relationships examined in Part II, the establishment of the Dutch–German army corps and the Belgian–Dutch cooperation (BeNeSam) in the naval domain, as well as in air policing, training, and education. The web of minilateral defence ties between national armed forces has thus become increasingly dense in post-cold war Europe. This specific finding, and, more generally, the findings of Part I, not only attest to the analytical value of reemphasizing the role of states in the study of European defence; they also constitute building blocks for assessing the evolution of the overall European security architecture since the end of the cold war. Part II: Alliances and Security Partnerships

This architecture consists of a complex patchwork of interwoven minilateral cooperation initiatives (already discussed), multilateral institutions, and bilateral partnerships. The second part of The Handbook examines the relative weight of Page 19 of 40

 

Introduction European powers and their armed forces in relation to, and within, NATO, the CSDP, and the OSCE, as well as bilateral defence and security arrangements and partnerships (Franco-UK and Franco-German). It analyses the evolution, the key drivers, and the main challenges in the post-cold war development of this multifaceted network of alliances and partnerships. In doing so, the chapters in Part II bring to light the rich diversity of the overlapping configurations of defence and security cooperation pathways in Europe, some of them new and others dating back to the cold war. They raise the questions of the complementary or competing logics of these different types of defence and security arrangements, and of their implications for the understanding of the evolving structure of the European security architecture. Multilateralism has taken different forms in European defence. NATO provides the overarching conventional and nuclear umbrella for the majority of European powers. However, the end of the cold war had raised questions on the purpose and relevance of NATO in a regional and global security environment in which the Soviet Union no longer existed. The Balkan Wars, the attacks in New York on 11 September 2001, and then Russia’s increasingly assertive behaviour have led to successive geographical and functional reorientations of the alliance. Overall, NATO has shifted from its cold war mission of territorial defence on the European continent to expeditionary and out-of-area operations (p.24) with a much larger geographical reach. Thereafter, the winding-down of operations in Afghanistan, coupled with rising tensions with Russia, as well as budget constraints, have sparked a renewed emphasis on the alliance’s traditional missions of conventional deterrence and territorial defence in Europe. Concomitantly, the gradual expansion of its membership and the broadening of the range of security challenges in the post-cold war period, with the resulting diversification of threat perceptions among its members vis-à-vis NATO’s eastern and southern flanks, have complicated the definition and prioritization of the alliance’s missions and deepened the internal tensions over burden-sharing. Nonetheless, NATO remains the major enabler and shaper in the evolution of national defence policies and of the transformation of armed forces in Europe. Another multilateral framework for European defence has been, since the late 1990s, the CSDP (previously the ESDP). During its three phases of evolution, as described, the CSDP has gradually developed an important institutional decision-making and governance structure, and has engaged in a variety of civilian and, to a lesser extent, military operations, particularly in Africa (detailed in Part VI). However, as Adrian Hyde-Price stresses, ‘despite the progress made in institutionalizing the CSDP, the military effectiveness and operational performance of the EU missions have been disappointingly poor’; they have primarily engaged ‘in small-scale humanitarian, training, and rule-oflaw operations in a largely benign, consensual environment…The military output of the CSDP has thus been very low indeed’. This leads him to ask whether the pundits’ debates surrounding the CSDP are ‘much ado about nothing’. Page 20 of 40

 

Introduction Consistent with The Handbook’s general findings, he stresses that, in fact, ‘the most significant trend since the 2010s…has been the renationalization of security and defence cooperation’ in bottom-up bilateral or minilateral forms, either ad hoc or institutionalized. While these islands or clusters of cooperation reflect the ‘strategic cacophony’ of national threat perceptions and priorities, this patchwork of capabilities and military cooperation is part and parcel of Europe’s overall security architecture. An additional component of this architecture is the OSCE. Recognizing the broadening range of security challenges faced by European powers, the OSCE has adopted a comprehensive approach to security and sought cooperative security instruments to prevent or de-escalate international tensions. During the cold war and until the 1990s, the OSCE significantly contributed to European security through arms control, as well as confidence- and security-building mechanisms (CSBMs), for instance. The organization lost its influence in the 2000s. However, the 2008 Russian–Georgian War and, in particular, the Ukrainian crisis gave new impetus to conventional arms control in Europe and to the OSCE, while also posing significant challenges to its CSBMs. Interwoven in this patchwork of multilateral and minilateral arrangements, bilateralism remains an enduring feature of defence cooperation in Europe. Looking at instances of cooperation between major powers, the contributions to Part II show different trajectories in the evolution of bilateral defence cooperation in Europe. Franco-UK defence and security cooperation occurred during the cold war and until the late 2000s, but mostly in an ad hoc manner, though across the spectrum of defence sectors (such as military interventions, training and exercises, or armaments). It was only in the early 2010s that the bilateral defence partnership became institutionalized. The 2010 Lancaster House agreements bolstered defence links in different fields, most notably: training and interoperability through the Combined Joint Expeditionary Force (CJEF); procurement and defence industrial integration in the fields of complex weapons systems and unmanned (p.25) aerial vehicles; participation in military interventions—for example, Libya, Mali, and the Central African Republic; and the nuclear domain. In contrast, the Franco-German defence relationship is characterized by the paradox of, on the one hand, long-standing and thickening institutionalization since the 1960s, and, on the other, persistent divergences in strategic posture and policy preferences in a variety of domains. This tension has resulted in push-and-pull dynamics in armaments cooperation, in the nuclear domain, in the cooperation between their armed forces (for example, on the Franco-German Brigade or the Eurocorps), and in military interventions. This complex intertwining of national defence policies and armed forces, as well as of bilateral, minilateral, and multilateral security arrangements, continues to evolve under the influence of domestic political and economic considerations but

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Introduction also because of the array of security challenges that European powers face in the post-cold war era. Part III: Security Challenges

Since and despite the end of the cold war, Europe and its armed forces have been confronted with conventional, transnational, and, more recently, emerging security challenges: the threat, or actual occurrence, of interstate war, state failure, transnational terrorism, the proliferation of nuclear weapons, and cybersecurity challenges. The threat of conventional interstate war has never fully disappeared. Yet, while it was considered almost impossible by the late 1990s and the risk still seems low, the odds are in the 2010s, according to Ryan Grauer, ‘higher than they have been for quite a while, especially on the eastern frontier of Europe and in the Middle East’. In the light of Russia’s previously discussed growing military capabilities and assertiveness, many European armed forces have thus recently sought to prepare, among other security challenges, for the likelihood of conventional interstate war. Meanwhile, however, they have been absorbed by so-called non-traditional security challenges. An increasingly ‘prominent’ threat during the 1990s, failed states and potential state failure, especially in Africa and the Middle East, continues to challenge European security. In order to avoid state failure and its potential consequences, such as migratory waves, European armed forces have been mobilized for crisis-management operations. Similarly, Europe’s armed forces have addressed the threat of transnational terrorism predominantly abroad. But with the recent rise of Islamic State (ISIS) and its displacement of al-Qaeda as the main terrorist threat to Europe, there has been a growing reliance on the military in response to such challenges, not only on such battlegrounds as Syria, Iraq, and Libya, but also on the home front to help intelligence and other security forces to forestall attacks. Yet, in order to address the threat emanating from returning European ISIS fighters and domestically radicalized adherents of the terrorist group, a more holistic approach has been adopted, with Europe’s armed forces mainly playing a complementary role. A less ‘visible’ and seemingly less ‘topical’ challenge to Europe’s security than Islamist terrorism is the proliferation of nuclear weapons. Since the dramatic reductions of nuclear stockpiles in the aftermath of the cold war, vertical proliferation has been superseded by horizontal proliferation, with more states than ever before now having the bomb. Moreover, three of these states are not part of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT). Therefore, and while the United Kingdom and France ultimately still rely on their nuclear deterrent, (p.26) the states of Europe will have to continue to address the threat of nuclear proliferation—especially if linked to terrorism. Finally, and even less tangibly, Europe—like the rest of the world—has been increasingly exposed to state-sponsored and criminal cyber-offensive activities. Especially if combined with other means of military actions, as in the case of Page 22 of 40

 

Introduction Russia’s recent operations, cyber security can become a particularly challenging domain for European armed forces, to which they have increasingly responded through comprehensive strategies and by building up both defensive and offensive cyber capabilities. Consequently, European governments and armed forces have responded to this myriad of challenges at both the strategic and the doctrinal levels. Part IV: Strategic and Doctrinal Responses

The governments and armed forces of Europe have adapted existing and developed new strategies, doctrines, and capabilities in response to the changing post-cold war security environment. This has led to significant changes and transformations in land, sea, air, and space warfare; a rediscovery of the past and innovations in counterinsurgency and counterterrorism; and updates, advances, and evolutions in non-proliferation and counter-proliferation, intelligence, and cyber defence. On land and sea, and in the air and space, Europe’s armed forces were able to build on their strategic and doctrinal legacies from the cold war and even before. Land warfare continues to be based on the modern system, which emerged from the First and Second World Wars: tactically, it concentrates on offensive operations and, operationally, it aims for the coordination of tactical actions. Meanwhile, Europe’s armed forces have been heavily influenced by the predominantly American transformation model, which focuses on concentration, networking, effects, and deployability. This has led to smaller and more integrated, yet not homogeneous, land forces in Europe. Because of national differences, the transformation agenda has been applied and pursued to varying degrees. Moreover, it can be questioned whether smaller and high-technology armies are the appropriate model for future warfare. Reductions in size have also affected Europe’s other armed services, especially the navies. The scarce yet technologically advanced ships have been stretched thinly in constabulary roles, while the war-fighting at sea has increasingly been outsourced to the United States. More European states would like to see this changed and to have a balanced naval force, which can deliver naval power across the spectrum of conflict. In the light of the scarcity of resources, this ambition would require the Europeans to rely on each other’s capabilities and a commitment to national specialization in maritime tasks. Yet the empirical record demonstrates a significant reluctance by national governments vis-à-vis such endeavours. Nevertheless, Peter Roberts ends his chapter on a positive note—namely that European ‘naval forces are on track to experience a renaissance in capacity’ and, to any extent, ‘the European theatre is not the hotbed of naval warfare it once was’. Similarly, and despite the heavy Western reliance on air power since the end of the cold war, European air forces have privileged either breadth or depth, and remain dependent on the United States for larger operations. Moreover, and as in the case of sea warfare, air force specialization among European nations has been limited. Yet they have recognized the importance of Page 23 of 40

 

Introduction space and related assets, and this has—among other things—increased the precision and sustainability (p.27) of air campaigns. The same cannot be said for unmanned military aviation, where the determination of European states to master this weapon platform can be questioned. Unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) were, for instance, heavily used by the United States in the counterinsurgency campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq, which had a short but important impact on Europe’s armed forces. Based on case studies of the United Kingdom, France, Portugal, and Sweden, Robert Egnell and Bruno Cardoso Reis conclude that there is not a typically European counterinsurgency strategy and doctrine, and European ‘countries have adapted in ways consistent with their [national] history, strategic culture, and capabilities’. Following the experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq, there has been little appetite in Europe for counterinsurgency during the 2010s. But the lessons learned during these campaigns might nevertheless again come in handy in complex future war scenarios. For now, counterinsurgency approaches have largely been superseded by counterterrorism strategies. After 9/11, and especially with the rise of ISIS, Western European powers have increasingly moved towards military responses to terrorism, involving both fighting terrorist groups abroad and, in some cases, supporting security forces at home. European counterterrorism approaches vary, but they share the understanding that military force is only one of a range of instruments, military engagements outside of Europe may be required, and there may be a need to deploy military forces on the home front. It is interesting to note, however, that European military strategies to counter terrorism do not make a distinction between terrorism and insurgencies. In contrast to these strategic and doctrinal responses, the use of military force is disputed, marginal, or altogether absent from European approaches to nonproliferation and counter-proliferation, intelligence, and cyber defence. In the case of the non-proliferation of WMD, including nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons, there has emerged an increasingly strong strategic convergence among European states since the late cold war. Counter-proliferation, which implies the use of military force, by contrast, is either not a priority or not an option for European states. Meanwhile, even in the case of non-proliferation, there is no harmony in Europe, because coercive measures such as sanctions are disputed, and the nuclear and non-nuclear powers of Europe disagree on disarmament, which is seen by some as a prerequisite for non-proliferation. Similarly, there is also no truly common intelligence response to the security challenges faced by Europe. The increasing frequency of terrorist attacks on European soil since 9/11 has given repeated impetus to the strengthening of intelligence cooperation. But, despite improvements in intelligence-sharing, Mark Phythian argues that a European equivalent of the American FBI or CIA is unlikely, not least because of ‘entrenched national intelligence cultures that favour networks over formal institutions of sharing’. In addition to the EU level, European countries thus continue to pursue their intelligence agendas Page 24 of 40

 

Introduction nationally, within bilateral and multilateral networks of their choosing and, if they are members, through NATO. The Atlantic Alliance is also relevant for cyber defence, especially for lesser powers that are not able to mount a deterrent against cyber attacks on their own. The EU, despite the different approaches, capabilities, and capacities of its members, plays a similar role. Nevertheless, European nations are confronted with a defensive gap. Only the major powers have the capacity and ability to develop active defensive and offensive tools, and to deter hostile action in cyberspace by the threat of retaliation. In cyberspace, as in security and defence more generally, defence and technological industrial capabilities are important, if not fundamental. (p.28) Part V: Defence and Technological Industrial Capabilities

European nations and their armed forces rely to varying degrees on their national Defence Technological and Industrial Base (DTIB), as well as on their bilateral, minilateral, and multilateral security and defence partners and allies. The DTIB capacities and capabilities differ, however, greatly among European powers. While medium and, especially, lesser powers focus on ‘niche’ capabilities, major powers aim to maintain a wide spectrum of capabilities. Moreover, the chapters in Part V on arms procurement, defence industrial cooperation, arms transfers and export control policies, nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons, emerging technologies, cyber capabilities, and space capabilities indicate that European cooperation has also stalled at this level. This raises the question of what cooperative (or competitive) pathways have been chosen by European states and their armed forces to develop the capabilities required to confront existing security challenges. When it comes to arms procurement, the evolution and internationalization of defence production has led to a paradox: on the one hand, no EU country, not even among the major powers, now possesses a comprehensive ‘sovereign’ DTIB; on the other hand, and as Matthew Uttley emphasizes, ‘states will prioritize national imperatives in weapons acquisition policies for the foreseeable future’. Consequently, even though there seems to be a need for pan-European weapons procurement, national sovereignty imperatives remain a considerable stumbling block to the consolidation of the European DTIB (EDTIB). There has indeed been enhanced defence industrial cooperation in Europe, driven by the major powers, which have gradually been followed by medium and lesser powers. Nevertheless, in line with national prerogatives, this endeavour has also been marked by competition among EU member states. This competition and continued fragmentation thus question the feasibility of Europe’s defence industrial cooperation and potentially undermine the position of Europe in a global market dominated by consolidated US firms. Similarly, since the 1990s, EU member states have also come together to coordinate their arms transfers and export control policies. Yet, despite significant convergence, EU policies and tools are not consistently followed and applied by member states. More significantly, the further development of the EU’s export control Page 25 of 40

 

Introduction regime is stalling, and one of its main advocates, the United Kingdom, is in the process of leaving the union. The disparities and disagreements within Europe are even more pronounced in the field of WMD. Whereas European states have condemned the use of chemical and biological weapons, and thus no longer rely on them for military purposes, there is an increasingly strong divergence on nuclear weapons in Europe between non-nuclear weapon states (NNWS), some of which call for their abolition, and nuclear weapon states (NWS), such as France and the United Kingdom, which not only currently rely on their nuclear deterrent but also intend to do so in the future. This is evident from their respective programmes to modernize their nuclear forces. There remains, however, a substantial disparity between the nuclear capacities of the European nuclear powers, and those of the United States and Russia. In terms of capabilities, Europe is also lagging behind in the field of emerging technologies, notably when it comes to UAVs. This is due to a historic lack of investment in this technology, the privileging by European governments of their main prime contractors, which in some cases have been lacking the required technological know-how, as well as the limited number and failure of cooperative projects. For as long as (p.29) these issues are not addressed, the prospects for European autonomy in this field look grim. The prospects are already brighter for Europe’s cyber capabilities. The development of cyber security and defence capabilities has become a priority for Europe’s major and medium powers, and, accordingly, they have taken significant steps to expand their cyber capabilities. France and the United Kingdom, in particular, have the ambition to become major cyberspace powers. These two, and other European countries, such as Germany and Italy, also have ambitions in space, for which they have developed a range of space capabilities. The scale and scope of European military space capabilities remain, however, limited by defence industrial fragmentation and a lack of strategic and operational coherence. This is partly the result of great power aspirations and national priorities, which can also be observed in the case of military operations. Part VI: European Armed Forces in Action

Part VI of The Handbook examines how European armed forces have put their strategies and doctrines into practice in reaction to security threats and challenges by mobilizing their national defence capabilities in military operations. Since the end of the cold war, European armed forces have been deployed in operations by the UN, the EU, NATO, ‘coalitions of the willing’, and, on rare occasions, unilateral interventions. The sum of these operational experiences illustrates that, while there is a degree of convergence in the case of UN, CSDP, and NATO operations, there is a greater degree of divergence between Europe’s powers because of their respective military capabilities and capacities, and their different degrees of willingness to use military force.

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Introduction France has been an active military power since the end of the cold war, especially in its African sphere of influence. While the French have participated in multilateral operations, they have also shown a willingness to intervene unilaterally. The latter operations, most prominently the 2013 intervention in Mali, have shown not only a degree of strategic autonomy, but also a high level of joint integration, training, and efficiency among the French armed forces. This has strengthened France’s credibility and influence in the eyes of its security partners in Africa and Europe, as well as of the United States. Yet their increased domestic use following the 2015 terrorist attacks has put the already overstretched French armed forces under additional strain. A similar though probably more extensive mismatch between ambitions and resources could also be observed in the case of the United Kingdom’s armed forces, which encountered substantial difficulties in sustaining their campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan. Moreover, and not least as a result of the experiences of these campaigns, the interventionism of the late 1990s and 2000s has given way to a substantially more limited strategic commitment, necessary to uphold international obligations. Despite a recent upsurge in defence investment, the United Kingdom’s armed forces have continued to shrink. Consequently, the United Kingdom’s operations since the end of the cold war have brought to light an asymmetry between strategic ends, ways, and means. This contrasts with the Russian armed forces, which have, through their operations, shown a significant degree of strategic and operational continuity. Strategically, Russia has tried to preserve its clout in the former sphere of influence of the Soviet Union without excessive use of force. In order to achieve this, the Russian armed forces have aimed to impede the adversary’s decision-making at the operational level. Thereby, they have employed what has notoriously, but (p.30) falsely, become known as ‘hybrid tactics’. Interestingly, and as Igor Sutyagin emphasizes, these are not new tactics, but the ‘main elements of hybrid warfare can be traced back to the 1990s, revealing that alleged hybrid tactics simply reflect the distinctive methods in which Russia has traditionally used military power’. The military power used in UN peacekeeping operations is, despite the emergence of so-called robust peacekeeping in the late 1990s and the blur between peacekeeping and peace enforcement, substantially more limited than in the operations that have been referred to. Yet this might be an important contributing factor in explaining why even those European powers that are the most reluctant to use military force, such as the neutrals, have contributed to UN peacekeeping. Nevertheless, European troop contributions to UN missions have been very limited since the adverse experiences in the Balkans during the 1990s. Moreover, European soldiers have been uncomfortable with UN peacekeeping rules, and in their working relationship with non-Western peacekeepers and UN officials. In the end, however, UN peacekeeping not only allows medium and, especially, lesser powers to gain operational experience; it also seems to be the only way to address some of the most complex crises that Page 27 of 40

 

Introduction can have an impact on European security. The EU too has addressed such and similar crises through CSDP operations, which are often in partnership with the UN. CSDP has become a means for the EU to project military power, and thus influence, abroad. But the operations are limited, on the one hand, geographically to Europe’s neighbourhood and, on the other hand, in size, mandate, and ambition. Moreover, whereas CSDP operations are likely to remain part of the EU’s policy toolkit, they are held back by the reluctance of European governments to engage more substantially in defence integration. Ulrich Krotz and Katerina Wright thus argue that they ‘hardly signify Europe’s consolidation as a security or military superpower, or, by the 2010s at least, the EU’s determination truly to take its security into its own hands’. Most European powers still see NATO as their best security guarantee. After a fundamental strategic and doctrinal reorientation in the wake of the end of the cold war, the Atlantic Alliance has ‘rediscovered’ its traditional mission of collective deterrence and defence. The changed strategic context, instability on Europe’s periphery, and after 2001 the war in Afghanistan, led to a globalization of NATO and operations within and even beyond Europe. These increasingly forceful and extensive operations outside the alliance’s ‘comfort zone’ provoked divisions and tensions among its members, and even led to its purpose being questioned. But the renewed focus on collective defence after the withdrawal from Afghanistan and the emergence of a seemingly expansionist Russia have dispelled the question of purpose. What remain are the American preponderance in the alliance and, as a corollary, the issue of burden-sharing between the United States and its European allies. These are, however, potentially surmountable difficulties, especially because the Americans and the Europeans again have Russia as a common security denominator. It almost seems, therefore, as if European defence has come full circle since the end of the cold war. These findings demonstrate the fruitfulness of turning the dominant analytical lens of European defence studies on its head by giving analytical precedence back to the national level before focusing on the trans-/supra-national level. The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces thereby seeks to address the conceptual, empirical, and scholarly imbalance in the study of defence and security in Europe. For what clearly transpires from the extensive and comprehensive findings of The Handbook is that, without studying the national level in comparative perspective, it is impossible to grasp the complexities of, and (p.31) divergences in, European defence and security. Ultimately, only by doing so does it become possible to unearth, and potentially to address, the impediments to a common European defence policy. Acknowledgements The editors are grateful to Lucie Béraud-Sudreau, Fabrizio Coticchia, Giuliano Fragnito, Andrea Gilli, Mauro Gilli, Beatrice Heuser, Paul van Hooft, Benjamin Jensen, Ulrich Krotz, Francesco Moro, Avinash Paliwal, Olivier Schmitt, Luis Page 28 of 40

 

Introduction Simón, Hew Strachan, Matthew Uttley, Benedetta Voltolini, and Claire Yorke for their comments on previous drafts of this Introduction. (p.32) Notes:

(1) EU, Shared Vision, Common Action: A Stronger Europe: A Global Strategy for the European Union’s Foreign and Security Policy (Brussels, 29 June 2016), 19, (accessed 14 December 2017). See also European Council, Annex—Implementation Plan on Security and Defence (Brussels, 14 November 2016). (2) See, e.g., Sven Biscop, ‘The EU Global Strategy: Realpolitik with European Characteristics’, Security Policy Brief, 75 (Brussels: Egmont—Royal Institute for International Relations, June 2016). (3) Jan Techau, ‘The EU’s New Global Strategy: Useful or Pointless?’, Carnegie Europe, 1 July 2016, (accessed 14 December 2017). For a discussion of the EU ‘Global Strategy’, see also the different contributions in Hylke Dijkstra (ed.), ‘Forum: The EU Global Strategy’, Contemporary Security Policy, 37/3 (2016). (4) ‘Joint Declaration on European Defence: Joint Declaration issued at the British–French Summit (Saint-Malo, 4 December 1998)’, CVCE, (14 December 2017). (5) EU, A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy (Brussels, 12 December 2003), (7 January 2018). (6) See, e.g., Daniel Fiott, ‘Introduction: The CSDP is Dead, Long Live the CSDP?’, in Daniel Fiott (ed.), The Common Security and Defence Policy: National Perspectives (Brussels: Academia Press, 2015), 11–12; Sten Rynning, ‘Rise and Decline of EU Security and Defense Policy’, International Studies Review, 16/4 (2014), 684–6. (7) James Black, Alex Hall, Kate Cox, Marta Kepe, and Erik Silfversten, Defence and Security after Brexit: Understanding the Possible Implications of the UK’s Decision to Leave the EU, Compendium Report (Santa Monica, CA, and Cambridge: RAND, 2017); Beatrice Heuser, ‘Britain and the Origins and Future of the European Defence and Security Mechanism’, RUSI Journal, 162/2 (2017), 16–23; Benjamin Kienzle and Ellen Hallams, ‘European Security and Defence in the Shadow of Brexit’, Global Affairs, 2017, (accessed 6 June 2017).

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Introduction (8) Annegret Bendiek, ‘The Global Strategy for the EU’s Foreign and Security Policy’, SWP Comments, 38 (Berlin: Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik, August 2016). (9) EU, Shared Vision, Common Action, 33. (10) This plan, put forward in 1950 by and named after the French Prime Minister René Pleven, proposed the creation of a West European Army. (11) Kevin Ruane, The Rise and Fall of the European Defence Community: AngloAmerican Relations and the Crisis of European Defence, 1950–55 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000). (12) Michael Mallett and Christine Shaw, The Italian Wars, 1494–1559: War, State and Society in Early Modern Europe (London and New York: Routledge, 2014). (13) EU, Shared Vision, Common Action, 20. (14) See, e.g., Claudia Major and Christian Mölling, ‘The Dependent State(s) of Europe: European Defence in Year Five of Austerity’, in Sven Biscop and Daniel Fiott (eds), The State of Defence in Europe: State of Emergency? (Brussels: Academia Press, 2013); and Luis Simón, ‘Neorealism, Security Cooperation, and Europe’s Relative Gains Dilemma’, Security Studies, 26/2 (2017), 185–212. (15) Daniel Keohane, ‘The Renationalization of European Defense Cooperation’, in Oliver Thränert and Martin Zapfe (eds), Strategic Trends 2016: Key Developments in Global Affairs (Zurich: Center for Security Studies, 2016), 9–28. (16) On the concept of ‘security architecture’ and its manifestations in Europe and beyond, see Stephanie Hofmann, ‘Why Institutional Overlap Matters: CSDP in the European Security Architecture’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 49/1 (2011), 101–20; Benedikt Franke, ‘Africa’s Evolving Security Architecture and the Concept of Multilayered Security Communities’, Cooperation and Conflict, 43/3 (2008), 313–40; Hanns W. Maull, ‘The European Security Architecture: Conceptual Lessons for Asia-Pacific Security Cooperation’, in Amitav Acharya and Evelyn Goh (eds), Reassessing Security Cooperation in the Asia-Pacific (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2007); Joseph McMillan, Richard Sokolsky, and Andrew C. Winner, ‘Toward a New Regional Security Architecture’, Washington Quarterly, 26 (2003), 313–40; Joseph R. Nuñez, A 21st Century Security Architecture for the Americas: Multilateral Cooperation, Liberal Peace, and Soft Power (Carlisle, PA: US Army War College, 2002); William Tow and Brendan Taylor, ‘What is Asian Security Architecture?’, Review of International Studies, 36/1 (2010), 95–116. (17) In The Handbook, the distinction between major, medium, and lesser powers is based on national military expenditure in 2016 (constant (2015) $) (SIPRI, ‘Military Expenditure Database’, Page 30 of 40

 

Introduction (accessed 23 July 2017)). The threshold for major powers is $40 billion; for medium powers $10 billion; and lesser powers below the $10 billion threshold. See the Contents for the list of major, medium, and lesser powers. There are, however, three exceptions to this rule: Ukraine, Poland, and Portugal. Ukraine figures among the medium powers, because of its geographical size, its status as a former nuclear weapon state, and its location on the fault line between the West and Russia. Poland, meanwhile, also figures among the medium powers because it immediately comes after Spain in the ranking of European military expenditure, it has the highest military spending in Eastern Europe (with the exception of Russia), and because it has a geostrategically central position in Europe. Finally, Portugal, while being a lesser power, has been dealt with in the same chapter as Spain to allow for a comparative approach to the Iberian Peninsula. (18) Keohane, ‘The Renationalization of European Defense Cooperation’, 9–28. (19) For probably the most prominent example, see Francis Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (London: Penguin, 1992, 2012). (20) Mary Elise Sarotte, 1989: The Struggle to Create Post-Cold War Europe (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2009, 2014), 147. (21) European Council, European Security Strategy: A Secure Europe in a Better World (2003). (22) T. R. Reid, The United States of Europe. The New Superpower and the End of American Supremacy (New York: Penguin Press, 2004). See also Mark Leonard, Why Europe Will Run the 21st Century (New York: Public Affairs, 2005). (23) See, e.g., Jolyon Howorth, Security and Defence Policy in the European Union (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007, 2014). (24) EEAS, ‘CSDP Structure, Instruments, and Agencies’, (accessed 15 July 2017). (25) See, e.g., Alexander Mattelaer and Esther Marijnen, ‘EU Peacekeeping in Africa: Towards an Indirect Approach’, in Thierry Tardy and Marco Wyss (eds), Peacekeeping in Africa: The Evolving Security Architecture (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014), 54–72. (26) European Union External Action, ‘Military and Civilian Missions and Operations’, (accessed 15 June 2017); Ettore Greco, Nicoletta Pirozzi, and Stefano Silvestri (eds), EU Crisis Management: Institutions and Capabilities in the Making (Rome: Istituto Affari Page 31 of 40

 

Introduction Internazionali, 2010); Ulrich Krotz and Katerina Wright, Divided We Stand: The EU’s Global Engagement through Military Operations and Civilian Missions Worldwide (Florence: Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies, European University Institute, 2017), book monograph in preparation; Mattelaer and Marijnen, ‘EU Peacekeeping in Africa’. For an up-to-date assessment of CSDP, see Michael E. Smith, Europe’s Common Security and Defence Policy: CapacityBuilding, Experiential Learning, and Institutional Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017). On the EU’s civilian crisis management see, e.g., Thierry Tardy (ed.), Recasting EU Civilian Crisis Management, Issue Report, 31 (Paris: European Union Institute for Security Studies (EUISS), January 2017). (27) Anand Menon, ‘European Defence Policy from Lisbon to Libya’, Survival, 53/3 (2011), 88. (28) Howorth, Security and Defence Policy in the European Union, 137–42. (29) Aaron L. Friedberg, A Contest for Supremacy: China, America, and the Struggle for Mastery in Asia (New York: W. W. Norton, 2011); Michael J. Green, By More than Providence: Grand Strategy and American Power in the Asia Pacific Since 1783 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2017), pt IV, ‘The Rise of China’; Hugo Meijer (ed.), Origins and Evolution of the US Rebalance toward Asia: Diplomatic, Military, and Economic Dimensions (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015). (30) European Council, ‘EU Defence Cooperation: Council Establishes a Military Planning and Conduct Capability (MPCC)’, press statement, 8 June 2017, (accessed 3 July 2017). On the future of European defence cooperation, see also European Commission, ‘Reflection Paper on the Future of European Defence’, COM(2017) 315, 7 June 2017. (31) The EDP aims to support investment in joint research and the joint development of defence equipment. European Commission, ‘European Defence Action Plan: Towards a European Defence Fund’, press release, Brussels, 30 November 2016, (accessed 16 July 2017). (32) European Council, ‘European Council Meeting (22 and 23 June 2017): Conclusions’, Brussels, 23 June 2017, 5. EEAS, ‘Permanent Structured Cooperation—PESCO Deepening Defence Cooperation among EU Member States’, Factsheet, (accessed 4 December 2017); Daniel Fiott, Antonio Missiroli, and Thierry Tardy, ‘Permanent Structured Cooperation: What’s in a Name?’, EUISS Chaillot Paper, 142 (November 2017).

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Introduction (33) ‘Juncker Calls for EU Army, Says Would Deter Russia’, Reuters, 8 March 2015. (34) See, e.g., Sarah Katharina Kayß, ‘The Future of European Defence’, International Policy Digest, 27 March 2017; Mette Eilstrup-Sangiovanni, ‘What Future for Europe’s Security and Defense Policy?’, E-International Relations, 3 January 2017. For a contrarian perspective, see Luis Simón, ‘Don’t Believe the Hype about European Defense’, War on the Rocks, 27 June 2017, (accessed 21 July 2017). (35) Vladislav M. Zubok, A Failed Empire: The Soviet Union in the Cold War from Stalin to Gorbachev (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2007, 2009), 302–35. (36) Stephen Kotkin, Armageddon Averted: The Soviet Collapse 1970–2000 (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), passim. (37) Hal Brands, Making the Unipolar Moment: US Foreign Policy and the Rise of the Post-Cold War Order (Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press, 2016), passim; Charles Krauthammer, ‘The Unipolar Moment’, Foreign Affairs, 70/1 (1990–1); Charles Krauthammer, ‘The Unipolar Moment Revisited’, National Interest, 70 (Winter 2002). (38) See, e.g., Ainius Lašas, European Union and NATO Expansion: Central and Eastern Europe (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). (39) On military transformation see, e.g., Dmitry Adamsky and Kjell Inge Bjerga (eds), Contemporary Military Innovation: Between Anticipation and Adaptation (New York: Routledge, 2012); Timothy Edmunds and M. Malešič (eds), Defence Transformation in Europe: Evolving Military Roles (Amsterdam: IOS Press, 2005); Theo Farrell and Sten Rynning, ‘NATO’s Transformation Gaps: Transatlantic Differences and the War in Afghanistan’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 33/5 (2010), 673–99; Theo Farrell, Sten Rynning, and Terry Terriff, Transforming Military Power Since the Cold War: Britain, France, and the United States, 1991–2012 (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013); Anthony Forster, Armed Forces and Society in Europe (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), ch. 2; Andrew Futter and Jeffrey Collins (eds), Reassessing the Revolution in Military Affairs: Transformation, Evolution and Lessons Learnt (New York: Springer, 2015); Adam Grissom, ‘The Future of Military Innovation Studies’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 29/5 (2006), 905–34; Daniel Hamilton (ed.), Transatlantic Transformations: Equipping NATO for the 21st Century (Washington: Center for Transatlantic Relations, 2004); Anthony King, The Transformation of Europe’s Armed Forces: From the Rhine to Afghanistan (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Bernard Loo (ed.), Military Transformation and Strategy: Revolutions in Military Affairs and Small Page 33 of 40

 

Introduction States (New York: Routledge, 2009); Elinor Sloan, Military Transformation and Modern Warfare: A Reference Handbook (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2008), chs 4 and 5; Terry Terriff, Frans Osinga, and Theo Farrell (eds), A Transformation Gap? American Innovations and European Military Change (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010); Terry Terriff, “‘Déjà vu All Over Again”: 11 September 2001 and NATO Military Transformation’, in Ellen Hallams, Luca Ratti and Benjamin Zyla (eds), NATO beyond 9/11: The Transformation of the Atlantic Alliance (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013). (40) Karl Haltiner and Paul Klein, ‘Europas Streitkräfte im Umbruch: Trends und Gemeinsamkeiten’, in Karl W. Haltiner and Paul Klein (eds), Europas Armeen im Umbruch (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2002), 7–11. (41) Farrell, Rynning, and Terriff, Transforming Military Power, 6–7. (42) David H. Ucko, The New Counterinsurgency Era: Transforming the US Military for Modern Wars (Washington: Georgetown University Press, 2009). (43) See, e.g., David Kilcullen, ‘Counter-Insurgency Redux’, Survival, 48/4 (2006), 111–13. (44) King, The Transformation of Europe’s Armed Forces, 10. (45) Terriff, Osinga and Farrell (eds), A Transformation Gap? On US military innovation, and in particular the ‘Third Offset Strategy’, and its implications for the transformation of European armed forces, see Luis Simón, ‘The “Third” US Offset Strategy and Europe’s “Anti-Access” Challenge’, Journal of Strategic Studies (2016), . (46) Marco Wyss, ‘Military Transformation in Europe’s Neutral and Non-Allied States’, RUSI Journal, 156/2 (2011), 44–51. (47) See, e.g., David H. Ucko and Robert Egnell, Counterinsurgency in Crisis: Britain and the Challenges of Modern Warfare (New York: Columbia University Press, 2013); David H. Ucko and Robert Egnell, ‘On Military Interventions: Options for Avoiding Counterinsurgencies’, Parameters, 44/1 (2014), 11–22. (48) Bastian Giegerich, ‘Budget Crunch: Implications for European Defence’, Survival, 52/4 (2010), 87–98. (49) Clara Marina O’Donnell (ed.), The Implications of Military Spending Cuts for NATO’s Largest Members (Washington: Center on the United States and Europe and Brookings, July 2012); Directorate-General for External Policies of the Union: Policy Department, The Impact of the Financial Crisis on European Defence, Annex (Brussels: European Parliament, 2011).

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Introduction (50) Jakub Grygiel, ‘The Return of Europe’s Nation-States: The Upside to the EU’s Crisis’, Foreign Affairs, 5 (September–October 2016), 94–101. (51) Kier Giles, Philip Hanson, Roderic Lyne, James Nixey, James Sherr, and Andrew Wood, The Russian Challenge (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, June 2015); Janne Haaland Matlary and Tormod Heier (eds), Ukraine and Beyond: Russia’s Strategic Security Challenge to Europe (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016); Gudrun Persson (ed.), Russian Military Capability in a TenYear Perspective 2016 (Stockholm: Swedish Defence Research Agency, 2016). (52) Daniel Byman, Al Qaeda, The Islamic State, and the Global Jihadist Movement (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). (53) Lucas Kello, The Virtual Weapon and International Order (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017); Thomas Rid, Cyberwar Will Not Take Place (London: C. Hurst & Co., 2013). (54) Nan Tian, Aude Fleurant, Pieter D. Wezeman, and Siemon T. Wezeman, ‘Trends in World Military Expenditure 2016’, SIPRI Fact Sheet (Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), April 2017); International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), ‘European Defence Spending Rises, but Well Short of NATO Target’, Strategic Comments, 21/3 (2015), viii–x. (55) Colin S. Gray, Another Bloody Century: Future Warfare (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2005). (56) For an overview of European integration in the field of defence/security and of the evolution of the CSDP, see Jolyon Howorth, ‘The EU’s Security and Defence Policy’, in Christopher Hill and Michael Smith (eds), International Relations and the European Union, 2nd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011); Anand Menon, ‘Defense Policy’, in Erik Jones and Anand Menon (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the European Union (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012); Frédéric Mérand, European Defence Policy: Beyond the Nation State (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). (57) Barry Buzan and Lene Hansen, The Evolution of International Security Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), ch. 7; Keith Krause and Michael Williams, ‘Broadening the Agenda of Security Studies: Politics and Methods’, Mershon International Studies Review, 40/2 (1996), 229–54. On the complex relationship between Strategic Studies, Security Studies, and International Relations, see, e.g., Robert Ayson, ‘Strategic Studies’, in Christian Reus-Smit and Duncan Snidal (eds), The Oxford Handbook of International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). (58) See, e.g., John Keeler, ‘Mapping EU Studies: The Evolution from Boutique to Boom Field 1960–2001’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 43/3 (2005), 551– Page 35 of 40

 

Introduction 82, and Helen Wallace, ‘Studying Contemporary Europe’, British Journal of Politics and International Relations, 2/1 (2000), 95–113. See also Federiga Bindi and Kjell Eliassen, ‘The Development of European Integration Studies in Political Science: An Introduction’, in Federiga Bindi and Kjell Eliassen (eds), Analyzing European Union Politics (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2011). (59) See Robert J. Art, ‘Europe Hedges its Security Bets’, in T. V. Paul, James J. Wirtz, Michel Fortmann (eds), Balance of Power: Theory and Practice in the 21st Century (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004); Adrian Hyde-Price, ‘Neorealism: A Structural Approach to CSDP’, in Xymena Kurowska and Fabian Breuer (eds), Explaining the EU’s Common Security and Defence Policy: Theory in Action (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012); Seth Jones, The Rise of European Security Cooperation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Sten Rynning, ‘Realism and the Common Security and Defence Policy’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 49/1 (2011), 23–42; Barry Posen, ‘European Union Security and Defence Policy: Response to Unipolarity?’, Security Studies, 15/2 (2006), 149–86. (60) See Jolyon Howorth, ‘Discourse, Ideas, and Epistemic Communities in European Security and Defence Policy’, West European Politics, 27/2 (2004), 211–34; Xymena Kurowska and Friedrich Kratochwil, ‘The Social Constructivist Sensibility and CSDP Research’, in Xymena Kurowska and Fabian Breuer (eds), Explaining the EU’s Common Security and Defence Policy: Theory in Action (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012); Christopher Meyer, ‘The Purpose and Pitfalls of Constructivist Forecasting: Insights from Strategic Culture Research for the European Union’s Evolution as a Military Power’, International Studies Quarterly, 55/3 (2011), 669–90; Christopher Meyer and Eva Strickmann, ‘Solidifying Constructivism: How Material and Ideational Factors Interact in European Defence’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 49/1 (2010), 61–81. (61) See Hofmann, ‘Why Institutional Overlap Matters’; Anand Menon, ‘Power, Institutions and the CSDP: The Promise of Institutionalist Theory’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 49/1 (2011), 83–100; Michael Smith, Europe’s Foreign and Security Policy: The Institutionalization of Cooperation (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Moritz Weiss, Transaction Costs and Security Institutions: Unravelling the ESDP (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). (62) For an overview of the theoretical approaches applied to Europe’s common foreign, defence, and security policy, see Jolyon Howorth, Security and Defence in the European Union, 2nd edn (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), ch. 6; Knud Erik Jørgensen, Åsne Kalland Aarstad, Edith Drieskens, Katie Laatikainen, and Ben Tonra (eds), The SAGE Handbook of European Foreign Policy, pt II, Theoretical Perspectives (London: SAGE, 2015); Ulrich Krotz and Richard Maher, ‘International Relations Theory and the Rise of European Foreign and Security Page 36 of 40

 

Introduction Policy’, World Politics, 63/3 (2011), 548–79; Kurowska and Breuer (eds), Explaining the EU’s Common Security and Defense Policy. For a critique of the lack of sufficient theorization of CSDP, see Christopher Bickerton, Bastien Irondelle, and Anand Menon, ‘Security Co-Operation beyond the Nation-State: The EU’s Common Security and Defence Policy’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 49/1 (2011), 1–21. (63) See Jolyon Howorth, ‘Decision-Making in Security and Defense Policy: Towards Supranational Inter-Governmentalism?’, Cooperation and Conflict, 47/4 (2012), 433–53; Bastien Irondelle, Frédéric Mérand, and Stephanie Hofmann, ‘Transgovernmental Networks in European Security and Defence Policy’, in Sophie Vanhoonacker, Hylke Dijkstra and Heidi Maurer (eds), Understanding the Role of Bureaucracy in the European Security and Defence Policy, European Integration online Papers (EIoP), Special Issue 1, vol. 14 (2010); Bastien Irondelle, Frédéric Mérand, and Stephanie Hofmann, ‘Governance and State Power: A Network Analysis of European Security’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 49/1 (2011), 121–47; Frédéric Mérand, ‘Explaining the EU’s Common Security and Defence Policy: Theory in Action’, in Kurowska and Breuer (eds), Explaining the EU’s Common Security and Defence Policy; Alexander Mattelaer, ‘Who is in Charge? Natural Friction in the CSDP Decision-Making Process’, in Jochen Rehrl and Hans-Bernhard Weisserth (eds), Handbook for DecisionMakers: The Common Security and Defence Policy of the European Union (Vienna: Directorate for Security Policy of the Federal Ministry of Defence and Sports of the Republic of Austria, 2014); Mark Webber, Stuart Croft, Jolyon Howorth, Terry Terrif, and Elke Krahmann, ‘The Governance of European Security’, Review of International Studies, 30/1 (2004), 3–26. (64) The concept of ‘capabilities–expectations gap’ refers to the discrepancy between the expectations surrounding European integration and Europe’s actual capabilities. See Christopher Hill, ‘The Capabilities–Expectations Gap or Conceptualizing Europe’s International Role’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 31/3 (1993), 305–28; and Christopher Hill, ‘Closing the Capability– Expectations Gap’, in John Peterson and Helene Sjursen (eds), A Common Foreign Policy for Europe (London: Routledge, 1998). (65) Sven Biscop and Jo Coelmont, ‘Military CSDP: The Quest for Capability’, in Sven Biscop and Richard Whitman (eds), The Routledge Handbook of European Security (London: Routledge, 2013); Marc DeVore, ‘International Armaments Collaboration and the Limits of Reform’, Defence and Peace Economics, 25/4 (2014), 415–43; Jones, The Rise of European Security Cooperation, ch. 5; Christopher Reynolds, ‘Military Capability Development in the ESDP: Towards Effective Governance?’, Contemporary Security Policy, 28/2 (2007), 357–83; Alistair Shepherd, ‘EU Military Capability Development and the EDA: Ideas, Interests and Institutions’, in Nikolaos Karampekios and Iraklis Oikonomou (eds), The European Defence Agency: Arming Europe (Abingdon: Routledge, Page 37 of 40

 

Introduction 2015); Martin Trybus, Buying Defence and Security in Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2014). (66) Fulvio Attinà and Daniela Irrera (eds), Multilateral Security and ESDP Operations (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016); Greco, Pirozzi, and Silvestri (eds), EU Crisis Management; Giovanni Grevi, Damien Helly, and Daniel Keohane (eds), European Security and Defence Policy: The First 10 Years (1999–2009) (Paris: EUISS, 2009); Krotz and Wright, Divided We Stand; Katarina Engberg, The EU and Military Operations: A Comparative Analysis (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2014); Benjamin Pohl, EU Foreign Policy and Crisis Management Operations: Power, Purpose and Domestic Politics (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014); Annemarie Peen Rodt, The European Union and Military Conflict Management: Defining, Evaluating and Achieving Success (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014); Thierry Tardy, ‘CSDP in Action: What Contribution to International Security?’, EUISS Chaillot Paper, 134 (2015). (67) Howorth, Security and Defence Policy in the European Union, ch. 4; Jolyon Howorth, ‘EU–NATO Cooperation: The Key to Europe’s Security Future’, European Security, 26/3 (2017), 454–9; Jolyon Howorth and John Keeler (eds), Defending Europe: The EU, NATO and the Quest for European Autonomy (New York: Palgrave, 2003); John C. Hulsman, A Grand Bargain with Europe: Preserving NATO for the 21st Century (Washington: Heritage Foundation, 2000); Robert Hunter, The European Security and Defense Policy: NATO’s Companion or Competitor? (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2002); Erwan Lagadec, Transatlantic Relations in the 21st Century: Europe, America and the Rise of the Rest (Abingdon: Routledge, 2012), ch. 8. (68) See, e.g., Sven Biscop, ‘Global Europe: An Emerging Strategic Actor’, in Frédéric Mérand, Martial Foucault, and Bastien Irondelle (eds), European Security Since the Fall of the Berlin Wall (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2011); Jolyon Howorth, ‘The EU as A Global Actor: Grand Strategy for a Global Grand Bargain?’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 48/3 (2010), 455–74; Jones, The Rise of European Security Cooperation; Ulrich Krotz, ‘Momentum and Impediments: Why Europe Won’t Emerge as a Full Political Actor on the World Stage Soon’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 47/3 (2009), 555–78; Per M. Norheim-Martinsen, The European Union and Military Force: Governance and Strategy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). (69) On national defence policy and military transformation, see n. 39. See also Bastian Giegerich and Alexander Nicoll, European Military Capabilities: Building Armed Forces for Modern Operations (London: IISS, 2008); Janne Haaland Matlary and Magnus Petersson (eds), NATO’s European Allies: Military Capability and Political Will (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013); Beatrice Heuser and Eitan Shamir (eds), Insurgencies and Counterinsurgencies: National Styles and Strategic Cultures, pt I, COIN Strategies (Cambridge: Cambridge Page 38 of 40

 

Introduction University Press, 2016); Douglas Murray and Paul Viotti (eds), The Defense Policies of Nations: A Comparative Study (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994). (70) Tom Dyson, Neoclassical Realism and Defence Reform in Post-Cold War Europe (New York: Springer, 2016), sect. 3; Eva Gross, The Europeanization of National Foreign Policy Continuity and Change in European Crisis Management (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011); Bastian Giegerich, European Military Crisis Management: Connecting Ambition and Reality (London: Routledge, 2008). (71) Heiko Biehl, Bastian Giegerich, and Alexandra Jonas (eds), Strategic Cultures in Europe: Security and Defence Policies across the Continent (Munich: VS Verlag, 2013). (72) Cf. IISS, The Military Balance, and the SIPRI Yearbook: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security. (73) For the criteria of differentiation between major, medium, and lesser powers, please refer back to n. 17. (74) See n. 39. (75) On European armed forces’ selective emulation of US concepts and practices, see Tom Dyson, Neoclassical Realism and Defence Reform in Post-Cold War Europe (New York: Springer, 2016), ch. 1; Tom Dyson and Theodore Konstadinides, European Defence Cooperation in EU Law and IR Theory (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 9–10, 38, 152–4; Forster, Armed Forces and Society in Europe, 69; Olivier Schmitt, ‘French Military Adaptation in the Afghan War: Looking Inward or Outward?’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 40/4 (2017), 577–99. On emulation, see also, e.g., Fabrizio Coticchia and Francesco Moro, ‘Learning from Others? Emulation and Change in the Italian Armed Forces since 2001’, Armed Forces and Society, 42/4 (2016), 1–23; Farrell and Rynning, ‘NATO’s Transformation Gaps’; Terry Terriff, ‘US Ideas and Military Emulation in NATO, 1989–1994’, in Theo Farrell and Terry Terriff (eds), The Sources of Military Change: Culture, Politics, Technology (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2002), 91–116. (76) See, e.g., Farrell, Rynning, and Terriff, Transforming Military Power, 8, 64. (77) Theo Farrell, ‘Improving in War: Military Adaptation and the British in Helmand Province, Afghanistan, 2006–2009’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 33/4 (2010), 568–94; Theo Farrell, Frans Osinga, and James A. Russell, Military Adaptation in Afghanistan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2013); Kristen Harkness and Michael Hunzeker, ‘Military Maladaptation: Counterinsurgency and the Politics of Failure’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 38/6 (2015), 777–800; Page 39 of 40

 

Introduction Williamson Murray, Military Adaptation in War: With Fear of Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). (78) ‘Soldiers on UK Streets as Threat Raised to Critical after Manchester Bombing’, Guardian, 29 May 2017, (accessed 14 July 2017). (79) These medium powers are Italy, Poland, Spain (jointly discussed with Portugal in the same chapter), Turkey, and Ukraine. (80) These lesser powers are, as listed in the Contents, Austria and Switzerland, the Baltic countries, Belarus, the Benelux countries, Bulgaria and Romania, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia and Serbia, Greece and Albania, Ireland, Finland and Sweden, and Denmark and Norway. Given their relatively small size (and the volume’s space constraints), most lesser powers are jointly discussed in groups of two or three. The chapters on Belarus and Ireland are the only ones focusing on a single country. (81) These countries include, as listed in the Contents, Belarus, the Baltic States, Bulgaria and Romania, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Finland and Sweden, and Denmark and Norway. (82) King, The Transformation of Europe’s Armed Forces, 6. For other instances of minilateral defence cooperation in Europe, see also, e.g., Gunther Hauser, ‘Regional Approaches to Comprehensive Security in Europe’, in Gunther Hauser and Franz Kernic (eds), European Security in Transition (New York: Routledge, 2016), 137–9; Vivien Pertusot, ‘European Defence: Minilateralism is not the Enemy’, in Daniel Fiott (ed.), The Common Security and Defence Policy: National Perspectives (Brussels: Academia Press 2015); Anna Sundberg and Teresa Ahman, ‘The Two of Us: Bilateral and Regional Defence Cooperation in Europe’, Swedish Defence Research Agency, FOI Memo 4149, October 2012.

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France

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

France Olivier Schmitt Sten Rynning

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0002

Abstract and Keywords This chapter provides readers with an overview of the transformations of French defence policy since 1991. To a large degree, French defence policy is still perceived through a ‘Gaullist’ prism by non-specialist observers, who tend to analyse French defence developments by referring to a pursuit of ‘independence’ at all costs, or a willingness to maintain neo-colonialists’ privileges. This chapter challenges this prevailing narrative by providing a concise yet complete analysis of the drivers of French defence policy. First, it discusses the French strategic culture, the institutional setting (role of the president, parliament, etc.) and civil–military relations in France. Second, it presents the role of nuclear weapons in French defence policy. Finally, it presents the evolution of the force structure since 1991. It also discusses the two key drivers of military change in France: interventions abroad and France’s membership to international security institutions. Keywords:   France, military change, NATO, Gaullism, defence policy, civil–military relations

Introduction NATIONAL defence was written into the DNA of the French Fifth Republic, which came into being in 1958. At the time, France was fighting a war in Algeria, then a national territory, and was at risk of experiencing a military putsch on account of the civilian desire to pull back and redefine the defence needs of the nation. Moreover, France’s emerging nuclear capability underpinned its claim to international influence. As France extracted itself from Algeria in 1962, the nuclear force became increasingly important, not only for Page 1 of 21

 

France French foreign policy but also for the integration of hitherto hostile domestic political forces into a republican consensus on the virtue of strategic autonomy and relevance.1 Political forces in the Fifth Republic had differing political views on the purpose of strategic autonomy—for instance, on the issues of international alignment in either the European Union (EU) or the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), cooperation with cold war neutrals in support of a ‘third option’, the need to carve out a French area of influence in Africa, or running a programme simply of full national flexibility, but to all political camps there could be no questioning the relevance of being a capable and therefore relevant military actor. The Fifth Republic has thus bestowed on France a remarkable legacy of military capability and strategic outlook. France does not draw back from the challenge of defining bold ambitions that require significant defence investments and sometimes war efforts. The first section of this chapter examines the strategic and institutional legacies hereof and how France since the cold war has sought to upgrade its political and defence doctrines for a changing world. As we shall see, France remains an active military player but is also struggling in some respects to modernize its outlook and long-term doctrine for change. In the second section we zoom in on nuclear doctrine, which remains central to France and perhaps increasingly so from the point of view of doctrine. Finally, we examine force (p.36) transformation among conventional forces, outlining key developments for the army, navy, and air force. Defence transformation in France was shaped by several factors, including (mis-)adaptation to a changing international system, status-seeking, alliance and budgetary constraints, and a changing security environment. The chapter concludes that, while conventional force capabilities are in decline numerically, they are modernizing and significant, and in effect define France as one of the key second-rank powers of the international arena. However, the chapter also finds that France’s expeditionary prowess is not fully matched by politico-strategic clarity in regards to its national and autonomous ambitions vis-à-vis collective ambitions as articulated by the EU and NATO. Financial challenges in generating cutting-edge military power only accentuate the need for clear political priorities. The bottom line is thus that France has an advantageous and competitive military position, but needs to clarify the political and financial framework for force modernization.

Defence Policymaking in a French Context This section analyses the context in which French defence policy is formulated. It explores the general foreign and security policy orientation and the impact of Gaullism, before discussing the strong role of the executive (including when it comes to formulating defence doctrines) and the French strategic culture regarding the use of force. It shows that the Gaullist legacy (or a romanticized

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France understanding of it) still influences French defence policy, and the importance of status-seeking motivations in the use of armed forces. Still Gaullist after All?

France was quite comfortable with the bipolar world, as the opposition between the United States and the USSR meant that there was room for an ambitious actor to try to navigate beyond the bipolarization of the international system. It also meant that France could develop genuinely autonomous ways to act abroad, in particular through military interventions in former colonies and the acquisition of nuclear capabilities. This allowed France to keep behaving as a great power, by adopting practices (in particular nuclear practices) similar to those of the major powers, thus mitigating the objective loss of geopolitical importance that France suffered after the Second World War.2 Yet, this situation changed with the end of the cold war and the emergence of the unipolar world: French foreign policy had to adjust. The transformation of the international system that followed the end of the cold war put French foreign and defence policy under pressure. The Gaullist foreign policy had been based on the willingness to find some type of ‘third way’ between the two blocs. With the rise of unipolarity, this fundamental premise disappeared. Therefore, a progressive gap was created between France’s foreign-policy objectives, which had to be redefined, and (p.37) the rhetoric and practice of independence, which was still implemented by French decisionmakers out of habit and experience. Unsurprisingly, French policymakers were uncomfortable with the new international order, complaining of the ‘hyperpower’3 of the United States, and calling on multiple occasions for the emergence of a ‘multipolar world’. In other words, French decision-makers simply updated the rhetorical means to achieve France’s cold war foreign-policy objective (adding ‘multipolarity’ to the traditional call for independence), which prevented the emergence of deep thinking about the transformation of the international system and the consequences for French foreign policy.4 Yet, much had to be done. The unipolar world order meant that, in one way or another, France had to reinvent its relationship with the United States, as it could not manoeuvre between two blocs of equivalent power any longer. It also meant that France’s relationship with NATO had to be reconsidered, taking into account the alliance’s new roles after the cold war. Characteristically, important parts of the French strategic community pushed for the dissolution of NATO after 1991 and immediately saw the United States as a new ‘empire’ that had to be tamed.5 As such, authors reactivated the old Gaullist distinction between the Atlantic Alliance (which could be maintained) and NATO as an organization (which could disappear in order to leave room for a European defence).6 For more than a decade, French policymakers hoped for the establishment of a ‘European defence’ that would, depending on the moment, be a European pillar within NATO or a fully autonomous capacity that would make NATO obsolete.7 It Page 3 of 21

 

France was only after the 2010s that France, observing the European countries’ reluctance to the project, acknowledged that ‘European Defence’ as initially conceived was more an ideal than an achievable goal, and that smaller steps had to be envisioned instead.8 Also, with multinational interventions becoming the new trend for Western states through a combination of normative pressures towards multilateralism and budgetary constraints, the French armed forces had to learn how to cooperate with their partners, which highlighted the differences in strategic cultures,9 the possibility of reform,10 but also the potential for convergence with the armed forces of like-minded countries.11 Yet, despite the amplitude of the transformation of the international (p.38) system, the seduction of ‘autonomy’ as an objective per se means that any change in French security and defence policy is judged according to the threshold of a romanticized Gaullism, which serves as a rhetorical resource to shame policies actors disagree with. This exercise is evenly spread on all sides of the political spectrum, thus validating André Malraux’s ironic formulation when he forecast that De Gaulle’s legacy would be disputed by all political groups: ‘everyone has been, is, or will be a Gaullist’. The constant reference to the French cold war foreign and defence policy, and subsequent shaming of any departure from it, is easily explainable by the absence of a new transpartisan grand narrative relevant for the contemporary international system, but overlooks the actual security policy changes France went through since the end of the cold war, which made her a ‘reluctant atlanticist’.12 The romanticization of the French ‘Gaullist’ policy is partly related to the powers granted to the French president in the defence and security domains, thus facilitating the association between the individual and the policies themselves. The Institutional Context

Since the inception of the Fifth Republic in 1958, France has been considered as the ideal type of a strong state in defence and foreign affairs, with a powerful executive and weak parliamentary control.13 The key player is the French President, with a high level of executive flexibility within the ‘reserved domain’ (domaine réservé)—the defence, security, and foreign policies in which the dominance of the President has no equivalent in other democracies.14 Although it has no legal basis—the notion does not appear in any official text— the ‘reserved domain’ is the most decisive institution for the formulation of military policy. It is a regulatory mechanism for relations both within the executive, and between the executive and the legislative. The ‘reserved domain’ is also a regulatory mechanism for relations between political power and the army, defined by strict political control over the armed forces with an uncontested subordination of the military to the President. The Prime Minister is the second key player under Article 20, which states that ‘the government shall determine and conduct the policy of the Nation’, and affirms in the second paragraph that the government may ‘have at its disposal the armed forces’. Under Article 21, ‘the Prime Minister shall direct the operation of the Page 4 of 21

 

France Government. He shall be responsible for national defence’. The Prime Minister, the Defence Minister, and the Foreign Affairs Minister are especially strong and influential during periods of political cohabitation (when the government originates from a parliamentary majority opposed to the President). But a study of the periods of cohabitation (1986–8, 1993–5, 1997–2002) reveals that, if the decision-making process is more balanced and the flexibility of the President is diminished, the presidential supremacy on defence and foreign issues remains the main feature of policymaking. There are no constitutional provisions restricting the power of the executive concerning the deployment of armed forces. The main legal provisions regulating the use of (p.39) armed force were the legal limitations on the deployment of conscripts outside Europe, unless they sign a specific contract volunteering for military operations. This limitation was one of the many arguments in favour of the shift to all-volunteer armed forces in 1996.15 The decision-making process in France is highly centralized—in the hands of the executive power. The decisions for the deployment of armed forces are taken by the National Defence and Security Council, headed by the President of the Republic. The Prime Minister, the Defence Minister, and the Foreign Affairs Minister are members of this council and are closely involved. The decisions are implemented by the Prime Minister and the government under the close scrutiny of the President and his Staff. The Joint Chief of Staff is the key military figure. An important decree in 2005 asserted the Joint Chief of Staff (Chef d’état-major des armées) as the true chief of the armed forces, formalizing a long process of increasing inter-military cooperation, which was initiated after the First Gulf War (1991).16 The Joint Chief of Staff is the military advisor of the government and the President. He is ‘responsible for the preparation and the use of armed forces’. The French President has at his disposal a personal chief of staff (Chef d’état-major particulier), who is the day-to-day advisor and interlocutor of the President for military operations—a very powerful and influential position in the French system.17 As shown by comparative studies of the parliamentary control of armed forces in Europe, the French system of parliamentary control is ‘the weakest’ compared with other European countries, with ‘close to zero’ influence on defence issues.18 This weakness is particularly obvious concerning the deployment of the armed forces. The new version of Article 35 of the Constitution, revised in 2008, specifies that the government must inform the parliament of any foreign intervention within three days. If the deployment of armed forces exceeds four months, the government should require the authorization of the parliament to prolong the military operation (Article 35.3 of the Constitution). But this does not mean a real improvement for parliamentary control, since to a large extent parliamentarians are ‘trapped’ by the actual deployment of soldiers on the ground. The second method of parliamentary control resides in a posteriori control of external operations. The period of cohabitation between 1997 and Page 5 of 21

 

France 2002 was deemed auspicious in this way, with information-gathering missions in Rwanda and Srebrenica. Whatever the limitations inherent to these two missions, they demonstrate unprecedented parliamentary intrusion at the heart of the reserved domain of the executive, but do not seem to have triggered a larger movement as of 2017.19 This explains why the formulation of new White Books on defence policy, to which this chapter now turns, is always decided by the executive. (p.40) The Evolution of Defence Doctrine: The White Books of 1994, 2008, and 2013

Five-year framework development programmes (lois de programmation militaire) prepared by the government and adopted by the parliament define the framework for military reform in France. These framework programmes sketch main trends in the security environment, define investment priorities, and guide the annual work of both government and parliament in regards to defence appropriations. While this planning approach has the advantage of combining a long-term outlook with short-term adaptation, occasional dramatic changes in the security environment necessitate a broader assessment of the country’s overarching defence doctrine, which takes the form of government White Books.20 In 1994 the government published a White Book on defence to take stock of the end of the cold war. It was in fact only the second White Book of the Fifth Republic, with the first published in 1972 to cement France’s Gaullist approach to the cold war. The 1994 White Book sought to adjust the defence toolbox, scaling back the predominance of nuclear deterrence and upgrading the role of conventional forces and force projection. Still, the emphasis was on distinct geographical circles of defence priorities (France, Europe, the world). While force projection was upgraded in terms of capacity, it thus remained constrained by geography and the assumption that threats to France and Europe could be managed by diplomacy and limited interventions along the rims of Europe.21 For as long as Balkan crisis management defined the main out-of-area challenge for France and its allies, this was not an unreasonable approach. The gradual appearance of more globalized, less territorial, and more asymmetrical threats, along with the relative decline of Western wealth compared to that of Asia, eventually undercut the approach, however. A new White Book in 2008 took stock. Its key contributions were to connect hitherto separate domains: domestic and international security, and security and defence.22 It introduced the concept of societal resilience into the French planning framework, established a national council of integrated security and defence, and generally emphasized how intelligence and awareness had to gain in precedence. A mere five years later, in 2013, a new White Book appeared that aimed to steer the coming three development programmes and to define its horizon as 2028. The new White Book moved in the same direction as its predecessor but Page 6 of 21

 

France underscored that new conditions—the financial crisis of 2008, the security transition in Europe as the United States aimed to pivot to Asia, enduring and engulfing crises of governance and insurrection, sometimes leading to international terrorism, in the Middle East and North Africa—all necessitated a fresh look at the main strategic tasks of French security and defence forces. In particular, it called for a fuller integration of ‘prevention, deterrence, and intervention’.23 (p.41) It also outlined a decreased ambition for force projection and an enhanced ambition to Europeanize the defence industry, which remains significant in France. Not coincidentally, the new White Book coincided with a EU effort (in December 2013) to revitalize its defence dimension, including ‘a more integrated, sustainable, innovative and competitive defence technological and industrial base’.24 The White Book foresaw a cut to the defence budget, from 1.6 per cent to 1.3 per cent of GDP, and therefore a lowering of the force projection ambition. Previously, France had aimed to maintain a rapid reaction force of 2,300 personnel able to intervene in 72 hours at a distance of 5,000 km, but also to be capable of contributing 30,000 personnel to a major combat operation. The White Book lowered the sight to a reaction time of 7 days and a distance of 3,000 km for the quick reaction forces and a total size of 15,000 personnel for the major combat force. Reality has since caught up with this reduced ambition, as a state of emergency at home provoked by terrorist attacks in 2015 and an ongoing high tempo of external operations have provoked a revised look at the level of ambition. Thus, in the spring of 2016, President François Hollande announced increases in defence spending, which in effect reversed significant parts of the cuts planned in 2013–14, bringing the French defence effort to nearly 1.8 per cent of GDP. In early 2017, he went a step further and declared an ambition to reach the 2 per cent threshold that has become the gold standard in NATO and that will be critical for the French effort to gain influence with a Trump administration focused on burden-sharing.25 François Hollande’s successor, Emmanuel Macron, has confirmed this ambition to reach the 2 per cent threshold by 2025. White Books have become more frequent in France, in particular with the decision to publish one in 2013, a mere five years after its predecessor. It is possible that President Macron might publish yet another White Book, in around 2018, in which case they will have become a hallmark of changing presidencies rather than a changing strategic environment. It would imply a break from the tradition of White Books being a type of national or bipartisan effort to define a strategic horizon and then work towards it. Certainly, bipartisanship is always difficult and contested at the margins, but the 1972 and 1994 White Books nevertheless had this bipartisan character. The 2008 and 2013 White Books were more overtly linked to the personality and principles of the sitting president. If this trend continues, France will experience greater fluctuation in Page 7 of 21

 

France its grand strategic debates. White Books would thus offer themselves as windows to changing political ideas and less as windows to long-term defence reform plans and reforms. The Use of Armed Forces

France considers its armed forces a primary tool to achieve security objectives, more than commerce or international aid for example. While an entire chapter in this handbook (Chapter 46) is devoted to analysing French military interventions, this section lays out the (p.42) factors shaping the perception of the use of armed forces abroad. It illustrates the degree to which military intervention is perceived by French elites as a status-seeking tool, but also highlights the contradictions in the French strategic culture in that regard. Anthony Forster classifies the country as one of the two ‘expeditionary warfare’ models of armed forces in Europe, alongside the United Kingdom.26 France is clearly one of the European countries most likely to emphasize the recourse to military intervention and to give priority to military force rather than to nonmilitary tools in crisis management. However, there is a discrepancy with public opinion, which strongly believes that economic power is more important in world politics than military power (85 per cent). Furthermore, French public opinion is more supportive of economic incentives (32 per cent) or economic sanctions (20 per cent) than of military action (8 per cent) to address Iran’s acquiring nuclear weapons.27 French foreign-policy attitudes concerning situations such as those in the Middle East and North Africa (‘the Arab Spring’) reveal the same pattern: 69 per cent support providing aid for economic development, which is rather more than those who support sending military forces (54 per cent). But this discrepancy does not reveal a strong disconnection between the public and the political elite concerning the use of force: more than half of French people (54 per cent) indeed support sending military forces to help remove non-democratic governments. At the beginning of the intervention in Libya (2011), 58 per cent supported the military operation, 56 per cent supported sending ground troops to assist the rebels, and 60 per cent supported military action against Iran if it was the only option left. What is noticeable is that French public opinion is systematically the most supportive of military options among the European public opinions, revealing a strong militarism as a base of foreign-policy attitudes. The French strategic and security culture is heir to two distinct traditions. The first tradition directly relates to France’s missionary self-understanding: being the ‘country of human rights’, France has to defend and promote these rights worldwide.28 This rhetoric is widespread in the political discourse and constitutes one of the cornerstones of France’s diplomatic ambitions. The second tradition is the Gaullist legacy of independence, an objective never questioned by the ruling parties, as the French security culture is based on the ‘sacrosanct principle of autonomous decision-making and independent defence capabilities’.29 In fact, as Meunier observes, France’s goals to pursue both Page 8 of 21

 

France independence and multilateralism are conflicting and can lead to contradictions between the official rhetoric and the actual practice.30 A defining characteristic of France’s security culture is its enduring willingness to be a major partner in multinational operations. As Irondelle and Besancenot state: ‘The objective of French policy makers in planning future expenditure and military capabilities is to maximize France’s political and military rank within international military coalitions, rather than to maximize operational military power on the ground’.31 (p.43) This ambition is first shown by the emphasis on the capacity for French Operational Headquarters to plan and conduct major multinational operations: France’s major land, naval, and air headquarters received NATO’s ‘High Readiness Forces’ label and are able to command and control forces at the brigade level and above. These command and control (C2) capabilities are also useful for EU-led operations. France allocates resources to ‘high-profile’ capabilities such as intelligence (including spatial capabilities) or special forces. The emphasis on such capabilities reflects France’s willingness both to be a major contributor to any multinational operation (hence punching above its weight in terms of diplomatic status) and to have the independence to conduct operations on a purely national basis, if needed. Generally speaking, France intends to be an important diplomatic actor and to participate in every key strategic ‘club’ (NATO, G20, NPT, and so on), especially if they formalize a hierarchy between states (such as the Security Council). These forums allow France to reconcile its multilateralist claims while defending its national interests. When it comes to the use of military force, France emphasizes the need for a UN resolution and mandate, but acknowledges that French armed forces might have to intervene on a unilateral basis to protect its citizens abroad or to enforce bilateral security agreements with former colonies in Africa. However, unilateral operations have to be limited in scope because of the limited capabilities of the French armed forces. This aspect, once again, reveals the contradictions within the French strategic culture. The official political discourse (as exemplified by Dominique de Villepin’s speech to the United Nations to oppose the US intervention in Iraq), as well as official strategic doctrine (by relegating intervention to the fifth and last position of the list of the armed forces’ strategic functions), calls for the use of force as an instrument of last resort. However, practice proves otherwise, and the years between 1991 and 2011 have witnessed a number of French military interventions in which the armed forces were perceived as a tool to increase French diplomatic status. It remains to be seen whether mutually reinforcing factors such as the evolution of the strategic context (with the West probably reluctant to wage long stabilization campaigns like that in Afghanistan), regular claims to more ‘selectivity’ in the engagements, and shrinking armed forces might compel France actually to reduce its military commitments. The distribution of expenditure across military services is subject to strong inertia effects in France, and has been amazingly stable since 1988. From 1988 to 2013, Page 9 of 21

 

France the share of each branch (gendarmerie, air force, army, navy) in the defence budget remained almost the same.32 The navy consistently received about 25 per cent of the capital expenditure, the army and the air force receiving respectively about 21 and 24 per cent. The most significant change has been the gradual decrease of investment in the nuclear field. The nuclear share of the defence equipment budget has been reduced from 40 to 21 per cent as of 2017, while the nuclear share of the overall defence budget dropped from 16.9 to 8.75 per cent between 1990 and 1999. This reduction can be interpreted as a shift in emphasis to transform the French army into a more projectable force by developing its own version of modern warfare concepts such as network-centric warfare or effects-based operations.33 (p.44) Hence, France has a long-established tradition of military interventionism in order to secure political objectives that clashes with its official claims to consider military force as an instrument of last resort. It is normal for French policymakers to contemplate the use of armed force, an option that they favour over alternatives such as commerce or international aid. However, it is possible that gradually shrinking military capabilities will increasingly force France to consider modes of action other than military force, a situation that is likely to be interpreted as an admission of weakness in policymaking circles. This is related to the fact that military interventions are seen as an important aspect of the ‘great power status’ to which France aspires, as is the possession of nuclear weapons.

The Evolution of the Nuclear Doctrine Since the end of the cold war, the French nuclear doctrine has gradually converged with those of its key Western nuclear allies (the United Kingdom and the United states), in particular regarding the political role of nuclear weapons, deterrence by punishment, and the reduced role of nuclear weapons in the current security environment. France’s nuclear strategy during the cold war differed in many ways from its American and British counterparts. Important divergences on the very principles that determined the role and use of nuclear weapons led to strong differences between France and its two Western counterparts. A first difference between London and Paris stemmed from an orthodox view in Paris of the need for an absolutely independent national deterrent, which guided both the development of the nuclear arsenal and the framework in which it could be used. Secondly, while France’s ‘dissuasion du faible au fort’ (‘deterrence of the strong by the weak’) represented a strategy based solely on absolute deterrence and deterrence by punishment, the United States and NATO integrated concepts of limited deterrence and deterrence by denial into their nuclear strategies.34 Since the end of the cold war, several evolutions have contributed to a de facto convergence of key features of independently developed US and French policies in the post-cold-war era. First of all, the three Western nuclear powers (the Page 10 of 21

 

France United States, the United Kingdom, and France) now share a common view about the fundamentally political role of nuclear weapons, which are supposed to be an instrument of deterrence rather than a war-fighting tool, as expressed in NATO’s 1999 Strategic Concept and in the 2012 Deterrence and Defence Posture Review. This represents a US–UK move towards a long-held French position and therefore constitutes a first area of convergence.35 A second area of convergence stems from French post-cold war efforts to adapt its absolute deterrence concept to the new security environment, in particular against threats emanating from regional actors potentially armed with weapons of mass destruction. While France’s nuclear strategy remains based on a deterrence by punishment logic, the way such a punishment would be effected has evolved with the introduction of a certain flexibility in the use of nuclear weapons. As in the US and UK cases, massive strikes against an adversary’s (p. 45) population centres have been gradually removed from French publicly stated response options to be replaced by more controlled, limited, and accurate strikes against political, military, and economic centres of power. To do so, French submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBM) are now fitted with variable numbers of warheads and can be launched individually (in contrast with the full launch of a cold war massive nuclear strike).36 A further evolution that relates to the new security environment is the gradual acceptance of ballistic missile defences by French doctrine. Already hinted at in the 1994 Defence White Paper, theatre missile defence has been rapidly accepted by French strategists and official documents in the 1990s as a necessary protection against limited missile strikes against deployed forces.37 In more general terms, Presidents Chirac and Sarkozy respectively defined ballistic missile defence (BMD) as ‘a complement to deterrence that diminishes our vulnerabilities’ and as a ‘useful complement to deterrence’ that allows France to ‘preserve its freedom of action’.38 As a result, France participates in NATO’s work geared to protecting all the alliance’s territory from a limited ballistic missile strike. Combined with a broader set of nuclear employment options, the acceptance of BMD might also show a certain willingness better to control escalation, which would be yet another point of convergence with France’s two Western nuclear counterparts. A last trend commonly experienced by all three Western nuclear powers is linked to the relative centrality of nuclear deterrence in these countries’ defence strategy.39 Indeed, as outlined in NATO’s Defence and Deterrence Posture Review, there is a shared understanding in Washington, London, and Paris about the absence of a current and significant threat to their vital interests. As such, nuclear use has become a remote prospect, which contrasts with the high level of engagement of conventional forces in foreign operations to defend non-vital interests. This has led to a rebalancing of the relationship between conventional and nuclear forces in favour of the former, in particular in French strategy. While Page 11 of 21

 

France the main role of conventional forces during the cold war was to contribute to the general deterrence manoeuvre, it is now nuclear forces that serve as an umbrella for expeditionary conventional operations.40 This relative centrality of nuclear deterrence in the overall defence policy has therefore been a significant point of convergence between Paris, London, and Washington since the end of the cold war. Just like the nuclear doctrine, the French armed forces have also evolved since the end of the cold war.

The Transformation of the French Armed Forces since 1991 The 1990s were a phase during which French decision-makers contemplated two great ‘drivers’ of transformation most visibly put on display in the First Gulf War of (p.46) 1991—namely strategic upheaval (that is, US supremacy after the cold war) and leaps in technological capacity (that is, information technology). Alliance commitments and credibility—some would say ‘rank’—should be mentioned as a ‘driver’ in their own right because accelerated US investments in ‘military transformation’ in the early 2000s provoked France’s leap into the future. Before then, France had professionalized its forces but not changed the underlying organization, technologies, and doctrine. Military transformation in the early 2000s threatened a loss of influence, and France thus reacted. With this decision, it then had to navigate the usual ‘shapers’ of military change: the culture of military services, the cost of new platforms and technology, bureaucratic interests, and the quality of political–military leadership. The Army

The French army was at the centre of the debates on professionalization through the 1990s, because the army represented the ‘nation in arms’ that had become both a legacy of the 1789 revolution and a bulwark against the insurrectionism that characterized parts of the professional army in the early 1960s.41 Committed to these legacies, President Mitterrand (1981–95) did not budge, even though the 1991 Gulf War had underscored the superiority of deployable professional forces. Concerned that France could not pull its weight in the Atlantic Alliance and not back claims of enhanced ‘European’ influence, President Chirac in 1996–7 opted for full professionalization. Some years later, when the United States drove the new wave of ‘transformation’, the French army was again put to the test: it had to integrate into a ‘joint’ informationtechnology architecture and simultaneously define its own distinct service footprint in the shape of an expeditionary war-fighting capacity.42 The decade of ‘transformation’ that followed put brigades front and centre of the army because they were versatile (compared to divisions) and had real punch (compared to battalions). Moreover, among the brigades, the onus fell on the ‘medium’ heavy brigades equipped with armoured vehicles that had greater speed compared to heavy brigades with main battle tanks and greater firepower and protection compared to infantry brigades. In this, the French army matched that of the United States, whose land-force transformation effort likewise Page 12 of 21

 

France focused on integrating information technology, networked vehicles, and stand-off firepower in expeditionary brigade structures that in the United States were labelled Stryker and in France Scorpion.43 At the height of the transformation wave, the French army had eight regular brigades and then three special brigades, and Scorpion defined a horizon of development. Since then, battle experience and battle lab testing and development in cooperation with the armament industry have made a reality of Scorpion. In mid-2016, the army consolidated its brigades into a division structure and a slimmed-down command structure, in part to take (p.47) the greatest possible advantage of Scorpion technologies, but also in part to respond to a punishing tempo of expeditionary operations and to strengthen the army’s contribution to homeland security.44 As of 2017, the main land forces are thus organized into two Scorpion divisions of three brigades each: the 1st division headquartered in Besançon and the 3rd division headquartered in Marseille. In addition, the army has opened a new homeland security command headquartered in Paris, which has 10,000 troops assigned to it in addition to army reserves. The latter took form as a consequence of professionalization and is thus relatively new, and the aim is to build the reserve force up to a level of 40,000. The future army’s range of main equipment, from Leclerc battle tanks over Griffon and Jaguar armoured vehicles to new drones, will thus be connected to improved infantry gear and communication systems, generating an integrated ‘Scorpion’ land force. It is a slimmer force compared to 2010, for instance, when its combat size was 110,000 personnel; its level of ambition in 2017 is 77,000. However, this is an improvement compared to 2013–14 plans, which would have cut the army to 66,000. The game changer, the cause of an increase in force size, was the terrorist attacks on French soil in 2015 and the ensuing deployment of 10,000 army personnel for the purpose of homeland security, which severely stretched the army. Besides contributing to homeland security at the level of 10,000 troops, the army’s operational level of ambition remains the one of the 2013 White Book to maintain a national emergency force of 4,000 of a total of 5,000 troops, which includes an immediate reaction force of 2,300, of which the army will deliver 1,500. In addition, the army must have a capacity to deploy and sustain 6,000– 7,000 troops for each of three simultaneous crisis management operations, or, the capacity to pull together a force of 15,000 troops to a major combat operation in coalition (or NATO) format. The army has in recent years consistently had a high tempo of deployments; this includes not only the extensive presence in homeland protection, but in 2015 also participation in no less than eight combat theatres—‘more than any time in recent [French] history’.45 Counting the forces dedicated to homeland protection and crisis-

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France management operations, by 2018 the army will have up to 30,000 forces engaged at any one point in time. The sum total is an impressive land force that remains coherent and operational and, in addition, is modernizing. It is stretched, though, even as it pulls in reserves. Force modernization (Scorpion) will continue to be costly, as will operations. However, the French land capacity for and experience in operations along the periphery of Europe will continue to be significant and will bolster French foreign policy in an era of declining US engagement. The Navy

Like the other services, the French navy has been reduced since 1991. However, it is still a ‘blue-water’ navy capable of worldwide intervention, despite a diminishing trend in capabilities and the necessity to operate within a multinational framework in the case of (p.48) high-intensity coercion operations. The reduction of the navy’s format has been homothetic, without questioning (so far) the organizational model and strategic conceptions around which the French navy was built. Historically, France has a complicated relationship with its navy and has struggled to maintain a balance between being both a naval and a land power, a geopolitical incentive derived from France’s particular geographic position of being open to the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, and the English Channel while simultaneously bordering the land mass of Germany.46 Yet, because of its overseas possessions (Départements et Territoires d’Outre-Mer) in Guyana, New Caledonia, and the Indian Ocean, France maintains naval forces that contribute to the affirmation of French sovereignty. Unlike the United States, France does not have a coastguard capability. Therefore, the navy (alongside other services such as customs and gendarmerie) contributes to the protection of the French naval domain from risks such as pollution, accidents, trafficking, and smuggling. This mission covers 20 per cent of the navy’s activities.47 The navy is organized around four main commands: naval action force (Force d’Action Navale, FAN), submarine forces (Forces sous-marines, FSM), naval aviation (aéronautique navale, ALAVIA) and the commando and marines force (force maritime des fusiliers marins et commandos, FORFUSCO). The main capability at the disposal of the French navy is the carrier strike group, organized around the aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle and comprising (beyond the aircraft carrier itself) one attack submarine, four destroyers (two specialized in air defence, two specialized in submarine defence), and one frigate acting as a scout. The French navy can also mount an amphibious group organized around one of the three Landing Helicopter Dock ships of the Mistral class. The navy contributes to the French deterrence mission in two ways. First, ALAVIA has developed a squadron of 43 Rafale and 9 Super-Étendard jets, which can be Page 14 of 21

 

France equipped with the ASMP-A nuclear missile.48 But mostly, the French navy operates four ballistic missile submarines, which constitute the heart of the French nuclear deterrence capability. With a total of about 300 ships (10 submarines, 90 combat ships, and 200 support ships), the French navy can be considered a ‘second-rank’ navy with worldwide capabilities. Yet, the gradual decrease in the number of combat ships because of budget pressures (notably a reduction in the number of new destroyers being available to the navy) raises questions regarding the resilience of the navy in the event of high-intensity coercive operations: in such a situation, the French navy would be comparable to a powerful rifle with only one bullet. The Air Force

Since the end of the cold war, the French Air Force (FAF) has had to reconcile the need for technological upgrade with a reduction in its overall format. The FAF began the new cold-war era with a shock. The Gulf War demonstrated the limits of its capabilities and its (p.49) doctrine. As Anrig explains: ‘Desert Storm proved too big, too technologically advanced and too Anglo-Saxon for the FAF’.49 The tactical skills of the French pilots are unquestioned and were appreciated by their partners in the coalition. Nevertheless, the contribution was limited by material problems. The FAF lacked compatible Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) equipment and was poorly equipped in night-vision capabilities. This realization led to an active policy of upgrading the French Air Force capabilities, notably through the acquisition of precision-guided munitions and of capabilities necessary to operate within a multinational framework.50 Yet, this has not led to a sustained doctrinal work on par with the efforts conducted by the United States Air Force or the Royal Air Force. Historically, the FAF has not developed the institutional setting necessary to produce a sophisticated doctrine of force employment, and has relied on a ‘learning by doing approach’.51 Two attempts were made in 1997 and 2003 to establish a cohesive doctrine of force employment, both of which were unsuccessful, as fighter pilots (who hold most of the commanding positions in the FAF) felt it would question the heart of their professional identity: air-to-air combat.52 The main capability upgrade for the FAF was the introduction of the multirole ‘Rafale’ plane from 2006 onwards. A technological success, and combat proven in Afghanistan, Libya, and Iraq, the ‘Rafale’ increased the fighting power of the FAF while being praised for its modularity. Yet, capability gaps still exist, notably in two fields: suppression of enemy air defences (SEAD) and strategic airlift. Beyond military interventions and the protection of the French airspace, the FAF is also part of the French nuclear deterrence capability by providing two squadrons (Rafale F3 and Mirage 2000-N) equipped with ASMP-A missiles. Introduced in 1964, this capability remains vital to the structure of the FAF.

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France Like the other services, the FAF has been hit by budget and format reductions: it is planned that 200 fighter planes will be available in 2020, compared to 380 in 2000. This drastic reduction is partly compensated for by the increase in the overall quality of the planes (with the ‘Rafales’ gradually replacing older models) and the acquisition of UCAVs (12 to 16 ‘Reapers’). Nevertheless, it is hard to escape the fact that, just as for the navy, the overall reduction in format implies diminished resilience and flexibility.

Conclusion France remains a committed and significant military power in terms of the robustness of its executive chain of command, the breadth of military capabilities it maintains, and the range of operations it undertakes. There is no fundamental contestation in France of this (p.50) engagement. Political parties that differ on certain foreign-policy priorities are united on the importance of maintaining military relevance, and public opinion is equally durably in favour of military relevance. The terrorist attacks in 2015, first in January against the magazine Charlie Hebdo and then the wider attack in November on the Bataclan nightclub and other public places, naturally mobilized opinion in favour of a strong defence effort. Still, and looking beyond this year of calamity, French public and political opinion testifies to a long-standing militarist base that enables security and defence-policy activism. Defence relevance is a continuing challenge of adaptation, however, and France is challenged in several related respects. The first concerns its Gaullist legacy and the historical emphasis on independence and strategic autonomy. Once a platform for generating republican consensus, it has to a certain extent become an obstacle for clarifying French options for cooperation in a connected and globalizing world. In short, France is in need of a new grand narrative that defines options for a twenty-first-century middle-range power. The trend, though, as witnessed by the White Books, among other things, is towards greater partisanship. Another challenge is financial. France, like most European countries, has great public debt, struggles to generate growth and public surplus, and thus struggles to finance defence efforts. France has responded firmly to the 2015 attacks, also in budgetary terms, but the public purse is strained. The sustainability of the defence effort will be in doubt for as long as economic growth is sluggish and public debt high. A third and final challenge is to solidify the Europe’s collective security institutions, both the EU and NATO. Britain is now exiting the EU, leaving France as the EU’s most capable military actor. In some respects, this might be politically advantageous, perhaps especially in regard to generating a Europeanized defence market for France’s defence industry. However, France now lacks Britain in its balancing of German economic leadership in the EU, and Page 16 of 21

 

France Germany is slowly moving into a leadership role in defence affairs. Moreover, defence transformation will continue to be defined by the United States and will thus involve NATO, especially in the light of a resurgent Russia (which threat has not yet led to a drastic policy change in France). Life at the middle range of power is thus not simple. To remain relevant, France must invest in economic growth and a renewed public imagination, both of which are hard to do. However, France has great defence assets, and it will unquestionably remain at the heart of Western defence efforts. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Farrell, Theo, Sten Rynning, and Terry Terriff, Transforming Military Power since the Cold War: Britain, France, and the United States, 1991–2012 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). Forget, Guy, Nos forces aériennes en OPEX: Un demi-siècle d’interventions extérieures (Paris: Economica, 2013). Gautier, Louis, La Défense de la France après la guerre froide (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2009). (p.51) Gordon, Philip H., A Certain Idea of France: French Security Policy and the Gaullist Legacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). Gregory, Shaun, French Defence Policy into the Twenty-First Century (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000). Guisnel, Jean, and Bruno Tertrais, Le Président et la bombe (Paris: Odile Jacob, 2016). Irondelle, Bastien, La Réforme des armées en France: Sociologie de la décision (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 2011). Pannier, Alice, and Olivier Schmitt, French Defence Policy since the End of the Cold War: Drivers, Debates and Developments (Abingdon: Routledge, forthcoming). Rynning, Sten, Changing Military Doctrine: Presidents and Military Power in Fifth Republic France, 1958–2000 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2002). Schmitt, Olivier, ‘The Reluctant Atlanticist: France’s Defence and Security Policy in a Transatlantic Context’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 40/4 (2017), 463–74, . (accessed 7 December 2017).

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France Notes:

(1) John Steward Ambler, The French Army in Politics, 1945–1962 (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 1966); Edward A. Kolodziej, French International Policy under De Gaulle and Pompidou: The Politics of Grandeur (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1974); Michel Martin, Warriors to Managers: The French Military Establishment since 1945 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1981). (2) Olivier Schmitt, ‘Decline in Denial: France since 1945’, in Frédéric Mérand (ed.), Coping with Geopolitical Decline (forthcoming). (3) Hubert Védrine, Face à l’hyperpuissance (Paris: Fayard, 2003). (4) Philip H. Gordon, A Certain Idea of France: French Security Policy and the Gaullist Legacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993); Beatrice Heuser, ‘Mitterrand’s Gaullism: Cold War Policies for the Post-Cold War World?’, in Antonio Varsori (ed.), Europe 1945–1990: The End of an Era? (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1994), 346–69. (5) Beatrice Heuser, Nuclear Mentalities? Strategies and Beliefs in Britain, France and the FRG (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1998), 139–42. (6) Shaun Gregory, French Defence Policy into the Twenty-First Century (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000); Frédéric Bozo, La France et l’OTAN: De la guerre froide au nouvel ordre européen (Paris: Institut Français des Relations Internationales, 1992). (7) Maurice Vaïsse, ‘France and NATO: An History’, Politique Étrangère, 4 (2009), 139–50. (8) Nicole Gnesotto, Faut-il enterrer la défense européenne? (Paris: La Documentation française, 2014). (9) Bastien Irondelle and Olivier Schmitt, ‘France’, in Bastian Giegerich, Heiko Biehl, and Alexandra Jonas (eds), Strategic Cultures in Europe (Munich: VS Verlag, 2013), 125–38. (10) Terry Terriff, ‘NATO Military Transformation: Challenges and Opportunities for France’, European Security, 19/1 (2010), 61–78. (11) Alice Pannier and Olivier Schmitt, ‘Institutionalised Cooperation and Policy Convergence in European Defence: Lessons from the Relations between France, Germany and the United Kingdom’, European Security, 23/3 (2014), 270–89. (12) Olivier Schmitt, ‘The Reluctant Atlanticist: France’s Defence and Security Policy in a Transatlantic Context’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 40/4 (2017), 463–

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France 74, (accessed 7 December 2017). (13) Thomas Risse-Kappen, ‘Public Opinion, Domestic Structure, and Foreign Policy in Liberal Democracies’, World Politics, 43/3 (1991), 479–512. (14) Anthony Forster, Armed Forces and Society in Europe (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2006). (15) Bastien Irondelle, La Réforme des armées en France: Sociologie de la décision (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 2011). (16) David S. Yost, ‘France in the Gulf War: Political–Military Lessons Learned’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 16/3 (1993), 339–74. (17) Louis Gautier, La Défense de la France après la guerre froide (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2009). (18) Forster, Armed Forces. (19) Martial Foucault and Bastien Irondelle, ‘Dynamique parlementaire de la politique de défense: Une comparaison Franco-Britannique’, Revue internationale de politique comparée, 16/3 (2009), 465–83. (20) For a wider assessment of defence and military planning in Fifth Republic France, see Sten Rynning, Changing Military Doctrine: Presidents and Military Power in Fifth Republic France, 1958–2000 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2002). (21) See especially section II on strategy and capacities in Livre blanc sur la défense (1994), (accessed 7 December 2017). (22) Défense et sécurité nationale: le livre blanc (2008), (accessed 7 December 2017). (23) Livre blanc: Défense et sécurité nationale (2013), . (24) European Council, 12/13 December 2013 Conclusions, paragraph 16,

(accessed 7 December 2017). (25) ‘François Hollande souhaite attribuer 2% du budget de l’Etat à l’armée’, Le Monde, 6 January 2017, (accessed 7 December 2017).

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France (26) Forster, Armed Forces. (27) German Marshall Fund, Transatlantic Trends 2011 (Topline Data, 2011). (28) Irondelle and Schmitt, ‘France’. (29) Bastien Irondelle and Sophie Besancenot, ‘France: The End of Exceptionalism?’, in Emil J. Kirchner and James Sperling (eds), National Security Cultures and Global Security Governance (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 22. (30) Sophie Meunier, ‘France and the World: From Chirac to Sarkozy’, in Alistair Cole, Patrick le Galès, and Jonah Levy (eds), Developments in French Politics (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 243–57. (31) Irondelle and Besancenot, ‘France: The End of Exceptionalism?’, 38. (32) Irondelle and Besancenot, ‘France: The End of Exceptionalism?’, 38. (33) Sten Rynning, ‘From Bottom-Up to Top-Down Transformation: Military Change in France’, in Terry Terriff, Theo Farrell, and Frans Osinga (eds), A Transformation Gap? American Innovations and European Military Change (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010), 59–82. (34) André Dumoulin, Histoire de la dissuasion nucléaire (Paris: Argos, 2013). Lawrence Freedman, The Evolution of Nuclear Strategy (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). (35) Nicolas Roche, Pourquoi la dissuasion? (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2017). (36) Jean Guisnel and Bruno Tertrais, Le Président et la bombe (Paris: Odile Jacob, 2016). (37) Guisnel and Tertrais, Le Président. (38) Dumoulin, Histoire de la dissuasion nucléaire. (39) Bruno Tertrais, A Comparison between US, UK and French Nuclear Nuclear Policies and Doctrines (Paris: Notes du CERI, 2007). (40) François Hollande, Discours sur la dissuasion nucléaire (19 February 2015). (41) See references in n. 1. See also Gautier, La Défense. (42) See the chapter ‘Transformation as Modernization: The French Army, 1991– 2012’, in Theo Farrell, Sten Rynning, and Terry Terriff, Transforming Military

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France Power since the Cold War: Britain, France, and the United States, 1991–2012 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 192–282. (43) For more on Scorpion as a transformative programme, see the official Scorpion site of the Ministry of Defence, (accessed 7 December 2017). (44) Ministry of Defence, Au contact, la nouvelle offre stratégique de l’armée de Terre, (accessed 7 December 2017). The 1st division in addition comprises the Franco-German brigade. (45) For the force-level ambition, see Livre blanc: Défense et sécurité nationale (2013). For a ‘recent history’, see International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance 2016 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016). (46) Etienne Taillemite, Histoire ignorée de la marine française (Paris: Perrin, 2010); Rémi Monaque, Une histoire de la marine de guerre française (Paris: Perrin, 2016). (47) See ‘Opérations de Protection’ on the Navy’s website (accessed 7 December 2017). (48) For updated figures, see The Military Balance 2016. (49) Christian F. Anrig, The Quest for Relevant Air Power: Continental European Responses to the Air Power Challenges of the Post-Cold War Era (Maxwell, AL: Air University Press, 2011), 103. (50) Guy Forget, Nos forces aériennes en OPEX: Un demi-siècle d’interventions extérieures (Paris: Economica, 2013). (51) Bastien Irondelle and Etienne de Durand, Stratégie aérienne comparée: France, Etats-Unis, Royaume-Uni (Paris: C2SD, 2006). (52) Pascal Vennesson, Les chevaliers de l’air: Aviation et conflits au XXIe siècle (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 1997); Gérard Dubey and Caroline Moricot, Dans la peau d’un pilote de chasse: Le Blues de l’homme-machine (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2016).

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Germany

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Germany Ina Kraft

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0003

Abstract and Keywords This chapter provides an analysis of the changes that German defence has undergone since 1990. Two developments shaped German defence after the end of the cold war: First, the German armed forces changed owing to a radical downsizing, the end of conscription, and the modernization of equipment. Secondly, the style of German defence policy changed from reactive and normbased in the 1990s to assertive, interest-based, and executive in the 2010s. The culture of military restraint—for decades a characteristic trait of German defence—waned. German military deployments abroad became more frequent and more serious. The leadership position Germany had taken in Europe during the Euro crisis and during the Ukraine conflict, as well as a domestic window of opportunity stemming from a favourable majority for the government parties in the parliament, serve as explanations for a more assured formulation of national security interests. Keywords:   Bundeswehr, culture of restraint, German defence, Germany, military deployment, national security

Introduction NEITHER Germany’s defence policy nor the set-up of the Bundeswehr can be explored or understood solely on its own. The Bundeswehr does not enjoy the same amount of institutional independence known in the US, UK, or French armed forces. In fact, it is quite the opposite. In German domestic politics, the room for manoeuvre for the armed forces is small. Parliamentary oversight is extensive to the degree that the Bundeswehr is referred to as a ‘Parliamentary Army’. The authority of the German Bundestag not only covers mission Page 1 of 27

 

Germany mandating and budget approval; it also includes safeguarding the basic rights of each and every individual soldier. The German constitution states, furthermore, that jurisdiction for military personnel and procurement matters lies with a civilian, and not a military, authority.1 The defence ministry is, additionally, divided almost surgically into a completely civilian leadership level, and into partly military and partly civilian directorates-general.2 This strong civilian influence on defence policy leaves the military leadership with rather limited scope for determining the organizational development of the armed forces. Its wider influence on the formulation of security and defence policy is also rather constrained. The military sphere does not have privileged access to the political sphere when issues of national security or the formulation of national interests are concerned. This is not to say that military expertise does not influence the formulation of security and defence policy, but the civil/military divide is constitutive of German defence, and fluctuations between the two spheres are the exception rather than the norm. Defence matters and the armed forces’ development are thus highly political topics. Any analysis of German defence policy can only succeed, therefore, by examining the wider framework of German foreign and security policy, to which defence policy is subordinate. It needs to pay attention to how Germany (p.53) has perceived its international role, and how this perception has shaped political decisions within security and defence. The first part of this chapter presents the development of German foreign, security, and defence policy. It introduces the concept of defence-policy style—a way to classify a government’s defence-policy approach—and argues that the style of German defence policy has changed from being reactive and norm-based in the 1990s to being assertive, interest- and executive-based since 2010. The second part of the chapter discusses the effects these developments have had on the Bundeswehr in terms of force size, capability profile, and organizational culture. The tank-heavy conscript army of the 1990s has gone. Today, the Bundeswehr is a half-as-strong expeditionary, all-volunteer force with a new, emerging professional ethos. In the concluding section, the chapter assesses its main findings on the evolution of German defence policy and armed forces since the end of the cold war.

The Styles of German Defence Policy Undoubtedly an economic and political heavyweight in Europe, Germany has had a foreign, security, and defence policy since the 1990s that has, at best, been elusive and, at first glance, appears to be a succession of seemingly inconsistent policy choices: its reticence to intervene in the war in Bosnia (1992– 5) and in the genocide in Rwanda (1994), its participation in the Kosovo conflict (1999), the pledge of then Chancellor Gerhard Schröder before Germany’s parliament of ‘unlimited solidarity’ with the United States in the wake of the 9/11 terrorists attacks, followed by military deployment in Afghanistan, Page 2 of 27

 

Germany Schröder’s refusal to support the United States in the Iraq invasion in 2003, the abstention during the vote on Resolution 1973 at the United Nations (UN) Security Council on the intervention in Libya 2011, and, lastly, the decisions in favour of bilateral support for France in Mali (January 2013) and in Syria (2015). Considering these examples, it is almost impossible to detect any consistent security- and defence-policy pattern, let alone a national strategy, behind the decisions listed. Instead, one cannot help but attest the ad hoc nature of German security policy. This ‘inconceivability of German power’3 has been rooted in the often contradictory demands with which German foreign and security policymakers have been confronted. Foreign expectations that Germany might level up its military to match its economic power would encounter an antimilitarist German political culture that has influenced public and expert discourses alike.4 This cultural explanation for a reluctant German defence policy is underpinned, furthermore, by an institutional one: the federal political system limits politicians’ leeway in the field of security and defence. The fact that at least one state election is held per year has affected foreign-policy decisions and, in some cases, tended to reflect domestic political circumstances rather than foreignpolicy preferences.5 (p.54) It is conspicuous in this regard that a national strategy review process is absent in Germany. In the past, German governments have shied away from mandating a national security strategy document. The Defence White Paper, the Defence Policy Guidelines, and the Bundeswehr Concept—documents that are issued intermittently—may touch in one way or the other upon national security issues; nevertheless, a comprehensive formulation of national interests at the executive level, and of what role the Bundeswehr might play in achieving them, is lacking.6 Given the absence of a national strategy, the development of German security and defence is best understood through an analysis of German defence-policy styles. Analysing defence-policy styles is a way to classify (and thus make comparable) a government’s approach to defence policy. It is a descriptive concept based on earlier works on policy styles as well as on foreign-policy styles.7 Although initially developed to compare characteristics of policy processes between countries, the concept also appears useful for identifying changes within a policy area in a selected country over time. No universal definition of (foreign) policy style, however, exists. For the purpose of comparing phases of German defence policy between 1990 and 2015, defence-policy style throughout this chapter will encompass the government’s main motivation for action in the area of defence policy (for example, norm pursuance and interest pursuance), its attitude towards shaping the international environment (reactive, proactive, and assertive), and its approach to achieving domestic consensus (consent oriented, executive based). The following sections will analyse and Page 3 of 27

 

Germany discuss how Germany’s defence policy has changed since 1990 from a reactive, norm-based, non-party, and consent-oriented policy style to a more assertive, interest- and executive-based style of defence policymaking. Special attention will be paid to security- and defence-policy decisions of the government, most importantly to decisions on foreign deployment, and to the approach at the executive level towards the use of force and its mediation, including differing perspectives within the domestic institutional framework for defence.

German Security and Defence Policy During the cold war, German foreign and security policy was characterized by faithful integration into international institutions, a commitment to European regional integration, economic diplomacy, and an avoidance of using the military option—that is, as a bargaining chip in international negotiations. (p.55) The use of force was constrained by Germany’s constitution, which limited the Bundeswehr to defence tasks only, while security policy was also characterized by a ‘culture of restraint’. This pacifist and antimilitaristic attitude was a legacy of the past, in which a militarist Germany had committed crimes of incomparable magnitude during the Second World War. In consequence, ‘the use of force in the service of the national interest had been fundamentally discredited’.8 From today’s perspective, defence policy during the cold war seems consistent, balancing both domestic and international needs.9 If a conflict with the Warsaw Pact had broken out, fighting would most likely have taken place on German soil. Foreign and domestic expectations that the Bundeswehr’s mission was defined in territorial defence terms were, therefore, congruent. That congruence quickly vanished after the end of the cold war. After 1990, following German reunification and the country’s reattainment of full sovereignty, German defence was faced with partly contradictory challenges. First, the government had to signal to its European partners that a now sovereign Germany would not pose any threat to peace but would, instead, continue with a foreign and security policy built on multilateralism, transatlanticism, and antimilitarism. At the same time, foreign expectations of Germany to share the burden of global, or at least European, security grew in the wake of the Gulf War (1990–1) and the deteriorating situation in Yugoslavia. The German public’s attitude towards the Bundeswehr and its tasks was, additionally, mixed: while a slight majority of West Germans supported a German military commitment in the UN, 61 per cent of the East German population were unsupportive.10 Despite external security shifts, the conservative government under Chancellor Helmut Kohl (1982–98) continued with its cold war-style foreign policy. Germany was labelled a ‘civilian power’,11 a reference to its foreign-policy style based on Page 4 of 27

 

Germany diplomatic and economic incentives and a security policy characterized by a strong norm orientation. Norms constitute actors and interests (and, thus, identities), and they regulate behaviour.12 Some norms prescribe which foreign policy aims are pursued: in the case of Germany, this was, for example, support for democracy and the rule of law, and support for human rights. Other norms prescribe how security and defence policy ought to be conducted. Adherence to international law, transatlanticism, integration into the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), and antimilitarism were the basic regulative norms during the Kohl era. The eastern enlargement of NATO is a stellar example of how these norms drove German security policy: through eastern enlargement, Germany helped to spread democracy and the rule of law—not by military, but by diplomatic means. (p.56) It might appear odd that German security and defence policy of the 1990s is described by means of norms instead of interests. But, in effect, Germany’s norm pursuance was also interest based.13 Norm pursuance helped to reassure European partners that a reunited Germany still had peaceful intentions that, it was hoped, would secure its continuing support for the European project, which, in turn, was favourable to the German economy. Additionally, the spread of democracy and of the rule of law helped create a stable European neighbourhood, which was equally in Germany’s economic and security interests. As a result, during the 1990s, Germany remained a proactive foreign-policy player that employed ‘soft power’. As the conflicts in Bosnia and Rwanda suggest, fulfilling external expectations of military involvement in security crises appeared inordinately more difficult. Germany’s reticence to engage militarily in foreign crises, the comparatively long time that decision-making took, and the initially small contributions made to Bosnia and Rwanda attested to a reactive rather than proactive security- and defence-policy style in the 1990s. Under the subsequent coalition government comprising Social Democrats and Greens (1998–2005), the norms that affected security and defence decisionmaking underwent changes. First, despite the absence of a UN Security Council mandate, Germany participated in the Kosovo conflict (1999). This called into question Germany’s adherence to international law. Secondly, its participation in combat missions in Kosovo and in Operation Enduring Freedom (2001) marked an end to the strictness of the antimilitarism norm. Thirdly, the Schröder government was now less rigid in seeking compliance with US security policy. German opposition in the UN Security Council to US plans to invade Iraq in 2003 showed Germany to be more self-confident. Germany also diversified its security environment from transatlanticism to multilateralism by investing more political capital in strengthening European defence. In 2003, for example, Germany, together with France, Belgium, and Luxembourg, proposed the Page 5 of 27

 

Germany establishment of an EU operational headquarters, which had the potential to sideline NATO structures. These norm changes were accompanied by shifts in the rhetorical justification for German security- and defence-policy choices. During the cold war and throughout the 1990s, the phrases ‘“never again”, “never alone”, and “politics before force”’ dominated the political discourse on the non-preference for military means in foreign policy.14 These phrases alluded to the terror that German armed forces had brought upon Europe during the Hitler regime. In 1999, however, they were augmented by a new phrase, ‘Never Auschwitz again’, uttered by Green party leader, Foreign Minister, and Vice-Chancellor Joschka Fischer as a justification for the Bundeswehr’s involvement in the Kosovo conflict (1999). While the ‘never again’ argument had been used for decades as an excuse for non-participation in international conflicts, it now served as a rhetorical door opener for a still norm-based but nonetheless more proactive foreign policy—including the use of military (p.57) means. In a similar way, the term ‘responsibility’—understood for decades as implying military self-constraint —now stood for greater involvement in world affairs. Thus, between 1998 and 2005, German security and defence policy was still norm-based, but, in contrast to the period before that, the rigidness of the antimilitarism and international law norms had been eased. The principle of transatlanticism had been softened and incorporated into a broader multilateral approach to security and defence. Furthermore, while Germany still largely responded to requests from its allies, its security-policy style also displayed proactive elements, exemplified by its refusal to support the United States in its plans to invade Iraq, and by its proponency of EU defence capabilities. Under the chancellorship of Angela Merkel (2005–), security and defence policy has changed even more profoundly. It has become more interest based and assertive. Refusal to support the UN resolution on international intervention in Libya, which actually would have resonated well with Germany’s commitment to human rights, or to deploy the Bundeswehr in Iraq (2014–) and Syria (2015–) without a mandate from the UN, could be regarded as a weakening of normbased security policy. Germany has also become more confident in spelling out its own global interests. Whereas the 1994 Defence White Paper defined a set of general principles as German interests (for example, freedom, security, and welfare in Germany, territorial integrity, and so on),15 a good decade later the 2006 Defence White Paper included the prevention of conflicts ‘that may affect Germany’s security’, as well as the promotion of ‘free and unhindered world trade as a basis for [German] prosperity’.16

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Germany Emphasis on Germany’s interests and on an assertive German security and defence policy was further boosted in 2014 when Federal President Joachim Gauck announced a significant shift in German defence policy, calling for a ‘more substantial contribution’ to international security.17 By the same token, Minister of Defence Ursula von der Leyen also called for a more proactive security policy.18 This rhetorical defence-policy shift was backed by a pledge in 2015 to raise the defence budget by more than 6 per cent.19 Under the Merkel government, public communication on the use of force has also changed. For years politicians had been eager to downplay the role of the Bundeswehr in (p.58) foreign missions. Against the backdrop of a critical German public, official communication about deployments presented unpleasant facts in small doses rather than in an upfront manner. Over the years during the large-scale deployment in Afghanistan, a growing split emerged between the warlike mission reality and the official narrative at home, which still portrayed the deployment as a support mission.20 In the wake of a series of tragic incidents involving the German military and Afghan civilian casualties in 2009 and 2010,21 the defence ministry opted for a sea change in public communication. In a series of speeches and newspaper interviews, then Minister of Defence Karl-Theodor zu Guttenberg radically changed the political vocabulary for Bundeswehr deployments by reintroducing the term ‘war’, which had been absent from the political discourse for decades, into the political language. While many expected a public outcry, the actual effect of this carefully crafted public campaign was a ‘normalization’ of the discourse about war. By 2010 and thereafter, it seemed, German foreign deployment was no longer an exception to the antimilitarism norm. By then, ‘the use of force in the service of the national interest’ no longer seemed so discredited.22 The culture of restraint had waned. Participation in the Afghanistan mission was, additionally, a decisive turning point for the Bundeswehr itself, which, for decades, had been equipped, trained, and intellectually educated to be a non-fighting deterrent force. In Afghanistan the Bundeswehr was confronted with the realities of war. The discussed changes to German defence policy style have also become reflected in the Bundeswehr’s out-of-area deployments. The next section, therefore, will provide a brief analysis of the Bundeswehr’s changed deployment patterns.

Foreign Deployments of the Bundeswehr Between 1990 and 2015, Germany’s armed forces were deployed on some fifty military missions worldwide. Table 2.1 presents an overview about the foreign deployments of the Bundeswehr between 1990 and 2015. Where troop strengths, mission profiles, and deployment framework are concerned, a number of trends have become visible since 1990. First, the overall number of parallel missions and the total number of soldiers deployed abroad increased quickly, reaching a

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Germany peak in May 2002, when 10,434 service personnel were deployed on parallel missions.23 Table 2.1. Foreign deployments of German armed forces, 1990– 2015 Deployment period

Operation

Coalition framework

1990–1991

Mine hunting/Persian Gulf

WEU

1991–1996

UNSCOM/Iraq

UN

1991–1993

UNAMIC/UNTAC/Cambodia

UN

1992–1994

UNOSOM II/Somalia

UN

1992–1996

SHARP GUARD/DENY FLIGHT/ NATO/WEU DELIBERATE FORCE Bosnia-Herzegovina

1994

UNAMIR/Rwanda

UN

1994–2009

UNOMIG/Georgia

UN

1995

UNPROFOR/Bosnia-Herzegovina

UN

1995–1996

IFOR/Bosnia-Herzegovina

NATO

1996–2004

SFOR/Bosnia-Herzegovina

NATO

1997

Libelle/Albania

Unilateral

1999

Allied Force/Kosovo

NATO

1999–

KFOR/Kosovo

NATO

1999–2000

INTERFET/East-Timor

Coalition of the willing

2001–

OAE/Mediterranean

NATO

2001–2003

ESSENTIAL HARVEST/Amber Fox/Allied Harmony/FYROM

NATO

2001–2010

OEF/global

Coalition of the willing

2001–2014

ISAF/Afghanistan

NATO

2003

Concordia/FYROM

EU

2003

Artemis/RD Congo

EU

2004–

UNAMA/Afghanistan

UN

2004–2006

AMIS/Sudan

AU

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Germany

Deployment period

Operation

Coalition framework

2004–2008

UNMEE/Ethiopia and Eritrea

UN

2004–2012

Althea/Bosnia and Herzegovina

EU

2005–2006

AMM/Indonesia

EU

2005–2011

UNMIS/Sudan

UN

2005–2014

EUSEC/RD Congo

EU

2005–

NATO Baltic Air Policing

NATO

2006

EUFOR/RD Congo

EU

2006–

UNIFIL/Lebanon

UN

2008–

EU NAVFOR/Horn of Africa

EU

2010–

EUTM/Somalia

EU

2011

Pegasus/Libya

Unilateral

2011–

UNMISS/South Sudan

UN

2012–

Active Fence/Turkey

NATO

2012–

UNAMID/Darfur

UN

2012–2015

EUCAP Nestor/Horn of Africa

EU

2013

Serval/Mali

Coalition of the willing

2013

AFISMA/Mali

ECOWAS

2013–

EUTM/Mali

EU

2013–

MINUSMA/Mali

UN

2013–

MINURSO/West-Sahara

UN

2014

MEM OPCW/Mediterranean

Coalition of the willing

2014–

Training Mission/Iraq

Coalition of the willing

2014–2015

EUFOR/Central African Republic

EU

2015

Maritime emergency mission/ Mediterranean

Coalition of the willing

2015–

Resolute Support/Afghanistan

NATO

2015–

EUNAVFOR MED/Mediterranean

EU

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Germany

Deployment period

Operation

Coalition framework

2015–

Syria

Coalition of the willing

2015–

UNMIL/Liberia

UN

Source: Compiled by the author based on (accessed 1 May 2016). Secondly, the mission spectrum broadened (see Table 2.2). The first out-of-area missions tended to be support and observer missions. Starting with the participation in the UN Protection Force in Bosnia, the spectrum grew first to include stabilization missions. This mission type accounted for the bulk of the Bundeswehr’s foreign deployments after (p.59) (p.60) the year 2000. Bundeswehr personnel also became directly involved in combat missions, first of all in Kosovo air operations (1999) and, later, with ground forces during Operation ‘Enduring Freedom’ (2001–10), as well as in the International Security Assistance Force (2002–14).

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Germany

Table 2.2. Number of German armed forces deployed abroad (troops), and mission spectrum, 1989–2014 Framework

1989

1994

1999

2004

2009

2014

UN

0

1,400

25

28

276

244

EU

0

0

0

1,000

815

484

NATO

0

300

7,700

5,970

5,870

2,489

Coalition

0

0

0

0

0

100

Total

0

1,700

7,725

6,998

6,961

3,317

+ observer mission + support missions

+ stabilization missions + peace enforcement/ combat missions

Mission spectrum Territorial defence

+ equip, train, advise, and assist missions

Note: Figures represent only an annual approximation. Source: Based on International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance (London: Institute for Strategic Studies, 1990); data from the UN Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPKO) website; data from the Bundeswehr website; and enquiries at the Center for International Peace Operations, Berlin, December 2015.

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Germany The mission spectrum widened yet again after 2010. Against the background of a fifteen-year-long presence in Afghanistan, more than fifty German military casualties, declining public support for the mission, and an inconclusive assessment of the campaign objectives that had been achieved, the Bundeswehr started in 2010 to conduct so-called Equip, Train, Advise, and Assist missions aimed at enabling local security forces to defend their countries (p.61) themselves. This new mission type was established in Somalia (from 2010), Mali (from 2013), Iraq (from 2014), and Afghanistan (from 2015). It is most likely that the Bundeswehr will see yet another type of mission—cyber missions—in the future. In April 2017, the Cyber and Information Space Command became operational. The new branch will have institutional powers similar to the other existing major organizational elements (Army, Air Force, Navy, Joint Support Service, and Central Medical Service).24 Thirdly, there was the framework in which the Bundeswehr was being employed. In 1994, the Federal Constitutional Court ruled that German armed forces— previously limited in their military tasks to territorial defence missions only— could also be deployed on military missions abroad, provided these missions took place ‘within the framework and according to the rules’ of a system of mutual collective security. The UN, NATO, the EU, and the OSCE are normally regarded as such systems of mutual collective security. Germany’s military deployments in the early 1990s took place mostly within a UN framework, but these shifted to NATO-led and, to a lesser degree, EU-led missions after the mid-1990s. This shift—which was not limited to Germany alone—was criticized for leading to a ‘dual-class’ UN, but it appeared logical, given the higher operational and political influence Germany exerted in NATO and in the EU owing to their comparatively smaller membership sizes.25 The period after 2010 saw the emergence of yet another mission framework for Bundeswehr operations, in which a number of operations were then managed in a ‘coalition of the willing’. This called into question the long-avowed principle of German foreign and security policy: strong and institution-based multilateralism. It also raised questions concerning the legality of those deployments, as they did not take place ‘within the framework and according to the rules’ of a system of mutual collective security.26 Whereas the growing number of military missions could be regarded as a sign of a more assertive German security and defence policy, the attempts of the German government to push the domestic constitutional boundaries for out-ofarea missions is indicative of an executive-based defence policy that might potentially change the overall character of the domestic institutional framework for defence.

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Germany The Domestic Institutional Framework for Defence The Bundeswehr became a ‘parliamentary army’ right from the time of its establishment in 1955. The Bundestag decided on the state of defence, the Defence Committee had more rights than any other parliamentary committee, and military personnel could directly (p.62) petition the Parliamentary Commissioner for the Armed Forces, who would then investigate any cases of unlawful acts against members of the armed forces. During the 1990s, the role of the German parliament was further strengthened. In its 1994 ruling, the Federal Constitutional Court not only decided that foreign deployments abroad were permissible, but also called for the consent of the Bundestag prior to any mission—a requirement later institutionalized in the Parliamentary Participation Act (2005). Parliamentary participation in defence matters and the non-party, consentoriented policy style came under pressure in 2010. Prominent members of the governing Christian Democratic Union/Christian Social Union (CDU/CSU) parliamentary group argued that the parliament’s extensive remit hampered the German government’s reliability as a negotiating partner in the EU and in NATO.27 This debate received such widespread attention that in 2014 the Bundestag established a review commission to examine how Germany’s interdependencies with its international partners ensuing from European and transatlantic defence integration were compatible with the right of the German parliament to sanction military missions. The commission’s report of 2015 confirmed the importance of parliamentary involvement, but it also suggested that training missions should not require parliamentary approval. This recommendation openly articulated what had already become a practice on the part of the government—namely, to deploy the Bundeswehr on seemingly lowkey missions without consulting the Bundestag, as happened when the Bundeswehr supported the French mission in Mali in January 2013, set up a training mission in northern Iraq in August 2014, and became part of the operation against human trafficking in the Mediterranean in June 2015.28 The Cabinet was criticized for creating a fait accompli that limited the parliament’s de facto ability subsequently to veto official mandate requests by the government. The pushing of the constitutional boundaries by the government, its procedural sidelining of the parliament, and its ignition of a debate about parliamentary powers in matters of defence are all indicators of a security and defence-policy style that has become more executive based in nature.

The Reorganization of the Bundeswehr since 1990 The changes in German security and defence policy have affected the Bundeswehr in every aspect of its organizational identity. During the cold war, the Bundeswehr was a territorial defence army possessing neither structures nor doctrines to project military power abroad. (p.63) The constitution limited military operations to defence only, and at the end of the cold war the Bundeswehr was a nearly 500,000-strong, conscription-based, and tank-heavy Page 13 of 27

 

Germany deterrent force embedded along with its operational command structures almost entirely in NATO.29 By 2015, the Bundeswehr had become a professional army, half as strong, geared to expeditionary deployments. While leaps in technological development, demographic changes, and the difficult attitudes of the German public towards military missions constituted contextual factors for the Bundeswehr’s organizational change, two political decisions directly triggered the changes in the Bundeswehr’s key characteristics —that is, its size, structure, procedures, and capabilities: the decision to reduce the Bundeswehr’s troop strength significantly, and the decision to participate in international military operations. From 1990 onwards, the Bundeswehr was downsized by more than 60 per cent, to a strength of 181,550 military personnel by 2015. The first round of troop reductions started immediately after German reunification and was justified on the grounds of legal force reduction obligations stemming from the Two-plusFour-Treaty (1990). In the course of the 1990s, the legal argument was replaced by a political one: the end of the cold war justified the end to high investments in defence in favour of national welfare (peace dividend argument). After the year 2000, further force cuts were justified with the new out-of-area mission reality for the Bundeswehr that called for a smaller, flexible, and specialized force as opposed to a large-scale territorial defence army. When, at the beginning of the EU financial crisis in 2010, the German government announced an €80 billion austerity package, the argument for force cuts shifted yet again. Minister of Defence zu Guttenberg declared in 2010 that ‘financial constraints will determine the structural frame [of the Bundeswehr]’.30 During most of the 1990s, the Bundeswehr and the civilian leadership (Volker Rühe, 1992–8) were concerned with overall troop reductions and tended to be resistant to qualitative change.31 However, starting in the late 1990s, the Bundeswehr slowly began to adapt to the new mission reality by reforming its structures, procedures, and capabilities. As a consequence of the rather poor performance of the Bundeswehr during the Kosovo conflict, then Minister of Defence Rudolf Scharping (1998–2002) signed off on a significant reform package aimed at increasing military efficiency. The Bundeswehr was restructured towards greater ‘jointness’ (cross-service cooperation). The Army, Air Force, and Navy were relieved of tasks common to all services (for example, logistics, intelligence and strategic reconnaissance, education and training, medical care) through the establishment of the Joint Support Service and the Central Medical Service in 2000. A Joint Forces Operations Command was set up in 2001 to coordinate the deployment of all German forces abroad. (p.64) Scharping also initiated the modernization of the Bundeswehr’s administration by adopting a new acquisition process (Customer Product Management (CPM) 2000) aimed at improving procurement. The Bundeswehr’s Page 14 of 27

 

Germany IT administration was centralized, and formerly military services (internal communications, clothing, car fleet) were privatized. Lastly during the Scharping era, gaps in strategic lift and strategic intelligence capabilities identified during the Kosovo conflict were addressed with an order for A400M military transport aircraft, the establishment of a Strategic Reconnaissance Command, and the purchase of the SAR-Lupe military reconnaissance satellite system, which became fully operational in 2008. The reform was continued and remodelled under Scharping’s successor in office, Peter Struck (2002–5). The ‘Transformation of the Bundeswehr’, which was based on the technophile military paradigm of the US military transformation at that time, aimed at turning the Bundeswehr into a joint, combined, interoperable, and network-centric force.32 As a result, procurement focused on information and communication technology projects such as the SATCOMBw2 military satellite communication system (signed 2006, launched 2009), the MobKommSysBw mobile communication system (signed 2007), and softwaredefined radio (signed 2009). The development of a joint and interoperable Command and Information System (CIS), however, lagged behind and was realized only after delays and interim leasing solutions. In like manner, the Bundeswehr resorted to the leasing option, where drones were concerned. Starting in 2009, the Bundeswehr operated three Heron drones supplied by Rheinmetall Defence and Israel Aerospace Industries. Even though under lease, the Heron Medium Altitude Long Endurance (MALE) drone marked a provisional milestone for Germany’s intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) capability as it complemented the emerging drone fleet with a theatre-wide system. The Bundeswehr’s transformation was continued by Struck’s successor in office, Franz Josef Jung (2006–9). The transformation period also saw the emergence of several noteworthy attempts to foster doctrine development.33 Document hierarchies for regulations and military concepts had existed in the Bundeswehr before, but, because of its integration into NATO command structures, the Bundeswehr lacked both processes and institutional structures for the formulation of its own national operational-level doctrines. It was only through the Bundeswehr’s increased mission participation that internal demand for national military doctrine development was also created. It was the German Army first that, in 1994, issued the ‘Guidelines for Operation Command for Ground Forces’.34 Five years later, the Bundeswehr Chief of Defence issued the joint ‘Guideline for Armed Forces Operations’ (1999), which very generally described the tasks of the individual services in stabilization operations.35 Although the document called for constant revision, it was never updated. (p.65) Instead, German efforts in doctrine development were pooled in NATO’s Allied Joint Publication process.

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Germany A new effort, now backed up by several joint institutional structures, was made just after the turn of the millennium when a small doctrine unit was established at the Joint Command and Staff College in Hamburg. The unit’s task was to create a national joint doctrine hierarchy modelled on the Allied Joint Doctrine hierarchy, but draft documents failed to receive ministerial support. Since 2012, responsibilities for overseeing national joint doctrine development have resided with the newly established Bundeswehr Office for Defence Planning in Berlin. This constitutes the latest attempt to set up a national joint doctrine development process. Yet it is unlikely that, despite the determination of some factions within the services, the Bundeswehr will ever have a comprehensive doctrine hierarchy that can match similar US, British, or French efforts. Substantively as well as procedurally, NATO doctrine development is advanced and covers most German needs for doctrine in the operational realm to the extent that the advantages offered by any national doctrine hierarchy seem not to outweigh the disadvantages in terms of duplication of effort. Despite the absence of German operational-level doctrine, at a very general level, at least three principles can be identified that have been common to Bundeswehr operations since 2006. These principles are service jointness (cooperation between services), multinational combinedness (cooperation between military organizations of different nations), and a comprehensive approach, the latter seeking to balance diplomatic, economic, policy-related, as well as military means in conflict situations. In a way, multinational combinedness and the comprehensive approach have reflected German preference for multilateralism and non-military conflict solutions.36 While an outright operational doctrine development process is still not forthcoming, the transformation period at least saw the emergence of recurring operational principles. The next major reform was initiated in 2009 against the backdrop of a serious budget crisis, on the one hand, and the Bundeswehr’s more demanding mission profile in Afghanistan, on the other. Using this political window of opportunity, Minister of Defence zu Guttenberg (2009–11) announced that planning had started for a relentless restructuring of the armed forces, including the suspension of conscription. Although zu Guttenberg had to step down from office before these reform plans had been implemented, he nevertheless left such a profound mark on the Bundeswehr that the character of German defence was fundamentally changed: the conscript army was turned into an all-volunteer force in 2011. Zu Guttenberg did not initiate any significant new procurement projects, but the Bundeswehr’s capability profile changed through the phasing-out of cold war systems such as armoured air defence gun systems, howitzers, tanks, submarines, fighter aircraft, and some types of protected vehicles. Future projects such as the Eurofighter aircraft, the A400M transport aircraft, the Tiger Page 16 of 27

 

Germany attack helicopter, and the Puma-protected vehicle were also downsized by a reduction in the numbers ordered. (p.66) His successor in office, Thomas de Maizière (2011–13), modified zu Guttenberg’s reform plans. The ‘Reorientation of the Bundeswehr’ was first and foremost an administrative reform aimed at streamlining institutional structures —for example, by placing the service chiefs of staff outside the Ministry and by reducing the overall number of ministerial staff.37 Capability development was additionally reformed by introducing the Integrated Planning Process, overseen by the newly established Bundeswehr Office for Defence Planning. Efforts further to upgrade the Bundeswehr’s drone capability failed yet again when the Euro Hawk surveillance drone programme was cancelled in 2013 owing to licensing (p.67) problems. Despite this initial setback, unmanned systems were still a focus of capability development. In 2015, the Ministry of Defence, headed by Ursula von der Leyen (from 2013), signed an agreement with Italy and France to develop a multirole (ISR and combat) MALE drone by 2025. Von der Leyen continued the reorientation project and, two years into her ministerial role, a number of smaller readjustments were underway. For example, the long-standing so-called breadth before depth capability concept, requiring that capability planning be based on ensuring the Bundeswehr’s ability to cover a wide spectrum of contingencies, was eased in favour of an approach stressing specialization and capability integration with multinational partners. In the procurement field, von der Leyen commissioned an external consulting company to review large-scale programmes. Its 2014 report uncovered a nontransparent and unprofessional way for the defence ministry to deal with defence contractors.38 As a result, the ministry announced widespread changes in its armaments procurement procedures. By way of summary, between 1990 and 2015, the German armed forces changed in nearly every organizational aspect (see Table 2.3). First, their missions became broader. The territorial defence army of 1990 was turned into a crisismanagement force. Secondly, their overall size was reduced considerably. Thirdly, mainly at the expense of the Army, the force composition and capability profile were altered to mirror the growing importance of the Bundeswehr’s new crisis-management role, which required strategic transport capabilities rather than tanks. Lastly, the Bundeswehr recruitment profile was changed through the suspension of conscription. The end of conscription will have a—yet-to-bedetermined—impact on the Bundeswehr’s organizational culture. The first signs that the Bundeswehr’s socio-ethical culture is about to change emerged in 2015, when a group of young combat-experienced soldiers argued that the Bundeswehr need no longer derive its self-perception from the principle of Innere Führung—leadership development and civic education, reflecting the Page 17 of 27

 

Germany armed forces’ integration into German society—but instead from its professional military tasks.39

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Germany

Table 2.3. The Bundeswehr’s key characteristics, 1989–2014 Year

Public discourse label

Total force size in troops and service shares*

Number of main battle tanks

Number of Army ISR drone systems

1989

Territorial Defence Army

494,300 A 70% N 7% AF 22%

5,000

0

1994

Army of Unity

370,000 A 69% N 8% AF 23%

2,850

11

1999

Reform Army

321,000 A 69% N 8% AF 23%

2,800

11

2004

Expeditionary Army/ Transformation Army

284,500 A 67% N 9% AF 24%

2,400

20

2009

Expeditionary Army/ Transformation Army

250,613 A 65% N 10% AF 25%

1,400

178

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Germany

Year

Public discourse label

Total force size in troops and service shares*

Number of main battle tanks

Number of Army ISR drone systems

2014

Expeditionary Army/ Reorientation

181,550 A 62% N 10% AF 25%

400

292

* A = Army; N = Navy; AF = Air Force. Note: Drone systems: CL 289, LUNA, KZO, ALADIN, MIKADO. Source: Based on International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance, enquiries at the Bundeswehr Office for Personnel Management, December 2015, and with the spokesperson for Army matters at the Federal Ministry of Defence, February 2016.

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Germany Conclusion Since the end of the cold war, Germany’s reactive, norm-based and non-party, consent-oriented cold war-style security- and defence-policy patterns have changed to become a more assertive, interest- and executive-based policy style (see Table 2.4). Interestingly, these changes have not been accompanied by a significant change in public attitudes towards defence policy. In the post-cold war period, the approval ratings for military missions were constantly low. In 1995, public opinion was almost evenly divided over the question of Bundeswehr deployment in Bosnia.40 In 2006, only 26 per cent of the German population were in favour of the Bundeswehr mission in the Congo, whereas (p.68) 57 per cent were against it.41 Approval ratings for the mission in Afghanistan dropped from 51 per cent in 2002 to only 14 per cent by 2008.42 In 2014, all ongoing peace enforcement and stabilization missions received less than 40 per cent approval.43 Given this relatively stable negative public attitude towards an active security and defence policy, what accounts for the changes in German defence policy? Table 2.4. Classification of German security policy styles, 1990– 2015 Elements

1990–1998

1998–2005

2005–2015

Head of government

Helmut Kohl

Gerhard Schröder

Angela Merkel

Government composition

Coalition: Christian Democratic Union (CDU)/Christian Social Union (CSU) and Free Democratic Party (FDP)

Coalition: Social Democratic Party (SPD) and Alliance ’90/The Greens  

CDU/CSU and SPD (2005– 2009) CDU/CSU and FDP (2009– 2013) CDU/CSU and SPD (2013–)

Security policy style

Norm-based, reactive, consent-oriented

Norm-based, reactive with proactive elements, consent-oriented

Norm- and interest-based, assertive, executivebased

Source: Compiled by the author. First, because of ongoing mission participation, the public has gradually become accustomed to foreign deployments.44 During the 1990s, Bundeswehr deployments were a hotly debated exception to the antimilitarism norm. By 2015, polls suggest an apparent lack of public interest in defence matters.45

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Germany Public attitudes towards foreign deployments have tended to reflect a ‘permissive ignorance’ rather than an active negative stance. In addition to the public becoming accustomed to a more assertive security policy, the security-policy-style changes have also been the consequence of external impulses and domestic opportunities. The failure of the EU institutions to restore financial stability in Europe has resulted in the emergence of a German leadership in Europe, in an attempt to overcome the EU crisis. The debate about the US pivot to Asia since 2010 has marked a further turning point for Germany’s previously rather reserved security and defence policy. US President Obama had publicly announced a turn in US foreign policy from Europe to Asia. Even though that announcement did not materialize in a way the Europeans and in particular the Germans had initially feared, the mere announcement triggered a debate in German security circles to upgrade German defence and to become more independent (p.69) from the United States. The Ukraine crisis (2014) has subsequently been a facilitator for a more active German role in European defence, as evidenced by Germany’s pledge to contribute to the 2014 Readiness Action Plan (RAP) to reassure East European allies of NATO’s willingness to defend them against feared Russian aggression. The growing German influence in European foreign and security policy has been a facilitator for a more self-confident formulation of security interests.46 Domestically, a window of opportunity for a more executive-based policy style opened in 2013. The Grand Coalition enjoyed a majority to the extent that the opposition was unable to make use of standard parliamentary controls such as convening investigatory committees or calling on the Constitutional Court to judge the legality of legislation. This has left the government with greater leeway in security and defence matters, and it appears that the government has willingly made the most of this opportunity. It would seem that nearly three decades after the end of the cold war the German culture of restraint has softened to a mere uneasiness about the use of military force. The norm-based, consent-oriented defence-policy style of the 1990s has gradually merged into a more interest- and executive-based policy style. By way of increasing and ever-demanding military deployments, the Bundeswehr has developed into a professional and combat-experienced force. Acknowledgements The views expressed in this chapter are solely those of the author. For their comments on earlier drafts, the author would like to thank Tom Dyson, Gerhard Kümmel, Hugo Meijer, and Marco Wyss. For discussing aspects of German defence, the author would like to thank Helmut Hammerich, Andreas Kretzer, Dirk Schuchardt, and Meike Wanner. The author also thanks Michael Snowley,

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Germany Dominik Droß, Holger Kunz, and the library staff of the ZMSBw for their assistance. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Berger, Thomas U., Cultures of Antimilitarism: National Security in Germany and Japan (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998). Bredow, Wilfried von, Militär und Demokratie in Deutschland: Eine Einführung. (Wiesbaden: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, 2007). Dyson, Tom, The Politics of German Defence and Security: Policy Leadership and Military Reform in the Post-Cold War Era (New York: Berghahn Books, 2007). Gießmann, Hans J., and Armin Wagner (eds), Armee im Einsatz: Grundlagen, Strategien und Ergebnisse einer Beteiligung der Bundeswehr (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2009). (p.70) Harnisch, Sebastian, and Hanns Maull (eds), Germany as a Civilian Power?: The Foreign Policy of the Berlin Republic (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 2001). Jäger, Thomas, Alexander Höse, and Kai Oppermann (eds), Deutsche Außenpolitik: Sicherheit, Wohlfahrt, Institutionen und Normen (Wiesbaden: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, 2011). Krause, Ulf von, Die Bundeswehr als Instrument deutscher Außenpolitik (Wiesbaden: Springer Verlag, 2013). Longhurst, Kerry, Germany and the Use of Force (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005). Sarotte, Mary E., German Military Reform and European Security (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2001). Wiesner, Ina (ed.), German Defence Politics (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2013). Notes:

(1) Sven B. Gareis, ‘The Making of Germany’s Security and Defence Policy: Actors, Responsibilities, Procedures, and Requirements’, in Ina Wiesner (ed.), German Defence Politics (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2013), 49–77. (2) Christoph Reifferscheid and Uwe Bednarz, ‘The Federal Ministry of Defence’, in Wiesner (ed.), German Defence Politics, 103–25.

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Germany (3) Beverly Crawford, ‘German Power and “Embedded Hegemony” in Europe’, in Sarah Colvin (ed.), The Routledge Handbook of German Politics & Culture (Abingdon: Routledge, 2015), 329–48 at 330. (4) Thomas U. Berger, Cultures of Antimilitarism: National Security in Germany and Japan (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998). (5) Upcoming state elections and the low poll rating of the liberal party (FDP) purportedly had led then Foreign Minister Guido Westerwelle (FDP) to opt for a German abstention in the UN Security Council during the vote on the intervention in Libya in 2011. Hanns W. Maull, ‘Deutsche Außenpolitik: Orientierungslos’, Zeitschrift für Politikwissenschaft, 22/1 (2011), 95–119 at 112. (6) Federal Ministry of Defence, Konzeption der Bundeswehr (Berlin: Presse- und Informationsstab, 2013); Federal Ministry of Defence, Defence Policy Guidelines (Berlin: Presse- und Informationsstab, 2011); Federal Ministry of Defence, White Paper 2006 on German Security Policy and the Future of the Bundeswehr (Bonn and Berlin: Federal Minister of Defence, 2006). (7) Jeremy Richardson, Gunnel Gustafsson, and Grant Jordan, ‘The Concept of Policy Style’, in Jeremy Richardson (ed.), Policy Styles in Western Europe (London and Boston: Allen & Unwin, 1982), 1–16; Herbert J. Spiro, ‘Foreign Policy and Political Style’, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 366/1 (1966), 139–48. (8) Thomas U. Berger, ‘The Past in the Present: Historical Memory and German National Security Policy’, German Politics, 6/1 (1997), 39–59. (9) This is not to suggest that defence policy was not highly contested though. The rearmament of Germany and establishment of the Bundeswehr met strong public opposition in the 1950s. A second major debate occurred when US nuclear missiles were stationed in Germany. See Gerhard Kümmel, ‘Between Rejection of War and Intervention Fatigue: The Armed Forces, the State and Society in Germany’, in Wiesner (ed.), German Defence Politics, 307–31 at 313, 316. (10) Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann and Renate Köcher, Allensbacher Jahrbuch der Demoskopie 1984–1992 (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1993). (11) Hanns W. Maull, ‘Germany and Japan: The New Civilian Powers’, Foreign Affairs, 69/5 (1990), 91–116. (12) Martha Finnemore and Kathryn Sikkink, ‘International Norm Dynamics and Political Change’, International Organization, 52/4 (1998), 887–917. (13) Tom Dyson, ‘The Material Roots of European Strategy: Beyond Culture and Values’, Contemporary Security Policy, 34/3 (2013), 419–45. Page 24 of 27

 

Germany (14) Hanns W. Maull, ‘Foreign Policy: From “Civilian Power” to “Trading State”?’, in Sarah Colvin (ed.), The Routledge Handbook of German Politics & Culture (Abingdon: Routledge, 2015), 409–24 at 409; Rainer Baumann and Gunther Hellman, ‘Germany and the Use of Military Force: “Total War”, the “Culture of Restraint” and the Quest for Normality’, German Politics, 10/1 (2001), 61–82. (15) Federal Ministry of Defence, White Paper on the Security of the Federal Republic of Germany and the Situation and Future of the Bundeswehr (Bonn and Berlin: Federal Minister of Defence, 1994), 40. (16) Federal Ministry of Defence, White Paper 2006 on German Security Policy and the Future of the Bundeswehr (2006). (17) Joachim Gauck, Germany’s Role in the World: Reflections on Responsibility, Norms and Alliances. Speech by the Federal President at the Munich Security Conference on 31 January 2014, (all URLs in this chapter were accessed 6 January 2016). It is argued that Gauck had started one of the ‘most intensive debates about German foreign policy’ (Gunther Hellmann, Wolfgang Wagner, and Rainer Baumann, Deutsche Außenpolitik: Eine Einführung, 2nd rev. edn (Wiesbaden: Springer VS, 2014), 6). (18) Ursula von der Leyen, Speech by the Federal Minister of Defense Speech by the Federal President at the Munich Security Conference on 31 January 2014, . (19) Nico Fried, ‘Bundeswehr soll acht Milliarden Euro mehr bekommen’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 18 March 2015, 1, 4. After the end of the cold war, defence spending dropped by about 25%, reaching a low in 2006. Germany met with criticism for not meeting NATO’s defence-spending target (2% of GDP). See the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, . (20) Robin Schroeder and Martin Zapfe, ‘“War-Like Circumstances”: Germany’s Unforeseen Combat Mission in Afghanistan and Its Strategic Narratives’, in George Dimitriu, Beatrice De Graaf, and Jens Ringsmose (eds), Strategic Narratives, Public Opinion and War: Winning Domestic Support for the Afghan War (Abingdon: Routledge, 2015), 177–98. (21) On 4 September 2009, based on wrong intelligence, a German commander ordered an airstrike near Kunduz that killed about one hundred civilians. During the so-called Good Friday Battle in Isa Khel on 2 April 2010, three German soldiers fell and eight were wounded. (22) See n. 8. Page 25 of 27

 

Germany (23) Inquiry at the Bundeswehr Operations Command (January 2016). (24) Christoph Hickmann, ‘Von der Leyen baut die Bundeswehr für den CyberKrieg um’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 14 September 2015. (25) Sven B. Gareis and Johannes Varwick, ‘Frieden erster und zweiter Klasse: Die Industriestaaten lassen die Vereinten Nationen in der Friedenssicherung im Stich’, Internationale Politik, 6/5 (2007), 68–74. (26) Wissenschaftliche Dienste des Deutschen Bundestages, Völkerrechtliche und verfassungsrechtliche Grundlagen des Bundeswehreinsatzes im Irak (Berlin: Deutscher Bundestag, 2015). (27) Andreas Schockenhoff and Roderich Kiesewetter, ‘Europas sicherheitspolitische Handlungsfähigkeit stärken: Es ist höchste Zeit’, Roderich Kiesewetter, 2012, ; Tom Dyson, ‘German Defence Policy under the Second Merkel Chancellorship’, German Politics, 23/4 (2014), 460–76 at 469. (28) German military personnel were deployed to Iraq in August 2014; the training mission was mandated by the Bundestag on 29 January 2015. German military personnel were deployed to Mali in January 2013; two follow-on missions in Mali were mandated on 28 February 2013 (EUTM) and on 27 June 2013 (MINUSMA). Bundeswehr naval forces were deployed to the Mediterranean in May 2015; the mission was mandated on 1 October 2015. (29) Wilfried von Bredow, ‘The Defence of National Territory: The German Experience’, in Timothy Edmunds and M. Malešic (eds), Defence Transformation in Europe: Evolving Military Roles (Amsterdam: IOS Press, 2005), 27–35. (30) Anthony Seaboyer and Ina Wiesner, ‘Budgeting Bundeswehr Reform’, IP Global Edition, 12 (March–April 2011), 31–6. (31) The non-attention to the revolution in military affairs, one of the most profound military debates in the United States during the 1990s, was a showcase for the inwardness of German defence, especially against the background of the enthusiasm with which the Ministry of Defence opted for the adoption of a US-modelled military transformation a decade later. (32) Terry Terriff, Frans P.B. Osinga, and Theo Farrell (eds), A Transformation Gap? American Innovations and European Military Change (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010). (33) Telephone interviews with members of the former doctrine unit at General Staff College, Hamburg, and the Bundeswehr Office for Defence Planning, Berlin, January 2016.

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Germany (34) Inspekteur des Heeres, Vorläufige Leitlinie für die operative Führung von Kräften des Heeres (Bonn: Führungsstab des Heeres, 8 February 1994). (35) Generalinspekteur der Bundeswehr, Operative Leitlinie für Einsätze der Streitkräfte (Bonn: Bundesministerium der Verteidigung, 20 August 1999). (36) Gale A. Mattox, ‘Germany: The Legacy of the War in Afghanistan’, in Gale A. Mattox and Stephen M. Grenier (eds), Coalition Challenges in Afghanistan: The Politics of Alliance (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2015), 91–107 at 101. (37) Thomas de Maizière, The Reorientation of the Bundeswehr (Key Elements) (Berlin: Federal Ministry of Defence, 2011). (38) KPMG, P3 Group, and TaylorWessing, Umfassende Bestandsaufnahme und Risikoanalyse zentraler Rüstungsprojekte (Exzerpt) (Berlin, 30 September 2014). (39) Klaus Naumann, ‘Sehnsucht nach dem Kämpfer-Typ’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 7 March 2015, 41. (40) Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann and Renate Köcher, Allensbacher Jahrbuch der Demoskopie 1993–1997 (Munich: K. G. Saur, 1998). (41) Renate Köcher, Allensbacher Jahrbuch der Demoskopie 2003–2009 (Berlin and New York: De Gruyter, 2010). (42) Köcher, Allensbacher Jahrbuch der Demoskopie 2003–2009. (43) Heiko Biehl et al., Sicherheits- und verteidigungspolitisches Meinungsklima in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Bevölkerungsbefragung 2015 (Potsdam: ZMSBw, 2015). (44) Baumann and Hellman, ‘Germany and the Use of Military Force’. (45) Heiko Biehl et al., Sicherheits- und verteidigungspolitisches Meinungsklima in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Bevölkerungsbefragung 2015 (2015). (46) Liana Fix, ‘Eine Deutsche Metamorphose: Vom unsicheren Kantonisten zur Europäischen Führungsmacht’, Internationale Politik, 14/6 (2015), 56–9, Hans Kundnani, The Paradox of German Power (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015).

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The United Kingdom

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

The United Kingdom Andrew M. Dorman

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0004

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines the post-cold-war evolution of the UK defence policy into a national security strategy, with an accompanying review of strategic defence and security. It considers how the United Kingdom’s defence posture has changed from a threat-based approach to that of a risk-based approach via a capabilities-based approach. The chapter is divided into four sections. The first considers the evolution of British defence and security policy up to the end of the cold war. The second then analyses how defence and security adapted to the end of the cold war and led to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The third section examines the post-Iraq and Afghanistan period up to the end of 2017 and how UK defence policy was affected by the 2008 financial crisis and the era of austerity that followed. Finally, it draws some conclusions about the drivers of UK defence and security policy and where this might head into the future. Keywords:   United Kingdom, NATO, special relationship, nuclear deterrence, Brexit

Introduction FOR the United Kingdom, the articulation and implementation of a defence and security policy have become increasingly problematic. This has become evident in the light of the debates over the government’s ability to think strategically, the role and use of the military in wars of choice, and the nation’s willingness to sacrifice its military personnel in the future. The articulation of national security is a relatively new phenomenon for the United Kingdom. It was only in 2008, on the fifth anniversary of the invasion of Iraq, six and a half years after 9/11 and two and a half years after the 7 July terrorist attacks on the London transport system, that the United Kingdom’s first National Security Strategy (NSS) was Page 1 of 21

 

The United Kingdom formally unveiled. Since then, there have been three further NSSs, the first in 2009, and since 2010 the creation of an NSS has been formally placed on the five-year parliamentary cycle alongside a Strategic Defence and Security Review (SDSR). Before 2010, there was no formal link between the defence and security review process and the parliamentary cycle. Instead, from the turn of the century, the articulation of British defence and security policy and the conduct of various reviews had been a haphazard affair. Prior to that, successive governments had published an annual Statement on the Defence Estimates, which outlined government policy, the state of the armed forces, and planned equipment purchases. Since the end of the Second World War there had also been a succession of defence reviews, which had generally seen a contraction in the overall size of United Kingdom’s armed forces. It is possible to see that the interests and policies of the United Kingdom were, in many ways, consistent for centuries. As a relatively small but densely populated island nation on the north-west edge of the European mainland, the United Kingdom had long concentrated its defence on the control of the waters around its shores and the ability to maintain the free movement of trade. For hundreds of years, successive governments sought to prevent war by maintaining a balance of power on the European continent so that the (p.72) United Kingdom could focus on its interests both in and beyond Europe.1 This was facilitated by the United Kingdom’s early industrialization and the successful development of the Royal Navy into the dominant navy by the late nineteenth century. This allowed the United Kingdom to expand its empire to cover almost a quarter of the world’s landmass by 1920. In examining the evolution of the United Kingdom’s defence and security policy, this chapter is divided into four sections. The first considers the evolution of the United Kingdom’s defence and security policy up to the end of the cold war. The second then analyses how defence and security adapted to the end of the cold war and led to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The third section then examines the post-Iraq and Afghanistan period up to November 2017. Finally, the last section draws some conclusions.

The Evolution of the UK Defence and Security Policy during the Cold War The twentieth century witnessed quite profound changes to the United Kingdom, its relative situation, and the conduct of its defence and now national security policies. A century earlier, Great Britain, as it was then, was in the process of seeing its position of global dominance starting to come to an end, a demise brought forward by the two world wars. After the First World War, it willingly accepted its loss of naval primacy through the Washington Conference. By the end of the Second World War, the United Kingdom had surrendered naval dominance to the United States, while its financial position was at best Page 2 of 21

 

The United Kingdom precarious: it was only in the first decade of the twenty-first century that it finally completed its payments to the United States under the Lend-Lease programme.2 The Emergence of the Soviet Threat

As the only large European power to have survived the Second World War relatively intact, it was the United Kingdom that had to confront a Central and Eastern Europe dominated by the Soviet military and political presence.3 Fear of the Soviet Union developed even before the end of the Second World War as the Allies sought to plan the peace.4 Events after the war only reinforced these concerns. The Soviet Union was a Euro-Asiatic land power, which relied on its immense reserves of manpower to provide its defence. Its recent (p.73) experience of invasion and the resulting devastation of its own territories contributed to its determination to maintain significant land forces in Eastern Europe. In contrast, Britain’s defence had traditionally relied on its naval domination of the seas around its island shores. If the Soviet Union was the most likely enemy, then the Royal Navy was of limited use against a power that would ultimately have to be confronted on land. This situation was complicated by the technological changes that developed in warfare in the twentieth century. In the First World War, German airship and bomber raids had demonstrated that Britain was no longer immune from direct attack from the air, while the U-boat war had threatened to starve and isolate the country. By the end of the First World War, the Royal Air Force (RAF) had been created as an independent service formed by combining the Royal Flying Corps and the Royal Naval Air Service. This was maintained during the interwar period, with its principle focus being on strategic bombing.5 The Second World War reinforced the government’s understanding of the United Kingdom’s vulnerability still further. The German aerial offensive, particularly between 1940 and 1941, caused significant damage, while the U-boat offensive throughout the war almost led to a German victory. Moreover, the development of the atomic bomb by the United States and its use against Japan demonstrated the potential for a single bomber to destroy an entire city and fulfil the claims of the early air power theorists. By the time of the 1952 Defence and Global Strategy Paper, the Service Chiefs had concluded that the United Kingdom could no longer be fully defended from a nuclear attack and the only way to prevent this was through a policy of deterrence.6 The United States to the Defence of Europe

The United Kingdom’s management of this situation after 1945 was undermined by its financial weakness. As a result, successive UK governments concluded that the only way to deter the Soviet Union was to use the United States as a counterweight. As the strategic landscape became increasingly bipolar, it was inevitable that the United Kingdom’s relations with the United States were a major determinant of its defence policy in Europe.7 In order formally to commit Page 3 of 21

 

The United Kingdom the United States to the defence of Europe and to mobilize what continental European resources were available, the United Kingdom helped to establish the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) in 1949. This defence alliance adopted the concept of collective defence whereby an attack on one member was viewed as an attack on all. By the end of the cold war, NATO had sixteen full members, including both the United States and Canada. As part of this, and to allow the rearmament of West Germany in the 1950s, the United Kingdom committed itself to the maintenance of a tactical air force and army corps of 55,000 personnel in West Germany. Although this had a significantly distorting (p.74) effect on the defence budget, it was generally accepted as part of the price of alliance membership and coherence.8 Development of an Independent Deterrent

At the same time, it was also recognized that ultimately one state might not be prepared to sustain massive losses for another. This was expressed during the 1970s and 1980s in the argument as to whether a US president would be prepared to sacrifice New York and Washington to save London and Paris.9 The unspoken answer was no, although nobody wanted to admit this. A comparable situation had arisen during the early stages of the Second World War. In May 1940, despite French requests, the UK government decided to withhold additional fighter squadrons from France to ensure a sufficiently large fighter force for the anticipated defence of its own shores. This was why successive UK governments committed themselves to the development and maintenance of an independent nuclear deterrent.10 The basic requirement of the nuclear arsenal was to be able to inflict sufficient damage on the Soviet Union to deter any attack on the United Kingdom. This included a requirement, dubbed the ‘Moscow criterion’, to be able successfully to target Moscow as the centre of government, with its own defensive anti-ballistic missile system.11 The initial system was in the form of free-fall bombs dropped from the indigenously developed V-bombers. These were subsequently replaced in 1968 by nuclear submarines equipped with American-designed and built Polaris missiles.12 The Polaris programme represented an acceptance of the loss of complete nuclear independence, with the United Kingdom retaining responsibility for its day-to-day operation but still dependent on the United States for the supply of the delivery system. This decision was taken on cost grounds to reduce the impact of the nuclear programme on the overall defence budget.13 By the end of the cold war, the nuclear-powered Polaris force was itself being replaced by the American-designed Trident system launched from new submarines.14 (p.75) Britain’s Wider World Role

Successive governments have also seen the United Kingdom playing a wider role in the rest of the world. In 1945, the United Kingdom thought of itself as one of the three leading world powers and expected to be treated as such—even if by Page 4 of 21

 

The United Kingdom then others had doubts. This was made clear in the 1948 Defence Estimates: ‘The United Kingdom, as a member of the British Commonwealth and a Great Power, must be prepared at all times to fulfil her responsibility not only to the United Nations but also to herself’.15 While by then not a superpower in its own right, Britain maintained a military and civilian presence throughout the world, particularly through its continuing Empire, which led many to assume that the world role would continue, particularly given the relative inexperience of the United States in many regions.16 This view was reinforced by the United Kingdom’s status as a permanent member of the United Nations Security Council with veto rights. This assumption was undermined by events between 1945 and 1989, by the growing strength and importance of the two superpowers, the United States and the Soviet Union, and by the relative economic decline of the United Kingdom. Managing Relative Decline

These events produced a series of defence reviews in the United Kingdom. In general, they aimed to support the existing defence policy within a steadily decreasing proportion of total government expenditure earmarked for defence.17 Periodically, significant capabilities were lost and by 1989 these reviews left the United Kingdom with the following priorities for its armed forces:18 first, the retention of a strategic nuclear deterrent with the capability to support the ‘Moscow criterion’; second, the maintenance of appropriate land and air forces tasked with defence of the Central Front in West Germany; third, the provision of adequate land, sea, and air forces for defence of the United Kingdom; fourth, the provision of maritime forces tasked with the protection of transatlantic shipping in the event of World War Three; and last, the retention of a minor outof-area (beyond Europe) power projection capability.

UK Defence and Security Policy in the Post-Cold War World What emerged with the end of the cold war was a period of rapid change into a more diffuse threat environment, which has caused successive UK governments to rethink and broaden defence policy to cope with a much less predictable world. This is perhaps easier to (p.76) see in hindsight. For defence planners living through the first half of the 1990s, establishing what role and types of armed forces were needed was immensely challenging. It is perhaps not surprising that this encouraged a degree of caution, with a focus on the experiences of the most recent conflict (1991 Gulf War) rather than on possible future events, especially when funding for defence was being significantly reduced. Nevertheless, policymakers did acknowledge that change was needed, although the idea of transforming defence policy has not been universally popular and remains contentious. Initially, it produced a difference of view between the Ministry of Defence and the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, which was not unusual, judged by the experience of other allies. This tension between the broader Foreign and Commonwealth Office’s view of security, which followed Barry Buzan’s five-element (political, military, economic, societal, and Page 5 of 21

 

The United Kingdom environmental) definition, and that of the Ministry of Defence, which wanted to focus narrowly on military security, directly impacted on defence transformation.19 It was only with the publication of the Strategic Defence Review (SDR) in 1998 that the two departments agreed on the broader security agenda based on an assessment of the United Kingdom’s position in the world.20 This has continued, and it is worth noting that the 2003 Defence White Paper was entitled ‘Delivering Security in a Changing World’, not ‘Delivering Defence’.21 For the United Kingdom’s armed forces, the shift away from deterring the Soviet Union to a new focus on what became known as expeditionary operations took most of the 1990s. During the cold war, the United Kingdom’s non-NATO tasks, such as the protection of its Dependent Territories, the commitment to the Five Power Defence Agreement, and a limited global presence, had all been clustered under the heading of out-of-area operations with the assumption that forces primarily earmarked to NATO could be drawn upon in extremis. In the decade after the cold war, this relative prioritization changed, initially with the 1993 Defence White Paper, which listed three roles for the armed forces—the defence of the United Kingdom, the defence of Europe, and defence beyond Europe.22 By the time of the 1998 Strategic Defence Review, this role beyond Europe role had become the primary task, albeit one limited to an ‘arc of concern’ stretching from the Middle East to North Africa. If the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the economic downturn of the early 1990s provided the catalysts for change, the response was mixed for the three services. As a result, the United Kingdom’s defence policy underwent a series of further reviews with the aim of adjusting defence capabilities to meet the new security challenges brought about in the post-cold war era. Tom King, then the Secretary of State for Defence, set out the initial thinking on how the government would react to the end of the cold war, with the announcement of the ‘Options for Change’ review immediately before the summer recess of July 1990.23 It was described by the Ministry of Defence not as a formal review but as an (p.77) adjustment to take account of the changing circumstances. In reality, ‘Options for Change’ would have occurred even if there had been no change within the international system. Defence at this stage was under severe financial pressure, with the defence budget decreasing in real terms and a procurement programme suffering from defence inflation, poor project management, and the continuing requirement to replace like with like.24 In comparison to the other two services, the RAF once again was the main winner. The 1991 Gulf War saw it play an important role, and the size and scale of the air campaign that preceded the land campaign allowed the RAF to emphasize the importance of air power, particularly within the context of the debates about the so-called Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA). This was reinforced by the Balkans experience, where the situation in Bosnia was finally Page 6 of 21

 

The United Kingdom resolved only in 1995 with a US-led five-day NATO air campaign followed in 1999 by the Kosovo War, which was, once again, led by NATO’s use of air power. Thus, ‘Options for Change’ left the United Kingdom’s nuclear capabilities largely unaltered, with the four-boat Trident force due to enter service.25 Tom King confirmed that the substrategic role would also be modernized, although this decision was later reversed when the Trident force was given both the strategic and substrategic roles in the ‘FrontLine First: The Defence Costs Study’ review, which ended the RAF’s nuclear role.26 Under ‘Options for Change’, the overall size of the United Kingdom’s conventional forces was reduced, but the general mix of capabilities was retained (see Table 3.1). Table 3.1. Comparative size of key elements of armed forces, 1990–1998 Indicative equipment numbers

1990

1995

1998

Submarines

33

16

15

Destroyers and frigates

48

35

35

Armoured regiments

19

11

11

Infantry battalions

55

41

40

Artillery regiments

22

16

15

Strike/attack squadrons

11

6

6

Air defence squadrons

9

6

6

Source: Ministry of Defence, Defence Statistics 1998 (London: Ministry of Defence, 1998), (December 2017). The only major capability loss was from the retirement of the Bloodhound medium-range surface-to-air missile capability without replacement. The subsequent ‘FrontLine First: The Defence Costs Study’ led to further cuts in the United Kingdom’s conventional forces, including the loss of the conventionally powered submarines. Offsetting this was the decision to acquire the Tomahawk Land Attack Missile from the United States to equip (p.78) later all of the nuclear-powered attack submarines. In recognition of the increasing importance of ‘out-of-area’ operations, the formation of the Joint Rapid Deployment Force, consisting of 5 Airborne and 3 Commando Brigades, was announced—an idea that had been first mooted in the immediate aftermath of the Falklands War in 1982. There were other movers towards improving the ability of the three services to work together, including the creation of a Permanent Joint Headquarters and the creation of a joint war college.

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The United Kingdom In contrast to the earlier post-cold war reviews, the 1998 SDR was well received by those in defence and also among the ‘defence commentariat’ of former senior officers, industry, and think tanks.27 The reasoning was simple: the incoming Labour government let the armed forces plan for the types of operation and with the forces they wanted. The result was that on the surface the plan sounded plausible, albeit flawed. The army and the air force focused on refighting the 1991 Gulf War, while the navy planned for the 1982 Falklands conflict all over again. None chose to engage with the RMA debate then ongoing in the United States.28 The UK government sought to export the SDR as a model for others to follow and, in the wake of the later ‘strategic vacuum’ debate, it continued to be held up among the ‘defence commentariat’ as the poster child for policymaking.29 In reality, it was known from the start that the SDR was unaffordable, because it was known that there was a funding gap between the planned new equipment purchases and the envisaged future defence budget. Moreover, the army’s new force structure was at odds with its own doctrine. Thus, the army created three armoured and three mechanized brigades, each comprising three armoured/ infantry units, the logic being that any point in time one armoured and one mechanized brigade would be available for operations. However, the army’s doctrine focused on brigades fighting with four armoured/infantry units and thus what happened in practice was that the armoured brigade took units from the mechanized brigade, which was then not ready to deploy. In other words, the army created a force of six brigades merely to have the ability to deploy one. The 1998 review continued ‘Front Line First’s’ emphasis on jointery (joint forces), with three further initiatives: the formation of the Joint Doctrine and Concepts Centre (JDCC)—later Defence Concepts and Doctrine Centre (DCDC)— with responsibility for the development of the armed forces concepts; the combining of the RAF and navy’s Harrier squadrons under Joint Force Harrier and doctrine; and a Joint Helicopter Command, which would take over all the rotary-winged assets of the three services, apart from the navy’s antisubmarines warfare and airborne early warning helicopters. The 2002 update to the 1998 SDR followed on from the 9/11 attack on the United States and the initial phase of the war in Afghanistan.30 In response to the former, the government (p.79) rapidly established its rules of engagement to counter potential threats from rogue airliners, and the RAF established potential additional Quick Reaction Alert bases in the south and west of the country to support this.31 The real significance of the 2002 White Paper lay in the language used. Even as late as the 1998 SDR, a debate still surrounded the idea of a new RMA and its applicability to the United Kingdom. In the 2002 paper, the government bought into the idea of defence transformation and, while the United Kingdom would ultimately articulate this as Network Enabled

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The United Kingdom Capability (NEC), rather than the Network Centric Warfare promulgated by the United States, it still marked a major change in thinking. The subsequent ‘Delivering Security in a Changing World’ review published in 2003 and 2004 marked the logical evolution of the move towards NEC, together with the lessons drawn from the initial conventional phase of the war in Iraq. Underpinning the review was the assumption that the United Kingdom’s armed forces would be deployed for the initial short warfighting role generally in partnership with the United States, with the belief that the subsequent stability operation (phase 4) would be handed over to other nations, with the United Kingdom looking to its European partners to pick up this task.32 In reality, this proved to be a false assumption and, as the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts developed, the United Kingdom found itself with a defence policy that configured its armed forces for one type of operation only to find they were conducting quite different, sustained operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. However, the Labour governments of Tony Blair and then Gordon Brown decided not to conduct a further review. Instead, in 2008 the latter published the United Kingdom’s first NSS.33 The 2008 NSS was conducted by a small team within the Cabinet Office, who did not consult the other departments of state. The result was a document that highlighted a whole series of potential threats and challenges to the United Kingdom, but neither sought to rank them in any form of priority, nor suggested measures to address them. As a consequence, it was almost totally ignored. In its place, a new updated NSS was quietly launched in 2009.34 This at least involved cross-governmental consultation. Again, the review highlighted a series of potential challenges and threats to the United Kingdom with no attempt at prioritization or measures to deal with them. Instead, the government announced that there would be a defence and security review in the next parliament, with the Ministry of Defence publishing a Green Paper in the meantime.35 By the end of the Brown government, UK defence and security policy was in a state of disarray (as will be detailed later in the chapter). From the apparent halcyon days of the (p.80) 1998 SDR, where the then Defence Secretary articulated an internationalist agenda resulting in the successful use of force in Kosovo (1999) and Sierra Leone (2000), the UK armed forces found themselves bogged down and overrun in operations in Iraq and Afghanistan.36 At the same time, the defence programme became increasingly overloaded, resulting in several programmes being reduced in size and/or delayed.

Remaking National Security after Iraq and Afghanistan The Iraq and Afghanistan wars dominated UK defence and security thinking for much of the latter half of the first decade of the twenty-first century, leading the head of the army, General Sir (later Lord) David Richards, to put the army on a war footing and to focus purely on these operations.37 The UK militaries’ shortPage 9 of 21

 

The United Kingdom termism raised the question of the ability of the Ministry of Defence and the wider government to think strategically. According to Paul N. Cornish and Andrew M. Dorman, ‘defence policy, planning and analysis…[had] reached a state of organizational, bureaucratic and intellectual decay’.38 This was picked up by policymakers and was a central thread of the annual Chief of the Defence Staff Christmas Lecture by Air Chief Marshal Sir Jock Stirrup.39 It even wended its way into the first prime ministerial debate of the 2010 general election, as Nick Clegg demanded ‘a complete review about whether our military equipment is right for the job…[because] the world is changing and the threats to this country are changing with it’.40 The idea of a ‘strategy deficit’ did not fall on deaf ears. Over the space of three days in the aftermath of the 2010 General Election, the new Coalition government published a new NSS and a new SDSR, as well as releasing the conclusions of its Spending Review.41 The underlying conclusion of the three documents was that the United Kingdom’s financial situation was precarious and that the country needed to embark on a major programme of austerity in order to put the nation’s finances on a more secure footing.42 They also concluded that, with the withdrawal of UK forces from Afghanistan planned for 2014,43 there were no major defence challenges to the United Kingdom in the immediate short term, (p.81) and that it could make cuts to the defence budget and use the next decade to reconfigure the United Kingdom’s armed forces to the challenges envisaged for 2020 and beyond. Alongside force restructuring and austerity measures went major reforms to the United Kingdom’s defence and security apparatus in the form of a new National Security Council and formally fixing defence reviews into a five-year cycle.44 Moreover, the SDSR and NSS process adopted a risk-based approach, involving a classified National Security Risk Assessment register, which outlined the potential security challenges to the United Kingdom in terms of likelihood and potential impact. The purpose was to provide a framework for prioritizing resources over the next five years until the now-fixed 2015 SDSR would then update the process. The government accepted that defence would also need to play a part in the government’s deficit reduction measures aimed at addressing the United Kingdom’s current account deficit. As a result, the Ministry of Defence found itself confronted by three fiscal challenges. First, planned defence spending was to be reduced by 7.5 per cent, which, although significant, was far less than the cuts confronted by some other departments of state. Second, the Ministry of Defence faced the prospect of paying for the next generation of nuclear ballistic missile submarines. For some unknown reason, the department had decided that, unlike on previous occasions, the Treasury rather than the Ministry of Defence would pay for this programme. At the 2010 NSS/SDSR review, the Treasury simply corrected this misunderstanding. Finally, the department was Page 10 of 21

 

The United Kingdom confronted with the prospect of balancing its own budget. In the latter half of the preceding decade, the department had approved a series of procurement programmes, which it did not have the funding to support.45 The 2010 SDSR therefore outlined a force structure that would not need to be delivered until 2020. This capability was at a lower level than the existing capabilities and represented an acceptance by the government that the United Kingdom would not be expected to deliver the level of military capability across the globe that it had been able to do. This led the government to make a series of defence cutbacks in terms of both personnel and equipment. For the air force this included the scrapping of the Nimrod MRA4 maritime patrol aircraft programme without replacement, the immediate running-down of the Harrier force with plans to restore the carrier strike capability from 2020, and the phasing-out of the Tornado GR4 force and Typhoon Tranche 1 aircraft early as soon as the Tranche 3 Eurofighter Typhoons had entered service. This left the air force with a planned frontline fast jet force of only eight squadrons, once the F-35 had entered service. In general, the ‘defence commentariat’ lambasted the 2010 NSS and SDSR. The first criticism was to allege that the 2010 papers were astrategic.46 Others saw the review as an exercise focused entirely on balancing the Ministry of Defence’s budget.47 Others focused on individual decisions and criticized them, demanding that these be restored without any consideration given to the financial consequences of such reversals in policy. (p.82) In the aftermath of the 2010 review and the ‘Three Month Review’ that helped balance the Ministry of Defence’s budget, there were major changes in the international environment, including the Arab Awakening, the emergence of Islamic State (IS), the Syrian civil war, Russia’s illegal annexation of the Crimea, and conflict in the Ukraine. As a result, when the now Conservative government began formally to conduct its 2015 review of the NSS/SDSR, its 2010 assumptions that this would be little more than a minor updating were soon recognized as being wrong and it was clear that a more fundamental review would be needed. At the summit in Wales in 2014, NATO set its members the target of allocating 2 per cent of GDP to defence. Subsequently, the UK government was put under increasing pressure over defence spending by its US counterparts, including outgoing US Army Chief General Raymond T. Odierno,48 incoming Defense Secretary Ashton Carter,49 and finally President Obama during the G7 summit in Germany.50 In the event, the 2015 NSS/SDSR committed the United Kingdom to spending 2 per cent of GDP of defence and not falling below that figure. As planned, the 2015 review drew on the 2014 update to the national security risk register. This risk register concluded that the world had become more dangerous and the threats more immediate. This is clearly reflected in the Page 11 of 21

 

The United Kingdom language of the 2015 NSS/SDSR and its emphasis on the imminence of the threats to the United Kingdom and its people. This suggests that the logic of a risk-based approach was followed. However, there is a basic disconnect between the immediacy of the identified threats and the timeframe set for the reconfiguration of the armed forces. In the 2010 review, the government could afford to have a ten-year gap between the review and the reconfiguration of the United Kingdom’s armed forces, because it identified that a window of time existed. The 2015 review identified that this window had closed, but the reconfiguration of the armed forces was delayed by a further five years to 2025. The review announced the acquisition of nine Boeing P-8A maritime patrol aircraft.51 It also decided to halt the decline in the size of the RAF fast jet force, which has struggled both to support the provision of air defence and to contribute to strike operations against IS in Iraq. The government therefore decided to retain two squadrons’ worth of Tranche 1 Eurofighter Typhoon in service until 2030, rather than scrap them as the Tranche 3 aircraft entered service as had been planned. The government pledged to bring the F-35B order forward, fully committing to buying 138 aircraft with some forty-two in service by 2023. It also pledged to acquire at least twenty of a new general type of UCAVs.52 The NSS/SDSR 2015 made a series of pledges, including increasing the fast jet force by the retention of two Eurofighter Typhoon squadrons and to operate both aircraft carriers. Both examples are (p.83) proving problematic, simply because the pledges were not accompanied by a matching uplift in personnel to man this equipment. Moreover, where the 400 personnel scheduled to support and man the new maritime patrol aircraft force will come from is still unclear. The decision to move the implementation timeframe for generating the requisite force levels from 2020 to 2025 runs counter to the narrative set out in the 2015 SDSR, which highlighted the immediacy of the challenges now facing the United Kingdom from the likes of IS and Russia. The armed forces have been told to develop a Future Force posture by 2025, five years later than planned in the previous 2010 SDSR. In other words, the 2015 NSS/SDSR has in de facto terms preserved the new variant of the ‘Ten Year Rule’ developed in the 2010 NSS and SDSR. If both the immediacy of the challenge and the delay in generating the capabilities remain extant, then the government has thus created its own ‘window of vulnerability’. The reason for this is largely financial but also managerial. Much of the new cash pledged to defence equipment and support over the next decade is not actually new investment, but the reallocation of funding from within the wider defence budget. The Ministry of Defence clearly hopes to make some of the required savings by reducing some of its other capabilities, such as the Sentinel fleet, and delaying upgrades to other capabilities, such as the RAF’s Boeing E-3D, leaving it out of alignment with its US, French, and NATO counterparts.53 Page 12 of 21

 

The United Kingdom The other flaw in the 2015 review was to exclude the risk of a Brexit vote in favour of leaving the European Union (EU). Despite experience of the scare about Scottish Independence, the 2015 review once again excluded risks because they were ‘too political’. By the time the 2015 NSS/SDSR was formally started, it was clear that the government would hold a referendum on the United Kingdom’s continued membership of the EU. It was also obvious that the government in Scotland might view a vote to leave the EU as grounds for a further referendum on Scottish independence. On 23 June 2016, the result of the referendum was to leave the EU, and the Scottish government raised the possibility of a further referendum on independence.54 The potential consequences of Scottish independence for defence and security were hotly contested in 2014 and remain the same today.55 Suffice to say, the United Kingdom’s armed forces have been designed as a unitary force and their division would, at best, prove a challenge. The conventional wisdom is that the effects on UK defence and security policy should be negligible.56 As the 2015 NSS/SDSR made clear, (p.84) the United Kingdom’s defence and security policy is centred on its membership of NATO, and this has not changed. Moreover, in the immediate aftermath of the Brexit vote, ministers were keen to emphasize that the United Kingdom would not turn inwards and would remain committed to its international role. However, the fiscal realities resulting from the Brexit decision have yet to be recognized by the government or the Ministry of Defence, and their scale is likely to have a profound effect on the defence and security budget. Its short-term effects have become evident in the six months following the vote. What is definite is that in the immediate aftermath of the Brexit vote sterling fell to a thirty-year low against the dollar and also fell against the euro.57 For the Ministry of Defence, the immediate effect of this is likely to be sizeable, because significant elements of its equipment programme are being acquired from the United States, notably F-35B Joint Strike Fighters, Boeing P-8As, Boeing AH-64Es, and the missile tubes for the Trident successor boats. The Royal United Services Institute (RUSI) has suggested this deficit amounts to some £700m per annum.58 The funding to cover this will have to come from other parts of the defence budget. The easiest ways to offset this will be to adopt the usual policies of delay and obfuscation. In addition, in the short term most forecasts are for the United Kingdom’s GDP to contract. Thus, the United Kingdom may maintain its commitment to the NATO 2 per cent target, but the cash value is likely to be considerably lower, thus adding to the immediate fiscal pressure on the defence budget. Adding to the pressure on the defence budget will be questions about its direction of travel. As is already becoming apparent, there are likely to be at least two, if not three, pulls on defence. The first will be that to NATO. The UK government will be expected to show its ongoing commitment to NATO as a sign that it is not withdrawing from the world stage nor abandoning its European partners. The parliamentary vote on the replacement of the existing Trident Page 13 of 21

 

The United Kingdom force and the United Kingdom’s leadership of one of the ‘trip-wire’ battalions deployed to Estonia are symptomatic of this.59 Theresa May, the new prime minister, in opening the debate on the Trident successor system, emphasized the United Kingdom’s commitment to the NATO 2 per cent target,60 while at the Farnborough International Air Show the contracts for the 9 Boeing P-8As and 50 Boeing AH-64E Apache attack helicopters were announced. Second, there will be an expectation, particularly from the United States, that the United Kingdom’s armed forces will have an enhanced global presence in support of the rebalancing of UK trade outside Europe. For example, the US Navy is looking to the new British aircraft carriers to share the commitment to maintain an aircraft carrier in or near the Persian Gulf on a permanent (p.85) basis. Third, there will be pressure from the remaining members of the EU for the United Kingdom to continue to support EU missions and share responsibility for the evacuation of European citizens. Lurking in the background is the future of Northern Ireland. The EU is one of the organizations underpinning the Good Friday Agreement, and its future commitment to this remains open to question. As of the end of 2017, there is an open border between Northern Ireland and the Irish Republic as part of the Common Travel Area that covers the British Isles. Much of the argument in favour of Brexit revolved around the control of the United Kingdom’s borders. With the Irish Republic remaining in the EU and committed to the free movement of people, the lack of a sealed border with Northern Ireland would leave an open door for those wishing to enter the United Kingdom. Sealing the border would not only pose a significant security challenge but also raise question marks about the continuation of the Northern Ireland Agreement and the peace that prevails in Northern Ireland at the time of writing. Thus, the UK government is confronted with either closing the border and thus potentially reawakening the conflict in Northern Ireland or leaving the border open and thus being unable to control immigration from the EU.

Conclusions The United Kingdom finds itself in a fortunate position. This is partly as a result of its geography and its history, but also of its position as one of the permanent members of the United Nations Security Council, as a leading player in NATO, and as de facto head of the Commonwealth and the dominance of the English language. In response, the UK defence and security policy has had a consistent outlook since at least the end of the Second World War, if not for the last few centuries. It remains a state that has to trade to survive, with the result that it has interests worldwide and a consistent stress on stability, on the free movement of goods and services, and on ensuring that no state or collection of states ever achieves a dominant position in Europe. For more than a century, its armed forces have adapted to developments in warfare and the United Kingdom’s relative standing in comparison to other states. It has thus emphasized working in partnership, both formally and informally, with others to Page 14 of 21

 

The United Kingdom maximize its security, but ultimately recognizing that its possession of a nuclear deterrent is the ultimate guarantor of the United Kingdom’s existence. There have been setbacks, such as the disaster of the 1956 Suez Crisis and the cost of its wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, but in general its close relationship with the United States and the maintenance of NATO have ensured that the United Kingdom remains relatively safe and secure. However, the maintenance of its relative position in the international system is not guaranteed. As the 2015 NSS highlighted, there are major challenges before the United Kingdom. The subsequent Brexit vote, the election of Donald Trump as the 45th US president, and the continuing question mark over the preservation of the union threaten radically to transform the United Kingdom’s position. (p.86) Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Clarke, Michael, ‘Does My Bomb Look Big in This? Britain’s Nuclear Choices After Trident’, International Affairs, 80/1 (2004), 49–62. Cornish, Paul N., and Andrew M. Dorman, ‘Blair’s Wars and Brown’s Budgets: From Strategy Defence Review to Strategic Decay in Less Than a Decade’, International Affairs, 85/2 (2009), 247–61. Cornish, Paul N., and Andrew M. Dorman, ‘National Defence in the Age of Austerity’, International Affairs, 85/ 4 (2009), 733–53. Cornish, Paul N., and Andrew M. Dorman, ‘Breaking the Mould: The United Kingdom Strategic Defence Review 2010’, International Affairs 86, no. 2 (2010), 395–410. Dorman, Andrew M., ‘More than a Storm in a Teacup: The Defence and Security Implications of Scottish Independence’, International Affairs, 90/3 (2014), 679– 96. Dorman, Andrew M., and Matthew R. H. Uttley, ‘International Affairs and the British Defence and Security Policy Debate: The Bibliometric Context’, International Affairs Virtual Issue: UK Defence Policy (June 2015), (accessed 7 December 2017). Edmunds, Timothy, ‘Complexity, Strategy and the National Interest’, International Affairs, 90/3 (2014), 525–39. Edmunds, Timothy, and Anthony Forster, Out of Step: The Case for Change in the British Armed Forces (London: Demos, 2007).

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The United Kingdom Forster, Anthony, ‘British Judicial Engagement and the Juridification of Armed Forces’, International Affairs, 88/2 (2012), 283–300. Uttley, Matthew R.H., and Benedict Wilkinson, ‘A Spin of the Wheel? Defence Procurement and Defence Industries in the Brexit Debates’, International Affairs, 92/3 (2016), 569–86. Notes:

(1) See Michael Howard, The Continental Commitment: The Dilemma of British Defence Policy in the Era of Two World Wars (London: Temple Smith, 1972); Basil Liddell Hart, The British Way in Warfare (London: Penguin, 1942); Christopher J. Bartlett, Defence and Diplomacy: Britain and the Great Powers, 1815–1914 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993). (2) ‘UK settles WWII Debts to Allies’, BBC Online, 29 December 2006, (accessed 7 December 2017). (3) See Paul N. Cornish, British Military Planning for the Defence of Germany, 1945–50 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996); Christoph Bluth, Britain, Germany and Western Nuclear Strategy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 10–30. (4) See Winston S. Churchill, The Second World War, vi. Triumph and Tragedy (London: Penguin, 1974), 495–507. (5) Simon J. Ball, The Bomber in British Strategy: Doctrine, Strategy and Britain’s World Role, 1945–1960 (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1995). (6) ‘Report by the Chiefs of Staff on Defence Policy and Global Strategy’, COS (52) 362, fos 85, 80, 15 July 1952, TNA: PREM 11/49; John Baylis and Alan Macmillan, ‘The British Global Strategy Paper of 1952’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 16/2 (1993), 200–26. (7) Stephen Twigge and Len Scott, Planning Armageddon: Britain, the United States and the Command of Western Nuclear Forces 1945–64 (London: Routledge, 2000). (8) George C. Peden, Arms, Economics and British Strategy: From Dreadnoughts to Hydrogen Bombs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); see also Gustav Schmidt (ed.), A History of NATO: The First Fifty Years, vols 1–3 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001). (9) See Andrew J. Pierre, ‘Can Europe’s Security be “De-Coupled” from America?’, Foreign Affairs, 51/4 (1973), 761–77. (10) Humphrey Wynn, The RAF Strategic Nuclear Deterrent: Their Origins, Roles and Deployment, 1946–69: A Documentary History (London: HMSO, 1964); John Baylis and Kristan Stoodart, The British Nuclear Experience: The Role of Beliefs, Page 16 of 21

 

The United Kingdom Culture and Identity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015); Kristan Stoddart, Facing down the Soviet Union: Britain, the USA, NATO and Nuclear Weapons, 1976–83 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014). (11) John Baylis, ‘British Nuclear Doctrine: The “Moscow Criterion” and the Polaris Improvement Programme’, Contemporary British History, 19/1 (2005), 59–65. (12) Peter Nailor, The Nassau Connection: The Organisation and Management of the British Polaris Project (London: HMSO, 1988);Richard Moore, The Royal Navy and Nuclear Weapons (London: Frank Cass, 2001). (13) Peter Hennessy and James Jinks, The Silent Deep: The Royal Navy Submarine Service since 1945 (London: Penguin, 2015). (14) ‘Statement on the Defence Estimates, 1989’, Cm 75-I (London: HMSO, 1989), 13. (15) ‘Statement Relating to Defence, 1948’, Cm 7,327 (London: HMSO, 1948), repr. in Rear Admiral Henry G. Thursfield (ed.), Brassey’s Naval Annual (London: William Clowes and Sons, 1948), 528. (16) Clive Ponting, Breach of Power: Labour in Power, 1964–70 (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1989), 41–2. (17) See Andrew M. Dorman, ‘Crises and Reviews’, in Stuart Croft, Andrew M. Dorman, Matthew R. H. Uttley, and Wyn Rees, Britain and Defence 1945–2000: A Policy Re-Evaluation (Harlow: Longmans, 2001). (18) See ‘Statement on the Defence Estimates, 1989’, Cm 675-I (London: HMSO, 1989), 13–21. (19) See Barry Buzan, People, States and Fear: An Agenda for International Security Studies in the Post-Cold War Era, 2nd edn (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 1991). (20) ‘The Strategic Defence Review’, Cm 3,999 (London: TSO, 1998). (21) ‘Delivering Security in a Changing World’, Cm 6,041 (London: TSO, 2003), (accessed 7 December 2017) www.mod.uk/publications/ whitepaper2003/index.html. (22) ‘Defending Our Future: Statement on the Defence Estimates 1993’, Cm 2,270 (London: HMSO, 1993).

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The United Kingdom (23) Tom King, House of Commons Parliamentary Debates, Statement on Defence (Options for Change), 25 July 1990, session 1989–90, vol. 195, cols 468–71, (accessed 7 December 2017). (24) Andrew M. Dorman, Defence under Thatcher (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 150; see also Warren A. Chin, British Weapons Acquisition and the Futility of Reform (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004). (25) Tom King, House of Commons Parliamentary Debates, Statement to the House, 25 July 1990, session 1989–90, vol. 177, col. 468, sixth series, 23 July–19 October 1990. (26) Front Line First: The Defence Costs Study (London: HMSO, 1994), 1. (27) See, e.g., Jonathan Shaw, Britain in a Perilous World: The Strategic Defence and Security Review We Need (London: Haus Publishing, 2014). (28) On the RMA, see Andrew Krepinevich, ‘Cavalry to Computer: The Pattern of Military Revolution’, National Interest, 45 (Fall 1994), 30–42; and William A. Owens, ‘The Emerging US System-of-Systems’, National Defence University Strategic Forum, 63 (February 1996). (29) The ‘Strategic Vacuum’ debate was started by Paul N. Cornish and Andrew M. Dorman, ‘Blair’s Wars and Brown’s Budgets: From Strategic Defence Review to Strategic Decay in Less Than a Decade’, International Affairs, 85/2 (2009), 247–61. (30) ‘The Strategic Defence Review: A New Chapter’, Cm. 5,566 (London: TSO, 2002). (31) ‘The Strategic Defence Review: A New Chapter’. (32) ‘Delivering Security in a Changing World: Defence White Paper’, Cm 6,041 (London: TSO, 2003); ‘Delivering Security in a Changing World: Future Capabilities’, Cm 6,269 (London: TSO, 2004). (33) Cabinet Office, ‘The National Security Strategy of the United Kingdom: Security in an Interdependent World’, Cm 7,291 (London: TSO, 2008), (accessed 7 December 2017). (34) Cabinet Office, ‘The National Security Strategy of the United Kingdom: Update 2009 Security for the Next Generation’, Cm 7,590 (London: TSO, 2009), (accessed 7 December 2017).

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The United Kingdom (35) ‘Adaptability and Partnership: Issues for the Strategic Defence Review’, Cm 7,794 (London: TSO, 2010), (accessed 7 December 2017). (36) Andrew M. Dorman, ‘Kosovo’, in Andrew M. Dorman and Greg Kennedy (eds), War & Diplomacy: From World War I to the War on Terrorism (Washington: Potomac Books, 2008); Andrew M. Dorman, Blair’s Successful War: British Military Intervention in Sierra Leone (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). (37) David Richards, Taking Command: The Autobiography (London: Headline Publishing Group, 2014), 287. (38) Cornish and Dorman, ‘Blair’s Wars and Brown’s Budgets’. (39) Jock Stirrup, Annual Chief of the Defence Staff Lecture, 3 December 2009. (40) ‘Transcript: The First Prime Ministerial Debate’, BBC News, (accessed 2 August 2016). (41) ‘Securing Britain in an Age of Uncertainty: The Strategic Defence and Security Review’, Cm 7,948 (London: TSO, 2010); ‘A Strong Britain in an Age of Uncertainty: The National Security Strategy’, Cm 7,953 (London: TSO, 2010); HM Treasury, ‘Spending Review’, Cm 7,942 (London: TSO, 2010). (42) David Cameron, House of Commons Parliamentary Debates: Strategic Defence and Security Review, 19 October 2010, cols 797–825. (43) ‘Securing Britain in an Age of Uncertainty’, 15. (44) Liam Fox, House of Commons Parliamentary Debates: Strategic Defence and Security Review, 21 June 2010, cols 52–6. (45) National Audit Office, ‘Ministry of Defence: Major Projects Report 2009’, HC. 85-I, session 2009–10 (London: TSO, 2009), 4. (46) J. Walker, ‘Quick Cuts Are Fine, but Strategy Takes Time’, The Times, 25 September 2010. (47) See, e.g., Chris Parry, ‘Helmand is the Past: New Risks Lie Ahead of Us’, The Times, 13 October 2010, 24. (48) ‘US Army Chief “Very Concerned” about Impact of Cuts on British Forces’, The Guardian, 2 March 2015, (accessed 17 April 2017).

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The United Kingdom (49) ‘US Defence Secretary Warns against UK Armed Forces Cuts,’ BBC News, 1 June 2015, , (accessed 17 April 2017). (50) ‘Cameron Urged by Obama to Keep UK Defence Spending at 2% of GDP’, The Guardian, 7 June 2015, , (accessed 17 April 2017). (51) Robert Lea, ‘Boeing Plans to Double UK Jobs to 4,000’, The Times, 11 July 2016, 36. (52) ‘National Security Strategy and Strategic Defence and Security Review 2015: A Secure and Prosperous United Kingdom’, Cm 9,161 (London, TSO, 2015), (accessed 7 December 2017). (53) Tim Ripley, ‘UK Sentinel Force Capability Gap Emerges in New RAF ISTAR Plan’, HIS Jane’s 360, 13 June 2016, (accessed 7 December 2017). (54) ‘Sturgeon: Independence May be Best for Scotland amid Brexit Upheaval’, The Guardian, 25 July 2016, (accessed 7 December 2017). (55) Andrew M. Dorman, ‘More Than a Storm in a Teacup: The Defence and Security Implications of Scottish Independence’, International Affairs, 90/3 (2014), 679–96; Colin Fleming, ‘After Independence? The Challenges and Benefits of Scottish–UK Defence Cooperation’, International Affairs, 90/4 (2014), 761–71. (56) See, e.g., Benjamin Kienzle, ‘Why “Defence” Does Not Serve as a Suitable Argument in the Brexit Debate’, Defence-in-Depth, 17 June 2016, ; and Tim Cross, ‘Stiffen Your Sinews and Vote Leave—Brexit Will Make Britain Great Again’, Telegraph Online, 25 May 2016, (both accessed 7 December 2017). (57) ‘Pound Could Fall to Dollar Level, Experts Warn’, Sky News, 7 July 2016, (accessed 7 December 2017). (58) Trevor Taylor, ‘The Ministry of Defence’s Post-Brexit Spending Power: Assumptions, Numbers, Calculations and Implications’, RUSI Commentary, 12

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The United Kingdom August 2016, (accessed 7 December 2017). (59) Ministry of Defence, ‘UK Troops Arrive in Estonia for Major NATO Deployment’, News Story, 18 March 2017, (accessed 17 April 2017). (60) Theresa May, House of Commons Parliamentary Debates—UK’s Nuclear Deterrent, 18 July 2016, vol. 623.

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Russia

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Russia Katarzyna Zysk

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0005

Abstract and Keywords The Russian armed forces and military thought have been undergoing a historic transition. Following several failed attempts at military reforms since the 1990s, it became increasingly clear that the organizational structure, operational doctrines, and weaponry of Soviet provenience were poorly adapted to the radically changed security environment, as well as to Russia’s economic, material, and human capabilities. Since Vladimir Putin’s second presidential term, the political will to prioritize the defence sector has systematically increased and eventually led to a comprehensive military transformation. A new command and force structure, massive introduction of new materiel, and sharply increased quality and quantity of training have been accompanied by doctrinal revisions to accommodate changing forms of warfare. Nevertheless, the modernization efforts have been unevenly distributed and in some cases incoherent, undermined by inadequate industrial, technological, socio-economic, and demographic resources. The end objective of the military transformation remains a subject of an ongoing discussion. Keywords:   Russian armed forces, military transformation, Serdyukov’s reforms, new generation warfare, military strategy, military doctrine, security strategy, defence policy

Introduction THE Russian armed forces and military strategy have been undergoing a remarkable transformation following the dissolution of the Soviet Union. The military lost much of its relevance in the radically changed security environment and experienced one of the darkest chapters in its history: political support and spending plunged, and resources at all levels became increasingly scarce, with Page 1 of 27

 

Russia shortages affecting not only repairs, training, and operative capabilities, but even food rations, which resulted in cases of hunger at the military bases. Soviet-era military infrastructure, operational doctrines, and equipment were outdated and ill-suited to Russia’s economic, material, and human resources. Repeated attempts to reform the military in the 1990s and early 2000s had failed, largely because of insufficient political will, interest, funding, domestic instability, and, not least, institutional conservatism. As a corollary, the military was unable to carry out many of its basic tasks.1 However, since the ascendancy of Vladimir Putin, the importance of the Russian armed forces has grown exponentially. Simultaneously it became clear that the military potential was at odds with Putin’s pronounced ambition to reclaim Russia’s status as a great power with corresponding influence in international affairs, as well as with the evolving security environment. However, the political determination to prioritize the defence sector and increase military budgets led eventually to radical and comprehensive reforms that created, in essence, new Russian armed forces. Together with doctrinal revisions to accommodate the changing character of war, including abandoning the mass mobilization model, improving joint operations, reaction time, and strategic mobility, and undertaking a massive modernization of weapons and technology, (p.88) the Russian military successfully transitioned into a force capable of participating in complex operations, both within and beyond Russia’s immediate neighbourhood. The increased war-fighting capability has boosted the political leadership’s confidence and will to use the armed forces actively to shape the international environment and challenge other stakeholders when Russia’s national interest is perceived to be at stake, as the war in Georgia, Ukraine, and Syria demonstrated in practice. The effects of this modernization have, however, been uneven across the military organization, and Russia’s ability to continue the programme at a high rate and scope is uncertain, given challenges such as sustained resource allocation, corruption, negative demographic trends, and waning expertise. Experimentation with different models of force structure and incoherent alterations in the modernization programme indicate that competing interests and debates still rage about the desired end state of the military modernization process.2 There is a large body of literature on the development of the Russian military, which often focuses on selected time periods or problems.3 In contrast, this chapter provides an overarching perspective on the evolution of the Russian armed forces and their conceptual foundations from the end of the cold war to the time of writing in mid-2017. The analysis is organized in four sections: (1) Upheaval (1992–2000) examines the developments from the moment of the creation of the Russian armed forces on 7 May 1992,4 through to the end of the presidency of Boris Yeltsin, a period characterized by a limited adaptation to the new security environment and largely failed reform attempts; (2) Transition (2000–2008) analyses the continuation of the minimalist approach to military Page 2 of 27

 

Russia reforms during Vladimir Putin’s first two presidential terms while laying the ground for the future major transformation of the armed forces; (3) Revival (2008–2012) presents the milestones of the radical military change that took place in this period, with its conceptual foundations under president Dmitrii Medvedev’s presidency; while (4) Consolidation? (2012–) examines the process of continuation of the modernization programme, accompanied by reversals of some of the reforms in Putin’s third presidential term. Each of the four sections discusses the contextual, conceptual, and physical development of the Russian armed forces, identifying central political, economic, security, and other dynamics affecting the change—or lack thereof—in the Russian force structure and strategic policy documents—that is, national security strategies and military doctrines that reflected the evolution of Russia’s security and defence thinking. While the four time (p.89) periods are not surgically distinct, this organization helps highlight the specifics of each period insofar as Russia adopted a new military doctrine and security strategy during each of them. It will be shown that, after over a decade of atrophy, decay, and largely unsuccessful attempts at major reform, the Russian armed forces have eventually undergone a sweeping transformation that has aligned the command and force structure, modes of operations, and material more closely with the conceptual development of the Russian security and defence policy. Among the cardinal drivers of change has been Russia’s evolving perception of security challenges and threats and an understanding of the changing character of war, in addition to sustained economic growth over a number of years and, not least, the political will to devote attention and resources to financially, politically, and socially costly reform. The determination to bring about the change in the armed forces has derived from the ruling elite’s quest for prestige and confidence that military power—as in the past—remains at the very heart of the international system.5

Upheaval: 1992–2000 In the wake of the dissolution of the bipolar system, Russia’s security and defence policy entered a new era, with dramatic consequences for the military organization. Attempts to tailor the armed forces to meet a radically changed security outlook failed, largely because of the lack of political will and attention, the unstable domestic situation, the shortage of economic and social resources, and organizational conservatism. The July 1991 dissolution of the Warsaw Pact and subsequent fall of the Soviet Union in December the same year led to a massive withdrawal of Soviet troops and equipment from the former Warsaw Pact states, including Hungary, Czechoslovakia, the Baltic States, Poland, and East Germany, in addition to Mongolia and Afghanistan.6 Between 1989 and 1994, over 700,000 military Page 3 of 27

 

Russia personnel together with 500,000 dependants returned to Russia, often lacking adequate social support, such as housing.7 The erstwhile Soviet military force was subsequently dramatically downsized: from 3.9 million in 1990 to 1.2 million by August January 2004.8 Hence, the armed forces had to adjust to redeployments, new state borders, and new neighbours, as well as a major shift in threat perception. The ‘Fundamentals of the Military Doctrine’, adopted in November 1993, stated that Russia no longer regarded any particular state as an adversary and considered conventional large state-on-state conflict unlikely.9 (p.90) As a corollary, overwhelming manpower was no longer viewed as a prerequisite for battlefield superiority, and thus was no longer regarded a top priority. Combined with Russia’s profound economic crisis, the development resulted in dramatic cuts in defence spending. While the Soviet Union spent $237.99 billion on defence in 1991, this figure fell by as much as 45 per cent between 1992 and 1996.10 The 1996 defence budget of $48 billion shrank further to $29 billion in 2000.11 Even if these estimates are uncertain given the lack of transparency in Russian public spending, inflation, and differences between declared and actual spending, defence cuts were by any account severe and dramatic. Consequently, the Russian military deteriorated catastrophically for a period. The result was low or inexistent combat training, de-professionalization, declining infrastructure and maintenance, worsening socio-economic conditions, and troop impoverishment, including widespread housing shortages and delayed salaries, often by months at a time and not adjusted to inflation. Discipline and morale plummeted as a result, exacerbated by a devastating plague of hazing (dedovshchina), rampant corruption, and massive draft dodging, reaching hundreds of thousands.12 Even though there was a small increase in the number of contract soldiers, the military continued nonetheless to rely on conscripts, thereby undermining the efficiency of the armed forces. Moreover, little was done to adapt the enormous Soviet military industrial complex to the collapse of state subsidies and defence orders, even though some parts of the industry were more successful and resilient than others.13 Until the early 2000s, the state programmes for arms procurement, research and development, modernization, and repair of military technology (Gosudarstvennaya programma vooruzhenii) were either never implemented at all or only to a minimal degree.14 The decline of the armed forces was vividly revealed during the first war in Chechnya (1994–6), where a lack of cohesion between key components and unpreparedness to fight even a low-intensity regional conflict and conduct subsequent peacekeeping tasks typified operations.15 Despite Russia’s nominally one-million-strong army, the General Staff was able to assemble only 65,000 troops.16 Indeed, the war in Chechnya became a catalyst of further deterioration and strengthened the conservatively minded war-prosecuting (p.91) authority,

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Russia thus placing further obstacles in the way of military reform.17 The protracted second Chechnya War (1999–2000)18 further exposed the deficiencies.19 That a major overhaul was needed to adjust to the new external and internal conditions was apparent. However, apart from the cuts in troop numbers and changes in the organization and number of services, attempts to pursue significant military reforms in 1992–3 and 1997 largely failed. They were hampered by a lack of consensus, sufficient funding, and political determination, as well as organizational rigidity and conservatism.20 One aspect of the development that did not worsen for the military in the 1990s was its organizational autonomy. As the Communist Party oversight was removed and the Russian parliament given only limited control, the military leadership was left to decide questions of military reform on its own. Not surprisingly, given its organizational stakes in existing practices, equipment, and structures, the results were doomed from the start.21 Indeed, for an organization that was already under massive stress, aggravated by sweeping redeployments, wars, and overall systemic decline, reforms could only cause additional pain and instability.22 The Russian authorities and political elites feared that too much pressure on the armed forces might induce them to intervene in political affairs to support the government’s opponents.23 The largely peaceful post-communist transformation of Russia was partly due to the compromise between the political leadership and the Russian General Staff, which offered its loyalty in the volatile domestic situation and unstable external environment in exchange for a promise that radical military reforms would be renounced.24 Moreover, the political leadership lacked genuine knowledge of and interest in the military and was absorbed by conflicts in the post-Soviet sphere (for example, in Moldova, Georgia, Tajikistan), wars in the Balkans (Bosnia–Herzegovina, Kosovo), as well as the domestic power struggle, illustrated by the bloody clash between President Yeltsin and parliament in October 1993.25 Consequently, while earlier military doctrines focused on external threats, the 1993 ‘Fundamentals of the Military Doctrine highlighted instability in Russia and within its vicinity, including nationalist and ethnic tensions, religious extremism and terrorism, separatist tendencies and territorial disintegration, in addition to undermining the rights of Russian citizens living abroad.26 At the same time, the weakness in conventional arms led (p.92) Russia to elevate the role of nuclear weapons by removing the long-standing no-first-use pledge in a bid to strengthen deterrence.27 However, the ‘National Security Concept’, approved in December 1997, reserved their use only for cases when the very existence of the state would be at risk, a potential of which was simultaneously assessed as low.28 Although Russia wrote off the potential of a large-scale war and rebranded the United States and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) as non-adversaries—a move harshly criticized by the military leadership and Page 5 of 27

 

Russia judged as naive29—concerns about the West and its intentions were not completely absent in the 1993 military doctrine. The document distinguished between military danger (voennaya opasnost) and military threat (voennaya ugroza); ‘military danger’ was defined as international or domestic developments that under certain conditions could lead to a ‘military threat’— that is, a situation with a real potential to turn into a military conflict. In the category of ‘danger’ Russia included increasing foreign military presence near its borders that jeopardized the balance of forces, while to ‘threats’ it added the expansion of military blocks or alliances, disregard for Russia’s interests in the solving of international security problems, and interference in Russia’s domestic affairs.30 In 1996, Foreign Minister Yevgenii Primakov formulated what has since become the cornerstone of the Russian post-Soviet foreign policy concept—that is, the vision of a multipolar world, aimed, inter alia, at weakening US dominance in the international system.31 Indeed, given the lack of substantial reforms, the military organization continued to be driven by the conceptual premises inherited from the cold war, including the force structure, organization, and training geared towards a traditional scenario featuring a large-scale war with the US and NATO, rather than being focused on local wars and conflicts, which were declared to be more likely.32 Hence, Russia responded to the radical transformation of the security environment in the 1990s by shifting the focus away from the traditional dangers and threats towards ‘new’ ones within Russia and its neighbourhood. The armed forces, no longer a top priority, underwent dramatic physical decay. The organization remained largely unreformed and partly at odds with the political assessments and the conceptual level of formulation of the national security policy. To compensate for the inferiority in conventional forces, Russia elevated the role of nuclear weapons to strengthen deterrence, a path followed in the subsequent periods.

Transition: 2000–2008 With Putin’s accession to the presidency in 2000, attitudes of the political leadership towards the armed forces began to change. The military was in dire need of modernization, (p.93) while at the same time increasingly regarded as a key tool in the effort to reclaim Russia’s great power status and counter what was seen as an erosion of the system of international relations based on international law.33 Still, despite the evolving security environment, increased political attention and financial means for the defence sector, no radical reform was implemented due to a number of reasons, including the fact that any such programmes were still under the control of the military commanders. Notwithstanding initial signs of warming after meeting President George W. Bush in Slovenia in June 2001 and his post-September 11 opening to the West, Putin pledged a stronger policy of independence and freedom of action, especially in the post-Soviet space. He sought both elements of cooperation with Page 6 of 27

 

Russia the United States and the broader West to resolve various security problems, as well as competition and rivalry, in particular preventing ‘humanitarian interventions’, which Russia saw as undermining the role of the United Nations (UN) Security Council, and thus Russia’s ability to influence international affairs.34 President Putin signed the ‘National Security Concept’ on 10 January 200035 and the ‘Military Doctrine’ on 21 April.36 The documents reflected fluctuations in Russia’s international relations and domestic dynamics. On the one hand, Russia continued to assume that a large-scale conflict was unlikely, while stressing the importance of ‘new’ security threats such as international terrorism, extremism, and proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMDs). At the same time, traditional concerns, including territorial disputes and enlargement of NATO, remained, and the documents highlighted the need for more assertiveness in relations with the West. NATO’s intervention in Kosovo and the adoption of a new strategic concept in 1999 were added to the documents’ lists of destabilizing factors. NATO’s demonstration of precision strikes in Kosovo, something Russia was unable to match at the time, influenced an adjustment in Russian defence policy. The decision-makers changed the formulation of cases when nuclear weapons would be used from situations threating the state survival to the more broadly defined ‘critical for national security’.37 Furthermore, as a temporary way to bolster security, Russia elevated the role of nuclear weapons under the ‘escalate to de-escalate’ concept, whereby a large-scale conventional attack that exceeded Russia’s defensive capacity could be met with a limited nuclear strike. Although not included in the military doctrine, the concept was mentioned in official statements38 and the 2003 publication by the Russian Ministry of Defence (p. 94) (MoD), which defined it as ‘forcing the adversary to cease hostilities by threatening or actually delivering strikes of various sizes with use of conventional and/or nuclear weapons’.39 The underlying logic of the concept was that Russia was unable to win a protracted war with a conventionally superior adversary, such as the United States or NATO, and therefore should seek to prevent a conflict from escalating by threatening or delivering limited nuclear strikes at an early stage of the conflict. The credibility of the actual implementation of this concept as a tool to force deescalation of a conflict has been questioned, however, in both the West and Russia, as risky at best, given that use of nuclear weapons, however ‘limited’, could backfire by producing a nuclear response with catastrophic responses. Hence, in order to strengthen the credibility of the approach, since the early 2000s Russia has been developing a concept of regional war with a significant role for a non- (or pre-) nuclear deterrence as an additional echelon on the escalation ladder, based on a threat to use long-range conventional precision weapons on cruise missiles and ballistic missiles.40 The use of the non-nuclear Page 7 of 27

 

Russia strategic weapons would represent an act of last warning before the selective use of nuclear munitions. Meanwhile, the military reforms of Putin’s first two presidential terms (2000–4, 2004–8) perpetuated the minimalist approach of the Yeltsin era and focused primarily on troop reductions and changing the set-up and numbers of services.41 Putin pledged to improve the army’s socio-economic conditions, and positive results included the punctual payment of officers’ allowances, something that had been an exception rather than the rule under Yeltsin.42 Increasing economic growth generated by revenues from energy sales and skyrocketing oil prices since 2003 were major factors in the systematic increase in defence spending, which saw a staggering ninefold surge between 1999 and 2008, from 115,594 to 1,040 840 million roubles.43 (p.95) Still, although Russia approved reform plans for 2001 and 2003, including downsizing the force and staffing it primarily by contract soldiers, these had no significant effect on the overall force structure as one of the key problems remained: the military leadership was still responsible for implementing the reforms.44 Despite the increasing defence budgets and political attention, capabilities continued to shrink to the point at which the military was unable to carry out many of its basic missions. According to the former Chief of the General Staff, Nikolai Makarov, more than 50 per cent of weapons and technology in the armed forces were defective in 2008.45 The socio-economic conditions remained dire, and endemic corruption continued to undermine the organization, both materially and morally. After a 2006–7 audit in the MoD, 40 per cent of the military budget was shown to have been stolen by generals and officers, making the MoD the most corrupt department.46 The development aggravated the already tenuous reputation of the military, troubled by multiple problems, including hazing, a high rate of combat deaths and suicides, and poor living conditions. Deficiencies exposed during Russia’s five-day war with Georgia in August 2008— such as the use of ground forces and heavy artillery to compensate for shortages in sophisticated weapons and equipment; poor interoperability, military planning, and field operations; and ineffective communications and command and control systems—led to the conclusion that Russia was poorly prepared to fight a modern conflict, even against a far weaker opponent.47 The perceived changing character of war, requiring an approach that was more ‘network centric’ (setetsentricheskaya voina) than ‘tank centric’ and the capability to wage non-contact wars, made modernization increasingly urgent.48 The Russian political and military leadership used the Georgian ‘lessons learned’ to justify a more radical and socially, politically, and economically costly programme of military reform.49 Together with a systematic increase in military funding, growing foreign policy ambitions, and extensive threat perception, and a new wave of confrontation with the West, since 2007 in particular, these Page 8 of 27

 

Russia developments have prepared the ground for and contributed to the sweeping transformation of the Russian armed forces.

(p.96) Revival: 2008–2012 Between 2008 and 2012, the Russian military underwent radical and comprehensive reforms in a relatively short period of time, abandoning, at last, the Soviet mass mobilization model and creating a new, modernized combat force, despite a number of remaining shortcomings. The importance of the armed forces to Russia’s political leadership was growing, as reflected in its determination to prioritize the defence sector by changing priorities in the financing of the power agencies: until 2009, Russia’s security services had received the most generous funding, while spending on defence grew, but at relatively small increments, increasing at about the same rate as GDP. However, all this changed in 2010, when the armed forces replaced the security services as the main beneficiary of funding among the power services. As a corollary, the defence spending reached $56.9 billion in 2008 (3.3 per cent GDP), $60.9 billion in 2010 (3.8 per cent), and $75.3 billion in 2012 (4.0 per cent).50 The political resolve to go ahead with the military modernization was further reflected in a gradual elimination of the key opposition to reforms among the military leadership. Putin also strengthened the position of the Security Council at the expense of the General Staff as the key institution for supervising security affairs and strategic planning.51 Defence Minister Anatolii Serdyukov (2007–12) played a crucial role in the successful implementation of the radical reforms. As a civilian without organizational ties to the military, supported by the top political leadership, Serdyukov was able to push through a major change.52 It put the main emphasis on smaller, more flexible brigades rather than heavy divisions and armies, and introduced operational revisions to accommodate new ways of war, including joint operations, strategic mobility, and rapid reaction, all considered central force multipliers. The force was to be fully manned, combat ready, aimed primarily at small- and medium-scale conflicts. Massive cuts in the officer corps53 were accompanied by a focus on a partial professionalization, as it was increasingly difficult to rely on uncommitted recruits given mounting technical demands. In January 2008, conscription was reduced from two years to one, with the goal of attracting 425,000 contract soldiers by 2017,54 although the number was growing more slowly than expected. Financial means freed from reductions (also in the number of units, bases, and other entities) were to be redirected to other central goals of the reform, such as procurement, research, and development.55 (p.97) Furthermore, Serdyukov created a unified command and control, with more autonomous individual services.56 In 2010, six military districts were reorganized into four military districts/Joint Strategic Commands (JSC): West, Page 9 of 27

 

Russia East, Centre, and South, which also included components that did not belong to the MoD, such as the Federal Security Service (FSB) and Interior Troops.57 The Soviet four-tier system (military district–army–division–regiment) was replaced by a Western-inspired, three-echelon chain of command (military district/ strategic command–operative command–brigade). The military leadership expressed a strong interest in transitioning to information-based military equipped with modern Command, Control, Communications, Computers, Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance systems (C4ISR).58 Simultaneously, training and exercises increased sharply in size and frequency, with a positive impact on combat capability. Another fundamental objective of the military reform was initiating a massive modernization of weapons and technology, 70 per cent of which was to be ‘modern’ by 2020.59 Moreover, the socio-economic situation of the armed forces improved, with a significant increase in military allowances, enhanced housing, and other social benefits. Combined with the stronger political focus on the key role of the military in the international system and Russia’s place in it, the status of the armed forces in the Russian society increased accordingly.60 Yet the modernization effort was unevenly distributed throughout the organization, which continued to struggle with structural problems, including widespread corruption, inefficient parts of the defence industry, and inadequate resources and manpower. In 2012, Russia was approximately 200,000 short of the goal of one million troops.61 Given that the modernization and strength of conventional forces were still limited, nuclear weapons retained their central role as the ultimate guarantee of Russia’s security and great power status. Russia also continued to bolster deterrence by suggesting the possibility of limited nuclear strikes, as demonstrated in official statements,62 scenarios of large-scale military exercises,63 and production of nuclear weapons, including low-yield, highprecision (p.98) weapons.64 The 2010 ‘Military Doctrine’, however, returned to a more restrained description of the use of nuclear weapons, to be limited to situations when ‘the very existence of the state’ would be threatened.65 At the same time, the document corroborated the growing role of non-nuclear deterrence and the long-range conventional precision weapons.66 Russia continued to see a broad spectrum of military dangers and threats along all borders, such as terrorism, insurgencies, and ethnic tensions in the Caucasus and Central Asia in the south, potential symmetric threats from China’s multimillion-man army in the east,67 and even in the Arctic in the north, despite the fact that this region was one of Russia’s most peaceful borderlands. Concerns about the region increased in the 2000s owing to growing international interest and human activity, which, as Russia anticipated, could generate both symmetrical and asymmetrical security threats, not least to the vital military assets and infrastructure, the energy industry and rich natural Page 10 of 27

 

Russia resources, and the natural environment.68 In the West, the Russian threat perception continued to focus on the military–technological superiority of the United States and NATO. The 2009 National Security Strategy reflected continuity in the bifurcated approach to the West, seen as a partner in some cases and an adversary in others.69 Security, in Russia’s eyes, was increasingly complex and multidimensional, with blurred lines separating external and internal security, viewed in the context of economic growth, education, healthcare, ecology, living standards, and even cultural development.70 Russia recognized that many of the security problems had a transnational character and required international collaboration to fight, for instance, terrorism, a proliferation of WMDs, and organized crime. Conversely, the military doctrine continued to see both the United States and NATO, and in particular their presence and activity in Russia’s proximity, as primary military dangers.71 Moscow’s ambitions aimed, inter alia, to rearrange the post-cold war security architecture, viewed as unduly weighted in favour of the United States and NATO. Furthermore, a central concept in the Russian approach to security was also the idea of ‘spheres of privileged interests’, in particular in the post-Soviet space:72 Russia proclaimed its right to use force in case of (p.99) encroachment on its sphere of influence and to protect Russian citizens beyond the borders of the Russian Federation.73 In sum, in a relatively short period of time, Russia managed to implement several radical changes that dismantled the mass mobilization standing force and created a new model of the armed forces, focused on high combatreadiness, interoperability, and strategic mobility, to a greater degree aligned with the conceptual foundations for Russia’s security and defence policy. Notwithstanding the successes, the modernization effects were unevenly distributed and the armed forces continued to struggle with a spectrum of deficiencies and structural problems.74

Consolidation?: 2012– Since Putin’s return as president in May 2012, Russia has continued the military modernization along most of the main trajectories, while the military operations in Crimea (March 2014) and in Syria (since September 2015) demonstrated overall a more capable military force. Increased tensions with Western countries have been reflected in the more urgent character of a spectrum of threat perceptions, further highlighting the significance of a strong military force. However, reversals of some of the reforms, following changes in the MoD in November 2012 and replacement of Serdyukov75 by Sergei Shoigu, altered the underlying logic and resulted in incoherence in the modernization programme. Russia has continued its massive acquisition of new weapons and technology, and in February 2017 Shoigu reported to the State Duma that the modernization progress had reached 58.3 per cent.76 Furthermore, strategic joint inter-service rehearsals have expanded in scope and complexity. For instance, the 2013 Page 11 of 27

 

Russia ‘Vostok’ exercise in the Military Districts East and Centre deployed, according to official sources, 160,000 troops, 1,000 military vehicles, 130 planes, and 70 ships from the Pacific Fleet.77 The following year, the drills conducted in Central and Eastern Military Districts, in the Arctic, and the European part of Russia amounted to approximately 200,000 soldiers training in fourteen exercise fields simultaneously, making it comparable to the large-scale drills of the Soviet era.78 In addition, Shoigu reintroduced frequent snap inspections in the bid to enhance combat readiness.79 (p.100) Russia also noted progress in the professionalization efforts: in 2015, the number of contract soldiers reached 300,000.80 At the same time, however, Shoigu reversed some of the earlier implemented reforms, possibly reflecting debates and dissonance at the level of the conceptual formulation of Russia’s military strategy. For instance, by May 2013, Shoigu had re-established the Tamanskaya and Kantemirovskaya divisions in the Western Military District. Although initially this could be seen as a populist move, given the historic and symbolic importance of these two divisions, in the following years Russia re-established several other divisions.81 As a result of these changes in the force posture, staffing levels are likely to be a significant challenge, given problems with recruitment and retainment of trained soldiers. Furthermore, Serdyukov’s attempts to bring more civilians to the MoD (the socalled battalion in skirts) were also reversed.82 As a consequence, weaker civilian control may make it harder to implement changes that are unpopular with the military leadership. Russia has also experimented with various forms of a mobilization system. One of the central features of Serdyukov’s reforms was increasing combat capability and shortening reaction time, namely by abandoning the ineffective system that relied on mobilizing millions of reservists and rebuilding skeleton units in case of an emergency. However, the war in Ukraine and the stand-off with the West led to the return of the discussion on the necessity of mass mobilization, given that the smaller, more lethal, flexible, and professional force that Serdyukov intended seemed at the same time inadequate to respond to the full spectrum of conflicts, in particular with a larger and sophisticated adversary such as NATO or China. Mobilization, including the ability to put the national economy on a war footing, was, consequently, tested during several drills, including the large-scale exercise ‘Kavkaz’ in September 2016, when economic and financial actors, such as the Ministry of Finances and the Bank of Russia, were involved in a joint operation with the armed forces.83 The increased tensions with the United States, NATO, and the European Union (EU) were reflected in the ‘Military Doctrine’ of December 2014.84 As in the previous documents, the likelihood of a large-scale war was still considered small. Several other formulations (for example, international terrorism, competition for resources, proliferation of WMDs) were reiterated. The policies of NATO and the United States topped the list of dangers and threats, with the Page 12 of 27

 

Russia long-standing grievances such as development and deployment of ballistic missile defence, strategic non-nuclear precision weapons, ‘illegal’ expeditionary operations, activities aimed at forcibly changing Russia’s constitutional system, and demonstrations of military force in the proximity of Russia’s borders. The military dangers and threats were (p.101) now portrayed as more urgent, with many sources of instability and potential conflicts in both Russia’s immediate neighbourhood and other regions, such as the Middle East, Africa, and the Arctic. The Russian new National Security Strategy, adopted in December 2015, repeated the main sentiments and presented US policy towards Russia as one of containment. Moves to strengthen NATO’s presence in Europe in response to Russian aggression in Ukraine were also seen as a direct threat to Russia’s security.85 While nuclear forces have remained a top priority, the Russian authorities have declared their intention to rely increasingly on conventional weapons to deter aggression.86 The 2014 military doctrine described the non-nuclear capabilities and nuclear weapons as a part of the country’s strategic deterrence.87 Moreover, Russia has also increased its focus on what the General Staff views as the ‘shift in the centre of gravity of the armed struggle toward the cyber and aerospace sphere’—that is, ‘the fourth dimension’—in addition to the traditional land, air, and sea.88 As a consequence, in August 2015, Russia established the Aerospace Forces (Vozdushno-kosmicheskie sily), integrating the previously separate air force and aerospace defence forces, and has pursued space warfare capabilities that can strike at the backbone of US high-technology warfare capabilities such as communication, navigation, and intelligence satellites. Likewise, in 2013, Russia established a cyber command and a dedicated information warfare force, called Troops for Information Operations (Voiska informatsionnykh operatsii), even though Russian officials have repeatedly denied their existence.89 Furthermore, Russia has intensified its development of electronic warfare capabilities as an asymmetric response to NATO’s informational superiority and its C4ISR systems, in addition to pursuing innovative technologies, such as hypersonic vehicles, artificial intelligence, additive technologies, robotic and cognitive systems, and directed energy weapons.90 The 2014 military doctrine also highlighted global competition and rivalry between values and models of governance and the need to respond to ‘colour revolutions’, seen as a new form of a foreign threat to state security, striking from within.91 While Russia already saw pro-democracy movements as a potential existential security threat after the first wave of ‘colour revolutions’ in the post-Soviet countries (2003–5), the tipping point was, nonetheless, the 2011 Arab Spring. The events, accompanied by massive protests in Russia against electoral fraud (2011–12), led the Russian General Staff to conclude that this (p. 102) was a new type of a Western hybrid warfare92—that is, using direct and indirect operations aimed at overthrowing inconvenient political regimes.93 Page 13 of 27

 

Russia The Chief of the General Staff, Valerii Gerasimov, has argued that the very ‘rules of war’ have changed; wars are no longer declared and, once they have begun, they ‘do not unfold in ways we are accustomed to’.94 In what is also called a ‘New Generation Warfare’ (NGW), non-military means play a major role in achieving strategic objectives and, in many cases, surpass the traditional military force in effectiveness.95 The Russian strategic documents, official statements, and speeches highlight the pre-eminent role of the information space and operations in the cognitive and psychological domain.96 The ‘new’ wars aim to impact on the state’s entire capacity through an integrated, flexible, and creative use of all resources available to the state, depending on what is judged to be the most effective and affordable in a given situation—be it a cyber attack, electronic warfare, destabilizing information campaigns, combined with economic incentives, covert special operations, or a direct military intervention.97 One of the central objectives is to weaken the enemy from within by undermining the political cohesion of the state and its institutions, circumventing its strengths and exploiting its weaknesses in a cost-effective manner while operating under the adversary’s ‘red lines’. Such means may achieve political goals without the need for military operations, or may prepare the ground for a successful military intervention should it be needed.98 The explicit emphasis on non-military, indirect, and asymmetric approaches does not undermine, however, the importance of strong armed forces. Indeed, military strength remains a core component of the NGW, as it plays a central role in the successful implementation of non-military tools by providing deterrence and enabling coercion. One of the General Staff’s conclusions is that an effective defence requires the employment of the full range of the state’s military and non-military resources. Besides, such an approach accords critical importance to inter-agency cooperation and coordination.99 To facilitate that, in 2014 Russia established the National Center for Defence Management—a defence coordinating superstructure where, in addition to the military, civilian agencies and departments are represented.100 The future of the military modernization and the direction of the development of the Russian armed forces are nonetheless uncertain. Among the major challenges is a sustained resource allocation. The consequences of the 2008 financial crisis and falling commodity (p.103) prices, particularly energy, aggravated by several rounds of Western sanctions and Russian countersanctions in response to Russia’s aggression in Ukraine, have weakened the value of the rouble, lowered domestic demand, and pushed inflation higher. The Russian economy stagnated in 2014/15 and subsequently went into a lowlevel recession.101 According to the International Monetary Fund, the Russian economy contracted by 3.7 per cent in 2015.102 While government revenues and spending fell in 2016, Russia attempted to shield the defence budget, which in 2015 was still more than 60 per cent higher in real terms compared to 2010.103 Page 14 of 27

 

Russia Defence spending amounted to $57.5 billion in 2013 (4.2 per cent GDP), $61.6 billion in 2014 (4.5 per cent GDP), and $70.3 billion in 2016 (5.3 per cent GDP).104 The decision-makers’ readiness to continue financing defence at the expense of other federal budget items, including welfare, highlights the critical importance of the armed forces to the Russian decision makers. Still, Russia has been struggling with the absence of robust economic growth. In 2016, the defence budget fell to 4.7 per cent of GDP, while the adoption of the next state armament programme for the period 2016–25 had to be postponed for three years.105 Despite signs of economic recovery and growth in 2017, defencespending is likely to be reduced. Among other problems are understaffing and the questionable combat readiness of conscripts, while the heavy focus on modernizing the Russian navy happens at the expense of other defence branches, the army in particular. Furthermore, the indigenous defence industry continues to struggle with punctual deliveries, quality, quantity, and ineffective use of resources. Although there are signs that many of the key problems are being resolved. It is uncertain whether increased control and personal sanctions against industry leaders will produce the desired results.106 Some programmes, were affected by the rupture in military–technological cooperation with Ukraine and the West, as Russia was cut off from vital supplies—for example, Ukrainian gas turbine engines and German diesel power units—slowing down the modernization progress. Similarly, structural problems such as negative demographic trends, lack of transparency, and corruption continue to undermine the modernization efforts.

Conclusion As a result of the conceptual evolution and physical transformation of the Russian armed forces, in particular since 2008, their overall capability has improved, despite a number of remaining deficiencies. After the period of upheaval and regress, when reforms proved too expensive financially, socially, and politically, the Russian armed forces again attracted political attention and funding under Putin’s presidency. Their transformation accelerated in (p.104) 2008–12, in parallel with Russia’s growing international ambitions and consolidation of power under the authoritarian rule. Russia finally managed to ditch the Soviet mass mobilization model and transform the military into a modern war-fighting force with a radically altered command and force structure, reorganized services, and modes of operation. Furthermore, Russia has embarked on the massive acquisition of new and modernized weapons and technology, while ramping up training and exercises in scope, quantity, and quality. The military has accelerated its adaptation to an information-driven battlefield, including through the development of command and control, communications, and reconnaissance, as well as electronic warfare systems. Among the main results of the military modernization have been increased combat readiness, strategic mobility, and an ability to conduct joint operations. As a corollary, Russia has demonstrated an increased self-confidence to use the Page 15 of 27

 

Russia force to achieve foreign-policy objectives, including beyond its immediate neighbourhood. The conceptual evolution of the Russian security and defence policy has reflected the evolving perceptions of the security environment and potential for conflict at the local, regional, and global level. Russia has devoted special attention to actors with a substantial military capability as having the potential to become a security threat under certain circumstances, as Russia focuses on the actors’ military capabilities, rather than their political intentions, which can be changeable.107 Hence, despite the radical changes in post-cold war strategic documents—that is, the declaration that Russia no longer regarded the United States and NATO as enemies and that the likelihood of a large-scale conflict diminished significantly—concerns about the West and its military–technological superiority, and subsequently China’s overwhelming manpower and growing military strength, have not been absent from considerations. The force structure and operational art continued to be oriented towards waging a large-scale war and defending the country from an aerial attack from the West well into the 2000s. Russia’s military (and economic, political, and technological) inferiority gradually exacerbated the traditional, in the Russian strategic culture sense of insecurity and encirclement, as reflected in the extensive threat perception. At the same time, the Russian armed forces also had to be prepared to respond to local dangers and threats, such as insurgency, in particular along the southern border. Since the 1990s, internal dangers and threats have also constituted a permanent element in the national security and defence concepts. After the wave of ‘colour revolutions’ in the 2000s, Russia’s perceptions of domestic instability inspired or controlled from abroad evolved and were gradually defined as a new type of Western warfare, expanding the scope of responsibilities for the Russian armed forces, and the need for cooperation and coordination with the Internal Troop (since 2016, the National Guard), security agencies, and civilian actors. Russia has compensated for its military inferiority and the limited, even if improving, capability of the conventional armed forces with a series of asymmetrical and symmetrical responses including: (a) elevating the role of nuclear weapons and dropping the no-first-use pledge; (b) strengthening deterrence by opening up the possibility of limited nuclear strikes to ‘deescalate’ conflict; (c) pursuing the development of the non-nuclear deterrent through long-range conventional precision weapons, as well as anti-space and electronic warfare capabilities, cyber weapons, and an indigenous defence innovation programme. Furthermore, (p.105) Russia has aimed to mitigate the military–technological disparity and respond to the perceived changing character of war by integrating a wider range of (d) non-military ways and means in the military strategy, aimed at circumventing the enemy’s strengths Page 16 of 27

 

Russia and exploiting its weaknesses. Prominence has been given to information dominance and operations waged in the cognitive and psychological domain supported by traditional military capabilities providing deterrence and enabling coercion. Lessons learned from Russia’s operational experiences in Crimea, eastern Ukraine, and Syria are likely to inform further changes and innovations in the conceptual foundations and the physical organization of the Russian armed forces. While the modernization of the Russian military has been generally a success, its effects have all the same been distributed unevenly, with selected combat units (for example, naval infantry, paratroopers, and special operation forces) significantly better equipped and trained. Moreover, the modernization programme has lost some of its coherence since 2013, with the reversals of several earlier implemented reforms. For instance, the experiments with the mass mobilization concepts appear to run counter to the objective of achieving rapid reaction and high combat capability, although they might provide a solution to the Russian leadership in case of a regional and large-scale conflict. The experimentations with the various models of the force structure, including re-establishing several divisions, may also be an effect of the reduced influence of civilians at the MoD, who were recruited in greater numbers by Serdyukov but largely replaced by uniformed personnel once he had been ousted. The development seems to be aligned with Gerasimov’s claim about the expanded role of the General Staff in the overall structure of Russian security and defence policymaking, in response to the ‘new’ type of war requiring coordination of the full spectrum of state resources. Such a dynamic may, however, have an adverse impact on military reforms inasmuch as the best force structure for Russia does not necessarily align with the interests of the military leadership, as the development between 1992 and 2008 demonstrated in full. Another uncertainty is the long-standing structural problems affecting the Russian armed forces, including Russia’s political system. On the one hand, it allows for an exceptionally rapid decision-making process, granting Russia a significant advantage over its adversaries. On the other, it undermines the modernization effort by constituting a breeding ground for corruption, ineffective use of resources, uncompetitive economy, and brain drain. Furthermore, since structural economic reforms are not at the top of the government’s agenda, state revenues and thus defence spending will continue to be at the mercy of dynamics at the global energy markets. As a result of Russia’s protracted economic stagnation and subsequent recession, the high cost of defence spending has been under increasing pressure, which may impose limitations on the scope and pace of the military modernization programme looking ahead. Select Bibliography

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Russia Bibliography references: Bukkvoll, Tor, ‘Iron Cannot Fight: The Role of Technology in Current Russian Military Theory’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 34/5 (2011), 681–706. Cooper, Julian, If War Comes Tomorrow: How Russia Prepares for Possible Armed Aggression, Whitehall Report, 4–16 (London: Royal United Services Institute, 2016). Covington, Stephen R., The Culture of Strategic Thought behind Russia’s Modern Approaches to Warfare (Cambridge, MA: Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs, October 2016). (p.106) Howard, Colby, and Ruslan Pukhov (eds), Brothers Armed: Military Aspects of the Crisis in Ukraine (Minneapolis: East View Press, 2015), 91–123. Kristensen, Hans M., and Robert S. Norris, ‘Russian Nuclear Forces’, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, annual updates (2007–17). McDermott, Roger N., Bertil Nygren, and Carolina Vendil Pallin (eds), The Russian Armed Forces in Transition: Economic, Geopolitical and Institutional Uncertainties (London and New York: Routledge, 2012). Persson, Gudrun (ed.), Russian Military Capability in a Ten Year Perspective (Stockholm: FOI, 2016). Renz, Bettina, ‘Why Russia is Reviving its Conventional Military Power’, Parameters, 46/2 (Summer 2016), 23–36. Sokov, Nikolai, ‘Nuclear Weapons in Russian National Security Strategy’, in Stephen Blank (ed.), Russian Nuclear Weapons: Past, Present, and Future (Carlisle: SSI, 2011). Zysk, Katarzyna, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’, in Jo Inge Bekkevold, Ian Bowers, and Michael Raska (eds), Security, Strategy and Military Change in the 21st Century: Cross-Regional Perspectives (London: Routledge, 2015), 155– 77. Notes:

(1) See, e.g., Alexei G. Arbatov, ‘Military Reform in Russia: Dilemmas, Obstacles, and Progress’, International Security, 22/4 (1998), 83–134; Zoltan Barany, Democratic Breakdown and the Decline of the Russian Military (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007); Anne C. Aldis and Roger N. McDermott (eds), Russian Military Reform 1992–2002 (London: Frank Cass, 2003); Dale R. Herspring, ‘Undermining Combat Readiness in the Russian Military, 1992–2005’, Armed Forces & Society, 32/4 (2006), 513–31.

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Russia (2) Cf. Katarzyna Zysk, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’, in Jo Inge Bekkevold, Ian Bowers, and Michael Raska (eds), Security, Strategy and Military Change in the 21st Century: Cross-Regional Perspectives (London: Routledge, 2015); Andrew Monaghan, Russian State Mobilization Moving the Country on to a War Footing (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 2016); Susanne Oxenstierna, ‘Russia’s Defense Spending and the Economic Decline’, Journal of Eurasian Studies, 7/1 (2016), 60–70. (3) See, e.g., Gudrun Persson (ed.), Russian Military Capability in a Ten Year Perspective (Stockholm: Swedish Defence Research Agency (FOI), 2016), 143; Mikhail Barabanov and David Glanz (eds), Russia’s New Army (Moscow: Center for Analysis of Strategies and Technologies, 2011); Roger N. McDermott, The Reform of Russia’s Conventional Armed Forces: Problems, Challenges and Policy Implications (Washington: Jamestown Foundation, 2012); Marcel de Haas, Russia’s Military Reforms: Victory after Twenty Years of Failure, Clingendael Paper, 5 (The Hague: Netherlands Institute of International Relations, 2011); Carolina Vendil Pallin, Russian Military Reform: A Failed Exercise in Defence Decision Making (London and New York: Routledge, 2009). (4) Richard Sakwa, Russian Politics and Society (London and New York: Routledge, 2008), 392–4; Marcel de Haas, Russian Security and Air Power, 1992– 2002 (London and New York: Frank Cass, 2004), 18. (5) Zysk, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’. (6) David Cox, Retreating from the Cold War: Russia, Germany and the Withdrawal of the Western Group of Forces (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1996); Sakwa, Russian Politics, 392–4; Haas, Russian Security and Air Power, 18. (7) Brian D. Taylor, Politics and the Russian Army: Civil–Military Relations, 1689– 2000 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 272. (8) Cf. Militærbalansen (Military Balance) 1990–1991 (London: Institute for International and Strategic Studies (IISS), Norwegian edition by the Norwegian Atlantic Committee, 1991), 40. (9) Osnovnye polozheniya voennoi doktriny Rossiiskoi Federatsii, Krasnaya zvezda, 19 November 1993. (10) Militærbalansen [Military Balance] 1991–1992 (London: IISS, Norwegian edition by the Norwegian Atlantic Committee, 1992), 43; Militærbalansen [Military Balance]1996–1997 (London: IISS, Norwegian edition by the Norwegian Atlantic Committee, 1997), 34. (11) Militærbalansen [Military Balance] 1996–1997, 37; IISS, The Military Balance 2001 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2001), 112.

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Russia (12) Cf. From Military to Society, a special issue of Journal of Power Institutions in Post-Soviet Societies, 1 (2004), (accessed 12 June 2017); Dale R. Herspring, ‘Dedovshchina in the Russian Army’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 18/4 (2005), 607–29; Taylor, Politics and the Russian Army, 267. (13) Vitaly Shlykov, ‘The Economics of Defense in Russia and the Legacy of Structural Militarization’, in Steven E. Miller and Dmitri V. Trenin (eds), The Russian Military: Power and Policy (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2004). (14) Susanne Oxenstierna and Fredrik Westerlund, ‘Arms Procurement and the Russian Defense Industry: Challenges up to 2020,’ Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 26/1 (2013), 4. (15) Roy Allison, ‘Russia, Regional Conflict, and the Use of Military Power’, in Miller and Trenin (eds), The Russian Military. (16) Dmitri V. Trenin, ‘The Revival of the Russian Military’, Foreign Affairs (May– June 2016), 23. (17) Dmitri V. Trenin, ‘Gold Eagle, Red Star’, in Miller and Trenin (eds), The Russian Military, 217–21. (18) The period of regular military campaign; the war was declared won by Russia first in 2009. (19) Cf. John Russel, Chechnya: Russia’s ‘War on Terror’ (London and New York: Routledge, 2007); Alexander Golts and Tonya L. Putnam, ‘State Militarism and its Legacies: Why Military Reform has Failed in Russia’, International Security, 29/2 (2004), 121–58; Barany, Democratic Breakdown, 34–6; see also Mark Kramer, ‘The Perils of Counterinsurgency: Russia’s War in Chechnya’, International Security, 29/3 (2004), 5–62. (20) Arbatov, ‘Military Reform in Russia’; Golts and Putnam, ‘State Militarism and its Legacies’, 121–58; Pavel Baev, ‘The Trajectory of the Russian Military: Downsizing, Degeneration, and Defeat’, in Miller and Trenin (eds), The Russian Military; Taylor, Politics and the Russian Army, 266. (21) Baev, ‘The Trajectory of the Russian Military’, 266; Alexander Golts, ‘The Social and Political Condition of the Russian Military’, in Miller and Trenin (eds), The Russian Military, 73–94. (22) Trenin, ‘Gold Eagle, Red Star’, 220–1; cf. Taylor, Politics and the Russian Army. (23) Arbatov, ‘Military Reform in Russia’, 129; Trenin, ‘Gold Eagle, Red Star’, 217–20; Golts and Putnam, ‘State Militarism and its Legacies’, 129–32. Page 20 of 27

 

Russia (24) Golts and Putnam, ‘State Militarism and its Legacies’, 129–32; Trenin, ‘Gold Eagle, Red Star’, 217–20. (25) Taylor, Politics and the Russian Army, 282–301; Golts and Putnam, ‘State Militarism and Its Legacies’, 123–4. (26) Osnovnye polozheniya voennoi doktriny. (27) Osnovnye polozheniya voennoi doktriny. (28) Kontseptsiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii, 17 December 1997; Rossiiskaya gazeta, 26 December 1997. (29) See, e.g., William D. Jackson, ‘Encircled Again: Russia’s Military Assesses Threats in the Post-Soviet World’, Political Science Quarterly, 117/3 (2002), 377– 9. (30) Osnovnye polozheniya voennoi doktriny. (31) Yevgenii Primakov, ‘Na gorizonte—mnogopolyusnyi mir’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 22 October 1996. (32) Osnovnye polozheniya voennoi doktriny; Trenin, ‘Gold Eagle, Red Star’, 219; Golts and Putnam, ‘State Militarism and its Legacies’, 121. (33) Zysk, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’. (34) Aktual’nye zadachi razvitiya vooruzhennykh sil Rossiiskoi Federatsii, Moscow, 2 October 2003; Krasnaya zvezda, 11 October 2003. (35) Kontseptsiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti, 10 January 2000; Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie (NVO), 14 January 2000. (36) Voennaya doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii, 21 April 2000; NVO, 22 April 2000. (37) NVO, 22 April 2000; Kontseptsiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti, 10 January 2000; Aktual’nye zadachi razvitiya. (38) For instance, chief of the Russian Strategic Rocket Forces, Vladimir Yakovlev, called the concept in 1999 ‘expanded deterrence’: Nikolai Sokov, ‘Russia’s Nuclear Doctrine’, Nuclear Threat Initiative, 1 August 2004; see also later statements by the secretary of the influential Security Council of the Russian Federation, Nikolai Patrushev, ‘Novaya voennaya doktrina pochti gotova’, Prime/Rossiya Segodnya, 8 October 2009; ‘Menyaetsya Rossiya, menyaetsya i ee voennaya doktrina’, Izvestiya, 14 October 2009. (39) Aktual’nye zadachi razvitiya; cf. V. I. Levshin, A. V. Nedelin, and M. E. Sosnovskii, ‘O primenenii yadernogo oruzhiya dlya deeskalatsii voennykh Page 21 of 27

 

Russia deistvii’, Voennaya mysl’, 1 May 1999; Dmitri V. Trenin, Russia’s Nuclear Policy in the 21st Century Environment (Paris: French Institute of International Relations (IFRI), 2005); Nikolai Sokov, ‘Why Russia Calls a Limited Nuclear Strike “De-Escalation”’, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists (March 2014); Nikolai Sokov, ‘Nuclear Weapons in Russian National Security Strategy’, in Stephen Blank (ed.), Russian Nuclear Weapons: Past, Present, and Future (Carlisle: Strategic Studies Institute, 2011); Pavel Podvig, ‘Russia, Strategic Stability, and Nuclear Weapons’, in George P. Shultz and James E. Goodby (eds), War That Must Never be Fought: Dilemmas of Nuclear Deterrence (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 2015), 150–1. (40) See, e.g., Andrei A. Kokoshin, O sisteme neyadernogo (pred’yadernogo) sderzhivaniya v oboronnoi politike Rossii (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Moskovskogo universiteta, 2012); Andrei A. Kokoshin, Ensuring Strategic Stability in the Past and Present: Theoretical and Applied Questions (Cambridge, MA: Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs, June 2011); Richard Weitz, ‘Russian Tactical Nuclear Weapons: Current Policies and Future Trends’, in Blank (ed.), Russian Nuclear Weapons; Alexei G. Arbatov, ‘Beyond the Nuclear Threshold: Russia, NATO, and Nuclear First Use’, ELN Issue Brief: Arms Control (April 2017). (41) Haas, Russia’s Military Reforms, 5; Vendil Pallin, Russian Military Reform, 64–117. (42) Jackson, ‘Encircled Again’, 394–5; Golts, ‘The Social and Political Condition’. (43) Julian Cooper, ‘The Funding of the Power Agencies of the Russian State’, Journal of Power Institutions in Post-Soviet Societies, 6–7 (2007), 31; Julian Cooper, ‘The Funding of the Power Agencies of the Russian State: An Update, 2005 to 2014 and Beyond’, Journal of Power Institutions in Post-Soviet Societies, 16 (2014), 3–6. See also The SIPRI Military Expenditure Database (Stockholm International Peace Research Institute), (accessed 5 December 2017). (44) Golts and Putnam, ‘State Militarism and its Legacies’, 132–4, 151–4. (45) Makarov’s lecture at the Academy of Military Sciences in Moscow, published partly in ‘Reforma daet nuzhnye rezultaty’, NVO, 17 February 2012. (46) Stephen Blank, ‘Civil Military Relations in Contemporary Russia’, in Stephen Cimbala (ed.), Civil–Military Relations in Perspective: Strategy, Structure and Policy (New York: Routledge, 2012), 58; Dale R. Herspring, ‘Anatoly Serdyukov and the Russian Military. An Exercise in Confusion’, Problems of PostCommunism (November–December 2013), 43. See also Tor Bukkvoll, Russian

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Russia Military Corruption: Scale and Causes (Kjeller: Norwegian Defence Research Establishment (FFI), 2005). (47) Cf. Colby Howard and Ruslan Pukhov (eds), Brothers Armed: Military Aspects of the Crisis in Ukraine (Minneapolis: East View Press, 2015). (48) See the description of the character of conflict in the 2010 military doctrines; and Roger N. McDermott, Russian Perspective on Network-Centric Warfare: The Key Aim of Serdyukov’s Reform (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Foreign Military Studies Office, 2011). (49) Cf. Barabanov and Glanz (eds), Russia’s New Army; Keir Giles, ‘Russian Operations in Georgia: Lessons Identified versus Lessons Learned’, in Roger McDermott, Bertil Nygren, and Vendil Pallin (eds), The Russian Armed Forces in Transition: Economic, Geopolitical and Institutional Uncertainties (London and New York: Routledge, 2012), 9–28. (50) Cooper, ‘The Funding of the Power Agencies’ (2014), 3–6; Julian Cooper, Russian Military Expenditure: Data, Analysis and Issues (Stockholm: FOI, 2013), 20. (51) Haas, Russia’s Military Reforms, 11. (52) Zysk, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’. (53) Yurii Gavrilov, ‘General’skoe sokrashchenie’, Rossiiskaya gazeta, 15 October 2008. The officers’ corps was reduced from 355,000 to 150,000, but Russia had to recall 70,000 as the number turned out to be insufficient. Roger N. McDermott, Russia’s Conventional Military Weakness and Substrategic Nuclear Policy (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Foreign Military Studies Office, 2011), 15. (54) Makarov’s lecture in ‘Reforma daet nuzhnye rezultaty’; Aleksei Arbatov and Vladimir Dvorkin, ‘Voennaya reforma: proschety i puti ikh ispravleniya’, VPK, 27 June 2012. (55) Haas, Russia’s Military Reforms, 20. (56) Aktual’nye zadachi razvitiya. (57) Additional Joint Strategic Command (JSC) North was created in December 2014 on the basis of the Northern Fleet, with responsibility for all military forces in the region, which had previously been split between three military districts: ‘V Zapolyare razvernuto novoe voiskovoe obiedinenie’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 30 December 2015. (58) See, e.g., a transcript of an interview with Nikolai Makarov, in ‘To Think and Work in a New Fashion’, Russian Military Review (October 2008); cf. Viktor I. Page 23 of 27

 

Russia Kovalev, Georgii G. Malinetskii, and Yurii A. Matvienko, ‘Kontseptsiya “setetsentricheskoi” voiny dlya armii Rossii: “Mnozhitel’ sily” ili mental’naya lovushka?’, Ekonomicheskie strategii, 5 (2013). (59) The deadline was later extended to 2021: Rasshirennoe zasedanie kollegii Ministerstva oborony, President of Russia, 22 December 2016, (accessed 5 December 2017); see also Julian Cooper, Russia’s State Armament Programme to 2020: A Quantitative Assessment of Implementation 2011–2015 (Stockholm: FOI, 2016); Vasily Kashnin, ‘The State of Defense Innovation in Russia: Prospects for Revival?’, IGCC Defense Innovation Briefs (January 2014); Tor Bukkvoll, ‘Iron Cannot Fight: The Role of Technology in Current Russian Military Theory’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 34/5 (2011), 681–706. (60) Vserossiiskii centr izucheniya obshchestvennogo mneniya, press release 2692, 28 October 2015, (accessed 5 December 2017). (61) IISS, The Military Balance 2013 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), 202. (62) Patrushev’s statements in ‘Novaya voennaya doktrina’; ‘Menyaetsya Rossiya’. (63) Cf. Johan Norberg, Training to Fight: Russia’s Major Military Exercises 2011–2014 (Stockholm: FOI, 2015). (64) Hans M. Kristensen and Robert S. Norris, ‘Russian Nuclear Forces’, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists (annual updates 2007–17). (65) Voennaya doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii, President of Russia, 5 February 2010, . (66) Voennaya doktrina (2010); cf. James M. Acton, ‘Russia and Strategic Conventional Weapons: Concerns and Responses’, Nonproliferation Review, 22/2 (2015), 141–54. (67) ‘Ukrepchenie granitsy s Kitaem’, Argumenty nedeli, 10 March 2010; Trenin, Russia’s Nuclear Policy in the 21st Century Environment, 11–12; Aleksandr Khramchikhin, ‘Starye osnovy novoi doktriny’, VPK, 17 February 2010. (68) Cf. Katarzyna Zysk, ‘Military Aspects of Russia’s Arctic Policies: Hard Power and Natural Resources’, in James Kraska (ed.), Arctic Circumpolar Security in an Age of Climate Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 85–106; Katarzyna Zysk, ‘Russia’s Strategic Underbelly: Military Strategy, Capabilities and Operations in the Arctic’, in Stephen Blank (ed.), Contemporary Russian Military (Carlisle: Strategic Studies Institute, forthcoming).

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Russia (69) Strategiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii na period do 2020 goda, 12 May 2009; Rossiiskaya gazeta, 19 May 2009. (70) Strategiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti (2009). (71) Voennaya doktrina (2010). (72) For details, see Zysk, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’. (73) Voennaya doktrina (2010). (74) Military Balance 2013, 202. (75) Serdyukov was accused of corruption, cf. Andrzej Wilk, ‘The Russian Federation’s New Minister of Defense’, Center for Security Studies ETH, Zurich, 20 November 2012. (76) For detailed numbers, see Ministr oborony Rossiiskoi Federatsii general armii Sergei Shoigu vystupil na zasedanii Gosdumy v ramkah “pravitel’stvennogo chasa”, Ministry of Defence, press release, 22 February 2017. While these figures are difficult to confirm, they probably also include modernized older weapons and equipment: Oxenstierna and Bengt-Göran Bergstrand, ‘Defence Economics’, in Carolina Vendil Pallin (ed.), Russian Military Capability in a Ten Year Perspective (Stockholm: FOI, 2012), 48. (77) ‘Rabochaya vstrecha s Ministrom oborony Sergeyem Shoigu’, President of Russia, 23 July 2013, (accessed 5 December 2017). (78) ‘Rabochaya vstrecha s Ministrom oborony Sergeyem Shoigu’; Andrzej Wilk, ‘Is Russia Making Preparations for a Great War?’, Warsaw, Centre for Eastern Studies, 24 September 2014. (79) Cf. Norberg, Training to Fight. (80) According to Deputy Chief of the Russian General Staff Vasilii Tonkoshkurov, ‘Vazhnieishii prioritet Genshtaba’, VPK, 21 October 2015. (81) Oleg Vladykin, ‘Nedelya v armii: Vozvrat k pervichnomu zamyslu voennoi reformy’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 13 May 2013; ‘V Rossii poyavyatsja tri divizii dlya protivodeistviya NATO,’ Tass, 4 May 2016; ‘Minoborony sformiruet v 2017 godu chetyre novykh divizii, v tom chisle na Kurilakh’, Tass, 22 February 2017, (accessed 13 March 2018). (82) Aleksander Golts, ‘One General Too Many’, Moscow Times, 17 December 2012.

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Russia (83) Cf. ‘Bolee 120 tys. chelovek po vsei Rossii zadeistvovany v SKShU “Kavkaz-2016”’, Ministry of Defence, 9 September 2016, (accessed 12 June 2017); Monaghan, Russian State Mobilization. (84) Voennaya doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii, 26 December 2014, (accessed 5 December 2017). (85) Strategiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii, 31 December 2015, (accessed 12 June 2017). (86) Vladimir Isachenkov, ‘Russia to Rely Increasingly on Non-Nuclear Deterrent’, Associated Press, 21 February 2017. (87) Voennaya doktrina (2014); see also Andrei A. Kokoshin, ‘Strategic Nuclear and Nonnuclear Deterrence: Modern Priorities’, Herald of the Russian Academy of Sciences, 84/2 (2014), 59–68. (88) Valerii Gerasimov, ‘Tsennost’ nauki v predvidenii. Novye vyzovy trebuyut pereosmyslit’ formy i sposoby vedeniya boevykh deistvii’, VPK, 27 February 2013; ‘Russia Establishes Aerospace Forces as New Armed Service—Defense Minister’, Tass, 3 August, 2015. (89) ‘V Minoborony RF sozdali voiska informatsionnykh operatsii’, Interfaks, 22 February 2017; ‘V internet vveli kibervoiska’, Kommersant, 10 January 2017; ‘V Gosdume oprovergli sushchestvovanie “kibervoisk” v Rossii’, Interfaks, 16 February 2017; Cf. Timothy Thomas, ‘Russia’s Information Warfare Strategy: Can the Nation Cope in Future Conflicts?’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 27/1 (2014), 101–30. (90) Voennaya doktrina (2014); Vasily Kashin and Michael Raska, Countering the US Third Offset Strategy: Russia Perspectives, Responses and Challenges, Policy Report (Singapore: S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, January 2017). (91) Voennaya doktrina (2014). (92) In the Russian literature, the term is usually applied to Western, not Russian, warfare. (93) Zysk, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’; A. V. Kartapalov, ‘Uroki voennykh konfliktov, perspektivy razvitiya sredstv i sposobov ikh vedeniya. Pryamye i nepryamye deistviya v sovremennykh mezhdunarodnykh konfliktakh’, Vestnik Akademii Voennykh Nauk, 2 (2015), 26–36. (94) Gerasimov, ‘Tsennost’ nauki v predvidenii’. Page 26 of 27

 

Russia (95) Gerasimov, ‘Tsennost’ nauki v predvidenii’. (96) Gerasimov, ‘Tsennost’ nauki v predvidenii’; Voennaya doktrina (2014). (97) Voennaya doktrina (2014); Zysk, interview, E-International Relations, 11 February 2017, accessed 12 June 2017, http://www.e-ir.info/2017/02/11/ interview-katarzyna-zysk; cf. Dima Adamsky, Cross-Domain Coercion: The Current Russian Art of Strategy (Paris/Brussels: French Institute of International Relations, IFRI, 2015). (98) Zysk, interview, E-International Relations. (99) Haas, Russia’s Military Reforms, 11. (100) Valerii Gerasimov, ‘Generalnyi shtab i oborona strany’, VPK, 5 February 2014. (101) Zysk, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’. (102) ‘IMF Executive Board Concludes 2016 Article IV Consultation with the Russian Federation’, IMF press release (July 2016); see also World Bank, Russia Economic Report, 36, 9 November 2016. (103) Susanne Oxenstierna, ‘Russian Military Expenditure’, in Persson (ed.), Russian Military, 143. (104) The SIPRI Military Expenditure Database. (105) ‘Finance Minister: Russia’s 2017–2019 budget to Ensure Army Modernization’, Tass, 18 November 2016; Oxenstierna, ‘Russian Military Expenditure’, 143; ‘Utverzhdenie gosprogrammy vooruzheniya perenesli na tri goda’, Interfaks, 19 February 2015. (106) Zysk, ‘Managing Military Change in Russia’. (107) Dmitri Trenin, ‘Russia’s Threat Perception and Strategic Posture’, in Russian Security Strategy under Putin: US and Russian Perspectives (Carlisle: Strategic Studies Institute, 2007), 35.

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Italy

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Italy Fabrizio Coticchia

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0006

Abstract and Keywords Since the end of the bipolar era, Italy has regularly undertaken military interventions around the world, with an average of 8,000 units employed abroad in the twenty-first century. Moreover, Italy is one of the principal contributors to the UN operations. The end of the cold war represented a turning point for Italian defence, allowing for greater military dynamism. Several reforms have been approved, while public opinion changed its view regarding the armed forces. This chapter aims to provide a comprehensive perspective of the process of transformation that occurred in post-cold-war Italian defence, looking at the evolution of national strategies, military doctrines, and the structure of forces. After a brief literature review, the study highlights the process of transformation of Italian defeshnce policy since 1989. Through primary and secondary sources, the chapter illustrates the main changes that occurred, the never-ending coldwar legacies, and key challenges. Keywords:   Italy, defence, deployment, legacy, transformation

Introduction THE literature has devoted increasing attention to the changes that have occurred in the post-cold war defence policies of European countries. Unsurprisingly, most research has focused on France and the United Kingdom.1 It is worth noticing how little information and how few analyses are available on Italian defence, despite the significant transformation that happened after the end of the bipolar era, when Italy ‘raised its profile in European affairs, in transatlantic relations and in various arenas of the globe, with its troops, interests and its resources’.2 The post-cold war Italian military dynamism Page 1 of 22

 

Italy changed the static approach that had been adopted for decades: since 1989 Italy has participated in more missions than it had in the previous forty years.3 The Italian foreign-policy activism started in the Gulf War (1991) and boomed in the new century, with military interventions in Afghanistan, Iraq, Lebanon, and Libya. Moreover, several crucial reforms have been approved,4 while public opinion has changed considerably with regard to the armed forces.5 Both financial constraints and regional crises (from Libya to the Sahel, from the Horn of Africa to Eastern Europe) have recently induced successive Italian governments to re-examine the whole national defence strategy, highlighting the need to modernize the armed forces. The Libro bianco (White Paper) of 2015 conceived of the military instrument as expeditionary, while (p.110) ‘jointness’ (cross-service cooperation) and interoperability have become central features in force structure and posture.6 In order to understand the complex evolution of the Italian post-cold war defence policy, several key elements need to be considered: the drivers of change, the main reforms implemented, and the features of Italian military operations, as well as the cultural, financial, and organizational obstacles faced by policymakers. The aim of this chapter is to provide a comprehensive overview of the process of transformation that occurred in Italy after 1989, while assessing the impact of all these aspects. The chapter is structured as follows. After a literature review on the key drivers of Italian defence policy, the study examines the evolution of doctrines and operations. Then, a selected number of obstacles and ‘enabling conditions’ are identified to understand better the strategy, features, timing, and pace of Italian military transformation. Finally, the chapter offers concluding remarks on the forthcoming challenges and opportunities that will shape Italian defence in the next decades.

Italian Defence Policy in the Post-Cold War Era The end of the bipolar era was a turning point for Italian defence, allowing for greater military dynamism. In the first decade of the twenty-first century, the overall troop strength deployed in international operations varied from 6,500 to 10,000.7 While the cold war strategic posture was based on territorial defence, and the Italian armed forces were structured and planned to defend the Atlantic Alliance’s south-western border from a possible invasion by the Warsaw Pact countries, domestic and global constraints hindered a dynamic defence policy.8 The fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the so-called First Republic contributed to a gradual reduction in the domestic ideological struggle around foreign and defence policy.9 The evolution of the global scenario allowed medium-sized powers such as Italy to intervene in the international arena by deploying armed forces in a wide range of operations. In sum, Italy has radically modified its defence policy in the post-cold war period, but the literature is still divided concerning the supposed main drivers of the new Italian military dynamism.

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Italy From a realist perspective, scholars focus on strategic adjustment as well as on the growing need for protecting national security from external threats.10 In line with this view, Italy employs its armed forces abroad to address the challenges posed by a (p.111) new strategic context. According to neoclassical realist accounts, Italy deploys troops abroad to acquire prestige, increasing its relative power.11 Specifically, aiming at minimizing the risks of marginalization and Italy’s ambiguous position as a middle power, Italian decision-makers use the military instrument to enhance global status, despite domestic political and economic problems (for example, cabinet instability or financial weaknesses). Constructivist interpretations of Italian defence policy, by contrast, consider culture and identity as crucial aspects: a widespread strategic culture focused on a ‘new’ interpretation of security has profoundly affected the decisions to intervene militarily.12 Peace and humanitarian aid represent the main values shared by Italian political leaders, shaping their perceptions and preferences concerning international relations and the use of force.13 Multilateralism is widely viewed as a fundamental guideline of Italian foreign policy. Neoliberal institutionalism interprets commitment to international missions as a direct consequence of participation in multilateral institutions.14 Also, from an organizational perspective, scholars highlight the influence played by multilateral frameworks (the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), the European Union (EU), the United Nations (UN), and so on) on the ways through which Italian foreign and defence policy has been conducted, shaping procedures and attitudes.15 Finally, others lay emphasis on the role of the ‘industrial–military complex’ in affecting defence policy.16 Commercial and economic interests (from natural resources to procurement) are considered as the driving forces behind the Italian dynamism overseas, specifically for protecting vital economic interests or guaranteeing the stability of strategic regions. Despite the different views advanced by these theoretical perspectives, scholars all agree on one point: the extensive pace of military transformation that has occurred since 1989. Before we look at the major elements that illustrate such changes (for example, in force structure, doctrines, and military operations), the strategic context in which Italy adapted and shaped its defence policy should be taken into account. A Changing Strategic Context

As already illustrated, the transformation that occurred at both the global and the domestic levels represented the crucial premise that allowed a substantial change in Italian defence policy. Crises and wars from the Balkans to Northern Africa and the Middle East had raised growing concerns over regional stability, and the armed forces started to be considered as an important tool for Page 3 of 22

 

Italy addressing security challenges. However, only by looking at the (p.112) interplay between international and domestic dimensions can the general patterns of Italian defence transformation be fully understood. For this reason, the ways allies and regional organizations (such as the EU and NATO) perceive and define multidimensional challenges in a transformed geopolitical scenario, as well as the influence exerted towards the new Italian security attitudes and approaches, deserve specific attention. The 2003 European Security Strategy (ESS)17 illustrates the multidimensional view of security that has shaped all Western post-cold war strategic documents. The ESS identifies five main menaces for the European Union: terrorism, the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, regional conflicts with an international impact, organized crime, and failed states. Because none of these threats is purely military, a comprehensive approach is required to address them. The 2010 NATO Strategic Concept points to the extensive range of activities that should be undertaken in current conflicts, where a ‘comprehensive political, civilian and military approach is necessary for effective crisis management’.18 According to the 2016 EU Global Strategy, ‘we live in in times of existential crisis’.19 The EU strategy, which focuses on ‘terrorism, hybrid threats, economic volatility, climate change and energy insecurity’,20 shows the changing strategic context within which the transformation of Italian armed forces has taken place, stressing the dramatic interactions between global pressure and local pushback. For instance, the wars in Syria and Libya ‘erupt locally, but the national, regional and global overlay they acquire is what makes them so complex’.21 Nonetheless, the EU still put emphasis on a multilevel, multilateral, and comprehensive approach to current conflicts and crises. This EU and NATO multidimensional perspective of security is embedded in the Italian strategic posture, as further detailed in the next section, mainly for three reasons. First, as existing research confirms,22 Italy has acted as an ‘object’ (that is, as a target) in the process of ‘downloading’ from multilateral organizations (that is, emulating from abroad)23 modifying structures, approaches, and procedures. Rome proved to be militarily active in the post-cold war era, despite limited economic resources, but its leverage in shaping organizations such as NATO according to national priorities has been mall, also because of the persistent Italian institutional weakness and instability. Second, the multidimensional definition of security, which emerged at the European and NATO levels, perfectly ‘fits’ with the design—and even the preferences—of the Italian armed forces, which are ‘ideally’ structured for peace-building missions and the comprehensive approach. Indeed, during the cold war, Italian armed forces were deployed domestically, struggling against Page 4 of 22

 

Italy organized crime and left-wing terrorists, developing relevant assets and (p.113) tactics that are now useful in contemporary counterinsurgency operations, often labelled as ‘wars among the people’.24 Moreover, Italy has tools (such as the Carabinieri, civil–military units, mine-clearing corps, and so on), the nature of which allows them to address effectively the challenges posed by post-1989 operations (for example, the training of local forces, post-war reconstruction, and so on). Third, the Italian post-bipolar strategic culture is based on widely shared perceptions regarding the multidimensional nature of current threats and the new role of Italy as a security provider.25 Strategic culture shapes the ways through which countries respond to mutating incentives from their security environment. From the 1990s, Italian elites have conceived of the military instrument as a key asset in Italian foreign policy. Despite the greater postbipolar Italian military dynamism, the bipartisan consensus on defence issues has still been based on the cold war values of peace and multilateralism.26 Also, public opinion has sustained the Italian ‘peace operations’, especially supporting their humanitarian dimension.27 Thus, Italian strategic culture has been particularly suited for incorporating the emerging post-cold war multidimensional view of security. In sum, institutional weakness, existing military structures, and a shared strategic culture have fostered the process of adaption of Italian defence, ‘downloading’ the regional and international multidimensional perspective of security. The involvement of armed forces in military missions abroad, the national strategic documents, and domestic reforms illustrate in detail the changes that occurred in Italian defence after the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Strategic Documents and Domestic Reforms The time and pace of the Italian post-cold war military transformation have been significant, especially if compared with those of other countries that suffered similar bipolar constraints. For instance, Germany waited until 2003 to move beyond territorial defence in its strategic doctrine.28 Italy, by contrast, had already adopted ‘crisis management’ as the main goal of its defence policy in 1991. Moreover, Italy undertook several major reforms of its armed forces in the 1990s, suspending conscription and modifying the structure of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.29 So, looking at the strategic documents prepared after 1989 allows us to highlight the significant evolution of the Italian defence policy.30 The main document that shaped the structure of the Italian armed forces in the post-cold war era in terms of tasks, aims, and organization was published in 1991. The New (p.114) Defence Model identifies ‘power projection capabilities’ as key features of defence policy.31 The deployment of troops abroad was perceived as fundamental to dealing with new threats and menaces, spreading peace, and promoting stabilization across regional and global crises. Page 5 of 22

 

Italy Quantitative reductions of personnel, qualitative improvements, flexibility, readiness, and cross-service cooperation were considered as crucial premises to sustain this new defence policy. In order to address the needs expressed in the document (and demonstrated by the considerable shortages that became apparent in the operations of the early 1990s), several reforms were implemented. Law 25/1997 reformed the Joint Chiefs of Staff (Stato Maggiore della Difesa) to enhance cooperation among services and to remove the separation that had constantly affected the Navy, Army, and Air Force. In addition, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff increased his power, altering his previous status of a primus inter pares. The New Defence Model also paved the way for the transformation of Italian troops into an all-volunteer force.32 The new century was marked by a substantial continuity in defence models. The 2001 New Forces for a New Century emphasized the features of the ‘national way to peace operations’ that emerged after a decade of national military interventions: combined use of diplomacy, force, and intelligence;33 a constant focus on reconstruction and development; a proportional use of force for deterrence and protection; the effectiveness of communication, quality of training, and readiness. A few months after 9/11, a new Italian strategic document was released: the Libro bianco 2002 (2002 White Paper).34 The doctrine aims at adapting the Italian defence model to the new multidimensional threats (for example, terrorism, regional instability, and so on) by developing an effective and efficient military instrument. The White Paper identifies four main missions: the defence of vital interests against external aggression; the protection of the Euro-Atlantic area by contributing to NATO’s collective defence; crisis management; and the protection of national institutions. The document calls for additional investment in defence to close the gap with respect to European and Western allies. The goal is to harmonize the national budget with the defence model based on a 190,000-strong all-volunteer force.35 Despite the considerable involvement in military operations abroad, the Italian strategic reflection, as well as its doctrinal production, has always remained limited. In fact, Italy waited thirteen years before publishing another White Paper (April 2015). Yet, in the meantime, other ‘minor’ documents contributed to shaping doctrine. The Chief of the Italian Defence Staff Strategic Concept36 confirms the same four missions identified by the Libro bianco 2002, highlighting the main areas of strategic interest: ‘NATO, the EU, the Balkans, Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, North Africa and the Horn of Africa, the Near and Middle East and the Persian Gulf’.37 The Concept focuses on a holistic approach to the undertaking (p.115) of a wide spectrum of multidimensional operations, while interoperability, civil–military cooperation, flexibility, and technological advantage over the adversary are conceived of as fundamental factors in missions abroad. The Net-Centric Transformation38 considers Network Centric Warfare (NCW) as a driver in promoting innovation in the Italian

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Italy military, while Investing in Security39 confirms the primary role of force multiplier capabilities linked to technological advancement. Finally, the Ministerial Directive of 201340 reviews the (bipartisan) reforms proposed by the government of Mario Monti, who undertook a spending review of the defence sector in the aftermath of the financial crisis. The goal of the cabinet was to save money by reducing personnel (from 190,000 to 150,000) and large procurement commitments, avoiding ‘the waste of resources in nonstrategic areas, preferring quality to quantity’.41 Notwithstanding the financial problems, the document openly supports national engagement in multilateral stability operations abroad to address regional and global instability. Also, the 2015 White Paper42 confirms this view, focusing primarily on the Mediterranean as a key strategic region for Italy, and still conceiving of the military instrument as expeditionary and interoperable with allies.43 All these reforms proposed by post-cold war official documents have been (gradually) implemented to support the national military involvement in operations abroad, adapting armed forces to the emerging needs on the shifting strategic landscape, and thus allowing troops to continue to provide a national contribution to multilateral operations.

Military Operations Abroad In 1986, when Libya launched two missiles towards the Italian island of Lampedusa after the US attack against Gaddafi, Rome was averse to employing its armed forces. But in March 2011, after significant reticence, Italy was actively involved in air strikes against Libya as part of the NATO ‘Unified Protector’ Operation. Thus, the Italian foreign and defence policy has fully changed in two-and-a-half decades. Rome has sent troops abroad from Africa to Asia, struggling with multidimensional threats such as piracy (Somalia), transnational organized crime (the Balkans), insurgents (Iraq and Afghanistan), and humanitarian catastrophes (Haiti).44 (p.116) In May 2016, Italy deployed almost 6,500 troops in more than 30 missions abroad.45 In the first fifteen years of the twenty-first century, the overall troop strength reached 12,000 units on the ground. After 2001, Italian armed forces intervened in Afghanistan, Iraq, Lebanon, and Libya. The French avoided Iraq and the British Lebanon, while Germany was present only on the ground in Afghanistan. Italy is one of the principal contributors to UN peacekeeping and peacebuilding operations and the biggest European supplier of troops and police forces deployed in UN peacekeeping operations (PKOs).46 Table 5.1 illustrates the most important international47 Italian military operations that involved at least 1,000 Italian troops.48

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Italy

Table 5.1. Major international Italian military operations in the post-cold war era Date

Country

Operation

1991

Iraq

Desert Storm

1992–4

Somalia

IBIS

1995–2004

Bosnia

SFOR

1997

Albania

Alba

1999

Kosovo

Allied Force

1999

Kosovo

KFOR

2003

Afghanistan

OEF

2001–14

Afghanistan

ISAF

2003–6

Iraq

Iraqi Freedom

2006–

Lebanon

UNIFIL

2008–

Somalia

Atalanta/ Ocean Shield

2011

Libya

Unified Protector

Source: Compiled by the author. Italy participated in the intervention against Saddam Hussein in Iraq in 1990–1, and it played an active role in the UN operation in Somalia (1992–4). Since 1990, Italian armed forces have been involved in peacekeeping and humanitarian operations, counterinsurgency missions, and combat action. For the purpose of this chapter we briefly examine the major post-cold war operations just mentioned. The Italian engagement in Iraq in 1990–1 (through the Operations ‘Desert Shield’ and especially ‘Desert Storm’) represented a turning point for Italy.49 For the first time since the (p.117) end of the Second World War, Italian aircraft (ten Tornados) were involved in combat operations. According to former Minister of Foreign Affairs Gianni De Michelis, through a military—even if almost symbolic—contribution, Italy aimed at ‘increasing its international reliability in a new global scenario’.50 Despite the air strikes, ‘Desert Storm’ was officially labelled as a ‘police operation’, avoiding the declaration of the state of war (articles 78 and 87 of the Constitution). Since then, Italian decision-makers have always adopted the frame of peace and humanitarian missions to justify the new military dynamism.51 On the one hand, the Iraqi mission illustrated the lack of preparation and resources of the Italian forces in a completely different strategic context from that planned for decades in the heart of Europe, where Page 8 of 22

 

Italy the NATO troops were trained for a traditional military confrontation against the tanks of the Warsaw Pact.52 On the other hand, the Italian involvement in ‘Desert Storm’ reveals the new attitude of political elites in rapidly abandoning the cold war static defence. Other countries with similar constraints, such as Germany, required several years constantly to project their troops abroad. In Somalia, Italy suffered casualties in combat for the first time since 1945. Operation ‘Ibis’ shows some of the key assets that Italian armed forces would employ in future missions: from civil–military cooperation for reconstruction activities to a training programme for local security forces.53 The ‘Italian way’ of counterinsurgency (COIN),54 mainly based on a reduced firepower and dialogue with militias and warlords, was never formalized into an official doctrine. Only fifteen years later, thanks to the NATO COIN doctrine developed in Afghanistan, Italy finalized an approach that it has constantly adopted on the ground.55 In the midst of the 1990s, Italian forces contributed to the post-conflict stabilization efforts made by regional and international organizations in Bosnia through traditional peacekeeping operations. As frequently remarked by official national documents, the Balkans represent a vital strategic area for Italian interests.56 In the late 1990s, Italy intervened in Albania (1997) and Kosovo (1999), purposely to address the challenges posed by the regional instability, to halt mounting violence, and to provide humanitarian aid. Just before the beginning of the mission ‘Alba’ (Sunrise), which aimed at preventing widespread civil war in Albania, Italy developed a new joint structure for the armed forces. Indeed, the reform adopted by then Defence Minister Beniamino Andreatta modified the configuration of the military organization, attributing a new and more relevant role to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Since ‘Alba’, a bipartisan view on military operations abroad (almost constantly) characterized Italian parliamentary debate. But the mission in Albania also confirmed the transformation of the Italian armed forces, which were able to lead a multinational operation and to reach the end state of the operation in a very complex scenario.57 (p.118) A further step on the path of military transformation was made two years later, when Italian warplanes were involved in the NATO operation ‘Allied Force’ against the Milosevic regime. The Italian warplanes (more than twenty, including Tornados and AMXs) provided a significant contribution to the air strikes in Kosovo (1999). Italy also provided 6,000 troops to Operation KFOR (Kosovo Force), aimed at stabilizing Kosovo after the end of the air strikes. On the whole, despite technical problems (such as the lack of AWACS) and political constraints in the form of rigid rules of engagement and caveats, Italy played a humanitarian, diplomatic, and even military role in the crisis.58

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Italy The evolution from ‘Desert Storm’ to the war in Kosovo is significant. From the very beginning of the 1990s, Italy gradually enhanced its power projection capabilities by developing new technologies, such as integrated systems of command and control, digitalization of military manoeuvres, and satellite communication. At the same time, the low-profile communication adopted by the cabinet remained constant, hiding the military dimension of the interventions in order to preserve the rhetoric of the peace missions in parliament and in public debate.59 Such rhetoric was exposed to a considerable lack of conformity with the situation on the ground during the post-2001 missions, when Italy was involved in a wide range of complex and dramatic interventions. The operation in Afghanistan is the most important, expensive, and bloodiest mission that Italy has undertaken since 1945.60 Italy deployed its troops to Kabul in 2002, contributing to both NATO’s International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) mission and Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF, October 2001–December 2006), participating in the combat operation ‘Nibbio’ (February–September 2003) at the Afghanistan–Pakistan border. Later, Italy became the leading nation of the western area, addressing growing security challenges and then supporting the surge strategy adopted by the Obama administration. Italian troops were involved in the ‘riskiest combat operations in decades’.61 The mission also revealed significant features of the ‘Italian approach’: training of local security forces, civil–military cooperation and reconstruction (through the Provincial Reconstruction Teams (PRTs)), and limited firepower. ISAF strongly enhanced both the level of interoperability among allies, especially within the NATO framework, and the digitalization of forces. On the whole, the military intervention in Afghanistan was the most demanding operation ever for Italian defence, which proved to be ready also for heavy fighting and counterinsurgency. While Rome proved capable of providing adequate resources to the troops on the ground (particularly after the ‘surge’), Operation ‘Antica Babilonia’ (Iraq, 2003– 6) represents a failed attempt to combine the peace rhetoric with a conflict scenario. In fact, despite the rapid worsening of security conditions in Iraq in late 2003, the Italian cabinet did not abandon the humanitarian frame crafted to justify the operation to public opinion. Consequently, the configuration of the Italian forces was still based on such a frame, without adequate equipment for a combat mission. Tanks, infantry-fighting vehicles, and (p.119) assault helicopters were not initially deployed, while other weapons were provided only after the Italian contingent had been engaged in intense battle.62 Contrary to ‘Antica Babilonia’, the following mission in Lebanon received widespread support from the public, also thanks to its more traditional peacekeeping nature in line with the widespread pro-multilateralism attitude of Italian public opinion.63 The Italian involvement in the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon (UNIFIL) occurred after the end of the Israel–Hezbollah war Page 10 of 22

 

Italy (August 2006). Italy played a key role in the crisis, including from a diplomatic standpoint, leading the international community in designing a reinforced UN mission on the ground.64 The intervention illustrates two main aspects of the evolution of Italian defence in the post-bipolar era. First, Rome ‘used’ armed force as a crucial tool of its foreign policy: after the withdrawal from Iraq, Italy wanted to affirm its role as a reliable security provider to its allies, supporting the international efforts to solve the crisis between Israel and Lebanon. Second, the rapid and effective deployment of the national contingent proved the existing national capabilities in projecting power abroad.65 The last relevant operation undertaken by Italy before 2015 was ‘Unified Protector’, the NATO’s intervention against the Gaddafi regime (Libya, 2011). Under the official framework of the ‘responsibility to protect’,66 Italy took part in the operation, the tasks of which were air strikes, the enforcement of a no-fly zone, the monitoring of an arms embargo, and humanitarian assistance. Once again, the mission revealed the evolution of Italian defence policy: far from the symbolic participation in ‘Desert Storm’, Italian warplanes (especially the Tornado Electronic Combat Reconnaissance (ECR), valuable for the suppression of air defence systems), played a major role during the intervention.67 Despite some gaps in advanced military capabilities68 and some ambivalent behaviour at the beginning of the crisis—because of Italy’s close political and economic relations with the Gaddafi regime69—the national military contribution was significant.70 Like other European and NATO countries, financial constraints, the strategic drawbacks of previous missions, and mounting domestic problems deterred Italy from deploying again hundreds of boots on the ground after 2011. Nonetheless, the overall commitment of Italian armed forces abroad (especially because of the missions to counter illegal migration in the Mediterranean) confirms the post-bipolar Italian military dynamism.

(p.120) The Evolution of Italian Defence Policy: Drivers, Enablers and Constraints As has been illustrated, the military operations abroad and the strategic documents demonstrate the considerable evolution of the post-cold war Italian defence policy. But what have been the obstacles encountered in the transformation process of Italian defence policy and armed forces? What have been the conditions that have accelerated (or hindered) such evolution over time? In order to answer these questions, three main elements can be identified: the limited role of parliament in security affairs as an enabler, which allowed great executive autonomy; operational experience as a driver of transformation; and the constraints posed by the ever-present cold war legacies (for example, a ‘pacifist strategic culture’).

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Italy Enablers: The Limited Role of Parliament

The Italian parliament has not played a relevant role in the formal process of control and authorization of military missions abroad in the post-cold war era, leaving the government with considerable autonomy in the decision-making.71 The legal procedure of ‘the state of war’ has never been applied to the approval of Italian ‘peace missions’. In fact, only established parliamentary procedures govern the international deployment of troops. The decision about the use of armed forces abroad is taken by the executive branch.72 Moreover, the large use of decrees has amplified the government?s role, limiting that of parliament, which merely approves or rejects the decrees that periodically refinance ongoing missions.73 It is mainly in this context that parliament exerts political control, but this is not ‘a formal authorization of the use of force’.74 Only less than half of Italian missions (1945–2012) have been ratified by parliament.75 Sometimes, parliament has approved a mission after its conclusion, as occurred in the case of Operation ‘IBIS’ in Somalia (1992–4). Moreover, the air strikes in Kosovo were not authorized by parliament.76 In the twenty-first century, the role of parliament has increased,77 but its narrow procedural powers still hinder a detailed control of (p.121) national military engagements, even in terms of the evolution of aims, tasks, and equipment.78 A brief comparative perspective reveals how a different parliamentary control system can deeply limit the executive autonomy in the fields of defence and security. For instance, the German armed forces are under strict parliamentary control and the government requires ‘an act of constitutive approval’ by the Bundestag before it can deploy forces abroad.79 As a result, the ‘government has never developed an institutional space for strategic decision-making’.80 By contrast, the Italian parliament has not represented a concrete obstacle to a decision to send troops abroad.81 Berlin adopted brand new legal procedures to approve missions abroad in 2005, while Italy approved a comprehensive law that regulates military interventions only in December 2016.82 The Key Role of Operational Experience

If the weak role of parliament in security issues allowed for greater autonomy of the executive, the most underestimated driver that has shaped the trajectory of post-cold war Italian defence is operational experience itself. As highlighted by recent empirical research on military transformation,83 the frequent deployment of forces has favoured both the upgrading and the adaptation of the skills and capabilities of Italian troops, making them suitable for almost all military tasks in contemporary operations. The experience collected over time across several operations, even in combat situations, has contributed to innovative approaches and equipment, emulating allies.84 For instance, thanks to its involvement in Afghanistan, Italy enhanced its level of cross-service cooperation and interoperability with NATO allies. The constant military involvement abroad has finetuned the Italian comprehensive approach, improving on-the-ground skills Page 12 of 22

 

Italy such as the training of local security forces or civil–military cooperation. Also, new technologically advanced systems have increasingly been employed, fostering mobility and the digitalization of forces.85 Finally, the extra budget devoted to missions has constituted indispensable funds for the evolution of the armed forces, especially after cuts and spending reviews.86 (p.122) The Cold War Legacies: Culture and Organization

Specific obstacles have hindered the process of post-cold war Italian military transformation. Silveri adopted the concept of ‘incomplete journey’87 to describe the institutional political transition that began in 1994. The same notion can be embraced to highlight also Italian defence policy after the end of the bipolar era. The transition that occurred in the post-cold war era has been a considerable attempt to overcome national weaknesses, modifying military structures, and adopting a dynamic approach at the international level. However, bipolar legacies have affected the Italian strategic culture and the composition of Italy’s armed forces, as well as the sustainability of the military instrument, limiting the impact of change and forcing decision-makers to muddle through as the best possible option. But which kinds of legacies have influenced the evolution of Italian defence policy and armed forces, hampering the course of transformation? We can identify economic, cultural, and organizational cold war heritages. First, from an organizational standpoint, the force structure adopted in the past has been extremely complex to modify, slowing down the transformation process. Indeed, only a small percentage of military units were effectively deployable abroad, with the vast majority of troops unable to undertake military operations far from national frontiers. In the post-Second World War era, military forces were not conceived of as tools of foreign policy, and they were often seen as means to maintain employment levels.88 Thus, Italy has ‘two armies’: one is deployable abroad, while the other is static (mainly related to bureaucratic tasks), as an inheritance of the cold war. Second, economic legacies are still influencing Italian defence: a disproportionate share of the budget is devoted to personnel, up to 70 per cent out of the whole expenditures. Such disproportion has inevitably left limited resources for investments in procurement programmes and operating costs (for example, training).89 This asymmetry has affected the ‘employability’ of the whole military instrument, especially during the post-2007–8 financial crisis, when the downsizing of resources worsened the asymmetric relationships between different budget items.90 While countries such as France and the United Kingdom addressed the same legacies, the consequences of the reforms they implemented at the beginning of the 1990s have contributed to shape a more balanced budget.91 Moreover, economic legacies shaped major military programmes, from Eurofighter warplanes to the Cavour aircraft carrier. In fact, the funds devoted to those programmes, which have drained large parts of the Page 13 of 22

 

Italy defence budget for investment, were approved in most cases before 1989, when strategic aims and security (p.123) challenges were different. Therefore, major programmes tied the hands of decision-makers because of financial constraints, limiting the room for innovation. Finally, cultural legacies also played a role in hindering the complete transformation of the Italian armed forces. Despite the new military activism and the reforms implemented, the conceptual frameworks through which leaders and public opinion interpreted security issues did not change substantially after the collapse of the Berlin Wall. During the cold war, the two main political cultures and parties, the Christian Democrats and the Communists, shared an image of Italy as a pacifist and multilateral actor, while antimilitarism encompassed the major political groups/parties of the post-war era.92 As demonstrated by existing empirical studies, peace and multilateralism remained the core values of Italy’s strategic culture.93 Moreover, the military dimension of the operations has been paradoxically neglected in the political debate in the post-bipolar era. This removal guaranteed the maintenance of the bipartisan consensus on the widespread image of Italy as an international peacekeeper. And such a consensus was crucial to support the constant deployment of troops abroad, in line with the national ‘pacifist’ public opinion.94 Accordingly, in order to justify the Italian involvement in military operations abroad, decision-makers removed the military dimension from the debate, adopting a very low communication profile and limiting the discussion over controversial issues such as combat operations. At the same time, political and military elites crafted a strategic narrative95 based on the frame of peace and humanitarian missions.96 The military operations undertaken in the 1990s contributed to reinforce such a plot, but the post-9/11 strategic context made it harder for Italian leaders to justify interventions in combat scenarios with the same frames, exposing the ‘peace narrative’ to a greater inconsistency between rhetoric and reality on the ground, as dramatically occurred in Iraq.97 Finally, as a consequence of the limited debate over defence issues, the overall national strategic reflection also has been scarce. As previously mentioned, Italy waited thirteen years to develop a new White Paper, notwithstanding the significant transformation of Italian armed forces that occurred in the same period. In addition, defence policy traditionally plays a marginal part in electoral campaigns, and the general indifference of the Italian public towards foreign and military policy has persisted after the end of cold war.98

(p.124) Conclusions The armed forces ‘are today the main instrument of Italian foreign policy’.99 Despite a pacifist public opinion and the greater complexity of crises in the contemporary strategic environment, Italian leaders have constantly provided military contributions to multilateral coalitions, spreading through the role of armed forces the image of Italy as a reliable security actor and partner. The Page 14 of 22

 

Italy financial crisis affected the sustainability of the military commitment in operations, reducing the number of troops employed abroad in the post-bipolar era, after two decades of constant engagement. Indeed, Italy was not involved in the operations in Mali or in Syria. However, as stressed by the 2015 White Paper, Italy will continue to be a security provider, addressing the challenges posed by regional and international crises, focusing especially on strategic areas of vital national interest such as the Mediterranean.100 As illustrated by the chapter, the complete evolution of post-cold war Italian defence policy has been inhibited by the enduring bipolar legacies. Therefore, the pace of future renovation depends on the ways in which Italian elites will overcome the obstacles posed by the enduring cold war inefficiencies. Financial constraints, military deployment, new security challenges and international crises, institutional adjustments, and domestic political changes represent the key elements that will promote or obstruct the elites’ attempts finally to complete the process of transformation of Italian defence policy and of its armed forces. Selected Bibliography Bibliography references: Battistelli, Fabrizio, Gli italiani e la guerra (Rome: Carocci, 2004). Brighi, Elisabetta, Foreign Policy, Domestic Politics and International Relations (New York: Routledge, 2013). Coticchia, Fabrizio, and Carolina De Simone, ‘The War That Wasn’t There. Framing Italy’s “Peace Mission” in Afghanistan’, Foreign Policy Analysis, 12 (2016), 24–46. Coticchia, Fabrizio, and Francesco N. Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? The Transformation of Italian Armed Forces in Comparative Perspective (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015). Croci, Osvaldo, ‘Much Ado about Little: The Foreign Policy of the Second Berlusconi Government’, Modern Italy, 10/1 (2005), 59–74. Davidson, Jason W., America’s Allies and War: Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq (Houndmills: Palgrave, 2011). Giacomello, Giampiero, and Bertjan Verbeek (eds), The New Assertiveness of an Aspiring Middle Power? (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2011). Ignazi, Piero, Giampiero Giacomello, and Fabrizio Coticchia, Just Don’t Call It War: Italian Military Missions Abroad (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012).

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Italy Panebianco, Angelo, Guerrieri democratici: Le democrazie e la politica di potenza (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1997). Santoro, Carlo Maria, La politica estera di una media potenza: L’Italia dall’Unità ad oggi (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1991). Notes:

(1) See, e.g., Theo Farrell, Sten Rynning, and Terry Terriff, Transforming Military Power since the Cold War: Britain, France, and the United States, 1991–2012 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). (2) Elisabetta Brighi, Foreign Policy, Domestic Politics and International Relations (New York: Routledge, 2013), 6. (3) Fabrizio Coticchia, La guerra che non c’era. Opinione pubblica e interventi militari italiani dall’Afghanistan alla Libia (Milan: UBE Egea, 2014). (4) Fabrizio Coticchia and Francesco N. Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? The Transformation of Italian Armed Forces in Comparative Perspective (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015). (5) The rate at which the Italian forces are appreciated by the public rose from 37% in 1994 to 67% in 2002. Fabrizio Battistelli (ed.), Opinioni sulla guerra. L’opinione pubblica italiana e internazionale di fronte all’uso della forza (Milan: Franco Angeli, 2012). (6) See (accessed 12 June 2017). (7) See (accessed 5 September 2017). (8) The cold war Italian domestic scenario was dominated by two mutual opposing political forces (the Christian Democrats and the Communists), which were on the opposite sides of the bipolar international system. Moreover, geopolitical constraints were relevant because Italy was at the centre of the cold war confrontation. (9) The Italian Communist Party (PCI) evolved into the Democratic Party of the Left (PDS) in January 1991. (10) See, e.g., Valter Coralluzzo, ‘Le missioni italiane all’estero, problemi e prospettive, in L’Italia fra nuove politiche di difesa e impegni internazionali’, ISPI Studies (2012). (11) Jason W. Davidson, America’s Allies and War: Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq (Houndmills: Palgrave, 2011). Page 16 of 22

 

Italy (12) Pietro Pirani, ‘The Way We Were: The Social Construction of the Italian Defence Policy’, Modern Italy, 15/2 (2010), 217. (13) Piero Ignazi, Giampiero Giacomello, and Fabrizio Coticchia, Just Don’t Call It War: Italian Military Missions Abroad (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). (14) For a different view on the constraints posed by alliances and their membership, see Angelo Panebianco, Guerrieri democratici. Le democrazie e la politica di potenza (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1997). (15) According to a similar paradigm, the military instrument is adopted by the decision-makers in the international scenario because of the peculiar nature of Italian armed forces that makes them a national asset (e.g., police–military forces such as the Carabinieri), exportable in multinational interventions. (16) Massimo Paolicelli and Francesco Vignarca, Il caro armato. Spese, affari e sprechi delle Forze Armate italiane (Milan: Altreconomia, 2009). (17) European Council, European Security Strategy: A Secure Europe in a Better World (2003). On the ESS see also the Introduction. (18) NATO, Active Engagement, Modern Defence: Strategic Concept for the Defence and Security of the Members of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (Lisbon, 19–20 November 2010), para. 21. (19) European Union, Shared Vision, Common Action: A Stronger Europe. A Global Strategy for the European Union’s Foreign and Security Policy (2016), 7. (20) European Union, Shared Vision, 9. (21) European Union, Shared Vision, 29. (22) Coticchia and Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? (23) The processes of uploading and downloading refer to the capacity of a state to shape the evolution of regional institutions and to the influence played by those institutions in affecting domestic reforms. On defence, ‘uploading’, and ‘downloading’, see Alister Miskimmon, Germany and the Common Foreign and Security Policy of the European Union (Houndmills: Palgrave, 2007). (24) Rupert Smith, The Utility of Force (London: Penguin, 2006). (25) Fabrizio Coticchia and Michela Ceccorulli, ‘Multidimensional threats and Military Engagement. The Case of the Italian Intervention in Libya’, Mediterranean Politics, 20/3 (2015), 303. On strategic culture, see, e.g., Alastair I. Johnston, ‘Thinking about Strategic Culture’, International Security, 19/4 (1995), 32.

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Italy (26) Ignazi, Giacomello, and Coticchia, Just Don’t Call It War. (27) Fabrizio Battistelli, Gli italiani e la guerra (Rome: Carocci, 2004). (28) Tom Dyson, ‘Convergence and Divergence in Post-Cold War British, French, and German Military Reforms: Between International Structure and Executive Autonomy’, Security Studies, 17/4 (2008), 725. (29) For instance, both these reforms occurred many years later in Germany. (30) For a detailed analysis of the Italian doctrines see, e.g., Coticchia and Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? (31) Ministero della Difesa, Modello di difesa. Lineamenti di sviluppo delle FF.AA. negli anni ’90 (Rome: Stato Maggiore della Difesa, 1991). (32) With Laws 331/2000 and 226/2004 (and the following legislative decrees), Italy suspended conscription and adopted all-volunteer forces, open to women. (33) Ministero della Difesa, Nuove forze per un nuovo secolo (Rome: Stato Maggiore della Difesa, 2001). (34) Ministero della Difesa, Libro bianco della difesa (Rome: Stato Maggiore della Difesa, 2002). (35) Ministero della Difesa, Libro bianco della difesa, 12. (36) Ministero della Difesa, Concetto strategico del capo di stato maggiore (Rome: Stato Maggiore della Difesa, 2005). (37) Ministero della Difesa, Concetto strategico del capo di stato maggiore, 26. (38) Ministero della Difesa, La Trasformazione net-centrica:. Il futuro dell’interoperabilità multinazionale e interdisciplinare (Rome: Stato Maggiore della Difesa, 2005). (39) Ministero della Difesa, Investire in Sicurezza (Rome: Stato Maggiore della Difesa, 2005). (40) Ministero della Difesa, Direttiva ministeriale in merito alla politica militare per l’anno 2013 (Rome, 2013). (41) Ministero della Difesa, Direttiva ministeriale, 9. (42) Ministero della Difesa, Libro bianco della difesa e della sicurezza (Rome: Stato Maggiore della Difesa, 2015).

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Italy (43) See Andrea Locatelli, Francesco N. Moro, and Fabrizio Coticchia, ‘Renew or Reload? Continuity and Change in Italian Defence Policy’, EUI Working Papers Series, EUI RSCAS 1 (2016). (44) For a broader debate on Italian foreign and defence policy in the post-cold war era, see Giampiero Giacomello and Bertjan Verbeek (eds), The New Assertiveness of an Aspiring Middle Power? (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2011). (45) See (accessed 4 September 2017). (46) See UN DPKO’s website, (accessed 9 June 2017). (47) Italy has undertaken also several ‘national’ military operations, which have involved thousands of troops. See Ministry of Defense, (accessed 1 October 2016). (48) It is worth noticing also that the operations ‘Stabilize’ (Timor Leste, 1999– 2000), ‘White Crane’ (Haiti, 2010), and ‘Prima Parthica’ (Iraq, 2014–) involved around 800–900 troops. See Alberto Cutillo, International Peace Institute, (accessed 1 October 2016). (49) The contribution to the UN peacekeeping operation in Lebanon in 1982 was an isolated—even if important—event for Italian cold war defence policy. (50) Quoted in Ignazi, Giacomello, and Coticchia, Just Don’t Call It War. (51) Coticchia, La guerra che non c’era. (52) Coticchia, La guerra che non c’era. (53) See Bruno Loi, Peace-keeping, pace o guerra? (Florence: Vallecchi, 2004). (54) On Italian COIN, see Fabrizio Coticchia, ‘La dottrina non detta. Politica di difesa italiana e counterinsurgency: Il caso dell’operazione IBIS in Somalia’, Afriche e Orienti, 1–2 (2013), 173. (55) Coticchia and Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? (56) Indeed, the instability in the region has had relevant consequences for Rome (e.g., flows of illegal migrants towards the Italian shores, smuggling, and trafficking of drugs and weapons, etc.). See, among other works, Ignazi, Giacomello, and Coticchia, Just Don’t Call It War. (57) Ignazi, Giacomello, and Coticchia, Just Don’t Call It War.

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Italy (58) Davidson, America’s Allies and War. (59) Coticchia, La guerra che non c’era. (60) Italy suffered fifty-five casualties on the ground (thirty-three of them occurred in combat action). For a detailed account of the ISAF mission, see Coticchia and Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? (61) See Stato Maggiore dell’Esercito, Army Report 2012 (2012), 19. (62) Lao Petrilli and Vincenzo Sinapi, Nassiriya, la vera storia (Turin: Lindau, 2007). On 12 November 2013 a suicide attack killed seventeen soldiers and two civilians, the bloodiest event in the post-Second World War Italian defence. (63) On public opinion and Italian military operations, see, among other works, Battistelli, Gli italiani e la guerra, and Coticchia, La guerra che non c’era. (64) 2,500 Italian soldiers were deployed in southern Lebanon. (65) Such massive transformation has also been highlighted by other minor operations, such as the EU and NATO anti-piracy missions in Somalia. (66) The aim of the mission was to ‘protect civilians and civilian-population areas under attack or threat of attack in Libya’. See UNSC Resolution 1973/2011. (67) As occurred in the case of Kosovo, Italy provided its bases to the allies. For a detailed analysis of the Italian contribution, see Italian Air Forces, (accessed 20 September 2016). (68) European countries suffered shortfalls, especially in ISTAR (intelligence, surveillance, target acquisition, and reconnaissance) capabilities. (69) Valérie Miranda, ‘Striking a Balance between Norms and Interests in Italian Foreign Policy: The Balkans and Libya’, IAI Working Papers (2011). (70) After the end of ‘Unified Protector’, Libya was marked by growing instability. (71) Federica Di Camillo and Paola Tessari, ‘Italian Missions Abroad: National Interests and Procedural Practice’, IAI Working Papers, 1307 (2013). (72) Alessandro Marrone and Federica Di Camillo, ‘Italy’, in Heiko Biehl, Bastian Giegerich, and Alexandra Jonas (eds), Strategic Culture in Europe (Heidelberg: Springer, 2013), 193–206, at 197. (73) Natalino Ronzitti (ed.), L’Italia e la politica internazionale (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2007). (74) Marrone and Di Camillo, ‘Italy’, 198. Page 20 of 22

 

Italy (75) Di Camillo and Tessari, ‘Italian Missions Abroad’. (76) The operation was voted by the Italian parliament only together with the mission ‘Allied Harbour’, which aimed to bring humanitarian support to the refugees in Albania, and it was undertaken a couple of months after the beginning of the air strikes. (77) See, in particular, the so-called Ruffino Resolution, Chamber of Deputies, January 2001. (78) The parliamentary control of procurement was reformed only in 2012, enhancing the role played by commissions in assessing and monitoring military expenses, especially regarding long-term programmes. (79) Klaus Becher, ‘German Forces in International Military Operations’, Orbis, 48/3 (2004), 397–408. (80) Timo Noetzel and Benjamin Schreer, ‘All the Way? The Evolution of German Military Power’. International Affairs, 84/2 (2008), 211–21, at 218. (81) Moreover, the attention devoted by Italian parliament to defence reforms has been scarce, as highlighted in detail by Ciro D’Amore, Governare la difesa. Parlamento e politica militare nell’Italia repubblicana (Milan: Franco Angeli, 2001). (82) A comprehensive law on military missions has finally been approved only at the end of 2016. However, at the time of writing, it has not been adopted yet. (83) On ‘bottom-up’ approaches in military transformation literature, see Adam Grissom, ‘The Future of Military Innovation Studies’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 29/5 (2006), 905–34. (84) See Coticchia and Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? (85) For example, the net-centric VBLM 8x8 Freccia with the C2 ‘SICCONA’ systems. (86) See (accessed 21 June 2017). (87) See Umberto Gentiloni Silveri, ‘Italy’s Unfinished Transition: Between Domestic Dynamics and International Change’, Journal of Modern Italian Studies, 20/2 (2015), 171–5, at 172. (88) Panebianco, Guerrieri democratici.

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Italy (89) For a detailed cross-time analysis on defence budgets, see Stefano Forte and Alessandro Marrone, ‘L’Italia e le missioni internazionali’, IAI Research Paper (2012), (accessed 15 September 2016). (90) The analysis of the evolution of the public expenditures allocated to Italian defence is very complex. Indeed, we should distinguish the Funzione difesa (defence function) from the whole budget, which also includes resources for Carabinieri and the funds devoted to international missions. (91) See, for a comparative perspective, Coticchia and Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? (92) Panebianco, Guerrieri democratici, and D’Amore, Governare la difesa. The legacy of world war also affected key constitutional traits, constraining the use of force. (93) Pirani, ‘The Way We Were’; and Ignazi, Giacomello, and Coticchia, Just Don’t Call It War. (94) Italians valued their armed forces just as ‘instruments of peace’. Battistelli (ed.), Opinioni sulla guerra. (95) On strategic narrative, see Lawrence Freedman, The Transformation in Strategic Affairs (London: Routledge, 2006). On narratives and Italian defence, see Fabrizio Coticchia and Carolina De Simone, ‘The War That Wasn’t There. Framing Italy’s “Peace Mission” in Afghanistan’, Foreign Policy Analysis, 12/1 (2016), 24–46. (96) Coticchia, La guerra che non c’era. (97) The force structure of ‘Antica Babilonia’, which was in line with the ‘humanitarian’ framework, proved to be dramatically inadequate to address local security challenges. Ignazi, Giacomello, and Coticchia, Just Don’t Call It War. (98) Fabrizio Battistelli and Pierangelo Isernia, ‘Dove gli angeli non osano metter piede: opinione pubblica e politica estera in Italia’, Teoria politica, 1 (2001), 81– 119. (99) The then President of the Republic Giorgio Napolitano, quoted in Coticchia and Moro, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome? (100) Ministero della Difesa, Libro bianco per la sicurezza internazionale e la difesa (Rome: Stato Maggiore della Difesa, 2015).

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Poland

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Poland Andrew A. Michta

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0007

Abstract and Keywords This chapter analyses the adaptation of Poland’s defence policy and armed forces to the rapidly changing security environment along NATO’s north-eastern flank. First, it examines the impact of a resurgent Russia on Poland’s security calculus, especially since Russia’s seizure of Crimea and the war in eastern Ukraine. Next, it addresses the evolution of Warsaw’s views on the relative utility of NATO and the European Union and its efforts to return NATO to its traditional territorial defence role. It then focuses on the modernization of Poland’s armed forces, with a special emphasis on doctrinal change, the reform of the command and control system, and the creation of the Territorial Defence units. It also reviews the t state of key hardware purchases as of mid-2017. The chapter concludes with an overall assessment of the level of capabilities and the readiness of the armed forces in the changing threat environment along NATO’s north-eastern flank. Keywords:   Poland, territorial defence, NATO, Russia, north-eastern flank

Introduction POLAND is a medium-sized power situated at the very heart of Central Europe, with a population of 38 million and a GDP of approximately $1 trillion in PPP.1 As both a North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and European Union (EU) member state, Poland is generally considered a success story of post-communist transformation, though following the 2015 election and the change of government there has been a considerable amount of political turmoil in the country.2 Yet, the country has had a torturous history marked by a persistent strategic vulnerability between the East and the West, as well as a legacy of Page 1 of 19

 

Poland interrupted statehood. In the late eighteenth century, Poland disappeared from the map of Europe, partitioned by Russia, Prussia, and Austria, re-emerging again as a sovereign state after the First World War for merely two decades, only to fall prey first to German and then to Soviet aggression and occupation. For close to half a century after the war Poland remained a satellite of the Soviet Union, its army harnessed to the larger Warsaw Pact strategy. During the cold war, Poland maintained an armed force of close to 400,000, equipped with Soviet weapons and trained according to Warsaw Pact strategic requirements.3 This socalled Polish People’s Army was also used to suppress internal dissent, having led the bloody crackdown against the December 1970 rebellion at the Baltic Sea coast and the crushing of the Solidarity trade union through martial law in 1981.4 (p.126) When Poland emerged after forty-five years of Soviet occupation, its economy was imploding. By 1989 it carried a $20 billion debt and was raked by hyperinflation, while its population struggled with shortages of the most basic staples.5 By 1991, as Russian power began to retreat from Central and southeastern Europe, Poland found itself in a ‘grey zone’ of Europe, as it also sought reassurance on its territorial integrity (after the Second World War, Joseph Stalin grabbed one-third of its territory in the east and compensated it with German territory in the west). In yet another attempt to escape its history and geostrategic dilemmas, the country launched a concerted and ultimately successful effort to join first NATO and then the EU. It is perhaps ironic that, just as it seemed Poland was finally safely anchored in the West, the security along NATO’s eastern flank rapidly deteriorated following the seizure of Crimea by Russia and the simmering war in Ukraine, as well as a deepening of the post-2008 crisis in the EU, which has reopened some of the very dilemmas that Poland seemed to have laid to rest amid the unburdening of post-cold war history. This chapter first revisits Poland’s long-standing geostrategic dilemmas in defining its security and defence policy, with a special emphasis on how the particular conditions in Europe in 1989–90, as the country regained its independence, shaped Poland’s policy choices. Next, it analyses Poland’s strategic choices in the wake of the collapse of communism and the disintegration of the Soviet empire, especially the consensus in the country on the imperative of joining NATO and the EU. From there it goes more deeply into a discussion of Poland’s military modernization efforts with an eye to the deteriorating security situation along NATO’s eastern flank. The final section addresses the scope of strategic debate over NATO’s role in Polish strategy and Warsaw’s refocusing on territorial defence in the aftermath of Russia’s 2014 seizure of Crimea and its aggression in Donbass in eastern Ukraine.

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Poland This chapter also explains the major patterns in Poland’s defence policy since the end of the cold war. It shows that, while Warsaw has focused on NATO for its security since the 2000s, the transatlantic focus of Poland’s defence policy and, especially, its cooperation with the United States have been further reinforced following the Ukrainian crisis and Russia’s annexation of Crimea. Moreover, in reaction to an increasingly assertive Russia, Polish defence planners have reemphasized the central tasks of territorial defence and deterrence. Meanwhile, this chapter also argues that, as a consequence, the key concerns for Polish defence policy going forward are twofold: how to move NATO from reassurance to reinforcement and deterrence vis-à-vis Russia (alliance level); and how to transform the Polish armed forces into an effective national force focusing on the defence of the country’s territory (national level). The direction Poland’s defence policy is likely to take going forward will depend not only on the country’s indigenous defence efforts, but also on the direction of NATO’s evolution, with the tenor of transatlantic relations being its key variable.

(p.127) Geostrategic Dilemmas Poland’s historical geostrategic dilemma has been that of a medium power wedged between Germany and Russia. After the implosion of the Commonwealth of Poland–Lithuania and its disappearance from the map of Europe in 1795, the country lacked the ability to provide for its own security when it re-emerged again in 1918 as the Second Polish Republic. Imbalances in economic power and population resources remained, while the project of building a cohesive state after over a century of foreign domination was still a work in progress when Nazi Germany invaded Poland on 1 September 1939, followed two weeks later by a Soviet invasion from the East. This dilemma was summed up by Marshall Józef Piłsudski, the founding father of the Second Republic, when he compared the country’s situation to that of having its feet on two ricketty stools, with the only question being which stool would give in first, the German or the Russian one.6 The devastation brought upon Poland over the course of the Second World War left the country ripe for Soviet takeover. This included the killing of six million of its citizens—half of them Jews—the murder of its military and political elites on Stalin’s orders in the Katyn Forest, as well as the utter destruction of the country’s capital by the Germans in the aftermath of the 1944 Rising, and the post-war hounding by the Soviet Narodnyyi Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del (NKVD) and Polish communist secret police of Polish underground fighters connected to the legitimate government-in-exile. For Poland, defeat in war meant yet again the collapse of the state, for the so-called Polish People’s Republic (Polska Rzeczpospolita Ludowa) that emerged from the crucible of the Second World War was a Soviet satellite state stripped of its sovereignty and harnessed to Joseph Stalin’s imperial design. The fundamental premise of Poland’s strategic thinking since the country’s disappearance from the map of Europe in the eighteenth century has been that its national security margins are exceptionally narrow and that every conflict is Page 3 of 19

 

Poland in the most rudimentary sense about the very survival of the Polish state. There is no more powerful driver in Poland’s thinking on security and defence than the profound geostrategic vulnerability of the state, developed over two centuries of wars, insurrections, and the partitions of its territory.7 Poland’s geographic position at the heart of the Northern European Plain, wedged between Germany and Russia, has shaped the country’s fundamental security optics. The country lies at the most direct east–west axis of attack, and has repeatedly fallen prey to and become a battleground of each European great power’s bidding to dominate the continent’s middle. As much as geopolitics is an existential issue for Poland, the country’s thinking about strategy is built around a deep-seated conviction that its indigenous resources are ultimately no match for those of its immediate neighbours to the east and west. During the interwar period, the resurgent Second Republic sought to compensate for its geostrategic deficit through alliances—first with France, then also with the United Kingdom—and (p.128) through failed attempts to organize a belt of like-minded states between the Baltic and Black seas into a so-called intermarium to resist the bidirectional pressure against the middle. This idea once again seems to be gaining traction in Poland’s strategic thinking as it seeks to develop closer security ties with the Visegrad group of states in Central Europe (the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland, and Slovakia) as well as the Baltic States.8 In short, history is always but a step away from Poland’s thinking about national security and defence. The devastation of Poland in the wake of the 1939 German–Soviet invasion and the subsequent occupation, first by Germany then by Soviet Russia, not only left Poland grievously damaged in terms of its population and national wealth, but also brought about nothing short of a wholesale territorial re-engineering of the country, with Stalin seizing Poland’s eastern borderlands and the allies compensating it at Yalta with German territory in the west. As a result of the ethnic cleansing by the Germans, the destruction of Polish elites by the Soviets, and the post-war population transfers, communist Poland and today’s so-called Third Republic are more homogenous (99 per cent ethnically Polish) and geographically Western than at any time in Poland’s history.9 This historical experience of Poland’s territorial and institutional discontinuity, in which the three successive Polish states share a deep cultural bond but precious little in terms of their geography and political institutions, remains a defining feature of its approach to national defence to this day.

Strategic Choices after Communism: NATO and the European Union Poland’s post-communist transformation centred from the start on reintegrating the country with Europe and the West, broadly construed. The effort was successful, as Poland joined the NATO alliance in the first tranche of its postcold war enlargement in 1999 and the EU in 2004. Since then, Poland’s defence policy has rested on two pillars—NATO and the EU—but with an increasing focus on bilateral security cooperation with the United States. The so-called Page 4 of 19

 

Poland Third Republic, which came into existence in the aftermath of the first partly free elections in the summer of 1989, inherited a military infrastructure designed for Warsaw Pact offensive operations against the West, Soviet-era equipment and material suited for a 400,000-strong military, and the old officer corps penetrated by the Main Intelligence Agency (Glavnoye Razvedyvatel’noye Upravleniye) and controlled from Moscow.10 At the same time, with the 1990 unification of Germany and the collapse of the USSR, Poland has faced arguably the most favourable geostrategic security environment in its modern history. The fact that the unified German state remained a member of (p.129) NATO meant that for the first time Poland would border a NATO country, making Poland’s stability and by extension its security a vital national interest of the newly unified Germany. Moreover, the potentially thorny issue of Poland’s western border was quickly resolved through two bilateral treaties on borders and good neighbourly relations signed early on by Warsaw and Berlin.11 The Third Polish Republic, which emerged in the aftermath of the cold war, sought security in multilateral arrangements, to include the country’s 1999 entry into NATO and its 2004 accession to the EU. By joining NATO, Poland sought to overcome its historical security dilemma of having two adversaries, in the West and in the East.12 With the United States as the principal guarantor of European security and the unified Federal Republic of Germany in NATO, Poland sought to anchor its security in a larger transatlantic community, aiming to put history firmly behind it. The goal was to ensure that, even with a resurgent Russia—today clearly a central preoccupation of Polish security policy—the country would remain securely anchored in the collective West, able to deter Russia, and, if need be, to defend against it. Poland’s membership of the EU, though focused largely on economic integration with Western Europe, has an important security dimension as well, for Warsaw rightly saw trade and economic integration as important factors contributing to its linkages with the West.13 Poland’s commitment to and support for NATO rested on the centrality of its relationship with the United States to the country’s security strategy. With a barely concealed undertow of a ‘quid pro quo’ approach to its relations with Washington, Warsaw positioned itself as an early and unconditional supporter of the Bush administration’s 2003 decision to use force in Iraq, taking a lead role in the early post-war phase and leading an international division occupying part of Iraq.14 The original plan was for the country to host advanced US ballistic interceptors, though the Obama administration scrapped the idea, opting instead for an Aegis-based system to be deployed in northern Poland in 2018.15 Poland’s unequivocal strategic orientation towards the United States manifested itself in its willingness to pay a considerable political price in its relations with Germany and France for its support of the Iraq War, as both Berlin and Paris opposed it. Poland has also been one of the principal NATO allies to support the United States in Afghanistan, contributing (p.130) several thousand troops on Page 5 of 19

 

Poland a rotational basis to the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF).16 Military and security cooperation between Poland and the United States has grown even closer following Russia’s seizure of Crimea and the subsequent escalating war in eastern Ukraine. With a resurgent Russia increasing its military pressure along NATO’s north-eastern flank, performing snap exercises and frequently violating Baltic airspace, Poland has become a vocal advocate of the need for the United States to buttress its presence in Europe and for NATO to return to its traditional territorial defence function. This was Warsaw’s position both at the Wales NATO summit in 2014 and the Warsaw Summit in 2016, where Poland’s main goal was to establish a US military presence on its territory as a deterrent against Russia.17 Since 1999, Poland has been a NATO booster, supporting NATO’s out-of-area operations as well as arguing for a greater commitment of resources to its traditional territorial defence function.18 In addition, successive Polish governments endorsed subsequent cycles of NATO enlargement, offering especially strong support for NATO enlargement in the Baltics and promoting NATO membership for Ukraine. Poland also took the lead in promoting greater rapprochement between Ukraine and Europe, jointly launching with Sweden the Eastern Partnership within the European Union Neighbourhood Policy.19 Though it addresses a panoply of global threats, the National Security Strategy of the Republic of Poland adopted in 2014 to replace the 2007 document singles out Russia and its relations with the West as the defining factors for Polish security.20 As the regional security situation in Europe has deteriorated, Poland has moved to reduce its overseas presence, drawing down its troop numbers in Ghazni province in Afghanistan and reorienting its training and programmes to prepare for another potential conventional war.21 Once again, historical and geostrategic considerations are driving the country’s strategic outlook. Since the collapse of communism, Poland has successfully adapted its strategy and reformed its military to become a member of the NATO alliance. Likewise, the restructuring of the country’s economy, the re-establishment of democratic institutions and the rule of law opened the door to Poland’s successful bid for EU membership, which further accelerated its post-communist economic recovery. More importantly, Poland’s growing GDP generated additional resources to restructure and modernize the country’s armed forces. In the twenty-five years since the collapse of communism, Poland has made a concerted effort to retire legacy systems, upgrade military equipment, and increase the overall level of professionalism and training. By the early 2000s, it had become a ‘producer (p. 131) of security’ in NATO, especially when it came to ‘out-of-area’ missions in which Grom Special Operation Forces (SOF) units became an important part of alliance capabilities. In 2016, the country became one of only five NATO members to spend at a minimum 2 per cent of GDP on defence, as agreed upon Page 6 of 19

 

Poland during the previous two NATO summits, an indicator of the seriousness of Poland’s military modernization effort.22

The Military Modernization Programme Since the end of the cold war, Poland has engaged in an ambitious military modernization programme aimed at adapting its armed forces to the new security environment and in the context of its ever-closer relationship with (and then membership within) NATO. It has sought to upgrade its partly outdated military equipment while moving towards a more flexible force structure, to reform civil–military relations and to enhance its defence industrial capabilities. The national commitment to professionalize and transform the military has cut across party lines. In the 1990s, the armed forces were significantly reduced in size, restructured, and redeployed; in 2008, Minister of Defence Bogdan Klich announced that the country would abolish conscription and move to an allvolunteer force.23 The process was not easy, causing significant dislocations as the military moved to reduce the overall number of personnel, while also adjusting the officer-to-soldier ratio and establishing a professional NCO corps. Already in 1995, the land forces had been reduced to 158,400, the air and air defence forces to 73,100, and the navy to 19,700. By 1999, the armed forces had been cut to half their Warsaw Pact era peak strength.24 At the heart of the Polish military reform in the 1990s and early 2000s was the depoliticization of the officer corps and the creation of the requisite parliamentary oversight and democratic civil–military relations.25 The country continued to modernize its equipment, entering into several cooperation agreements with Western manufacturers, as well as relying on its own defence manufacturing capabilities. This was especially the case with tank production, as it upgraded the T-72 tank platform to produce the PT—91 ‘Twardy’. The army also upgraded its howitzers based on the Braveheart turret and developed the KTO ‘Rosomak’ built on the Patria platform licensed from Finland. The Rosomak was extensively battle tested during Poland’s mission in Afghanistan and is now considered one of the most capable armoured personnel carriers operated by a NATO army. In 2001, the Polish defence ministry introduced the first batch of Leopard 2A4 MBT acquired through a transfer agreement from Germany. Still, the largest hardware modernization purchase of (p.132) this era was the 2003 contract for the Polish air force to acquire 48 F-16C/D block 52, making Poland the first former Warsaw Pact country to operate the F-16 platform.26 Though Poland prioritized military modernization in the early 2000s, the real impetus for transforming the Polish military came in the wake of Russia’s annexation of Crimea. Poland’s military modernization programme, called ‘The Modernization Plan for the Armed Forces in the Years 2013–2022’, is the country’s most ambitious programme to date. It includes new ships, helicopters, tanks and armoured personnel carriers, additional aircraft, and, most importantly, new air and missile defences to be acquired through 2022, with the defence budget increasing from 1.8 per cent in 2014 to 2 per cent in 2016, as Page 7 of 19

 

Poland well as a new law establishing a 50,000-strong Territorial Defence Corps to buttress the defences of the country’s eastern borders.27 Poland’s growing economy has allowed the country to increase its defence spending as the country’s strategic focus has shifted increasingly to improving its territorial defence. With a professional army originally targeted at only 100,000 plus 20,000 reserves, Poland’s new government has prioritized the creation of the new territorial defence forces, as the new law on territorial defence went into effect in 2017.28 Poland is one of the few European NATO allies that continues to spend money on defence, one of only four in 2015 to have met the target of 2 per cent of GDP for defence agreed upon by NATO at Wales in 2014.29 The antiballistic (ABM) system is potentially Poland’s most expensive military modernization programme. The estimated ABM cost is set between $4 billion and $6 billion, making it the largest acquisition programme in the country’s history.30 Though originally scheduled for a timely implementation, with the selection of the Patriot system supplied by Raytheon as the centrepiece of Poland’s mid-range ‘Wisła’ AMD system, the contract has been delayed and modified following the swearing-in of a new Polish government in 2015, with the expectation that the final decisions on acquisition—though most likely still favouring the Raytheon system—will be scaled down. In 2017 Poland again returned to an updated plan to select the Patriot system, though with a revised configuration for $10.5 billion.31 Likewise, Poland’s second major tender to purchase a multipurpose helicopter, which was intended to go to Airbus Industries for the French Caracal helicopter, has been scrapped amid allegations that Sikorsky and AgustaWestland were not given fair treatment when competing tenders (p.133) were being evaluated. A key factor for the new government has been the ability to manufacture the new helicopter in existing Polish plants—both Sikorsky and AgustaWestland have been present in the Polish market, having bought two existing Polish helicopter companies, while the initial manufacturing of the Caracal was going to be done in France.32 Still, despite the domestic political turbulence around the AMD and helicopter programmes, Poland’s commitment to military modernization continues to grow, expected to reach PLN 91.5 billion (approximately $30 billion) through 2022, and covering fourteen specific programmes.33 With the arrival of the new government led by the Law and Justice Party (Prawo i Sprawiedliwość), the Ministry of Defence has shifted its priority towards ‘Polonization’—that is, giving priority to domestic industry both for new system designs and for hardware purchases from the United States, Europe, and Israel, with Poland requiring not only offset arrangements but also direct industry-to-industry cooperation to build new systems. The country has consolidated its state defence manufacturing sector, which entered 2017 with several programmes on offer, including self-propelled howitzers. It has also continued investment in the Leopard tanks purchased from Germany, continued manufacturing of the Page 8 of 19

 

Poland Rosomak APC, a highly successful design based on the Finnish Patria platform, as well as the new Polish-designed MSBS assault rifle ‘Grot’ and the Tytan kit for the infantry. Since 2000, Poland has focused increasingly on developing its indigenous defence capabilities and shifting more of its military orders to its national defence industry, now reorganized into the Polish Armaments Group (Polska Grupa Zbrojeniowa;), a defence holding that replaced a slew of former Polish defence companies. This ‘Polonization’ policy to draw on the domestic defence industry has accelerated since the new government came to office in 2015.34 Unlike other major NATO allies, Poland continues to buy tanks and APCs in large numbers. As of mid-2017, Polish land forces maintain 901 main battle tanks, of which 128 are the older-generation German Leopard 2A4s, 232 are PT-91 ‘Twardy’ (a Polish modification of the Soviet T-72), and 541 are obsolete T-72s of three different types. Likewise, Poland maintains a fleet of 1,784 armoured infantry fighting vehicles (AIFV), of which more than two-thirds are legacy Soviet BMP-1s, though nearly 500 are the highly capable KTO Rosomak, a Polish version of the Finnish AIFV that has been battle-tested in Afghanistan. Poland signed an agreement in November 2013 to purchase from Germany an additional 105 Leopard 2A5s, plus 14 Leopard 2A4s and 200 support vehicles.35 At the same time, the Polish defence industry continues to work on indigenous tank and infantry (p.134) fighting vehicle (IFV) designs, with some of the prototypes such as the Anders prototype and the futuristic PL-01 concept tank among them. Addressing deficiencies in air mobility also remains a priority, notwithstanding the recent decision by the Polish government to scrap the Caracal helicopter deal. Polish military helicopters in use in 2017 are a combination of Soviet-era systems and the ageing PZL Sokół platform and its derivatives, with plans to bring in a number of American Blackhawk platforms, while the helicopter tender has been reopened yet again following the rejection of the Caracal deal. The army is seeking to acquire up to seventy new helicopters, including attack and transport helicopters. The defence ministry also plans to issue funds for new modular armoured vehicles, unmanned aerial vehicles (including armed drones), self-propelled howitzers, heavy mortars, anti-tank missiles, and new communication equipment.36 The core of the Polish military is the army, with the navy and the air force playing much more limited roles. Until recently, the navy was not prioritized, though this is changing. The Polish navy has five tactical submarines (four German-built, 1960s-era Kobben class and one Soviet-legacy Kilo), two principal surface combatants (Oliver Hazard Perry–class frigates), a corvette (Polish-built ORP Kaszub class), and a number of mine warfare, mine countermeasure, patrol, amphibious, and support ships. The navy’s aviation element includes two naval aviation bases, with equipment deployed in three locations. Two of those Page 9 of 19

 

Poland locations are home to air groups that include planes and helicopters for transport, antisubmarine, and search-and-rescue operations. The navy’s modernization programme includes new patrol boats, minesweepers, coastaldefence vessels, and possibly up to three submarines. Investment in the navy is likely to continue to take second place to the ongoing efforts to modernize the army and the air force, for the principal challenge to any naval operation in the Baltic Sea is the increasingly robust Russian A2AD capability deployed in the Kaliningrad District.37 Of the three major services, the Polish air force ranks as the most modern among the post-communist states of Central Europe, averaging 160–200 flying hours per year (comparable to France’s and exceeding Germany’s). The air force operates three squadrons of F-16C/Ds, two squadrons of MiG-29A/UBs, and two squadrons of fighter/ground-attack Su-22M-4s. The latter, the Sukhoi aircraft, have been marked for removal from service, and Poland will be looking to purchase additional Western planes or unmanned aerial vehicles. Two air-force transport squadrons fly a combination of C-130E, C-295M, and Polish PZL M-28 Bryza aircraft. The air force also operates two squadrons of transport helicopters, which, as already noted, are ageing platforms. On balance, the country’s most successful air-force programme so far has been the addition of F-16 jet fighters to its fleet of aircraft, accelerating the modernization process and increasing NATO interoperability. A visible sign of progress has been the opening of a US training facility in the central Polish town of Łask for rotational exercises of US and NATO aircraft. The Polish F-16s are playing an increasingly deterrent role in Polish strategic planning following the acquisition of the Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missile (p.135) (JASSM) from the United States in 2015, and in 2017 the agreement by the US government to supply Poland with another JASSM—the Extended Range (ER) version with a significantly extended range of up to 1,000 miles (both versions can be launched from the F-16 platform).38 Air and missile defences (AMD), however, remain Poland’s top defence priority, and a law Poland passed in 2014 appears to guarantee stable funding for the systems. The programme will combine a medium-range missile and air defence system and a variety of shorter-range systems with plans to expand the coverage for the country’s entire territory. The government will allocate PLN 26.4 billion for AMD through 2022, with PLN 1.2 billion planned for 2014–16.39 Overall, Poland’s shopping list is extensive; some would call it overly ambitious. And, while the AMD budget seems protected, in the light of the slowing economy and the reduction in planned defence expenditures over 2014–16, there is talk of reducing the number of helicopters in the initial order and of cuts to other procurement programmes. Indeed, there are also questions as to whether—even if all of the acquisition programmes were fully funded—Poland’s defence Page 10 of 19

 

Poland ministry would be able to meet its acquisition plans. Some analysts have pointed out that, based on the track record of procurement, and especially the rate of contract fulfilment, Poland may again have a shortfall from its original spending plans. Still, the Polish government sees military modernization as a path to developing the country’s defence industry.40 All Poland’s military modernization programmes during the quarter century of the country’s post-communist independence have been driven by its commitment to becoming a fully integrated and valued member of the NATO alliance. In addition, Poland has sought to strengthen allied solidarity, to ensure that in any Article 5 contingency NATO would act swiftly and decisively. The country’s commitment to NATO gained a renewed urgency following Russia’s 2014 seizure of Crimea and aggression in eastern Ukraine. In the wake of Russia’s ‘hybrid’ war along NATO’s eastern flank, the new Polish government that came to power in 2015 added territorial defence as one of the key priorities for the nation, exploring ways to augment the operational forces with a citizen-based effort to respond in a national emergency.41

Facing an Assertive Russia: NATO and the Return to Territorial Defence Since joining NATO in 1999, Poland has participated in the alliance’s defence planning. Poland’s strategic priorities are clearly focused on NATO’s traditional functions of defending the allies’ territory, with Russia identified once again in Warsaw as the principal threat. (p.136) However, other allies have different priorities, with France, for instance, looking south to the Mediterranean and Africa as the areas of greatest risk. In 2016, the Polish government made every effort to ensure the growing commitment by all of the allies to the defence of the north-eastern flank against an assertive Russia.42 As part of the agreement reached at the NATO Warsaw Summit on the so-called permanent rotations of US and NATO forces through the region (part of Operation ‘Atlantic Resolve’), Poland will host a US Armored Brigade Combat Team (ABCT) from the 4th Infantry Division from Fort Carson in Colorado. Though the US forces will be predominantly based in western Poland, they will exercise on the country’s entire territory, including close to Poland’s eastern border.43 In addition, Poland will host one of the four rotating multinational battalions to be deployed by NATO along the north-eastern flank. The most pronounced trend in the evolution of the Polish army, and a clear expression of where Warsaw’s concerns lie, has been the creation of a separate command of Territorial Defence Forces.44 The law creates a new formation in the Polish Armed Forces, where service on a rotational basis may run from one to six years, with training required for two days each month. The law allows for service in territorial defence forces also for people who would not otherwise qualify for health reasons to serve in the regular army, with the idea being to allow for the recruitment of people with a technical skillset. The model that the Poles plan to pursue is akin to that of the US National Guard formation, with the Page 11 of 19

 

Poland added stipulation that the Territorial Defence Corps would provide a pool of trained reserves in the event of war. The Polish approach to territorial defence seems to be moving in the direction of building a formula for total mobilization in case of war. This nonetheless presents some difficult choices, as, among the population of over 38 million, the total manpower fit for service is approximately 15 million, about a third of what Russia can field, while in mid-2017 the size of the Polish military personnel on active duty is about seven times smaller than Russia’s. And, although Poland has one of the largest tank forces among European NATO members, the Russian armour dwarfs it by about 15:1, with the qualitative edge also shifting quickly against Poland as Russia prepares to field its new Armata tank and IFV platform. Numerical and qualitative comparisons between Polish and Russian militaries paint a grim picture should Poland find itself again confronting a Russian aggressor. Hence, Poland’s commitment to strengthening NATO and preserving allied solidarity, especially to close relations with the United States, remains the centrepiece of its strategy.45 (p.137) Since Russia’s renewed assertiveness and the Ukrainian conflict, Poland’s commitment to spending resources on defence has been strengthened, setting it apart from a number of other European allies—with the overall demilitarization of Europe increasingly becoming the norm. The allied declarations to aim to spend 2 per cent of GDP on defence, made again at the 2016 NATO summit in Warsaw, however, reflected a growing realization in Europe’s capitals that this would not be tolerated by the United States much longer.46 Clearly, the Poles are determined to do what they can to modernize their military and to make themselves as hard a target for a potential aggressor as possible. But, as has been historically the case, Poland is not yet in a position where it can muster enough indigenous resources to deter and if need be to defeat an aggressor. Therefore, the country’s determination to preserve NATO is arguably among the strongest in Europe. In addition, Poland has shown itself determined to continue investing in close ties with the United States, judging that without continued American commitment to NATO the alliance will lose its ability to serve as the West’s premier defence alliance. A quarter century after the end of the cold war, the heady days of optimism about the future of European security are clearly over and Poland, like others along the north-eastern flank of NATO, finds itself increasingly threatened by an assertive Russia. Following the Russian seizure of Crimea in 2014, the state of East–West relations is qualitatively different from that of the cold war years, as the implosion of the Soviet empire significantly reduced Russia’s power and its reach, and the Russian Federation’s power potential is not what the Soviet Union had at its disposal; still, in relative terms, the power differential along NATO’s eastern flank is sufficiently troubling for the Poles to feel that history has come full circle, and that at least in part the geopolitical realities when it comes to the country’s eastern periphery are back in full view.

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Poland Security along NATO’s eastern flank continues to deteriorate, with the risk of a confrontation in the Baltic growing. Russia has significantly upgraded its A2AD capabilities in the Kaliningrad District, making the vulnerability of the so-called Suwałki Gap, linking Poland to the region, a growing concern. NATO has moved forward to increase deterrence, as evidenced by the deployment of a US Armored Brigade Combat Team (ABCT) to Poland as well as the alliance’s plan for multinational battalions to be displaced to the Baltic States. Still, with Russia having made Crimea another A2AD hub for the Black Sea and with its deployments in Syria impacting on parts of the eastern Mediterranean, there is a consensus in Warsaw that Moscow’s geostrategic assertiveness is not likely to ease any time soon.47

(p.138) Conclusion Going forward, Warsaw is likely to pursue a two-track approach to its security: on the one hand, making a concerted effort to ensure NATO remains the centrepiece of transatlantic security, able to respond in solidarity should a crisis emerge; and on the other hand, focusing on its own military modernization effort, including the recent emphasis on territorial defence. Poland is also exploring the extent to which it can cooperate within the region, with the Beata Szydło government prioritizing closer ties with the Visegrad countries, and reaching out to Scandinavia, the Baltic States, as well as Romania, to expand security cooperation among countries between the Baltic and the Black seas. In 2017 the regional focus on security and defence expanded into a more comprehensive vision, the so-called Intermarium, whereby Warsaw seeks to buttress cooperation among states between the Baltic Sea and the Black Sea, with an added initiative to expand cooperation down to the Adriatic to yield the ‘Trimarium’ concept of regional cooperation. Still, the centrepiece of Poland’s security strategy remains NATO, especially its relations with the United States. As a country where history is always close at hand when it comes to security policy debates, Poland remains highly attuned to what is happening across its eastern border. In this regard, there is consensus in Warsaw that Russia is likely to remain a threat and that only a cohesive and vibrant transatlantic security system can ensure the country’s freedom and security in the years to come. Here the seminal event for Poland has been the rotational deployment of a US heavy armoured brigade as part of NATO’s enhanced forward presence (EFP), marking the first time ever that US forces have been stationed and held exercises on Polish territory. Warsaw has also worked with the United States to ensure additional stocks and equipment are prepositioned in Poland, in the process raising the level of US–Polish cooperation and increasing deterrence along the north-eastern flank of NATO. Although Polish politics remain volatile and often rancorous, there is clear consensus across the political spectrum on the need to increase expenditures for national defence and to modernize the Polish military. However, it remains to be seen to what extent the Polish defence industry will be able to deliver the Page 13 of 19

 

Poland needed equipment, and which systems Warsaw will need to buy abroad. It is reasonable to expect that the quality of the Polish armed forces is likely to continue to improve in the coming years, not just in terms of new hardware and infrastructure, but also through the absorption of the experience the Poles have garnered from operational deployments in Iraq and Afghanistan. Following Poland’s participation in NATO out-of-area missions, some 30,000 of the army’s personnel have real field experience, including experience working with the US military and the armed forces of other NATO countries. On balance, Poland remains one of the linchpin states along NATO’s north-eastern flank. Note The views expressed are the author’s alone and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Marshall Center, the Department of Defense, or the United States Government. (p.139) Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Bieńczyk-Missal, Agnieszka, ‘Poland’s Foreign and Security Policy: Main Directions’, UNISCI Journal, 40 (2016), 101–18. Davies, Norman, God’s Playground: A History of Poland, ii. 1795 to the Present (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983). Defense Strategy of the Republic of Poland (Warsaw: Ministry of National Defence, 2009), . Dunn, David H., and Marcin Zaborowski (eds), Poland: A New Power in Transatlantic Security (London: Frank Cass, 2003). Grigas, Agnia, ‘Poland Takes Its Military Might Seriously’, National Interest, 1 December 2016. Michta, Andrew A., ‘Polish Hard Power: Investing in the Military as Europe Cuts Back’, AEI Hard Power Series (Washington: American Enterprise Institute, 19 December 2013), . Michta, Andrew A., Red Eagle: The Army in Polish Politics, 1944–1988 (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1990). National Security Strategy of the Republic of Poland (Warsaw: National Security Bureau (BBN), 2014), .

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Poland Simon, Jeffrey, Poland and NATO: As Study in Civil–Military Relations (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003). White Book on National Security of the Republic of Poland (Warsaw: National Security Bureau, BBN, 2013), . Notes:

(1) Central Intelligence Agency, The World Factbook, (accessed 18 April 2017). (2) See, e.g., John E. Jackson, Jacek Klich, and Krystyna Poznanska, The Political Economy of Poland’s Transition: New Firms and Reform Governments (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), and Jeffrey Sachs, Poland’s Jump to the Market Economy (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1994). (3) International Institute for Security Studies (IISS), ‘The Alliances and Europe’, in IISS, The Military Balance 1986 (Abingdon: Routledge, 1986), 52–3. (4) For an overview of Polish history during the communist era, see Anthony Kemp-Welch, Poland under Communism: A Cold War History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). For more on the Polish military during the communist period, see Andrew A. Michta, Red Eagle: The Army in Polish Politics, 1944–1988 (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1990). (5) For one of the best brief assessments of the economic challenges facing Poland after the collapse of communism, see Leszek Balcerowicz, PostCommunist Transition: Some Lessons (Thirty-First Wincott Lecture) (London: Institute of Economic Affairs, 2002). (6) Joshua Spero, ‘Déjà vu All over Again? Poland’s Attempt to Avoid Entrapment between Two Belligerents’, in Jacob W. Kipp (ed.), Central European Security Concerns: Bridge, Buffer or Barrier? (London: Frank Cass, 1993), 95. (7) For a survey of Polish history from the partitions of the country to the reemergence of the state in 1918, see Norman Davies, God’s Playground: A History of Poland, ii. 1795 to the Present (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983). (8) See, e.g., Vít Dostál, ‘Understanding New Polish Intermarium: Trap or Triumph for the Visegrad Group?’, Association for International Affairs, Policy Paper, 3/2016, (accessed 26 February 2017). (9) See, e.g., Tomasz Kamusella, The Politics of Language and Nationalism in Modern Central Europe (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 573–644.

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Poland (10) Andrew A. Michta, ‘Modernizing the Polish Military’, in David H. Dunn and Marcin Zaborowski (eds), Poland: A New Power in Transatlantic Security (London: Frank Cass, 2003), 40. (11) See ‘Polish–German Treaty on Good Neighborly Relations 17 June 1991’, in Auswärtiges Amt (ed.), Deutsche Außenpolitik nach der Einheit 1990–1993 (Bonn: Auswärtiges Amt, 1993); Jan Zielonka, Security in Central Europe, Adelphi Paper, 272 (London: Brassey’s, 1992), 27; and Andrew A. Michta, East Central Europe after the Warsaw Pact: Security Dilemmas in the 1990s (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992), 76–8. (12) Marcin Andrzej Piotrowski and Arthur R. Rachwald, ‘Poland: Returning to Europe’, in Gale Mattox and Arthur Rachwald (eds), Enlarging NATO: The National Debates (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2001). (13) See Robert Kupiecki (ed.), Strategia bezpieczeństwa narodowego Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej: Pierwsze 25 lat (Warsaw: Wojskowe Centrum Edukacji Narodowej im. płk. dypl. Mariana Porwita, 2015). For more on the strategic framework in the years immediately following the collapse of communism in Poland, see Założenia polskiej polityki bezpieczeństwa and Polityka bezpieczeństwa i strategia obronna Rzyczypospolitej Polskiej, adopted by the Committee for National Defense (Komitet Obrony Kraju; KOK), 2 November 1992, 5. (14) Tom Annesi, ‘Polish Iraq’, Ulbandus, 7 (2003), 174–7. (15) Andrzej Kapiszewski and Chris Davis, ‘Poland’s Security and Transatlantic Relations’, in Tom Lansford and Blagovest Tashev (eds), Old Europe, New Europe and the US: Renegotiating Transatlantic Security in the Post 9/11 Era (Farnham: Ashgate, 2005). (16) Marek Pietras, ‘Poland’s Participation in NATO Operations’, in Janne Haaland Matlary and Magnus Petersson (eds), NATO’s European Allies: Military Capability and Political Will (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013). (17) Artur Kacprzyk, ‘Conventional Deterrence on NATO’s Eastern Flank After the Warsaw Summit’, Bulletin of the Polish Institute of International Affairs, 48/898 (2016). (18) Pietras, ‘Poland’s Participation in NATO Operations’. (19) Piotr Buras, ‘Poland and the Eastern Partnership: The View from Warsaw’, European Council of Foreign Relations Commentary, 19 May 2015. (20) Republic of Poland, National Security Strategy of the Republic of Poland 2014 (Warsaw: ECFR, 2014), 21.

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Poland (21) Natalie Nougayrède, ‘Poland’s Warning to Europe: Russia’s Aggression in Ukraine Changes Everything’, Guardian, 10 April 2015. (22) ‘Just Five of 28 NATO Members Meet Defense Spending Goal, Report Says’, Wall Street Journal, (accessed 17 April 2017). (23) ‘Poland Ends Army Conscription’, Telegraph, (accessed 17 April 2017). (24) Andrew A. Michta, ‘Modernizing the Polish Military’, in David H. Dunn and Marcin Zaborowski (eds), Poland: A New Power in Transatlantic Security (London: Frank Cass, 2003), 41. (25) For a comprehensive review of Polish military reform in the 1990s, including the democratization of civil–military relations, see Jeffrey Simon, Poland and NATO: A Study of Civil–Military Relations (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003). (26) Barre Seguin, ‘Why Did Poland Choose the F-16?’, Quarterly Journal, 7/1, 2008, (accessed 17 April 2017). (27) Matthew Day, ‘Poland Increases Military Spending in Response to Russia’s Belligerence’, Telegraph, 31 May 2015, (accessed 26 February 2017). (28) Janusz Onyszkiewicz, ‘Will Poland Create a “Territorial” Defence Force—or Will Its Role be as Guardian of the Country’s Conservative Political Revolution?’, Security Europe, 1 November 2016, (accessed 17 April 2017). (29) IISS, Military Balance 2017 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2017). (30) Thomas Yates and Sarah Gustafson, ‘Poland as Europe’s Defense Leader: From “A Hard Look at Hard Power”’, American Enterprise Institute, 5 October 2015, (accessed 17 April 2017). (31) ‘Raytheon Gets OK for $10.5 billion Patriot Sale to Poland: Pentagon’, (accessed 16 December 2017).

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Poland (32) Marine Pennetier and John Irish, ‘France Angry with Poland After It Scraps Airbus Deal’, Reuters, 7 October 2016, (accessed 26 February 2017). (33) Andrew A. Michta, ‘Polish Hard Power: Investing in the Military as Europe Cuts Back’, American Entreprise Institute, 19 December 2013, (accessed 17 April 2017). (34) See Dominik Kimla, Julien Demotes-Mainard, and Joe Walsh, ‘Poland’s Defence Modernisation Plan: A Race against Time’, Avascent White Paper (September 2016); Anna Pochylska and Marcin Terlikowski, ‘Prospects for Polish–US Defence Industrial Cooperation’, Polish Institute of International Affairs, Policy Paper, 13. (35) Ministry of National Defence, ‘Kolejne Leopardy dla wojsk lądowych’, 22 November 2013, (accessed 17 April 2017). (36) Rakietowy rok 2017 w Wojsku Polskim, ‘SPO i budżet kluczowe dla modernizacji,’ Defense24.pl, (accessed 17 April 2017). (37) This description draws on Michta, ‘Polish Hard Power’. (38) Michta, ‘Polish Hard Power’. (39) Michta, ‘Polish Hard Power’. (40) Michta, ‘Polish Hard Power’. (41) Agnia Grigas, ‘Poland Takes Its Military Might Seriously’, National Interest, 1 December 2016, (accessed 17 April 2017). (42) Andrew A. Michta, ‘Countdown to the NATO Summit: Partial Answers to the Russia Question’, American Interest, 24 May 2016, (accessed 30 April 2017). (43) Ministry of National Defence, ‘Spotkanie z przedstawicielami ambasady USA’, 5 January 2017, (accessed 17 April 2017).

Page 18 of 19

 

Poland (44) Ministry of National Defence, ‘Prezydent podpisał ustawę o OT’, 21 December 2016, (accessed 17 April 2017). (45) ‘Macierewicz: polski punkt widzenia podzielany w NATO’, Polish Press Agency (PAP), 12 April 2016, (accessed 30 April 2017). (46) David Herszenhorn, ‘NATO to Stress “Fair Burden-Sharing” in Mattis Visit’, Politico.EU, 14 February 2017, (accessed 21 April 2017). (47) On Russia’s A2AD, see Kathleen Weinberger, ‘Russian Anti-Access and Area Denial (A2AD) Range’, Institute for the Study of War, 29 August 2016, (accessed 17 April 2017); David Majumdar, ‘Can America Crush Russia’s A2/AD “Bubbles”?’, National Interest, 29 June 2016; Diego Ruiz Palmer, ‘Back to the Future? Russia’s Hybrid Warfare, Revolutions in Military Affairs, and Cold War Comparisons’, in Guillaume Lasconjarias and Jeffrey Larsen (eds), Hybrid Warfare in the Strategic Spectrum: An Historical Assessment: NATO’s Response to Hybrid Threats (Rome: NATO Defense College, 2015).

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Spain and Portugal

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Spain and Portugal Félix Arteaga

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0008

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines divergences and commonalities between Spain’s and Portugal’s defence policies. Both countries share the Iberian Peninsula but they do not constitute a single strategic entity. Their national defence policies show different patterns according to their own history and strategic culture, with no military joint venture so far. Both countries maintain strong defence relationships with the United States and are strengthening their bilateral cooperation at the political and military levels to cope with the new threats and risks emerging on the southern flank of NATO and the EU. Militarily, they are not comparable, because Spain has more expeditionary, industrial, and budgetary capabilities than Portugal. Both countries have developed national security strategies since 2001 to adjust their military capabilities and force structures to the new strategic environment despite their unfavourable economic situation. Keywords:   NATO, EU, defence, strategic culture, expeditionary warfare, capabilities, Spanish armed forces

Introduction THE defence policies and the structure of the armed forces of Spain and Portugal have evolved in an accelerated manner since the ending of the cold war. They have accomplished similar processes of transformation to adjust doctrines, force structures, and military capabilities to the changing strategic context of the post-cold war international security environment. The transformation has been a reactive, rather than a proactive, process, where external factors have served as accelerators, while internal factors have acted as Page 1 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal brakes. As medium European powers, neither country has attracted much attention in the existing literature. Only a few texts included in this chapter analyse them in an individualized manner, and none in the comparative way that this chapter attempts.1 In order to explain and compare the magnitude and logic of such transformations, this chapter analyses the influence of key internal and external drivers to the transformation of the armed forces of Spain and Portugal. The first three sections deal with the overarching conditions affecting the transformation: strategic cultures; defence policies; and the financial and industrial bases. Understanding the visions and strategic cultures of both countries is a necessary precondition to explaining the similarities and differences in the evolutionary processes of their armed forces. The transformation of their defence policies, the changes in the decision-making systems, and the enlargement of the concept of national defence towards the concept of national security have also been key transformational factors. The final outcomes have been contingent upon the budgetary and industrial bases of both countries, given the interdependency between ambitions and resources. As explained in the fourth section on the transformation of force structures, this has had a significant impact on the military postures of the armed forces of the two countries, including power projection capabilities and the professionalization of the armed forces. (p.141) International missions and operations, military cooperation, and the new security risks have been the key external drivers to the transformation process. The final section of the chapter thus focuses on the contribution of the Portuguese and Spanish armed forces to international missions and crisismanagement operations, and cooperative security more generally. The process of internationalization has improved the number and density of the defence relationships of the two countries with third partners, including bilateral and multilateral networks of military cooperation. After a structured comparison of the key drivers, the chapter ends with a summary of conclusions about the changing strategic landscape for Spain and Portugal, their security and defence policies, and the posture of their armed forces in the post-cold war period.

Strategic Visions and Cultures Portugal, which was a founding member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) in 1949, found itself quite comfortable in the Atlantic Alliance during the cold war because it matched its Atlanticist vocation.2 Since the ending of the dictatorship in 1974, successive strategic concepts in 1985, 1994, 2003, and 2013 have defined Portugal as a ‘Euro-Atlantic’ country with a ‘global approach’ and considered that the Atlantic is indivisible.3 By contrast, Spain remained outside the Atlantic framework during most of the cold war, even though the bilateral defence agreements established with the United States in 1953 allowed an indirect linkage by providing deployment facilities for a NATO member state on Spanish soil.4 The entry into NATO in 1981 caused a Page 2 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal political and social divide, including a referendum in 1986, the conditions of which forced Spain to remain outside the NATO military structure under ad hoc coordination arrangements. Only after the alliance had decided to change the command structure in 1997 did parliament authorize the government to join the new NATO military structure in 1999.5 Both countries have their particular strategic cultures according to the way in which their political elites and populations perceive the role of military power. Such perceptions are well rooted in their respective defence and foreign-policy experiences.6 Spanish governments tend to avoid hard choices in military affairs. They fear the potential reaction of the public, because of the latter’s animosity towards the armed forces during the dictatorship, the controversy over the presence of American bases on Spanish soil, or the controversy (p.142) over the membership of NATO, among other issues. Conversely, the less controversial interaction between the Portuguese elites and public opinion facilitates the defence leadership of Portuguese governments. Nevertheless, and despite the bigger influence of political elites in defence affairs, the impact of public opinion on decision-making is increasing in both countries, as will be explained. Strategic cultures also help to explain the different attitudes in the two countries regarding combat missions. Spanish governments have imposed caveats in making the country’s armed forces available to third parties dependent on the nature of the mission and internal political circumstances. Spain has been ready to transfer the operational control (OPCON) of its troops, but not the operational command (OPCOM), to prevent commanders from changing the assignment or the zone of action of Spanish troops. Conversely, Portugal has usually not put caveats on the involvement of its troops, in order to allow operation commanders to decide freely on their use, including combat missions.7 Be it for military or political constraints, both countries have chosen a supporting role in highintensity military operations during the post-cold war period. In Afghanistan, for instance, they participated under the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) self-defence rules of engagement, and not under the more aggressive ones of the US-led Operation ‘Enduring Freedom’.8 In this way, Portugal abstained from NATO’s military operations in Libya in 2011, while Spanish aircraft did not carry out ground attacks, and both countries preferred training functions to contribute to the international coalition against the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) in 2014.9

The Evolution of Defence Policies The defence policies of Portugal and Spain have evolved as a result of significant changes in the decision-making process, as well as in the concepts of defence and security—as illustrated by successive strategic reviews. Operational commanders and public opinion have become more influential, the traditional concept of territorial defence has been broadened by the notions of security and

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Spain and Portugal safety, and both countries have—in updating their strategies—emulated their allies. Changing Decision-Making Systems

Defence policies used to be decided by the governments alone, but after the cold war the decision-making process became more open to lawmakers and public opinion. The evolution was boosted by the enlargement of the concept of defence towards security and safety, and the introduction of defence reviews and national security strategies to adjust traditional policies to the new strategic context. (p.143) Defence policies in Spain and Portugal have traditionally been delegated to the ministries of defence (defence policy) and to the armed forces (military policy). In both countries, the authority over defence policies has experienced a double process of centralization since the cold war: first, from the services to the Chiefs of the General Staff to ensure the primacy of the operational factor over the organizational one; and second, from the headquarters of the armed forces to the ministries of defence to guarantee the primacy of the civil establishment over the military one. In Spain and Portugal, the heads of state have only an institutional role, because the responsibility for defence policy lies with the heads of government assisted by the councils of national defence. The Portuguese prime minister and the president of the Spanish government lead in armed conflicts and military operations, and define their goals and conditions, while the defence ministers develop and implement defence policies. They are advised by the Chief of the General Staff of the Armed Forces (ChoGSAF) in Portugal and the Chief of Defence Staff (ChoDS) in Spain. Both commanders have complete control over the operations, structure, and equipment of the armed forces, while the powers of the Chiefs of Staff of the services are being limited to the training and administration of the troops.10 Public opinion has become more influential in the decision-making of defence policies in both countries. In 1999, 66 per cent of the Portuguese population did not perceive any military threats, and more than 60 per cent supported the professionalization of the armed forces. These percentages are somewhat lower than those of the Spanish population: 73.2 per cent and 81.3 per cent respectively.11 Post-cold war missions contributed to an increase in public support for the professionalization of the Spanish and Portuguese armed forces. While Spain declined to take part in combat missions with the international coalition against Iraq in the early 1990s owing to the presence of conscripts aboard Spanish vessels, Portugal had to change its National Defence Strategic Concept (Conceito Estratégico de Defesa Nacional (CEDN)) in 1994 in order to facilitate the participation of its armed forces in peacekeeping operations.

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Spain and Portugal Consequently, conscription disappeared in Spain in 2001, and in Portugal in 2004. Broadening the Concept of Security

The second cause of the evolution of defence policies was the expansion of defence towards security and safety. After the cold war, advanced societies had to cope with new, multi-dimensional risks that were neither of a military nature nor a threat to the survival of states. The armed forces began to be used as a foreign policy tool to provide security to third countries and populations, and the borders between external and internal security became blurred.12 National armies began to intervene in wars of choice rather than in wars of necessity, and this beyond their national borders. As a result, the traditional concept of (p. 144) ‘national’ defence lost in importance, and Spain and Portugal, like most European countries, moved the focus of defence towards the broader fields of security and international cooperation.13 In Spain, the National Defence Directives (Directivas de Defensa Nacional (DDN)) began to employ the more expansive term of ‘security and defence’, used by NATO and the European Union (EU) to define new strategic realities since 1992.14 The 2004 DDN associated the term with the fight against terrorism and the cooperation with Mediterranean and Latin American countries. In 2005, the Defence Ministry prepared a draft Organic Law on Security and Defence in an attempt to combine both dimensions. But, as the term ‘security’ has traditionally been associated in Spain with Home Affairs, the Ministry of Interior forced the term ‘security’ to be deleted from the final text in order to prevent any potential invasion of the Home Affairs’ autonomy by the defence establishment.15 In Portugal, the CEDN of 2003 and 2013 also expanded the concept of defence into security and safety, and articulated the collaboration of the armed forces with civil authorities in internal security support missions.16 In addition, some units were created specifically for civil protection, such as the Spanish Military Emergency Unit in 2005 and the Portuguese Military Support Emergency Unit in 2013. The cooperation between armed forces and security forces in Portugal was already considered under the 2003 CEDN, but the enlargement of the 2013 CEDN towards internal security led to some reservations about the adequacy of the armed forces to carry out homeland security missions.17 These processes are still ongoing in 2017, but neither of the two countries has successfully fused the traditional cultures of security and defence into a new mixed culture of security and defence. Emulating NATO’s Strategic Defence Reviews

Spain and Portugal emulated the strategic reviews that NATO and many Western countries had carried out in order to adjust their defence policies to the new post-cold war strategic contexts. In 2000, Spain developed its first Defence White Paper, which defined national interests, the strategic concept, and the role Page 5 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal of the Spanish armed forces.18 Between 2001 and 2003, the Ministry of Defence carried out an inclusive Strategic Defence Review in order to promote the contributions of social, political, academic, and military inputs.19 This review changed the perception of the strategic environment, the interests and security risks, as well as the missions and the type of armed forces for the future. This was reflected in the subsequent DDNs of 2004, 2008, and 2012. Then, Spain developed its first strategic vision (p.145) of national security in 2011, subsequently revised in 2013 (Estrategia de Seguridad Nacional (ESN)).20 Both national security strategies considered defence to be a component among many others subordinated to the higher concept of national security. The practical disappearance of a military threat to the vital interests of Spain undermined the priority of national defence and questioned the leadership of the Ministry of Defence and the armed forces over the rest of public agencies and policies. Nevertheless, the defence system still enjoys a high degree of autonomy. In Portugal, the concept, interests, and objectives of national defence were reflected in the National Defence Law (Lei Defesa Nacional (LDN)) of 1999 and its subsequent updates of 2009 and 2014.21 The strategy to develop the objectives of the previous laws has been defined by each government through the CEDNs, which were changed three times between 1994 and 2014 to take into account the strategic changes following the attacks of 11 September 2001, the modification of the NATO strategic concepts of 1999 and 2010, and the entry into force of the EU Treaty approved in Lisbon in 2009. Among other documents, the White Book of Defence of 2001 put territorial defence on the same level as cooperative security, and the CEDN of 2003 emphasized the need to take part in international security missions.22 Portugal did not adopt the term of national security strategy to replace the one of national defence strategic concept, and the Portuguese Defence Ministry and armed forces have continued to occupy a central place within the extended national defence. Accordingly, the latest strategic documents at the time of writing in 2017, the Portuguese CEDN and the Spanish ESN, both of 2013, identify a similar catalogue of risks: international terrorism, organized crime, proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, fragile states, intra-state conflicts and cyber security, maritime safety and natural resources. The documents differ in the greater concern of Spain about economic and financial instability, irregular migration, and civil protection, while Portugal is more interested in controlling the exclusive economic zone adjacent to the triangle formed by its coast and the maritime space of the islands of the Azores and Madeira (sixty times the Portuguese territory). The entry of new actors altered the traditional balance of power in the decisionmaking process and introduced the new priorities of security and safety into the

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Spain and Portugal defence agenda. Meanwhile, the transformation goals were conditioned by the two countries’ financial and industrial conditions.

The Financial and Industrial Bases The budgets of both countries have been affected not only by the 2008 economic crisis, but also, and especially in the Spanish case, by the lack of a multi-annual programming framework, which makes it very difficult to meet the planning goals. The Spanish financial (p.146) system is subject to strong instability, and decades of successive reductions have put the Spanish defence spending ratios at the tail of European countries and allies. Table 7.1 shows the progressive decline in its percentage of the gross domestic product (GDP) regardless of the evolution of the economy. According to NATO statistics, the Spanish GDP per capita increased by 136.7 per cent from 1990 to 2010 and defence expenditures decreased by 15.9 per cent, while the Portuguese GDP increased by 135.6 per cent and defence expenditures decreased by 9.2 per cent.23 In Portugal, military spending has remained rather stable, though the economic crisis and austerity measures reduced defence budgets, as Table 7.1 shows.24

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Spain and Portugal

Table 7.1. Military expenditure and troop deployment, Portugal and Spain, after the cold war Year

Troops overseas (no.)

Military expenditure (€ million)

Percentage of GDP (%)

Portugal

Spain

Portugal

Spain

Portugal

Spain

1990

0

64

1,333

7,165

2.4

2.3

1995

1,234

1,412

2,013

8,573

2.3

1.9

2000

1,596

2,505

2,393

11,151

1.9

1.7

2005

715

2,039

3,248

12,864

2.0

1.4

2010

674

2,512

3,563

14,883

2.0

1.4

2015

285

1,027

3,322

12,716

1.9

1.2

Sources: Author’s elaboration based on the data of the IISS Military Balance (number of deployed troops/military observers) and the SIPRI Military Expenditure Database.

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Spain and Portugal Cuts and financial instability have substantially affected investments, and thereby put the acquisition of new equipment and capabilities at risk. Both countries agreed to the NATO summit decision in Wales to meet the common goals of defence by spending around 2 per cent of GDP on defence within a decade, and to spend 20 per cent of the defence budget on equipment. As a result, the initial budgets for 2015 and 2016 in Spain have grown slightly, thus reducing the dynamics of previous cuts, but without making significant progress towards the objectives agreed by the Allies. In Spain, fiscal instability has forced the payments of purchases to be rescheduled on several occasions and to request extraordinary credits outside the budget to address non-stretchable payments (1,782 million euros in 2012, 877 million euros in 2013, 883 million euros in 2014, and 856 million euros in 2015). The military research and development (R&D) is another area affected by the cuts, dropping its budget by around 56 per cent between 2008 and 2015 (from 1,664 million to 727 million euros).25 (p.147) Portugal, unlike Spain, has approved laws of military programming that have facilitated investment planning. The law of 2015 covers the period 2016–28 and allows for a total amount of 3,961 million euros, to be reviewed every four years.26 Portuguese budgets maintain the targets set in the ‘Defence 2020’: around 1.1 per cent of the GDP with a distribution of 60 per cent for staff costs and 15 per cent for investments (around 75 per cent and 9 per cent in Spain, respectively).27 Economic difficulties and the progressive increase in costs of operations have affected the overseas troop deployment of both countries, as Table 7.1 reflects. Between 1990 and 2014, Spain devoted 9,615 million euros to this area of defence spending. In addition, the cost of operations and maintenance is the second fastest growing component of the budget after personnel expenditure. According to data from the European Defence Agency (EDA), the European average percentage of increase of operations and maintenance cost in 2013 was 4.4 per cent, while Spain and Portugal showed the highest growth of all Europe: 29.2 per cent and 37.7 per cent respectively.28 Another differentiating factor with regard to capabilities is that Spain has an industrial sector of middle size while Portugal has none. Most of the Spanish defence industry is made up of around 850 medium and small firms, together with three major companies belonging to the Airbus Group, and the nationally owned Navantia and Indra, which concentrate most of the invoicing and the jobs. The Spanish industrial and technological base is the result of years of investment and of participation in numerous European programmes of collaborative equipment procurement, in which the Ministry of Defence has sought to obtain industrial and technological offsets that have benefited more Page 9 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal than 900 companies and 65 high-tech areas in the past.29 The economic crisis has reduced national procurements, and the industrial sector is facing similar problems of demand, competitiveness, and research and development as the rest of the European industry. Since 2012, several European Councils have warned against the critical situation that the reduction of military budgets was creating for the European Defence Technological and Industrial Base (EDTIB). In particular, the European Council of December 2013 emphasized the impact of declining budgets on military capabilities and the risk that fragmented defence markets posed for the sustainability and competitiveness of the EDTIB.30 What is at stake, according to the Spanish Association of Defence Technology, Aeronautics, and Space (TEDAE), is the future of a sector that, in 2015, provided 5.5 per cent of the national industrial GDP, invoiced 13,000 million euros, exported 82 per cent of its turnover, dedicated 10.5 per cent of it to innovation, and provided 62,486 direct jobs (40 per cent of them with the highest technical qualification along with 47 per cent with high technical ones).31 (p.148) For its part, Portugal does not have a technological and industrial base, because of the small size of its domestic market and the progressive privatization of a sector composed mostly of small and medium enterprises.32 In 1996, Portugal created EMPORDEF by grouping state holdings in Portuguese defence companies, but it got rid of them in 2015 and, in their place, created a platform of National Defence Industries (Plataforma das Indústrias de Defesa Nacionais (idD)) to promote industrial and technological collaboration.33 The Spanish Ministry of Defence has identified capacities affecting the essential interests of defence. Among other priorities are command and control, communications and information (C4I); cyber defence; surveillance, reconnaissance, intelligence, and target acquisition (ISTAR); traffic control and navigation aid, critical systems on board platforms; space systems, data processing, and mission.34 Portuguese priorities have been reviewed to reflect the priorities established in Defesa 2020 and the new set of missions of 2014 to include unmanned vehicles, ISTAR, command and control, and situational awareness as a technological priority for Portuguese defence. The Directorates for Armaments and Infrastructure of both Ministries (Direção-Geral de Armamento e Infra-Estruturas de Defesa (DGAIED), and Dirección General de Armamento y Material (DGAM)) are in charge of promoting the technological and industrial bases and strategies to strengthen defence capabilities.35 Because of its larger industrial technological base and purchasing power, Spain has taken part in European boards, including the intergovernmental Organisation Conjointe de Coopération en Matière d’Armement (OCCAR) (1998) and the Letter of Intent (LoI) Framework Agreement (FA) Treaty, of which Portugal is not a member. Within the EDA, Spain and Portugal promote new projects on unmanned vehicles, ISTAR, air-refuelling, cyber defence, and Page 10 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal maritime surveillance, based on a common definition of military requirements. Both countries defend common funding for the research and development of European equipment and dual-use technologies under the Horizon 2020 programmes and those to be financed in the future on defence by the Commission (Preparatory Action), especially if they can benefit small and medium-sized companies.36 The limitations already mentioned of the budgetary, technological, and industrial bases have prevented the Spanish and Portuguese armed forces from meeting all their expectations of transformation, as will be analysed in the following section.

The Transformation of Force Structures The transformation of the Spanish armed forces structures has been defined by the DDNs, while documents such as the 2000 White Paper or the National Security Strategies of 2011 and 2013 have given only general guidelines. Declassified since 1992, DDNs are declarative (p.149) documents that guide the adaptation of the objectives and strategies of defence to the changing strategic context, but that can be met or not depending on the political and economic circumstances. The 1992 DDN came after the end of the cold war to reflect changes in the strategic concept of the Atlantic Alliance in 1991. The 1996 DDN normalized Spanish participation in NATO ending the so-called Spanish model and acknowledged the gap between the existing and the required force structure to participate in international operations. The following 2000 DDN asked for a more expeditionary posture, and the 2004 DDN demanded a more detailed description of the level of military ambition by stating the structure and readiness of the force and its availability for national and international missions.37 The transformation goals fixed in these documents are supposed to be achieved through the planning systems of the Spanish and Portuguese military staffs. Both countries have updated their planning systems to follow NATO and EU standards, but planning enforcement has become increasingly difficult owing to the rapid evolution of the strategic context. In Spain, the 1996 DDN created a new planning cycle, which was altered by the professionalization of the armed forces and which, little by little, fell out of step with reality until the 2005 Organic Law of Defence asked for its review.38 The following planning system was also insufficient to introduce long-term transformation measures and it has been very vulnerable to budgetary uncertainty and changing priorities. As a result, the Chief of Defence Staff commissioned a new review in 2015.39 The long-term force structure springs from a classified document: ‘Vision 2025’, prepared by the Chief of Defence Staff in 2012, which designed the concept of use of force, the purpose of military capabilities, and the Joint Force.40 In 2014, the strength of permanently trained forces was set at 7,000 troops for Page 11 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal permanent national missions, 10,000 for international operations, and 5,000 for national expeditionary operations, to which it would be necessary to add support tasks and rotation for a total of 67,000 soldiers with lower levels of readiness.41 The centralization of new Joint Commands for Special Operations, Cyber Defence, Military Intelligence, Surveillance and Maritime Security, Air Operations, and Transformation under the CHoDS’ Operations Command is expected to boost further the progress towards the cross-service cooperation (‘jointness’) of the Spanish armed forces.42 Portugal began an in-depth reform of its defence and force structure through the document Defesa 2020.43 The reforms changed the strategic concept, missions, force structures, and planning system in 2013, as well as the laws of National Defence and Military Programming in 2014.44 The desired force structure foresees between 30,000 and 32,000 troops, including a Modular Set of Forces to fulfil international commitments, an (p.150) Immediate Reaction Force to cope with autonomous contingency operations, and Sovereign Mission Forces to conduct homeland and security missions. According to the Defesa 2020 estimates, the army should be able to deploy or sustain up to three battalions simultaneously, together with appropriate support forces in the framework of a multinational operation. Those deployable land forces (together with two frigates and three squadron-type units) would be part of a modular set of forces assigned to international commitments and able to sustain up to three smallscale operations simultaneously or one bigger operation for six months. According to the same document, the army could command a brigade-size unit at any level of intensity or scenario for a limited time. Finally, high-readiness troops of Spain and Portugal are available to join the NATO Response Force, with Spain even leading the Very High Readiness Force Joint Task Force (NATO’s Spearhead Force) in 2016. With regard to Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) initiatives, both countries have also shared EU Battlegroup packages six times between 2007 and 2017.45 Overall, both countries have translated the NATO joint doctrine on effects-based operations (EBOs) into their joint operational planning systems with no further implications for their military postures. Spanish armed forces networked the Joint Force and the Operational Commands with a command and control system that reinforced their expeditionary capabilities, something that Portuguese armed forces are still trying to develop. Given the significant budgetary constraints, Spanish and Portuguese force structures have exchanged quantity for quality by reducing the number of troops and the readiness of many units. The core of the transformation efforts has been devoted to a limited number of selected forces assigned to international commitments and national contingencies.

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Spain and Portugal Missions, Operations, and Challenges Spain and Portugal have cooperated in international missions and operations. Military actions in the post-cold war environment moved from territorial defence to force projection, and from autonomy to cooperation with old allies and new partners in multinational missions and operations. Peacekeeping operations gathered an increasing number of non-state actors—international agencies, nongovernmental organizations, and local actors—in a complex system of crisis management (the so-called comprehensive approach). Not being major powers, both countries have given priority to multilateral cooperation, especially within the framework of the UN, by contributing to peacekeeping operations with military contingents and cooperating with the UN Security Council in their periods as non-permanent members.46 Spain began by sending military observers in 1989 to the UN missions in Central America and Namibia. In 1991, it sent them to Angola and Mozambique, both former Portuguese colonies, as well as to El Salvador, and for the first time ever it deployed troops in Iraq within an international coalition (Operation ‘Provide Comfort’). (p.151) Both countries have taken part in NATO operations in Afghanistan and the Baltic countries, together with the UN in Lebanon or under the EU in CSDP missions and operations (Somalia, Mali, Chad, the Central African Republic’ or the Mediterranean). Spanish and Portuguese troops have also joined multinational EU units such as Eurofor, Euromarfor’ and the Battlegroups.47 For its part, Spain has tried to participate in the largest possible number of missions giving priority to multilateral frameworks, although it has also participated within ad hoc coalitions in Iraq and Serbia. Spain deployed a peak number of 4,000 troops abroad in 2003, including the largest deployment ever in Iraq with 1,300 troops. Portugal made its biggest deployment of 900 troops in 1996 on the occasion of its participation in the NATO Implementation Force in Bosnia and Herzegovina.48 Since 2000, the Portuguese participation in international missions has been reduced or has had a mainly symbolic character as a consequence of the economic crisis.49 Spain, by contrast, has maintained its average figures, working with NATO in the Indian Ocean, Libya, and Turkey, as well as supporting EU and French operations in Africa.50 As Table 7.1 shows, the number of troops and military observers deployed abroad by the two countries has been quite similar since the end of the cold war, though Spain’s have been triple or quadruple the Portuguese figures since 2000. Besides, Spain has developed significant strategic capabilities to project air, maritime, and land forces at long distance, while Portuguese expeditionary forces require airlift, sealift, and logistic support.51 The proliferation of military operations abroad has affected the decision-making process of the two countries, albeit to a different extent. The initial consensus Page 13 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal among political parties and the involvement of multilateral organizations legitimizing interventions enabled the different Spanish governments to intervene in post-cold war crises without parliamentary control or significant social scrutiny. However, the social and political unrest that emerged in 2003 against the government for its alignment with the international coalition against Iraq paved the way for the approval of the 2005 Organic Law of National Defence, which forced governments to seek prior authorization from the Congress of Deputies before sending troops abroad. Such prior authorization is not required in the case of Portugal, although the government has been forced to report to the Assembly of the Republic on the decision to send troops and on the situation on the ground in order to supervise the implementation of the missions.52 Therefore, the constitutional missions of the armed forces have had to be adjusted to meet the new security and defence scenarios. The missions and concepts of employment of (p.152) the Portuguese armed forces appear in the declassified version of the 2014 Strategic Military Concept.53 In Spain, missions are listed in the 2005 National Defence Organic Law. Nevertheless, the growing destabilization of Northern Africa, the Sahel, and the Middle East in the wake of the so-called Arab Spring of 2011 has created a new scenario of particular concern for both countries. Their geographical location on the southern border of NATO and the EU makes them more exposed to terrorism, instability, and migration than the rest of their allies and partners.54 The decision of the United States to shift its focus of strategic interest to the Asia–Pacific region, the ‘rebalance’ announced in its Defense Strategic Guidance of 2012, pointed out the need for European countries to provide security in their periphery and strengthen their military autonomy in a period of economic crisis.55 The new situation became crystal clear during the Libyan war of 2011, when the United States decided to lead ‘from behind’ the intervention of the international coalition and delegate its leadership to European allies or NATO. The American attitude changed slightly after the Russian invasion of Ukrainian territory in 2014, when the United States led the NATO reaction to deter further aggressions and reassure East European allies.56 The existence of a ‘southern flank’ formally accepted by NATO still needs a conceptual development to define the threats, risks, and responses, unlike the ‘eastern flank’, where NATO has launched concrete measures of reinsurance and deterrence.57 The same can be said about the EU, because the strategies and means devoted to the southern neighbourhood show a limited military profile, and most of the CSDP missions and operations are focused in the fields of development, training, and security sector reforms.58

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Spain and Portugal Overall, Portugal and Spain have contributed to the post-cold war UN, NATO and EU missions and operations despite their limited resources. Nevertheless, the emergence of security risks on their borders is forcing both countries to review their bilateral and multilateral defence partnerships.

Partners and Frameworks for Cooperation The contribution to post-cold war military missions and operations has taught Spanish and Portuguese armed forces to work under demanding environments and multinational frameworks outside national borders. Spain and Portugal also maintain special cooperative relations with many countries because of their geographical proximity and historical tradition. Relations fall within the function of cooperative security in Portugal and within (p.153) defence diplomacy in Spain. Both countries develop action plans that include training, exchange, technical assistance, and institutional dialogue. Portugal has maintained preferential relations of cooperation with, among others, the countries of the Community of Portuguese Language Countries (Comunidade dos Países de Língua Portuguesa (CPLP)) since 1998, but it has not moved from the bilateral level, despite the Portuguese wish to develop a multilateral defence dimension within the CPLP.59 Even the Portuguese expectations of creating a partnership between the CPLP countries and NATO or the EU have failed, because none of them has shown an interest in establishing partnerships.60 Portugal explored that possibility during the NATO summit in Lisbon in 2010, but neither the final declaration approving the strategic concept, nor Brazil itself, considered it necessary to overlap the North and South Atlantic scenarios. However, Portugal insists on considering the Lusophone world a third defence priority together with NATO and the EU.61 For its part, Spain has merely tried to keep closer bilateral relations with the Latin American countries and to boost the presence of Latin American contingents together with national ones in military operations in Iraq, Lebanon, or Haiti.62 Both countries have also cooperated with France, Italy, and Malta since 2004 within the ‘5+5 Defence Initiative’ with five western Mediterranean countries: Algeria, Libya, Morocco, Mauritania, and Tunisia. The initiative is part of the broader process of political dialogue among the Western Mediterranean countries, which began in 1990 after the end of the cold war and which seeks to enhance trust, exchanges, and exercises among the armed forces of both Mediterranean shores.63 Spain and Portugal have also maintained a close relationship with the United States, including the presence of American forces on their territories. The Lajes Field air base in the Azores islands, which was once the centre of American projection towards Europe, has been suffering from the diminishing presence and interest of the United States, despite Portuguese advocacy in Washington.64 The military facilities of Rota and Moron in Spain, by contrast, have become Page 15 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal increasingly relevant to support the US ballistic missile defence and crisis response capabilities.65 (p.154) NATO and the EU are the two major defence and security frameworks for both countries. Their influence is different because NATO has greatly developed its military cooperation instruments, adapting them to the post-cold war strategic environment, while the military dimension of the EU is still being constructed. Therefore, both countries have to weigh up the comparative advantage of NATO in collective defence, military crisis management, and cooperative security against the comparative advantage of the EU in civilian crisis management and external relations. NATO and transatlantic relations are relevant for both countries, given the Atlantic vocation of Portugal and the interest of Spain in maintaining strong bilateral relations with the United States. Both advocate for a better cooperation between NATO and the EU, as well as for the harmonization and synchronization of their capabilities development programmes. The two countries also support the construction of the security and defence policies of the EU, sharing the goal of increasing their influence through their participation in the initiatives, missions, and operations of the EU’s CSDP. Spain and Portugal joined the Western European Union in November 1988, but the European initiatives in security and defence had to wait until the approval of the Treaty of Maastricht in 1993. The Portuguese EU presidency of 1992 took advantage of the momentum to combine military and diplomatic instruments to strengthen Portugal’s influence in European affairs.66 Nevertheless, Portugal continued to underestimate the capacity of the EU as a military actor until the Franco-British agreement in Saint-Malo, when Portugal shared the British idea of developing a European pillar within NATO and not as an alternative to it. In addition, the progressive reduction of resources for its foreign and security policies caused Portugal to make a virtue of a necessity and support the complementarity of Atlanticism and Europeanism. In any case, the EU has preserved security and defence within the primary jurisdiction of its member states and it has respected the full compatibility with NATO membership, so that neither of the two countries has been forced to choose between the two organizations. Finally, bilateral cooperation between Spain and Portugal remains friendly but separate, despite commonalities. Divergences in strategic visions and in military capabilities have prevented the Iberian Peninsula from becoming a strategic unit or achieving any kind of subregional integration. The two countries maintain good cooperation and friendship in defence affairs, and this was strengthened in 2014. At the political level, this has gone from the ministerial Protocol for Cooperation of 1998 to a Cooperation Agreement with treaty status in 2015. The two countries’ goal is to strengthen the bilateral relations and coordinate their Page 16 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal contributions and initiatives within the multilateral frameworks of NATO, the EU, and the ‘5+5 Initiative’, as the defence ministers stated in their Declaration of Intent in November 2012. Military cooperation is encouraged by the regular meetings of peninsular Chiefs of Staffs and the Portuguese–Spanish Security and Defence Councils, which precede bilateral summits between the heads of government of both countries.

(p.155) Conclusions The defence policies of Spain and Portugal have been called into question with the disappearance of the geopolitical and geostrategic context of the cold war for which they were created. Means and ways of warfare, postures, budgets, and technologies are all changing quickly and, for the first time, the geopolitical epicentre is shifting from the Euro-Atlantic area to Asia, the Middle East, and North Africa. International missions and operations, military cooperation, and the new security risks have been the key external drivers to the transformation of the Spanish and Portuguese armed forces. Changes in defence strategies, policies, and force structures have been justified by the need to adjust them to the challenges posed by such external drivers. However, the limitations of political willingness, economic resources, and military capabilities in both countries have reduced their level of transformational ambition. Both countries have improved the interoperability, flexibility, and deployability of their armed forces in order to cope with the post-cold war missions and operations. And they have accomplished the transformation of their armed forces in times of economic austerity and social and political unrest. Military budgets have been hit by an exponential increase in costs, and decisions about defence have become subject to the scrutiny of public opinion and lawmakers. Nevertheless, Spain and Portugal have managed to meet their commitments with the international security community, as well as with NATO and the EU. They have followed similar, but not equal, transformation processes because of their budgetary, military, and industrial differences. Despite having shared missions, operations, and partners, both countries ignored each other until 2014, when they began to strengthen their political and military cooperation. There is, however, still no subregional integration framework at the time of writing in 2017. In the post-cold war period, the security interests of Spain and Portugal are at stake in the area encompassing the Maghreb and the Sahel regions, and from the Gulf of Guinea to the Horn of Africa, as laid out in their strategic documents. Spain and Portugal have realized that they cannot confront the new security challenges on their own. As a result, they have increased their bilateral cooperation in order to search for the backing of multilateral organizations, such as NATO and the EU, together with particular partners, such as the United States or the south European countries. Such a pragmatic approach could evolve Page 17 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal in the future into a deeper cooperation with the United States, NATO, or any other European ‘more structured form of cooperation’, as recommended by the Global Strategy of the European Union in 2016.67 (p.156) Select Bibliobgraphy Bibliography references: Aguiar-Branco, José Pedro (ed.), Conceito Estratégico de Defesa Nacional (Lisbon: Instituto Defesa Nacional, 2013). Arteaga, Félix, and Enrique Fojón, El planeamiento de la política de defensa y seguridad en España (Madrid: Instituto Universitario General Gutiérrez Mellado, 2009). Beneyto, José María, and Juan Carlos Pereira (eds), Política Exterior Española: Un balance de futuro (Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva, 2011). Cardoso Reis, Bruno, Ensaio em torno de uma cultura estratégica portuguesa (Lisbon: Nação e Defesa, 2013). Fuente Cobo, Ignacio (ed.), Análisis comparativo de las capacidades militares españolas con los países de su entorno (Madrid: Instituto Español Estudios Estratégicos, 2016). Ortega Martín, Jorge, La transformación de los ejércitos españoles: 1975–2008 (Madrid: Instituto Universitario General Gutiérrez Mellado, 2009). Pérez Muinelo, Francisco, El gasto de defensa en España: 1946–2015 (Madrid: Ministerio de Defensa, 2016). Rodrigues Viana, Vitor, Portugal e a Defesa Europeia (Lisbon: Instituto Defesa Nacional, 2014). Robinson, Steven, Assessing the Europeanisation of Portuguese Foreign and Security Policy (Newcastle: Newcastle University, 2013). Sepúlveda, Isidro, and Sonia Alda (eds), Fuerzas armadas y políticas de defensa: transición y modernización (Madrid: IUGM, 2007). Notes:

(1) Jorge Ortega Martín, La transformación de los ejércitos españoles: 1975– 2008 (Madrid: IUGM, 2009); Joao Vicente, ‘Uma reflexao actual sobre a transformaçao das Forças Armadas Portuguesas’, Air and Space Power Journal (4th Quarter 2007); Félix Arteaga, ‘The Coming Defence: Criteria for the Restructuring of Defence in Spain’, Elcano Policy Paper, 3 (14 January 2014).

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Spain and Portugal (2) Bruno Cardoso, ‘A centralidade do Atlântico: Portugal e o futuro da ordem internacional’, Instituto da Defesa Nacional Cadernos, 19 (2015), 281–4. (3) Marisa Fernandes, ‘Para um renovado conceito estratégico nacional português’, Lusíada: Política internacional e segurança, 9 (2013), 219–53. (4) Antonio Marquina, España en la política de seguridad occidental 1939–1986 (Madrid: Ediciones Ejército 1986), 1001. (5) Fernando Pardo de Santayana, ‘La representación militar de España y la participación de nuestras fuerzas armadas en la OTAN’, in Félix Arteaga (ed.), La OTAN en su medio siglo: Una visión española (Madrid: Asociación Atlántica, 1999), 105–14. (6) This section draws from the definition and analysis of the two countries’ strategic cultures in Cardoso and Arteaga. See Bruno Cardoso, ‘Portugal’, and Félix Arteaga, ‘Spain’, in Heiko Biehl, Bastian Giegerich, and Alexandra Jonas (eds), Strategic Cultures in Europe (Potsdam: Springer VS, 2013), chs 21 and 25, respectively. (7) Domingo Rodrigues, ‘As forças armadas Portuguesas no Afeganistão’, Nação e defesa, 130 (2011), 140. (8) David P. Auerswald and Stephen M. Saideman, NATO in Afghanistan: Fighting Together, Fighting Alone (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), ch. 1. (9) Global Coalition, ‘Spain’s Military Contribution to the Coalition’, (accessed 9 December 2017). (10) Government of Portugal, A Defesa de Portugal 2015 (Lisbon: Ministry for National Defence, 2015), 32–3; Ministry of Defence, Orden DEF/166/2015 on the organization of the Spanish Armed Forces, 21 January 2015. (11) Luis Salgado and Mário Bacalhau, As forças armadas em tempo de mudança (Lisbon: Instituto da Defesa Nacional, 2001), 38, 92; Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas, ‘La defensa nacional y la profesionalización del ejército’, Estudio, 2317 (1999), 10–11. (12) NATO, Strategic Concept (Brussels, 2010), 7; European Union, European Security Strategy (Brussels: European Council, 2003), 2. (13) Alyson J. K. Bailes, ‘The Strategic Object of War’, in Julian Lindley-French and Yves Boyer (eds), The Oxford Handbook of War (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), ch. 10.

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Spain and Portugal (14) Ministry of Defence, DDN 1/1992, 27 March 1992, and DDN 1/2004, 30 December 2004. (15) Council of Ministers, Ley orgánica defensa nacional 5/2005, 17 November 2005. (16) Council of Ministers, Res. 6/2003, 20 January 2003, and Res. 19/2013, 5 April 2013. (17) Jorge Silva Paulo, ‘Análise critica do conceito estratégico de defesa nacional de 2013’, Segurança e Defesa, 27 (2014), 35. (18) Ministry of Defence, Libro blanco de la defensa 2000 (Madrid: Publications Centre, 2000). (19) General Secretariat for Defence Policy, Revisión estratégica de la defensa (Madrid: Ministry of Defence, 2002). (20) Spanish Government, Estrategia de seguridad nacional: Un proyecto compartido (Madrid: Presidency of the Government, 2013) and Estrategia española de seguridad. Una responsabilidad de todos (Madrid: Presidency of the Government, 2011). (21) Council of Ministers, LDN 5/2014, 29 August 2014, and LDN 1-B/2009, 7 July 2009. (22) Government of Portugal, Livro branco sobre a defesa nacional 2001 (Lisbon: Ministry for National Defence, 2002). (23) NATO Public Diplomacy Division, ‘Financial and Economic Data Relating to NATO Defence’, Communiqué PR/CP (2011)027, 10 March 2011. (24) Nuno Severiano Teixeira and Ana Santos Pinto, ‘A defesa europeia em tempo de austeridade’, Nação e Defesa, 141 (2016), 144. (25) COTEC Foundation for Innovation, Informe 2016 (Madrid: COTEC, 2016), 113. (26) Presidency of the Council of Ministers, Lei Orgánica 7/2015 on Military Programming, 18 May 2015. (27) Antonio Fonfría, ‘Presupuestos de defensa en España’, Elcano Royal Institute Analysis, 65 (2015). (28) European Defence Agency, National Defence Data (2013), 24. (29) Secretary of Defence, Cuaderno de política industrial, 3 (Madrid: Ministry of Defence, 2010), 15. Page 20 of 23

 

Spain and Portugal (30) European Council Conclusions, EUCO 217/2013, 20 December 2013. Félix Arteaga, ‘La base industrial y tecnológica de la defensa española y europea ante el Consejo Europeo de 25–6 de junio de 2015’, Real Instituto Elcano (9 June 2015). (31) TEDAE, Informe anual 2015 (Madrid: TEDAE, 2016). (32) Industries for Defence and Logistics, Catalogue 2012/2013 (Lisbon: Ministry for National Defence, 2013), 8. (33) Government of Portugal, A Defesa de Portugal 2015 (Lisbon: Ministry for National Defence, 2015), 202. (34) Council of Ministers, Res. 420/38100, 30 July 2015. (35) Council of Ministers, Res. no. 35/2010 on the Portuguese Technological and Industrial Base, 6 May 2010. Ministry of Defence, Estrategia industrial de Defensa 2015 (Madrid: DGAM, 2015). (36) ‘España, Italia y Portugal piden racionalizar las estructuras de la defensa europea’, Europa Press, 3 September 2013. (37) Guillem Colom and Alejandro Orozco, ‘La evolución de la política de defensa española a través de las directivas de defensa nacional’, in Potenciar la cultura de seguridad, una necesidad para comprender la defensa nacional (Madrid: Ministry of Defence, 2014), 369–76. (38) Félix Arteaga and Enrique Fojón, El planeamiento de la política de defensa y seguridad en España (Madrid: IUGM, 2007), 355–405. (39) Ministry of Defence, Ministerial Order 37/2005, 30 March 2005. (40) Miguel González, ‘Defensa planea recortar 15.000 militares y 5.000 civiles’, El País, 16 July 2016. (41) ‘Transformación de las Fuerzas Armadas’, Revista Española de Defensa, 304 (2014), 7–9. (42) Council of Ministers, Royal Decree 872/2014, 10 October 2014. (43) Council of Ministers, Resolution 26/2013, 11 April 2013. (44) Government of Portugal, A Defesa de Portugal 2015 (Lisbon: Ministry for National Defence, 2015). (45) Hugo de Palma, ‘European by Force and by Will: Portugal and the ESDP’, EU Diplomacy Paper, 7 (2004), 10–12.

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Spain and Portugal (46) United Nations, ‘Peacekeeping Statistics’, (accessed 9 December 2017). (47) Carlos Jorge de Oliveira, ‘Contributos de Portugal para a Segurança e Defensa Europeia’, Revista militar, 1 (2016), 73–85. (48) Helena Carreiras, ‘The Sociological Dimension of External Military Interventions: The Portuguese Military Abroad’, Portuguese Journal of Social Science, 2 (2014), 135. (49) Carlos Branco, ‘Portugal and the CSDP’, in Daniel Fiott (ed.), The Common Security and Defence Policy: National Perspectives, Egmont Paper, 79 (Brussels: Egmont, 2015), ch. 25. (50) Ministry of Defence, ‘Misiones en el exterior’, (accessed 9 December 2017). (51) Real Instituto Elcano, Elcano Global Presence Index Data, Military Dimension, 30 April 2016, (accessed 9 December 2017). (52) Assembly of the Republic, Lei 46/2003 on the Parliamentary Supervision of Military Contingents Overseas, 22 August 2003. (53) Government of Portugal, A defesa de Portugal 2015 (Lisbon: Ministry for National Defence, 2015), 38–9. (54) Félix Arteaga, ‘España mirando al Sur’, Informe elcano, 18 (2014). (55) United States Defense Department, Defense Strategic Guidance, (accessed 9 December 2017). (56) Artur Kacprzyk, ‘US Military Presence in Central and Eastern Europe’, PISM Report (August 2015) (accessed 9 December 2017). (57) NATO Wales Summit Declaration 2014, (accessed 9 December 2017). (58) Beata Gorka-Winter, ‘EU Security Sector Reform Requires Revision to Achieve and Maintain its Goal’, PISM Bulletin, 32 (2015). (59) Bernardino Brás, Luis Manuel Acevedo, and Francisco Duarte Acevedo, ‘A nova identidade da CPLP no domínio da defesa: Impactos para a centralidade geoestratégica de Portugal’, Lusíada: Política internacional e segurança, 12 (2015), 105–29.

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Spain and Portugal (60) Nuno Severiano Teixeira, ‘Portugal and European Integration (1974–2010)’, in L. C. Ferreira-Pereira (ed.), Portugal in the European Union (New York: Routledge, 2014), ch. 2. (61) Government of Portugal, Conceito estratégico defesa nacional (Lisbon: Ministry for National Defence, 2013), 8. (62) Ministry of Defence, Plan de Diplomacia de Defensa (Madrid, 2011). (63) Carlos M. Martins Branco, ‘A contribuição das forças armadas para a Politica Externa do Estado Português na Região do Magrebe’, Revista militar, 1 (2016), 27–37. German Marshall Fund and Instituto Affari Internazionali. ‘Southern Europe and the Mediterranean: National Approaches and Transatlantic Perspectives’, Mediterranean Series (2011), 96. (64) Steve Robinson, ‘Still Focused on the Atlantic’, European Security, 1/25 (2016), 137. (65) In October 2011, Spain agreed to port four US ships at Naval Station Rota to support NATO’s missile defence system. In June 2015, both countries amended the US–Spanish Agreement for Defense and Cooperation to permit a permanent deployment of the Special Purpose Marine Air–Ground Task Force for Crisis Response at Moron Air Base. Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Cooperation, ‘Ficha-País Estados Unidos’, (accessed 9 December 2017). (66) José M. Megone, The Developing Place of Portugal in the European Union (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 2004), 248–9. (67) European External Action Service, Shared Vision, Common Action: A Stronger Europe. A Global Strategy for the European Union’s Foreign and Security Policy (Brussels, 2016), (accessed 9 December 2017).

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Turkey

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Turkey Yaprak Gursoy

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0009

Abstract and Keywords Since 1991, the Turkish armed forces (TAF) have experienced major transformations in the spheres of civil–military relations, military operations, and military capabilities; yet there have also been elements of continuity. While the military has come under the control of civilians, the 2016 coup attempt showed that old patterns of behaviour continue and reflect conflict among various groups and issues, including political Islam. In the sphere of military operations, TAF has participated in international peacekeeping missions, but has also become embroiled in the Syrian war and carried out unilateral operations in Iraq against Kurdish groups. Finally, Turkey has increased its military capabilities, but it is still dependent on Western powers for technological expertise. Overall, there is a mismatch between Turkey’s power aspirations and the domestic and regional circumstances it faces, leading to continuities despite the changes. Keywords:   Turkish armed forces, civil–military relations, Kurdish separatism, political Islam, Syria

Introduction SINCE the end of the cold war, the Turkish armed forces (TAF) have experienced major transformations in civil–military relations, military operations, and military capabilities. The changes that TAF have gone through give the impression that Turkey is evolving into a more democratic and powerful nation that contributes to world peace and the Western alliance. However, despite these positive developments, there are also continuities with previous eras. The enduring domestic and regional problems of Turkey highlight the limits of its

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Turkey democracy, restrictions to its influence in the regional and international arena, and problems in its relations with the United States and European powers. This chapter will trace these elements of change and continuity by, first, analysing security priorities from 1991 onwards, based on the press briefings of the National Security Council and other official defence documents. Then, the chapter will examine civil–military relations, military operations, and military capabilities in three separate sections. Each section will be divided into three periods of 1991–2002, 2003–10, and 2011–17. What emerges from the chapter is that the continuities and changes in the three spheres are due to a mismatch between Turkey’s regional power aspirations, on the one hand, and the domestic and regional circumstances it faces, on the other. After the Soviet Union ceased to be a threat, Turkey found new opportunities to project its power in its neighbourhood, while at the same time it feared losing its significance for the Western alliance.1 Turkey has aspired to become a regional power especially in the Middle East in order to influence the nations in its neighbourhood after the vacuum created by the fall of the Soviet Union and to prove its importance to its long-term allies.2 These ambitions have, however, been confronted with problems at home. Turkey’s continued conflict with the Kurds and its struggle to reconcile political Islam with democracy has prevented it from developing into (p.158) the ‘soft power’3 it aimed to be in the region. Moreover, the Middle East itself went through a major upheaval following the Arab Uprisings, making it difficult for Turkey to project its influence.4 The impasses Turkey has faced have led to a mixture of changes and continuities in civil–military relations, military operations, and military capabilities. The chapter makes two original contributions to the literature on Turkish defence policy and armed forces. First, it provides a comprehensive overview of the three spheres, rather than focusing on only one aspect.5 By providing an allencompassing analysis of the Turkish military, the chapter shows how civil– military relations, TAF’s peacekeeping operations, military capabilities, and defence policies are interrelated. Secondly, previous works have analysed the changes that Turkish foreign and defence policy went through in detail,6 but there is seldom an emphasis on the continuities since the cold war.7 This chapter shows that, despite major transformations, Turkish defence policy has also displayed significant continuities since the 1990s.

Military Strategy and National Security Priorities This section provides a framework for the chapter’s analysis of the key dimensions of Turkish defence policy. In order to do so, it first traces national security priorities and military strategy in the post-cold war era by examining official documents. Second, it divides the years after 1991 into three different

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Turkey eras in order to show how security priorities changed owing to domestic and regional circumstances. Foreign Policy Goals and Strategy

In many respects, the primary aim of Turkish foreign policy since the end of the cold war has remained the same. Turkey has aspired to become a regional power by stressing its Western and Muslim identities, and its geographical location bridging the Balkans, the (p.159) Middle East, and Central Asia.8 The Minister of Foreign Affairs between 1997 and 2002, İsmail Cem, for instance, advocated independence from Western powers and using Turkey’s cultural and historical past as an asset. Cem argued that Turkey should not be at the sidelines but must be at the centre of Eurasia, because it had ‘the biggest economy, the most deeprooted democracy and the strongest armed forces in the wider region’.9 These aims were reiterated in the White Papers of 1998 and 2000 prepared by the Ministry of National Defence. Emphasizing the unique geographical position of Turkey in an unstable region, these pronounced the defence objectives to be safeguarding the territorial unity and sovereignty of the country, and facilitating and participating in the establishment of international and regional stability. The strategy to achieve these objectives was outlined in four points: deterrence (to maintain and develop military capabilities to deter internal and external enemies); collective security/defence (to cooperate with and contribute to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and other regional and international alliances); forward defence (to detect threats across borders and carry out preventative interventions before threats reach Turkish territory); and military contribution to crisis management and intervention in crises.10 The Evolution of National Security and Decision-Making

These goals and strategies have also been reflected in the National Security Council (NSC) meetings. The concept of national security entered Turkish political terminology with the 1961 constitution following the first coup d’état modern Turkey ever witnessed. The constitution established the NSC and blurred the distinctions between defence and security policies. Domestic and foreign threats were fused into the broadly defined and ambiguous notion of ‘national security’.11 In its initial years, the NSC was envisioned as a platform in which the government and the general staff could consult each other on security issues stemming mostly from the cold war environment. However, after the 1971 and 1980 successful coups against elected governments, both the responsibilities of the NSC and the dominance of the general staff over the civilians were increased. As a result, the NSC and the general staff became the main institutions that determined strategy.12 After the election of the Justice and (p. 160) Development Party (JDP) to the government in 2002, the general staff lost its dominance over the civilians.13 Yet, the NSC has continued to be the main Page 3 of 31

 

Turkey platform where national security priorities are discussed and determined. The NSC has also been the arena where the National Security Policy Document (NSPD), the so-called Red Book, is prepared. The clout of the NSPD is so dominant that it is referred to as the ‘secret constitution’ of Turkey because presumably no law can be legislated in contradiction to it.14 Full texts of the NSPD and the NSC meeting minutes are not disclosed to the public. Haphazard information on the NSPD leaks to the public every four or five years when it is renewed, which can give some clues regarding national security priorities. Similarly, after each council meeting, a press briefing is issued on the NSC website summarizing the main matters that were discussed and outlining the policies that are being followed.15 These briefings also contain warnings and relay wishes addressed to the international community and neighbouring countries, providing a useful tool to understand the main elements of national security. The Period 1991–2002

Figure 8.1 summarizes the most frequently discussed foreign-policy issues in the 154 NSC meetings between 1991 and 2002. This period began with the end of the cold war and continued until the JDP came to power in Turkey. In international relations, the first remarkable event of the period was President Turgut Özal’s decision to participate in the First Gulf War, enabling the economic embargo (to the detriment of Turkey’s own interests) and allowing the use of air bases on Turkish land.16 The TAF also actively participated in the peacekeeping missions in the Balkans. The importance given to Iraq and the war in Bosnia–Herzegovina and the Balkans can be seen in the frequent appearance of the two issues in the NSC briefings. In domestic politics, the 1990s were marked by several unstable coalition governments, the military’s involvement in politics, and the height of the Kurdish insurgency in the south-east. The conflict with the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (Partiya Karkerên Kurdistanê (PKK)), a group that is considered as a terrorist organization by Turkey, the United States, and the European Union (EU), was seen as both a domestic and a foreign-policy issue, owing to the presence of Kurdish groups

Figure 8.1. The frequency of foreign policy topics in NSC press briefings, 1991–2002.

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Turkey across the border in Iraq.17 As a result, Kurdish terrorism was discussed in every NSC meeting, and the issue contributed to the frequent appearance of Iraq in press briefings. (p.161) Along with the Kurdish insurgency, political Islam was identified as the most important internal threat Turkey faced in the 1997 NSPD.18 Indeed, in the February 1997 meeting of the NSC, the general staff forced the coalition government of the Islamist Welfare Party (WP) and the True Path Party to accept a list of recommendations on how to combat religious reactionism. The pressure of the military, along with secular civil society groups and political parties, eventually led to the resignation of the government in what became known as the ‘postmodern coup’.19 The covert coup of 1997 demonstrated that the cold war guardian role of the military was sustained into the 1990s, giving the impression that Turkish civil–military relations were the main impediment to further democratization. The Period 2003–2010

After 2002, security priorities changed and Turkish defence policy and armed forces entered a new phase. Following the closure of the WP by the secular judiciary, a younger group of leaders from the party founded the JDP and won the elections in 2002. The JDP supported the EU membership of Turkey and brought together an unprecedented alliance of forces consisting of both liberals and Islamists. Among the supporters of the JDP was (p.162) also the movement led by Fethullah Gülen, a cleric residing in the United States with millions of followers worldwide.20 Bringing together a coalition of forces against the military, the JDP started a reform process following EU prescriptions. The government gradually curbed the formal powers of the military in the NSC and the entire system.21 The period after 2002 also benefited from the temporary defeat of the PKK following the capture of its leader Abdullah Öcalan in 1999. In this peaceful environment, Turkish governments sought ‘zero problems’ with neighbours and cooperated with them diplomatically and economically under Ahmet Davutoğlu’s leadership.22 Turkey’s ‘soft power’ reached its peak, partly with the blessing of the United States, which viewed Turkey as

Figure 8.2. The frequency of foreign policy topics in NSC press briefings, 2003–2011.

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Turkey a model Muslim democracy for the region.23 Figure 8.2 summarizes the foreign-policy issues that were discussed in the fiftyfive NSC meetings until the end of 2010. Ankara continued to be preoccupied with developments in Iraq, the flow of immigrants across the border, and the presence of Kurdish insurgents following the 2003 Iraqi invasion. However, it can also be observed that there was a significant drop in the number of matters that were addressed in the period 2003–10 (p.163) when compared to the previous one. In terms of language, the press briefings of 2003–10 were also more succinct and less antagonistic. The NSPD was revised twice during this period, in 2005 and 2010. In the latter document, religious reactionism and movements, including Gülen, were deleted from the domestic threats section and Iran, Iraq, and Greece were removed as top security priorities, reflecting Turkey’s new approach to neighbours.24 The Period 2011–2017

National security concerns, however, fundamentally shifted following the Arab Uprisings and the 2011 general elections. As Figure 8.3 shows, Syria became the most frequently discussed matter in a total of thirty-six NSC meetings. Refugees from Syria, which had reached more than 3.5 million as of 2017,25 and immigration as a general issue were debated twenty times. Turkey became more involved with the Middle East; and developments in Libya, Yemen, and Egypt were surveyed in the NSC meetings. The Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) became a cause for distress, at first, as a terrorist group operating (p.164) in Iraq and Syria. However, after the January 2016 NSC meeting, ISIS was included along with Kurdish separatism as a major domestic threat. The Kurdish insurgency regained strength during this period and was addressed as both an internal and an external matter, similar to previous eras. What had changed, however, was the appearance of new actors in Syria. The Kurdish People’s Protection Units (Yekîneyên Parastina Gel (YPG)) and Democratic Unity Party Figure 8.3. The frequency of foreign (Partiya Yekîtiya Demokrat policy topics in NSC press briefings, (PYD)) operating in Syria were 2012–2017. seen as affiliates of the PKK, and the NSC press briefings asked the international community and allies not to rely on them to combat ISIS. Another matter that changed after 2011 was the reinclusion of the Gülen movement as a domestic Page 6 of 31

 

Turkey threat. After the June 2014 meeting, the movement was referred to as the ‘parallel state organization’ and, following the July 2016 coup attempt (see the section ‘Civil–Military Relations’ for more), it was dubbed as the Fethullah Terrorist Organization (FETÖ). In 2015, the NSPD was also revised to include the Gülen movement back into the list of domestic security threats.26 Persistent Issues beyond the Middle East

An element that has remained the same over the three periods analysed in this section is Cyprus. The island in particular and security in the eastern Mediterranean in general have been a cause of concern ever since the dispute between the Greek and Turkish communities during the cold war years. Turkey intervened in 1974, and in 1983 helped establish the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC), which is still not recognized by the international community.27 The TRNC has been under the protection of Ankara, and disputes, as well as peace negotiations over the island, have been one of the top priorities of the NSC. Until 2011, Cyprus, the TRNC, and the Mediterranean were the most frequently addressed issues in the meetings after Iraq. Aside from these two issues, the EU and disputes with Armenia were also on the agenda every period. Although not apparent in the NSC press briefings, disputes with Greece over the Aegean Sea territorial waters, continental shelf, airspace, and islands are also known as one of the external threat concerns present in every NSPD.28 In sum, Turkish foreign- and defence-policy aims and strategy have largely remained the same since the cold war. However, the NSC meeting briefings and news on the NSPD show that from one period to another there have been significant deviations in security priorities. After a period of peaceful relations with neighbours and democratization reforms, in 2011 Turkey returned to a period of internal turmoil and conflict with the Kurds, reminiscent of the 1990s. The patterns of continuities and changes in Turkey’s defence policy, which have resulted from the mismatch between regional aspirations and domestic constraints, are apparent in the evolution of its civil–military relations, operations, and defence capabilities.

(p.165) Civil–Military Relations Turkish defence policies and armed forces’ operations and capabilities cannot be considered separately from civil–military relations. The Turkish military had been the guardian of the secular and republican character of Turkey until the early 2000s. The formal powers of the military were curbed in the early 2000s, giving the impression that Turkey was democratizing, but the failed coup of July 2016 shows that civil–military relations are still one of the most fundamental impediments to Turkish democratization. The Turkish Republic was founded by the armed forces in 1923, and for most of its history the military assumed a guardian role. During the cold war, Turkey had three successful military coups, in 1960, 1971, and 1980.29 Following the last Page 7 of 31

 

Turkey coup, the general staff became the primary decision-maker in security and defence policies, and oversaw the entire political process through the NSC. After the end of the cold war, the dominance of the military and the NSC continued, as shown by the 1997 coup.30 The reforms that were carried out in this sphere in the early 2000s were quite historic. Civilians took control of the military, especially in matters related to internal security. However, the coup mentality among some officers stayed the same, as exemplified by the 2007 ‘e-memorandum’. The incident refers to the general staff issuing a warning against the JDP on its website on 27 April 2007, threatening to intervene if the government’s candidate was elected as president. The threat never materialized, but it sufficiently alarmed the government. The JDP gave Gülen affiliates in the police forces and judiciary its blessing to start investigations on coup plots in 2008. Through the coup investigations, hundreds of officers were dismissed from the military within five years. However, the cooperation between the Gülen movement and the JDP, which led to the extraordinary events surrounding the investigations, did not last long. In 2013, they publicly parted ways over a corruption scandal involving ministers and Erdoğan’s family, presumably leaked by the Gülenists.31 The conflict between the JDP government and Gülenists reached new heights on 15 July 2016 when a bloody coup attempt targeted President Erdoğan, the government, and the parliament. The coup was put down by segments within the armed forces that opposed the plotters and citizens who went out on the streets to fight against the putschists.32 A total of 250 people, including civilians, died, and more than 2,000 were wounded during the coup.33 The JDP government accused Gülen and his followers, now called FETÖ, as the only (p.166) culprits of the putsch. Following the events of that fateful night, the government started a major purge within the state. In one year, 50,510 public employees were arrested and 149,411 people, including around 5,000 academics, were dismissed from their jobs.34 The purges in the military were quite significant as well. By the first anniversary of the coup, 7,655 personnel from TAF had been expelled, including 150 generals/admirals and 4,287 officers.35 By March 2016, there was a 38 per cent decrease in the number of generals, the service most affected by these purges being the air force. While before the coup attempt there had been two pilots for every combat plane, the ratio fell to 0.8 after the dismissals.36According to another report, some brigades are now being commanded by colonels because of a shortage of generals.37 Moreover, a major amendment package was introduced a few days after the coup. With these changes, military high schools and academies were closed down, the path that would allow civilian and religious high-school graduates to become officers was opened, and a new National Defence University, under the control of the Ministry of National Defence, was

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Turkey founded. Additionally, the gendarmerie was split from the general staff, and all military hospitals were integrated in to the Ministry of Health.38 Given the weakness of the TAF vis-à-vis civilians after the coup attempt, the government has been the primary decision-maker in senior level military promotions since the coup and is likely further to curb the autonomy of the military.39 Another development following the coup has been the straining of Turkey’s relations with the United States. The American government has refused to extradite Gülen, to the dismay of the JDP government. There is also a strong belief among the public that the United States was somehow involved in the plot.40 Public and government opposition to the United States, along with the purges and the amendments, increases the likelihood that the TAF may be reshaped with new recruits in future decades, which may possibly also affect its NATO and Western orientation, as well as its capabilities.41 In sum, civil–military relations have witnessed important changes from the dominance of the military over politics in the 1990s to the formal civilian control of the 2000s. The 2016 coup attempt demonstrated, however, that civilian control has not led to democratic (p.167) control and that there were elements within the armed forces that still contemplated taking over the government by force.

Military Operations The patterns of continuity/discontinuity that have characterized Turkish defence policy are also apparent in its military operations. Specifically, since 1991, the TAF’s military operations have illustrated two trends. First, Turkey has continuously contributed to international security and peacekeeping operations within the NATO, United Nations (UN), and EU frameworks. Turkey has prioritized such participation by establishing separate peacekeeping departments in each of its three armed services and the general staff,42 and the Partnership for Peace (PfP) Training Centre in Ankara in 1998.43 Second, the TAF has carried out numerous unilateral operations across the Iraqi border in the 1990s, and, after a period of inaction, again in northern Iraq and Syria after 2007. The TAF has also had a significant presence, with more than 40,000 troops in northern Cyprus.44 While participation in international missions is in tune with the second and fourth elements of Turkish strategy (namely, collective security and military contribution to crisis management), independent actions against especially Kurdish elements in northern Iraq and Syria are congruous with Ankara’s security priority of internal unity and the third element of its strategy (forward defence). The appendix to this chapter lists in detail Turkey’s participation in international operations according to years, areas, operations, and contribution levels. As the list clearly shows, the TAF’s commanding roles and involvement in peacekeeping Page 9 of 31

 

Turkey missions in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Kosovo, and Afghanistan have been quite significant. Although most international operations involved the land forces, the Turkish air force and the navy have also been active in several NATO missions. Overall, Turkey was thirty-seventh in the world and fourth in NATO in its number of uniformed UN Peacekeepers in 2012. When it is considered that the TAF participates more in NATO and EU operations than in UN ones, it is clear that it has been one of the leading forces in Western efforts of peacekeeping.45 The proactive role Turkey takes on in places far away from its own territory, such as Somalia and East Timor, cannot be explained solely in terms of security threats originating from these areas. There is no major public support in such involvement either. For instance, sending troops to Lebanon was highly unpopular, because it was seen as a pro-Israeli decision.46 Ankara has, indeed, persisted in providing for collective security mainly because of its general security anxiety. As the only Muslim majority country in the Western alliance, Turkey has wanted to prove its continued worth by contributing to Western (p. 168) security following the cold war.47 Turkey has also been trying to show to allies that it is not a culprit of instability in the Middle East and is an integral part of peace efforts in the region. This image has also been stressed in the hope that the United States and European powers would support Turkey’s efforts visà-vis the Kurdish insurgency.48 When the TAF’s operations are taken into account, military campaigns against Kurdish elements in northern Iraq and Syria have indeed been quite significant. The first operations in northern Iraq started in 1983, and, after three border crossings in the 1980s, the TAF’s land and air strikes in the region became recurrent in the period of 1991–9, at the height of Kurdish separatism.49 By one account, the TAF carried out a total of forty-two operations against the PKK in the 1990s, the most significant ones being the Steel operation in 1995 (involving 35,000 soldiers) and the Hammer and Dawn operations in 1997.50 In another small-scale operation in Kenya in February 1999, the leader of the PKK, Abdullah Öcalan, was captured. This development ushered in an era of peace, and there were no cross-border deployments after 2002, marking a period of change.51 Peace did not last long, and operations restarted in late 2007, continuing with the Sun operation in northern Iraq in February 2008 and three months of air and land strikes on Qandil in 2011.52 In the summer of 2016, after ISIS forces had captured Mosul in Iraq, Turkey sent troops and arms to its Bashiqa camp near the town, presumably to train Iraqi forces but possibly also to prevent the strengthening of the PKK in the region.53 It was reported in 2017 that there was one Turkish Battlegroup with around 2,000 combatants in Iraq, to the disdain and vocal opposition of Baghdad.54

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Turkey Since the start of the Syrian war, the TAF has been involved in the conflict in northern Syria as well. The first operation was carried out in February 2015, and it was a limited mission to transfer thirty-five Turkish personnel from the tomb of Suleyman Shah, and the monument itself, to a Turkish enclave to the south of Kobane.55 Following several terrorist attacks in the south of Turkey targeting civilians, however, Turkey heightened its involvement in the Syrian war, from implicitly assisting and providing safe haven to (p.169) anti-Assad groups to direct intervention. The TAF’s Euphrates Shield campaign lasted almost a year between August 2016 and March 2017. Turkey first targeted ISIS, and then captured al-Bab, preventing the Kurdish autonomous regions of Afrin and Kobane to unite and the YPG to take hold of the west of Euphrates, Turkey’s previously declared diplomatic ‘redline’.56 Following the end of the Euphrates Shield operation, President Erdoğan warned that Turkey could carry out strikes again.57 Ankara views Kurdish autonomy in northern Syria with anxiety, fearful that it would lead to an independent Kurdish state that might eventually lead to a loss of Turkish territory or at least strengthen the PKK. Armed transfers and cooperation between the United States and YPG against ISIS are also seen as detrimental to Turkey’s interests in the region.58 The Syrian war will continue to preoccupy Turkey, and the chances for a return to the 2002–11 period of no conflicts with the neighbours is unlikely in the foreseeable future. There is also the potential of Ankara to become entangled in more and unexpected conflicts in the Middle East, such as in the 2017 dispute between Qatar and Saudi Arabia. Turkey committed to take Doha’s side on the issue and deployed around 300 military personnel, armoured vehicles, and howitzers in the summer of 2017.59 Doha and Ankara had cooperated in economic relations before the crisis began, and Turkey’s involvement in the predicament is parallel to its continued regional power aspirations. By way of summary, the TAF’s participation in international operations since 1991 reflects its goal to become a regional power and to continue to be a part of the Western alliance. However, the Kurdish insurgency in the periods of 1991– 2002 and 2011–17 has shown the limits of these goals. Turkey had to deploy troops across its borders, which jeopardized relations with its southern neighbours and the United States. These push-and-pull dynamics between external aspirations and domestic constraints have also shaped the patterns of continuity and discontinuity in the evolution of the TAF’s defence capabilities and budgets.

Military Capabilities, Procurement, and Expenditure Security priorities have led to a drive to increase TAF’s capabilities and build up a defence industry from the late 1980s onwards. These efforts and the military operations (p.170) already discussed resulted in high military spending when Page 11 of 31

 

Turkey compared to other European countries. The TAF has significantly increased its arms and modernized its weapons, becoming a significant military power on the world stage. However, the TAF is still a conscript army and dependent on Western countries in terms of arms supplies, which has limited its overall capabilities and restricted its ambitions of becoming a regional power. The military modernization programme and domestic procurement of weapons can be traced back to the Reorganization of Defence Industry Act of 1985. The Defence Industry Development and Support Administration (DIDSA), which directed the Defence Industry Support Fund, was founded with this Act. In 1989, DIDSA became the Under-Secretariat of the Defence Industry (UDI) (Savunma Sanayii Müsteşarlığı), which has functioned under the Ministry of Defence since then, with its own off-budget and auditing-free accounts.60 Following the experience of the First Gulf War, which highlighted Turkey’s inferior capabilities vis-à-vis its NATO allies, a military modernization programme was announced in 1996 with the purposes of procuring new and advanced equipment, improving the systems that were already in stock, and developing domestic defence production. The programme assigned $150 billion for the increase of military capabilities through domestic production until the 2020s. In the first decades of the programme, Turkey produced F-16 fighter jets, Armoured Infantry Fighting Vehicles (AIFV), and radio systems.61 There were two interrelated reasons for these initiatives. First, as already discussed, Turkey felt insecure regarding the continued support of the United States and Europe against internal threats after the cold war. The US arms embargo following Turkey’s intervention in Cyprus in 1974 had shown that this type of dependence could result in equipment shortages directly influencing the TAF’s capabilities. Since the 1990s, successive German governments have also occasionally banned selling military equipment to Turkey, owing to its record of human rights in its combat with Kurdish guerrilla forces in the south-east.62 Second, it was believed that only a capable military and a developed defence industry would provide the necessary prestige and hard power to carry out Turkey’s ambitions in its neighbourhood. This is why, despite changing governments, efforts to increase military capabilities have continued for three decades. The recent JDP governments, as well, have prided themselves on the many procurement projects and launches, showing them off as major achievements for both domestic public support and external prestige.63 Through the military modernization and defence industrialization programmes, Turkey has been able to produce new military equipment. Some of the highlights are Göktürk-2: a high-resolution, remote-sensing satellite; Altay: a Main Battle Tank (MBT); Ejder Yalçın: an armoured vehicle for urban and cross-country terrains; Kirpi/Hedgehog: a mine-resistant ambush-protected vehicle for carrying troops, weapons, command and control systems, and detecting and Page 12 of 31

 

Turkey disposing of mines; Anka: a Medium Altitude Long Endurance (MALE–class) Unmanned Air Vehicle (UAV) system for reconnaissance, surveillance, and target (p.171) detection; Atak: a T-129 attack and tactical reconnaissance helicopter; and Milgem: a patrol and anti-submarine warship (corvette).64 According to the 2017–21 Strategic Plan of the UDI, some of the ongoing projects include the development of air and ballistic missile defence systems,65 the TF-X fighter jet, the Anti-Air Warfare (AAW) defence frigate, and submarines with airindependent propulsion systems.66 As a result of these procurement efforts, the TAF ranks among the top militaries of the world in terms of some of its equipment and systems. For instance, Turkey is one of the fifteen countries in the world that has Military Information, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance (ISR) satellites.67 The Turkish Air Force has 1,018 aircrafts, and Turkey’s total fleet size is outranked only by the United States and France in NATO.68 Additionally, Turkey is among the top ten countries worldwide in terms of the number of Main Battle Tanks (MBTs) in active service.69 An overall assessment of defence industrialization in Turkey, however, demonstrates mixed results. On the positive side of the coin, in 2011, 54 per cent of Turkey’s defence needs were met by domestic resources. From 2002 to 2015, arms exports increased from $247 million dollars to $1,655 billion.70 Dependence on Western powers has decreased, and, with the ability to diversify its imports to non-Western countries such as China, Japan, and South Korea, Turkey has gained important leverage vis-à-vis the United States and European suppliers.71 On the negative side of the coin, however, Turkey is still far from self-sufficiency in arms production and relies on the United States for advanced weapons systems. In many projects, Turkey partners up with foreign companies and continues to be dependent on other countries for know-how and technology transfer. (p.172) Similarly, although exports have increased to countries with almost no defence industry (such as Saudi Arabia, Turkmenistan, and Pakistan), the amount of arms imports still outweighs exports significantly.72

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Turkey Concurrent with the military modernization and defence industry programmes, Turkey has had high levels of military spending since the end of the cold war. According to the data of the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), there was first an increase in spending from 3.8 per cent of GDP in 1991 to the peak of 4.1 per cent in 1997, as Figure 8.4. Military expenditure of shown in Figure 8.4. This Turkey, 1991–2016. increase coincided with the fight against the Kurdish insurgency, operations in Iraq, and the ‘postmodern’ coup. Military expenditure then shows a significant and continuous decline from 3.9 per cent in 2002 to 2 per cent in 2016. Although this drop can be explained by the increasing civilian control over the military, the data on military spending as a percentage of GDP must be read with caution for three reasons. First, although military expenditures declined, Gulden Ayman and Gulay Gunluk-Senesen show that spending on the police and coastguards increased by 150 per cent and on the gendarmerie increased by 50 per cent between 2000 and 2014. In other words, costs of internal security compensated for the decrease in external security in line with Turkey’s security priorities. Second, the off-budget funds are not transparent enough, which makes it difficult to calculate military expenditures fully. Finally, decreases in terms of percentage of GDP are due also to the growing Turkish economy.73 (p.173) Indeed, when the same figures are presented in constant dollars, it is clear that there has been no significant decrease in military spending since the cold war (see Figure 8.5). It is possible to observe more spending in the 1990s, similar to the previous figure, but spending has been around the same range when averages are taken into account. Based on SIPRI data, Turkish annual military expenditure was around $14.8 billion on average between 1991 and 2002, $14.2 billion between 2003 and 2010, and $15.2 billion between 2011 and 2016. Moreover, as Figure 8.5 shows, Turkish military expenditures have been constantly higher than the average amount spent among European countries. Worldwide, between 1991 and 2016, Turkey ranked in the top twenty spending countries, ranging somewhere between eleventh (in 1998 and 1999) and nineteenth (in 2006) in different years.

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Turkey Aside from high military expenditure, another element of continuity of Turkish defence policies and armed forces has been conscription. While most European countries have abandoned conscription entirely or allowed the option of civil service to replace compulsory draft, as of August 2017 there are no serious plans to abolish conscription in Turkey.74 In 1991, Turkey had eighteen months of draft for all male Figure 8.5. Military expenditure by citizens, which was briefly country, 1991–2016. reduced to fifteen months in the period 1993–4. In 1995, the service period was increased back to eighteen months, because of the Kurdish conflict. In 2003, service times were again reduced, and since then all Turkish male citizens aged 18 and over have been drafted for fifteen months, and function as reserves until the age of 41. Service time is reduced for university graduates, who can be drafted either for twelve months as reserve officers or (p.174) for six months as privates. Despite the occasional introduction of partial exemptions through payments, the conscription system is essentially the same as the one that was introduced in 1927.75 According to the World Military Expenditures and Arms Transfers (WMEAT) data, the average number of TAF personnel for the 2004–14 period was 485,000. Turkey has the twelfth largest military in the world and the second largest in NATO after the United States. An average of 0.7 per cent of Turkey’s population was under arms for the 2004–14 period, a figure placing Turkey thirty-fifth worldwide and second in NATO after Greece.76 Although the worldwide trend is to professionalize the military and hire more skilled personnel to use high-tech equipment, the persistence of conscription has impeded developments in this respect.77 The main reasons given for this insistence on conscription are the special geographical location of Turkey and the continuing internal threats. Moreover, serving in the military reinforces the militaristic security culture of Turkey.78 In sum, Turkey struggles between continuity and change in the sphere of military capabilities. It has modernized its armed forces and defence industry to a considerable extent, in tune with its regional power aspirations and security priorities. The Global Firepower index ranks Turkish military strength 8th out of 133 countries, based in part on the strength of its forces and manpower.79 Page 15 of 31

 

Turkey Notwithstanding these achievements, however, domestic circumstances have led to shortcomings. Turkey maintains conscription for internal security reasons and is still dependent on Western powers for weapons supplies.

Conclusion This chapter has analysed Turkish defence policy and armed forces by examining three periods and highlighting changes and continuities. After the end of the cold war, Turkey set out its goals as projecting more power to its surrounding regions and protecting its internal security. Contributing to international missions abroad, carrying out operations across the borders to prevent any threats materializing within the country, and building up the capabilities of the military (through conscription, a domestic defence industry, and high military expenditures) were set out as the central elements of defence policy. These goals did not change; however, domestic circumstances and the regional security environment did, creating a discrepancy between Turkey’s aspirations and what it can truly achieve. In the period 1991–2002, the military had a guardian role and supervised domestic and defence policies. Moreover, the TAF fought against the Kurdish insurgency in the south- (p.175) east and carried out operations in northern Iraq. At the end of the 1990s, the TAF had been successful in putting down PKK terrorism and Turkey entered a period of high prospects. In the period 2003–10, under the leadership of the first two JDP governments, the EU membership process gained pace and, along with a series of reforms, a more balanced relationship between the civilian power-holders and the military was established. Turkey had peaceful relations with its neighbours and was seen as the model Muslim democracy in the Middle East by the Western alliance. Things changed yet again after 2011. Turbulence in the Middle East and the strengthening of the PKK at home and its affiliates in northern Syria and Iraq, as well as the new threat of ISIS, forced Turkey to abandon its peaceful relations with neighbours and deploy troops across the border. In domestic politics, the JDP government’s alliance with the Gülen movement fractured, leading to the 2016 coup attempt. These developments have also put Turkey’s alliance with the United States and European powers to a tough test. Time will tell whether these circumstances will also lead to further shifts in Turkey’s defence policies and the capabilities of its armed forces.

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Turkey

Appendix: Foreign deployments of Turkey as part of international operations

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Turkey

Area

Years

Operation name

Framework

Contribution & deployment

Afghanistan

2002–

• ISAF • Operation ‘Resolute Support’ (2015–)

NATO

• on average 922 personnel each year • 1 infantry brigade HQ (in 2011–14) • 2 infantry battalions (in 2011–14) • led the ISAF operation June 2002–February 2003 and February–August 2005 • commanded the Kabul Regional Command Capital (RCC) April– December 2007 and November 2009– November 2012 • responsible for the Kabul International Airport February–August 2005 • gave $1.5 million to the Afghan National Army (ANA) Trust Fund and $2 million to the Helicopter Initiative

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Turkey

Area

Years

Operation name

Framework

Contribution & deployment • trained more than 14,000 ANA members in Afghanistan and in Turkey

Bosnia–Herzegovina

2013–

• UNAMA

UN

1 observer

1994–

• • • •

UN NATO EU

• average 1,308 personnel each year in 1994–2004 • average 273 personnel since 2005 • 1 infantry brigade group • leads one of the five Regional Coordination

UNPROFOR IFOR; SFOR EUFOR EUPM

Centres 1996–7

UNMIBH

UN

2001

26–7 civilian police personnel 1 observer

2011–12

OSCE

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1–2 experts

Turkey

Area

Years

Operation name

Framework

Contribution & deployment

(p.176) Kosovo

since 1999

KFOR

NATO

• average 647 personnel each year • 1 battalion task force • assigned personnel in HQ • led Kosovo Multinational South Task Force Command in May 2007–May 2008

2008–

EULEX

EU

around 91 personnel

OSCE

2–12 experts

2009– 2010–

UNMIK

UN

1 observer

Croatia

1997

SFOR

NATO

34 personnel

Albania

1997

Operation ‘Alba’

Various contributing countries

around 700 personnel

FYROM

2001

Essential Harvest

NATO

1 infantry company team

Italy

1993

• Deny Flight • IFOR/SFOR Air Component • Deliberate Forge • EUFOR Air

NATO EU

• 170 personnel (in 1995– 7) • 4–18 F-16s

Iran/Iraq

1990

UNIMOG

UN

15 observers

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Turkey

Area

Years

Operation name

Framework

Contribution & deployment

Iraq/Kuwait

1991–2002

UNIKOM

UN

6-7 observers

Iraq

2009–12

NTM-I

NATO

• 2 experts • donor country to the NTM-I Trust Fund • trains Iraqi officers at the Center for Excellence on Defence Against Terrorism and the Center for Partnership for Peace in Ankara

Libya

2011

Operations ‘Unified Protector’

NATO

• at least 1 frigate • 1 submarine • 2 tanker aircrafts • 4 F-16s

Somalia

1993

UNOSOM II

2017

UNSOM

Georgia

1995–2009

UNOMIG

UN OSCE

4–5 observers

Democratic Republic of Congo

2007–8

• EUFOR • EUPOL Kinshasa

EU

• 17 personnel (in 2007) • 1 expert (in 2008)

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UN

• 320 personnel • 1 mechanized infantry company 1 observer

Turkey

Area

Years

Operation name

Framework

Contribution & deployment

East Timor

2000–4

UNTAET

UN

1–2 observers

Sudan

2005–11

• UNMIS • UNAMID

UN

1–4 experts

Hebron

2007–8

TIPH

Various contributing countries

3 observers

(p.177) Ukraine

2015–

OSCE

6–14 experts

Lebanon

2007–

• UNIFIL UN • Maritime Task Force (in 2007–2009)

• average 321 personnel each year • 233 navy personnel in 2007–8 • 1 engineer instruction company

Baltic countries

2006

Baltic Air Policing

• led the mission in April–

NATO

July 2006 • 4 F-16s and support personnel were deployed in Lithuania’s Siauliai International Airport Adriatic

1994–6

Sharp Guard

NATO

1 frigate

Arabian Sea and Gulf of Aden

2009–

• Operation ‘Ocean Shield’ • CTF-151

NATO Combined Maritime Forces

1 frigate

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Turkey

Area

Years

Operation name

Framework

Contribution & deployment

Mediterranean Sea

2011–

• Operation ‘Active Endeavour’ • SNMG 2 • SNMCMG 2

NATO

• 1 frigate • 1 mine hunter ocean • took over the command of the forces in July 2015

Source: Compiled from International Institute for Strategic Studies, Military Balance (Abingdon: Routledge, 1990–2017); ‘Bilgi Notu’, Türk Deniz Kuvvetleri, 19 July 2016, ; Turkish Land Forces, ‘Peace Support Operations’, (accessed 19 August 2017); Republic of Turkey Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘IV. Turkey’s International Security Initiatives and Contributions to NATO and EU Operations’, (accessed 19 August 2017).

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Turkey Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Ayman, Gulden, and Gulay Gunluk–Senesen, ‘Turkey’s Changing Security Perceptions and Expenditures in the 2000s: Substitutes or Complements?’, Economics of Peace and Security Journal, 11/1 (2016), 35. Bağcı, Hüseyin, and Çağlar Kurç, ‘Turkey’s Strategic Choice: Buy or Make Weapons?’, Defence Studies, 17/1 (2017), 38. Bilgin, Pınar, ‘Turkey’s Changing Security Discourses: The Challenges of Globalisation’, European Journal of Political Research, 44/1 (2005), 175–201. Demirtaş, Birgül, ‘Understanding Turkish Perception of Conscription and Reluctance to Reform: A Westphalian Approach in a Post–Westphalian World?’, Iran and the Caucasus, 16 (2012), 355–68. Gürpınar, Bulut, ‘Milli Güvenlik Kurulu ve Dış Politika’, Uluslararası İlişkiler, 10/39 (2013), 73–104. Gürsoy, Yaprak, Between Military Rule and Democracy: Regime Consolidation in Greece, Turkey, and Beyond (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017). (p.178) Karaosmanoğlu, Ali L., and Mustafa Kibaroğlu, ‘Defense Reform in Turkey’, in István Gyarmati and Theodor Winkler (eds), Post–Cold War Defense Reform: Lessons Learned in Europe and the United States (Washington: Potomac Books, 2002), 135–64. Kurç, Çağlar, ‘Between Defence Autarky and Dependency: The Dynamics of Turkish Defence Industrialization’, Defence Studies, 17/3 (2017), 260–81. Oğuzlu, Tarık, and Uğur Güngör, ‘Peace Operations and the Transformation of Turkey’s Security Policy’, Contemporary Security Policy, 27/3 (2006) 472–88. Plakoudas, Spyridon, ‘The Syrian Kurds and the Democratic Union Party: The Outsider in the Syrian War’, Mediterranean Quarterly, 28/1 (2017), 99–116. Notes:

(1) Ziya Öniş, ‘Turkey and Post-Soviet States: Potential and Limits of Regional Power Influence’, Middle East Review of International Affairs (MERIA), 5/2 (Summer 2001), 66–74, at 66–7. (2) On Turkey being a regional power, see Kemal Kirişçi and Barry Rubin (eds), Turkey in World Politics: An Emerging Multiregional Power (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2001).

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Turkey (3) For the concept, see Joseph S. Nye, Jr, Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics (New York: Public Affairs, 2004). (4) Bülent Aras, ‘Turkish Foreign Policy after July 15’, Istanbul Policy Center (February 2017), 7–8 (accessed 8 December 2017). (5) For seminal scholarly works in each sphere of defence policy, see the resources that are cited in each section of this chapter and the Select Bibliography. (6) See, e.g., Aaron Stein, Turkey’s New Foreign Policy: Davutoglu, the AKP and the Pursuit of Regional Order (Abingdon: Routledge and Royal United Services for Defence and Security Studies (RUSI), 2014); Bilgin Ayata, ‘Turkish Foreign Policy in a Changing Arab World: The Rise and Fall of a Regional Actor?’ Journal of European Integration, 37/1 (2015), 95–112; Emre Hatipoğlu and Glenn Palmer, ‘Contextualizing Change in Turkish Foreign Policy: The Promise of the “Two-Good” Theory’, Cambridge Review of International Affairs, 29/1 (2016), 231–50. (7) For a recent work that looks at both changes and continuities, see E. Fuat Keyman, ‘A New Turkish Foreign Policy: Towards Proactive “Moral Realism”’, Insight Turkey, 19/1 (2017), 55–69. (8) Yaprak Gürsoy, ‘Turkey: Populism and Geography’, in William I. Hitchcock, Melvyn P. Leffler, and Jeffrey W. Legro (eds), Shaper Nations: Strategies for a Changing World (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016), 124–37. (9) İsmail Cem, ‘Son Bir Yıldan, Önümüzdeki Yüzyıla’, Sabah, 1 September 1998, (accessed 8 December 2017). (10) Michael Robert Hickok, ‘Hegemon Rising: The Gap between Turkish Strategy and Military Modernization’, Parameters: US Army War College Quarterly (Summer 2000), 105–19, at 109–12; Ali L. Karaosmanoğlu and Mustafa Kibaroğlu, ‘Defense Reform in Turkey’, in István Gyarmati and Theodor Winkler (eds), Post–Cold War Defense Reform: Lessons Learned in Europe and the United States (Washington: Potomac Books, 2002), 135–64, at 139–42. See also Necip Torumtay, ‘Turkey’s Military Doctrine’, Dış Politika, 1 (2009), 256–64, at 259. (11) Bulut Gürpınar, ‘Milli Güvenlik Kurulu ve Dış Politika’, Uluslararası İlişkiler, 10/39 (Autumn 2013), 73–104, at 77–8. (12) Gencer Özcan, ‘The Military and the Making of Turkish Foreign Policy’, in Kirişçi and Rubin (eds), Turkey in World Politics, 13–30.

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Turkey (13) Yaprak Gürsoy, ‘The Impact of EU-Driven Reforms on the Political Autonomy of the Turkish Military’, South European Society and Politics, 16/2 (June 2011), 293–308. (14) Zeynep Gürcanlı, ‘Cumhurbaşkanı Erdoğan Açıkladı: “Kırmızı Kitap” Masada’, Hürriyet, 13 October 2014, (accessed 8 December 2017). (15) At the time of writing in August 2017, only briefings from 2003 onwards were available. I relied on Gürpınar, ‘Milli Güvenlik Kurulu ve Dış Politika’, for the earlier briefings. (16) Ian O. Lesser, ‘Turkey in a Changing Security Environment’, Journal of International Affairs, 54/1 (Fall 2000), 183–98, at 185. (17) For an up-to-date analysis of the conflict between the Kurds and Turkey, see Ezgi Başaran, Frontline Turkey: The Conflict at the Heart of the Middle East (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 2017). (18) Pınar Bilgin, ‘Turkey’s Changing Security Discourses: The Challenges of Globalisation’, European Journal of Political Research, 44 (2005), 175–201, at 187–8. (19) Metin Heper and Aylin Güney, ‘The Military and the Consolidation of Democracy: The Recent Turkish Experience’, Armed Forces and Society, 26/4 (2000), 635–57. (20) For an account of the Gülen movement, see Joshua D. Hendrick, Gülen: The Ambiguous Politics of Market Islam in Turkey and the World (New York and London: New York University Press, 2013). (21) Gürsoy, ‘The Impact of EU-Driven Reforms’. (22) Davutoğlu was, first, an advisor to Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, then the Minister of Foreign Affairs after 2009. Following Erdoğan’s election to the Presidency in 2014, Davutoğlu served as the Prime Minister until 2016. For a concise summary of Davutoğlu’s ideas, see his article ‘Turkey’s Foreign Policy Vision: An Assessment of 2007’, Insight Turkey, 10/1 (2008), 77–96. (23) Aslı Aydıntaşbaş and Kemal Kirişçi, ‘The United States and Turkey: Friends, Enemies, or Only Interests?’, Turkey Project Policy Paper, 12 (April 2017), 1–2, (accessed 8 December 2017).

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Turkey (24) Aslı Aydıntaşbaş, ‘Kırmızı Kitap’ta Köklü Değişim’, Milliyet, 28 June 2010, (accessed 8 December 2017). (25) Adem Yazıcı, ‘HÜGO: Türkiye’deki Toplam Mülteci Sayısı 3,6 Milyonu Aştı’, Hürriyet, 12 April 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017). (26) ‘Cemaat Yeniden Kırmızı Kitap’ta’, Cumhuriyet, 29 April 2015, . (27) For a recent analysis of the Cyprus dispute, see Kıvanç Ulusoy, ‘The Cyprus Conflict: Turkey’s Strategic Dilemma’, Journal of Balkan and Near Eastern Studies, 18/4 (2016), 393–406. (28) Gürcanlı, ‘Cumhurbaşkanı Erdoğan Açıkladı’. (29) William Hale, Turkish Politics and the Military (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 1994). (30) Ümit Cizre and Menderes Çınar, ‘Turkey 2002: Kemalism, Islamism, and Politics in the Light of the February 28 Process’, South Atlantic Quarterly, 102/2– 3 (Spring–Summer 2003), 309–32. (31) For the e-memorandum and the coup investigations, see Yaprak Gürsoy, Between Military Rule and Democracy: Regime Consolidation in Greece, Turkey, and Beyond (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017), 151–4. (32) Metin Gurcan and Megan Gisclon, ‘From Autonomy to Full-Fledged Civilian Control: The Changing Nature of Turkish Civil–Military Relations after July 15’, IPC-Mercator Policy Brief (August 2016), (accessed 8 December 2017). (33) ‘Darbelere Geçit Yok! İlelebet Demokrasi’, Hürriyet, 15 July 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017). (34) ‘Darbelere Geçit Yok! İlelebet Demokrasi’. (35) ‘Bir Yıllık Bilanço: 15 Temmuz’un Ardından TSK’dan 7 bin 655 Personel İhraç Edildi’, Diken, 12 July 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017).

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Turkey (36) Metin Gürcan, ‘How Post-Coup Purges Depleted Turkey’s Military’, AlMonitor, 16 September 2016, (accessed 8 December 2017). (37) Sertaç Eş, ‘Fiilen “Tuğbay” Rütbesi’, Cumhuriyet, 10 July 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017). (38) International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance 2017 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2017), 68–9. (39) Abdulkadir Selvi, ‘Yüksek Askeri Şûra’nın Perde Arkası’, Hürriyet, 3 August 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017). (40) Soli Özel, ‘Darbe Girişimi ve ABD’, HaberTürk, 31 July 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017). (41) Leela Jacinto, ‘Turkey’s Post-Coup Purge and Erdogan’s Private Army’, Foreign Policy, 13 July 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017). (42) Karaosmanoğlu and Kibaroğlu, ‘Defense Reform in Turkey’, 12. (43) George E. Gruen, ‘Turkey’s Role in Peacekeeping Missions’, American Foreign Policy Interests, 28 (2006), 435–49, at 443. (44) IISS, Military Balance 2017, 169. (45) Nil S. Satana, ‘Peacekeeping Contributor Profile: Turkey’, Providing for Peacekeeping (September 2012), (accessed 8 December 2017). (46) Gruen, ‘Turkey’s Role’, 435–40. (47) Tarık Oğuzlu and Uğur Güngör, ‘Peace Operations and the Transformation of Turkey’s Security Policy’, Contemporary Security Policy, 27/3 (2006), 472–88. (48) Oğuzlu and Güngör, ‘Peace Operations’, 481. (49) For Turkey’s relations with Iraq since the 1990s, see Meltem Müftüler-Baç, ‘Changing Turkish Foreign Policy towards Iraq: New Tools of Engagement’, Cambridge Review of International Affairs, 27/3 (2014), 538–52.

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Turkey (50) Bengi Cengiz, ‘TSK’nın Sınır Ötesi Harekatları ve Tezkereler’, Doğruluk Payı, 24 August 2016, http://www.dogrulukpayi.com/bulten/57bda0a0070b1 (accessed 17 August 2017). (51) For the 2002 operation, see International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance 2002 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2002), 33. (52) For Turkey’s operations in Northern Iraq and Syria since the 1980s, see Cengiz, ‘TSK’nın Sınır Ötesi Harekatları ve Tezkereler’; ‘Geçmişten Günümüze Irak’ın Kuzeyine Tüm Harekatlar’, Hürriyet, 12 July 2010, ; ‘Türkiye’nin Sınır Ötesi: 1950’den Bugüne Harekatlar Tarihi’, Yeni Şafak, 4 July 2017, (both accessed 8 December 2017). (53) Tolga Tanış, ‘İşte Başika’daki Türk Üssü’, Hürriyet, 5 July 2016, (accessed 8 December 2017). (54) IISS, Military Balance 2017, 169. (55) ‘Turkey Enters Syria to Remove Precious Suleyman Shah Tomb’, BBC, 22 February 2015, (accessed 8 December 2017). (56) Spyridon Plakoudas, ‘The Syrian Kurds and the Democratic Union Party: The Outsider in the Syrian War’, Mediterranean Quarterly, 28/1 (March 2017), 99– 116. (57) ‘Türkiye’nin Sınır Ötesi: 1950’den Bugüne Harekatlar Tarihi’. (58) Bethan McKernan, ‘Turkey Condemns US for Arming Kurds with Weapons ahead of Raqqa Assault’, Independent, 31 May 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017). (59) Uğur Ergan, ‘25 Türk Askeri Katar’a Gidiyor’, Hürriyet, 21 July 2017, ; ‘Türkiye’den Katar’a Üçüncü Askeri Sevkiyat’, Hürriyet, 18 July 2017, (both accessed 8 December 2017). (60) Karaosmanoğlu and Kibaroğlu, ‘Defense Reform in Turkey’, 23.

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Turkey (61) Elliot Hen–Tov, ‘The Political Economy of Turkish Military Modernization’, MERIA: Middle East Review of International Affairs, 8/4 (December 2004), 49– 59, at 49, 55. (62) One such incident occurred in March 2017. See ‘Rheinmetall Fails to Get Clearance for Turkey Export Contracts’, Reuters, 23 March 2017, (accessed 8 December 2017). (63) For an overview of these reasons, see Hüseyin Bağcı and Çağlar Kurç, ‘Turkey’s Strategic Choice: Buy or Make Weapons?’ Defence Studies, 17/1 (2017), 38–62, at 41–6, 54–7. (64) ‘Turkish Defence Industry Products 2015–2016’, Republic of Turkey, MoND, Undersecretariat for Defense Industries, (accessed 8 December 2017). (65) The need to develop domestic missile defence capability became apparent when Turkey had to rely on NATO for such capabilities after the First Gulf War and, more recently, as a result of the Syrian civil war. As with the general decision to sustain a domestic defence industry, the retraction of the Patriot antimissile system by the Dutch government in 2014 urged Turkey to build up its own systems and not to rely on Western powers. Gulden Ayman and Gulay Gunluk–Senesen, ‘Turkey’s Changing Security Perceptions and Expenditures in the 2000s: Substitutes or Complements?’, Economics of Peace and Security Journal, 11/1 (2016), 35–45, at 39. (66) Savunma Sanayii Müsteşarlığı, ‘Stratejik Plan 2017–2021’, 18, 62, 86–123, (accessed 15 August 2017); Turkish Naval Forces, ‘Frigate Projects: TF–2000’, (accessed 12 December 2016). (67) IISS, Military Balance 2017, 562. (68) Global Firepower, ‘Total Aircraft Strength by Country’, (accessed 8 December 2017). (69) IISS, Military Balance 2017, 560. This in contrast with Germany, which gradually decreased its number of MBTs because of the expectation that there would not be any wars on its territories (see Ina Kraft, this volume, Chapter 2). The continued importance given to MBTs in Turkey is parallel to the types of internal and external threats to which the country is exposed. (70) Savunma Sanayii Müsteşarlığı, ‘Stratejik Plan 2017–2021’, 36–44.

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Turkey (71) In 2013, Turkey decided to deploy a long-range air and missile defence system (T–LORAMIDS project) with a Chinese company, but the project was abandoned after US pressure. At the time of writing in August 2017, there is discussion about purchasing the S-400 Russian system. Even if, in the end, Turkey decides not to go ahead with its plans, the existence of other alternative countries strengthens Turkey’s hand in striking better deals with Western powers. Bağcı and Kurç, ‘Turkey’s Strategic Choice’, 47; Çağlar Kurç, ‘Between Defence Autarky and Dependency: The Dynamics of Turkish Defence Industrialization’, Defence Studies, 17/3 (2017), 260–81, at 274–5; Arda Mevlutoglu, ‘Commentary on Assessing the Turkish Defence Industry: Structural Issues and Major Challenges’, Defence Studies, 17/3 (2017), 282–94, at 286–7. (72) According to WMEAT data, for the years between 2004 and 2014, Turkey’s mean arms exports to imports ratio was 0.055. ‘WMEAT 2016 Tables II–IV: Arms Transfer Deliveries, 2004–2014’. World Military Expenditures and Arms Transfers 2016, US Department of State, (accessed 15 August 2017). (73) Ayman and Gunluk–Senesen, ‘Turkey’s Changing Security Perceptions and Expenditures’, 40–1. See also Karaosmanoğlu and Kibaroğlu, ‘Defense Reform in Turkey’, 20. (74) Birgül Demirtaş, ‘Understanding Turkish Perception of Conscription and Reluctance to Reform: A Westphalian Approach in a Post–Westphalian World?’, Iran and the Caucasus, 16 (2012), 355–68, at 363. (75) Demirtaş, ‘Understanding Turkish Perception of Conscription and Reluctance to Reform’, 355. (76) ‘WMEAT, Table 1, Military Expenditures and Armed Forces Personnel’. (77) Although Turkey fits the ‘post-modern military’ model in many respects, conscription is one of the elements that diverges from the pattern. For an overall assessment, see Nil S. Şatana, ‘The Transformation of the Turkish Military and the Path to Democracy’, Armed Forces and Society, 34/3 (April 2008), 357–88. (78) Demirtaş, ‘Understanding Turkish Perception of Conscription and Reluctance to Reform’, 367. (79) ‘2017 Turkey Military Strength’, Global Firepower, (accessed 15 August 2017).

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Ukraine

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Ukraine Leonid Polyakov

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0010

Abstract and Keywords Ukraine has been through several stages of national security orientation: nonalignment, aspiration to join NATO, non-alignment and orientation on Russia and, since 2014, defence from Russian aggression and aspiration to join NATO in the future. The inconsistencies in national strategies have led to confusing military doctrines and an ineffective military posture. In 2014, the response of Ukraine’s armed forces during the Russian annexation of Crimea and in the early phase of the operations against pro-Russian separatists proved rather poor, and exposed serious military weaknesses, except the will to defend the country. Over the next two years, Ukraine took a number of measures of mobilization and rearmament, and thereby managed to rebuild a substantial force capable of stopping the Russian invasion and separatism in Ukraine’s south-east. Further on, capitalizing on lessons learned and Western support, Ukraine intensified its defence transformation to make its armed forces capable of deterring full-scale aggression from Russia. Keywords:   Ukraine, armed forces, Russian invasion, anti-terrorist operation, security strategy, military doctrine, mobilisation, rearmament, defence transformation

Introduction SINCE becoming independent in 1991, Ukraine, located directly between the European Union (EU) and Russia, has passed through several stages of national security reorientation, balancing ties with the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), on the one hand, and with Russia, on the other. These oscillations in defence policy and national strategy have led to inconsistent military doctrines and an ineffective military posture. As a result, in the spring of Page 1 of 21

 

Ukraine 2014, the response of the armed forces of Ukraine during the Russian annexation of Crimea, and in the early phase of the anti-terrorist operation against pro-Russian separatists in Donbass, exposed serious weaknesses in Ukrainian defence policy. While the extant literature has examined specific elements of Ukraine’s military posture at specific points in time, no systematic analysis of the shifting patterns in Ukraine’s defence policy from the end of the cold war to the end of 2017 has been undertaken.1 This chapter seeks to contribute to filling this gap. It provides a comprehensive analysis of the evolution of Ukrainian defence policy and of the transformation of its armed forces since 1991, and thereby sheds light on the several attempts made by Kyiv at modernizing the post-Soviet military inherited by Ukraine. In doing so, it identifies and analyses different periods in the oscillations in Ukraine’s defence policy between NATO and Russia: ‘military non-alignment’, intensive dialogue and aspiration to join NATO, ‘military nonalignment’ with an orientation towards Russia, and, since March 2014, defence against Russian aggression and aspirations to join NATO in the future. The chapter then examines how the armed forces of Ukraine responded to Russia’s invasion of Crimea and the Donbass region in 2014–16. Finally, it provides an overview of (p.180) major lessons drawn from the several attempts to reform the military of Ukraine, as well as lessons learned from military actions in Crimea and in Donbass, which Ukraine capitalized on when intensifying the transformation of its armed forces. What emerges from this analysis is that, while prior to the Russian aggression Kyiv recalibrated multiple times its postcold war defence policy between Russia and NATO, thereafter it moved decisively towards closer ties with the Atlantic Alliance—with a focus on the prospects of interstate and ‘hybrid’ conflict. Also, in modernizing its armed forces after the end of the cold war, Kyiv had to reconcile a revised threat assessment of the regional security environment with tight resource constraints.

Non-Alignment between NATO and Russia (1991–2000) Ukraine inherited from the Soviet Union a large number of troops, equipment, and supply depots. However, this was a largely inefficient and incoherent collection of different military units, which was generally unfit to provide for the security needs of the newly independent country without major transformations. In this period, as will be detailed in this section, several attempts were made at modernizing and streamlining the Soviet heritage into a more rational national military. In December 1991, after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, independent Ukraine possessed an almost 800,000-man-strong conventional military force, which was Europe’s second largest armed force. Moreover, it had a large array of military equipment, including 6,500 tanks, 7,000 armoured vehicles, 1,500 combat aircraft, and more than 350 ships. In storages and depots left over from the former Soviet Army, Ukraine held 2.5 million tons of conventional Page 2 of 21

 

Ukraine ammunition and more than 7 million pieces of small arms. Based on its soil was the world’s third largest nuclear arsenal—almost 2,500 nuclear warheads and a large number of different carriers, including 176 intercontinental ballistic missiles and 44 strategic bombers.2 The Ukrainian leadership of the early 1990s considered the international environment after the collapse of the Soviet Union as quite secure. Therefore, impressed by the mere size of its military inheritance and lulled by a sense of ‘security’ in the international environment, Ukraine, in contrast to its Western neighbours—Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, and Romania— adopted a strategy of ‘military non-alignment’ in relation to NATO and Russia.3 Furthermore, under significant pressure from Russia and the United States, Ukraine gave up its nuclear weapons arsenal in exchange for the security assurances provided by the (p.181) United States, the United Kingdom, and the Russian Federation in the so-called Budapest Memorandum.4 In fact, by agreeing to give up the world’s third largest nuclear arsenal in 1994, Ukraine set an example for the post-cold war nuclear non-proliferation efforts. The country’s leadership trusted that the key world powers would reciprocate, living up to the principles embodied in the United Nations (UN) Charter and the 1975 Helsinki accords, as well as the security assurances issued by the major nuclear powers at Budapest in 1994. At least initially, the member states of NATO, under the leadership of the United States, stood by the commitments made in the Budapest Memorandum. The United States covered the cost of Ukraine’s denuclearizing under the Cooperative Threat Reduction Programme. Furthermore, Ukraine received a number of various other support programmes through defence cooperative engagements with many other NATO member (primarily Canada, France, Germany, Lithuania, Norway, Poland, and the United Kingdom) and partner countries such as Sweden, Switzerland, and some others.5 Relying on cooperation with NATO also appeared to be promising for Ukraine, which was the first among the Commonwealth of Independent States countries to join the NATO Partnership for Peace (PfP) Programme in February 1994. Article 8 of the PfP Framework Document stipulated that Ukraine should ‘consult with any active participant in the Partnership if that Partner perceives a direct threat to its territorial integrity, political independence, or security’.6 More so, the sense of viability of Ukraine–NATO cooperation for Ukrainian security was further strengthened after the conclusion of the NATO-Ukraine Charter on Distinctive Partnership in July 1997.7 Given the seemingly peaceful cooperative developments in European and global security after the end of the cold war, the armed forces were not oriented to engage in full-scale hostilities against an attack on Ukrainian territory. Such a scenario was regarded as theoretically possible but very unlikely, and its possibility was expected somewhere in the very distant future. Reassured by the international security guarantees Ukraine had received after the signing of the Budapest Memorandum, but having to deal with the post-independence Page 3 of 21

 

Ukraine economic crisis of the 1990s, the Ukrainian leadership prioritized budgetary over strategic considerations when defining the parameters of military transformation. In the course of the first ten years of independence (from 1992 until 2002), there were continuous attempts to reform the military sector and build a truly national military, as will (p.182) be explained. These attempts resulted primarily in basic structural measures, like the creation of command and control structures, with the Ministry of Defence (MoD) and the General Staff of the Armed Forces at the top, and the organization of troops into four different branches: ground forces, air forces, air defence forces, and military naval forces. The first comprehensive defence reform document, ‘The State Programme of Armed Forces Construction and Development by 2005’, was approved by the president in January 1997. This programme was rather non-specific and contained, basically, a list of intentions. A few specific parameters were established, like the reduction of the total strength of the armed forces to 310,000 personnel by the year 2000 and the elimination of all strategic nuclear weapons by 2002. It was characteristic of that time that the president approved the programme without any prior discussion in parliament, which was not required by Ukraine’s constitution. This resulted in the failure to adopt the required defence budgetary request, which had been calculated without consulting parliament.8 In essence, in the 1990s, the Ukrainian military was left to reform itself as it saw fit within the framework of ever-shrinking budgets. Initial delays in making sufficient force structure reductions in the face of declining resources led to a situation where over 80 per cent of the MoD budget was spent on the maintenance of personnel, leaving only symbolic sums for either investment or maintaining the armed forces’ readiness.9 The most visible result of the force structure and command and control reforms in the armed forces was observed primarily in the halving of their numerical strength—from almost 800,000 at the end of 1991 to about 400,000 in 2001.10 In the aftermath of the collapse of the Soviet Union, Ukraine thus faced a stable regional security environment coupled with significant budgetary constraints. In seeking to build national armed forces on the basis of increasingly obsolete Soviet-era equipment, Ukraine adopted a defence policy of ‘military nonalignment’ between NATO and Russia until the late 1990s. Starting in the 2000s, however, Kyiv’s defence policy shifted to a ‘rapprochement’ with NATO.

Reforms and NATO Ambitions (2001–2009) Ten years after independence, previous attempts at reforming the Ukrainian armed forces were deemed insufficient by the leadership in Kyiv. The transition from a post-Soviet military to one able to defend an independent Ukraine was incomplete—to say the least. Therefore, at the start of the next decade, attempts were made to adopt more radical reforms. In 2000, a new, more comprehensive Page 4 of 21

 

Ukraine programme was adopted, ‘The State Programme for Reforming and the Development of the Armed Forces of Ukraine by 2005’—although under (p.183) significant budgetary constraints.11 It called for a further reduction of the total force, the merger of the air force and the air defence, a steep reduction in military bases, the unification of several academies, the creation of rapid reaction forces (up to 40,000 troops strong), the maintenance of a brigade-size (2,000–3,000 troops) peacekeeping contingent, and other significant reforms.12 Estimates at that time suggested that, in accordance with standard requirements, the armed forces had decreased to 300,000 military personnel, while over 3,000 tanks and over 500 aircraft required a much bigger budget to maintain their readiness. However, the Ukrainian state budget of that time (2000–4) regularly allocated only 10–20 per cent of the required amount—about $500 million–$700 million. It was barely enough to feed the conscripts and to pay a low salary to military officers.13 The overall preparedness of the Ukrainian armed forces of that period was limited, at best. The concerns were so severe that Kyiv came to see the participation of the Ukrainian military in peacekeeping operations and in international military exercises to be one of the most important ways to maintain readiness. Accordingly, Ukraine became an active contributor to UN peacekeeping and NATO-led operations in former Yugoslavia, Africa, Iraq, Afghanistan, and many other places, despatching either observers or military contingents up to brigade size (Iraq in 2003–5).14 In particular, thanks to financial support from the United States, in cooperation with Poland Ukraine contributed a battalion-size contingent to Kosovo (over 400 troops) and a brigade to Iraq (almost 1,800 troops).15 Under these circumstances, Ukraine’s political leadership set a rather radical course for further force reductions and for moving from general military conscription to a volunteer system. In April 2001, the President of Ukraine, Leonid Kuchma, approved the ‘Concept of Transition of the Armed Forces of Ukraine to Manning with Contract Servicemen through 2015’, which anticipated the transfer to a 240,000-strong volunteer (professional) military. Just a year later, in April 2002, the president approved the ‘State Programme for the Transition of the Armed Forces of Ukraine to Manning with Contract Servicemen’, according to which Ukraine was to have a smaller—180,000personnel-strong—volunteer force by 2015.16 In the middle of the 2000s, caught between NATO enlargement in the West and a more assertive and anti-Western Russia in the East, Ukraine became concerned by its military (p.184) vulnerability. In the Military Doctrine of Ukraine of 2005, approved by President Viktor Yushchenko (further confirmed in the National Security Strategy of Ukraine of 2007) and in the relevant legislature, Ukraine renounced its military non-alignment status. Encouraged by the victory of the democratic ‘Orange Revolution’, which manifested the victory Page 5 of 21

 

Ukraine of pro-Western democratic forces led by Viktor Yushchenko against attempts to rig the elections of the President of Ukraine in favour of the pro-Russian candidate Viktor Yanukovych, the Ukrainian leadership adopted a course towards NATO membership. NATO cautiously welcomed this intention. At a meeting in Vilnius on 21 April 2005, NATO ‘invited Ukraine to begin an “Intensified Dialogue” on Ukraine’s aspirations to membership and relevant reforms’.17 This decisive political turn was supported by the elaborate ‘Programme for the Armed Forces Reform and Development for the Period of 2006–2011’. The main aspects of the programme for 2006–11 included: the transition of command and control systems to NATO standards; the shift from four to three military services by unifying the air force and air defence force into a single air force; providing for the integration of different services by establishing a Joint Operations Command; acceleration of the transition to an allvolunteer professional force by moving the deadline from 2015 to 2010; the introduction of Western approaches to military education, combat training, and personnel management; and a reduction in the total strength of the armed forces to about 140,000 (116,000 uniformed military personnel).18 Radical reforms, based on the best practices of NATO countries, were envisioned and partly introduced in command and control, combat training, military education, personnel management, and peacekeeping. Cooperation within the PfP Programme and beyond became very intensive. Ukraine started the annual procedure for the development and approval of the national programme, replicating the NATO Membership Action Plan. These initiatives culminated in 2008, when the NATO Bucharest Summit formally declared that Ukraine (together with Georgia) would become a NATO member in the future.19 By and large, these were significant reforms, but they faced considerable challenges. First, the economic crisis in 2008 further constrained the resources available for the transformation of the armed forces. Second, the Russian invasion of Georgia in 2008 led the Ukrainian leadership to re-examine the threat environment and to re-evaluate numeric parameters, leaving the total personnel strength for 2009–10 at the level of 200,000.20 Third, the shifting internal political landscape, with the pro-Western President Viktor Yushchenko being replaced by the pro-Russian President Viktor Yanukovych in 2010, also influenced the transformation process. Thereafter, a new combination of domestic and (p.185) external drivers led Kyiv to shift its defence policy, once again maintaining a balance between NATO and Russia.

From Non-Aligned Status to Russian Aggression (2010–2016) Under the presidency of Victor Yanukovych (2010–14), Ukraine temporarily returned to a posture of ‘military non-alignment’ before moving, after the Russian invasion of Crimea in 2014, to a defence posture more clearly aligned with NATO. Furthermore, during this period, its armed forces faced a combination of further downsizing and an expansion of military tasks. This section examines how Kyiv’s defence policy evolved after 2010 and provides a Page 6 of 21

 

Ukraine detailed description of its strategy and the forces deployed to counter the Russian invasion, as well as of the lessons learned by Ukraine from this military incursion. Yanukovych and the Return to Military Non-Alignment

Between 2010 and 2013, the initially pro-Russian political course of the Yanukovych political leadership had a significant, adverse impact on the Ukrainian military. This underfunded and undertrained but still rather heavily equipped and sizeable force, as detailed later in this section, was further stretched by budget constraints and expanding military tasks, including the localization of border conflicts, peacekeeping, and support for civilian authorities. As a consequence, in early 2014, it was ill-prepared for containing or repulsing full-sized military aggression by its Russian neighbour, and had to reconstitute itself under the stress of invasion. After assuming office, Viktor Yanukovych immediately reversed the course of Ukraine’s defence policy, moving away from NATO membership. The National Security Strategy and the Military Doctrine of Ukraine approved by Yanukovych removed integration with NATO from the country’s security-policy agenda, substituted for it the term ‘constructive partnership’, and reintroduced Ukraine’s militarily non-aligned status. Moreover, the pro-Yanukovych parliamentary majority agreed on the extension of the deadline for the stationing of the Russian Black Sea Fleet in Crimea from 2017 to 2042. In reference to relations with Russia, the National Security Strategy of 2012 called for the ‘formation of a new model of relations of strategic partnership between Ukraine and the Russian Federation on the basis of balancing national interests, increased dialogue on combating new challenges and threats to security, finding common approaches to the formation of a new European system of collective security’.21 The former Military Doctrine practically (p.186) downplayed the risk of military aggression against Ukraine, stating that an aggression ‘which may result in local or regional war in the medium term is unlikely’.22 In that period, many pro-Western reforms initiated previously were immediately reversed: the Joint Operations Command was quickly disbanded; personnel management reforms were nullified; cooperative programmes with Western companies in shipbuilding were cancelled in favour of Russian suppliers; and so on. The only course that remained intact was the transition to an all-volunteer force, though at an even more reduced level. The established target perceived further cuts. Adopted in 2012, the ‘Concept of Reform and Development of the Armed Forces of Ukraine for the Period until 2017’ called for modernization and re-equipment, radical closure of redundant military facilities, and further radical force reductions (from the 2011 actual level of 192,000 to 100,000 by 2014).23 In addition, the years of the Yanukovych presidency witnessed an unprecedented level of corruption in the country. The defence sector was no exception. Corruption seriously affected nearly all sectors of the Ministry of Defence and Page 7 of 21

 

Ukraine the activity of the armed forces, especially when resources were distributed. This had direct and seriously adverse consequences for the modernization of the Ukrainian armed forces in the form of continued diversion of already limited resources from security and defence tasks, and further impairment of the already limited combat efficiency of the military.24 At the same time, under Yanukovych, the main beneficiaries of the budgetary appropriations became law-enforcement structures—special anti-riot police units and different security services—which by that time significantly outnumbered (by about three times) the regular Ukrainian military. Meanwhile, many ills of the past, such as corruption, patronage, and incompetence, became systemic.25 In 2012, the new version of the National Security Strategy of Ukraine adopted by Yanukovych confirmed the earlier reversal to military non-alignment, and suggested an extended list of security threats and challenges, such as ‘the use or threat of force in international relations contrary to generally accepted principles and norms of international law’, ‘intensification of militarization of individual states and regions’, ‘continuing deterioration of the Armed Forces of Ukraine and the defence industry’, and so on.26 Still, under the Yanukovych presidency, Ukraine’s defence and security policy was formally committed to the fundamental principle of collective security and the idea that Ukraine would stand in solidarity with the democratic world, based on the belief that the democratic world would stand in solidarity with Ukraine’s (p.187) aspiring democracy.27 Ukraine also made substantial contributions to collective security through participation in international peacekeeping missions under UN, EU, and NATO auspices, with over 40,000 soldiers and sailors having participated in these missions by 2014, including in Kosovo, Iraq, and in NATO’s post-9/11 counter-terrorism Operation ‘Active Endeavour’.28 However, after years of policies dominated by severe underfunding, continued reductions of the Ukrainian armed forces, and the failure to recognize the threat coming from the neighbouring ‘strategic partner’, at the start of the Russian aggression in February 2014 Ukraine had little with which to resist effectively by military means—despite formally possessing a military of nearly 130,000 troops.29 Between 1991 and 2014, the quantity of military equipment had dropped four- or fivefold; the military had hardly modernized at all, while the state of its readiness was rather poor. Western accounts of that period indicated that the total number of usable troops and equipment in Ukrainian land forces amounted nominally to 80,000 personnel, 775 tanks, 51 helicopters, fewer than 1,000 artillery pieces, and 2,280 armoured personnel carriers.30 However, owing to a combination of lack of training and poorly maintained equipment, the actual size of the immediately combat-ready force was estimated as not exceeding 6,000 troops.31 Besides, in the winter of 2013–14, Ukrainian military personnel were largely demoralized and the military leadership was disoriented after three

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Ukraine months of confrontation with protesters in the centre of Ukraine’s capital and in many other cities.32 Russian Invasion of Ukraine: The End of Military Non-Alignment

Alarmed by the protests spreading from Ukraine to Russia, the Kremlin took advantage of Ukraine’s temporary weakness and occupied Crimea. This operation was initially launched as early as 20 February 2014 by the troops of the Russian Black Sea Fleet, already stationed in Crimea, and by undercover Russian special operations units. Their initial actions, aimed at blocking Ukrainian troops in their bases, were quickly augmented by a large number of troops transported to Crimea by Russian transport aircraft and by sea, as well as by the arrival of several pro-Russian paramilitaries consisting of both local separatists and Russian (p.188) nationalist elements organized by the Russian Federation’s special services.33 At the height of its intervention on the Crimean Peninsula, Russia also amassed a sizeable military force ready to invade Ukraine in very close proximity to the Russian–Ukrainian border.34 Nevertheless, Ukrainians chose to fight against the pro-Russian insurgency and possible incursions of Russia’s invading force. On 1 March 2014, Ukrainian Acting President Oleksandr Turchynov ordered the military to be brought to full readiness and the Verkhovna Rada (Ukrainian parliament) approved his order on partial mobilization. At that stage, Ukrainian military units in Crimea had to hold their bases by all means short of actually firing at Russians for as long as possible in order to allow for a fast and uninterrupted mobilization of the forces on the mainland. This strategy was partially successful. Ukraine lost in Crimea about 12,000 defected troops, over fifty vessels captured by the Russian military, and some other equipment.35 However, it was able to preclude the development of much more dangerous scenarios such as in Georgia in 2008, Chechnya in 1994 and 1999, and Transnistria in 1992, when the Russians were successful in provoking hasty and unprepared military responses by the opponents in order to justify Russian military aggression ‘in response’. In April 2014, after Russia had completely occupied Crimea, the Ukrainian military shifted its attention to measures on the mainland aimed at organizing the mobilized units for anti-terrorist operation (ATO) against an armed insurgency in the pro-Russian south-eastern provinces of Ukraine (Donbass). Huge logistical problems had to be solved in order to provide the troops with the basic military equipment needed, from body armour and night-vision goggles, to secure communication equipment and unmanned aerial vehicles. Initial hopes for timely support from partners in Europe and in North America proved to be unfulfilled. Political support from foreign partners was almost unanimous, but it barely translated into the much-needed supplies of modern anti-tank weapons, secure communication equipment, and many other items, for whose absence Ukrainians were paying in blood.36

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Ukraine As Russia’s invasion of Crimea unfolded, while simultaneously deploying approximately 150,000 troops to the Ukrainian border, Ukraine enacted a twopronged strategy. On the one hand, it engaged in resistance without direct combat, which succeeded in holding key Russian units on the peninsula for close to a month. Ukraine’s armed forces used this time to mobilize, equip, and train substantial forces—in the first two months the armed forces increased from approximately 130,000 with almost no ready units to a force of around 200,000 —of which approximately one-third was deployed to deter potential Russian (p. 189) aggression. On the other hand, in response to the subversion campaign by Russian agents and their proxies that had begun in early April, the armed forces were also supporting operations in the Donbass region, where they sustained their first combat losses. Thus, two elements—deterrence and countersubversion/counterinsurgency—formed the two main pillars of Ukraine’s new defence strategy at the initial stage of the military crisis.37 Meanwhile, regular Ukrainian military units needed more time to reconstitute their combat capability. The decision was made to expedite the formation of lightly armed ‘territorial defence’ battalions and to send them on an antiterrorist mission to the south-east to support the regular military and ‘volunteer battalions’ of the National Guard already deployed there. In addition, Ukrainian society came up with several initiatives to support the war effort: forming volunteer militia-type battalions of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, organizing logistical, medical, and equipment networks, and collecting donations of money, food, and other items for military needs. The scale of this volunteer support was quite unprecedented, and by June 2014 it had allowed the military to reverse the advance of the well-equipped pro-Russian insurgency and to start pushing separatists away towards the border with Russia.38 By June 2014, the progress of the separatists was halted and, in July, Ukrainian forces in the Donbass region started pushing away pro-Russian separatists. Russia first responded by increasing its supply of armaments, mercenaries, and some regular military personnel to the separatist ‘battalions’, which, on 17 July 2014, climaxed in the destruction of the Malaysian Airlines flight MH17 by the Russian ‘Buk’ missile. It was launched by a Russian crew from the territory held by separatists—presumably to hit one of Ukraine’s planes, as it was mistakenly reported in the first hours after the crash by both the separatist leadership and by Russian TV to have involved a Ukrainian aircraft.39 Faced with the prospect of imminent defeat of the pro-Russian separatists, Russia’s leadership launched an invasion by regular forces into Ukraine. In August 2014, Ukrainians lost several hundred troops who were killed and about one thousand who were wounded, but managed to inflict high losses on the Russian forces. Major fighting subsided in September. A ceasefire was formally concluded in the so-called Minsk Protocol reached between Ukraine, Russia, the rebels, and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), with mediators calling for the de-facto line

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Ukraine of separation to be observed, an exchange of prisoners, and other truce-oriented measures. The Russians made attempts to resume active operations in January–February 2015. Having amassed significant infantry, tank, and artillery forces, including regular troops, the combined Russian-separatist units finally seized the ruins of the former Donetsk Airport, (p.190) kept by Ukrainians for eight months under continuous bombardment and infantry attacks, and forced the Ukrainian troops to retreat from the enclave around the Debaltseve railway hub. Those small advances cost the enemy significant losses but produced little military effect. In February 2015, the Russian and separatist leaders agreed to sign the modified Minsk Protocol (Minsk II) worked out together with the German and French leaders. Over the year, in order to stop and partly reverse the Russian-supported separatist movement in Donbass, Ukraine mobilized and equipped a substantial force exceeding 100,000 personnel. Totalling over 250,000 personnel in 2015, the Ukrainian military was looking much more capable of opposing invading Russian forces. Abolished in 2013, conscription was re-established soon after the start of fighting in 2014. To support the ongoing military operations, the 2015 state budget security and defence allocations were raised to over $3 billion. This shift was equivalent to an increase from the previous 1 per cent to 5 per cent of the GDP.40 The Russian aggression was the first armed military attack on Ukraine’s territory since the collapse of the Soviet Union. The leadership in Kyiv derived a variety of lessons from this conflict—at the tactical, operational, and strategic levels—that were then gradually enshrined into national security documents. What emerges is a renewed focus on interstate conflict and aggression, and on Russia as a threat to national security, which had previously been downplayed in Ukraine’s national security strategy.

Lessons Learned and a New Conceptual Framework for Transformation One of the first lessons learned from Russian aggression proved that, regardless of whether a country is facing a hybrid or a conventional war, its military has to respond to the very basic requirements for modern, robust, and interoperable forces on the tactical level (battalion–brigade) in terms of basic equipment, training, logistics, command and control, and so on. In 2014, the Ukrainian military was certainly far from meeting these requirements. Besides, at the dawn of the ATO, there was no neat system of command and control of the military units engaged in the operations. Despite the hierarchy of command and control of the ATO military component via the Security Service of Ukraine Antiterrorist Centre, as provided by the law, officials of military and other agencies, whose subordinates took part in the ATO, often tried to assume control of their agency’s troops. This led to numerous problems between personnel of the armed forces and other agencies. It was extremely difficult for the ATO Operational Headquarters to provide all forms of support, including combat Page 11 of 21

 

Ukraine support (in the first instance, intelligence and communications), logistics, and maintenance. Other serious problems dealt with the security communication system, the weakness of which was seen as the main reason behind many grave incidents, such as the downing of three Ukrainian helicopters near Slovyansk in (p.191) 2014 and an Il-76 military transport aircraft at the Lugansk Airport (killing forty-nine paratroopers and crew members on board), many instances of ambushing Ukrainian units, and so on.41 This conflict also proved that substantial numbers of motivated personnel were no substitute for modern equipment. Ukraine was in urgent need of finding steady sources of supply for these items—either through its own development or through acquisition from abroad. From the very beginning of the Russian invasion, Ukraine sought to make its national defence industry focus on the maximum possible fulfilment of Ukraine’s military needs. Under the USSR, Ukraine had about a 17 per cent share in the Soviet military–industrial complex output, with 1,840 enterprises and research centres employing some 2.7 million people on a permanent basis.42 While only fragments of this had survived, Ukraine still preserved a sufficient number of different military production and repair plants for a wide array of military hardware. It also preserved a number of capabilities in advanced technological areas—air defence radars, air-to-air missiles, transport aircraft, and so on. These include the ‘Kolchuga’ family of passive radars and a number of other types of air defence and ground surveillance radars such as 80K6M, ‘Lis-M’, and others; the family of T-80UD and T-84UD (‘Oplot’) main battle tanks (exported to Pakistan, Thailand, and other countries); the family of ‘Antonov’ aircraft of different types—as of January 2017, over 5,000 are in service all over the world; a wide range of different types of missile from R-27 air-to-air (still in service in over twenty countries) to ballistic ones; a wide range of different types of engines—from helicopters and combat ships to launchers of ‘Antares’ and ‘Sea Launch’ space craft. In the stress of fighting in 2014–15, the Ukrainian defence industry quickly halted all cooperative ties with Russia and reoriented its production from about 90 per cent export-oriented pre-conflict production to an almost total focus on the internal needs of the armed forces, the National Guard, and other military formations. By the end of 2015, over 600 tanks and armoured fighting vehicles, hundreds of artillery pieces, dozens of combat aircraft, helicopters, and many other types of equipment were either modernized or repaired and delivered to fighting customers.43 In 2016, the first four new missile boats were transferred to the Ukrainian Navy. In addition, Ukraine achieved noticeable progress in developing an array of combat vehicles, tactical missiles, and radars. Overall, in the course of the two years of war, the strength of Ukraine’s armed forces grew steadily. The military received arms, experience, and significant support from civilian volunteers. The Ukrainian army learned to act effectively, at least at the tactical level, which was proven in the summer of 2015, when the separatists unsuccessfully tried to (p.192) launch the brigade-size attacks at Page 12 of 21

 

Ukraine Mar’yinka or Starohnativka, and Ukrainian commanders at the battalion-brigade level managed to organize an effective repulse of those attacks.44 Besides the lessons learned in terms of capability requirements, Ukraine also engaged in the development of new conceptual approaches to national security strategy. Facing the prospect of further aggravation and prolongation of crises, especially because of the undeclared deployment of regular Russian troops and their direct involvement in combat on the side of separatists from the middle of 2014 and all of 2015, necessitated Ukraine’s building more effective resistance and more systematic conceptual approaches to national security and defence— which were enshrined into official documents. In 2015, Ukraine adopted new high-level conceptual documents such as the National Security Strategy of Ukraine (May 2015) and the Military Doctrine of Ukraine (September 2015). These new documents amended and even reversed the posture of ‘military non-alignment’, and prioritized cooperation with NATO and the EU. Russia, meanwhile, was recognized as a source of aggression and threat. In accordance with the strategy, the main directions of state policy in the sphere of national security thereafter included ‘establishment of effective security and defence sector and increase of the country’s defence, including through deepening of the military–industrial and military–technical cooperation with member states of NATO and the EU, and achievement of complete independence from Russia in matters of production of arms and military equipment’.45 The strategy, moreover, devotes ample attention to many regional and global security issues, declaring that Ukraine will promote the process of nuclear disarmament and will support initiatives to conclude ‘the universal international treaty on security guarantees, first of all to non-nuclear states, which would contain a clear-cut list of obligations and measures to be taken by the parties in case of its violation’. This statement is linked to Ukraine’s experience with the Budapest Memorandum signed in the wake of Ukraine’s accession to the treaty on non-proliferation of nuclear weapons, which appeared to be an ineffective mechanism to guarantee the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the country. In this context, the National Security Strategy also suggested a number of initiatives, such as the need to reform the UN Security Council, the policy of denuclearization and demilitarization of the Black Sea region, and a return to the regime of the renovated treaty on Conventional Armed Forces in Europe (CFE). As for the ‘Military Doctrine of Ukraine’, it further developed the National Security Strategy by explicitly declaring Russia a military adversary. It specifically points to the following security challenges: Russia’s military build-up in close proximity to Ukraine’s state border, the deployment of tactical nuclear weapons in Crimea, the militarization of temporarily occupied territories, the Page 13 of 21

 

Ukraine presence of the Russian military contingent in Transnistria, and the intensification of intelligence and sabotage activities by Russian Special Forces aimed to destabilize the internal situation in Ukraine. In contrast to the previous variants of this document, the new military doctrine specifically refers to the high (p.193) probability of a large-scale use of military force against Ukraine and regards it as one of the main threats to national security. Furthermore, the Military Doctrine stipulates scenarios that constitute a threat to Ukraine’s national security. The main scenario is full-scale armed aggression against Ukraine by Russia. To counter this threat, the new Military Doctrine envisages a military budget of no less than 3 per cent of GDP, with army training and new arms procurement as funding priorities. This seems to account for the major part of overall security-sector spending, which the new National Security Strategy indicated should be no less than 5 per cent of GDP. However, translating these conceptual documents promptly into anything like ‘state programmes of reforming and developing the Armed Forces’ appeared to be a difficult undertaking for the Ministry of Defence leadership.46 In February 2016, taking into account the lessons learned from military actions in Crimea and in Donbass, the National Security and Defence Council of Ukraine adopted the Concept of Ukraine’s Security and Defence Sector Development.47 The document calls for priority development of intelligence capabilities of Ukraine, professionalizing the defence forces and establishing a required military reserve, improving the system of territorial defence, and so on. Overall, by the close of 2016, Ukraine had intensified the transformation of its armed forces to deter possible full-scale aggression from Russia. It had adopted the recently acquired experience of a conflict with an armed separatist movement supported by Russia. Significant reforms included the expansion of the armed forces from the pre-war 130,000 to 250,000 troops, and the radical intensification of combat training and logistical support. Furthermore, in 2015– 16, structural changes included the creation of the Joint Operational Headquarters and the Special Operations Command of the Armed Forces. Furthermore, continuing efforts have been put into modernizing existing and developing new weapons systems, further developing the territorial defence system, and improving all kinds of reserves.

Conclusion The preceding analysis demonstrates that the transformation of Ukraine’s armed forces since the end of the cold war can be divided into two distinct periods: before aggression by Russia in 2014, and after. The first major period (1991– 2013) included several distinct subperiods, with an initial post-Soviet one in the early 1990s, dominated by a defence posture and capabilities inherited from the Soviet Union, and a stable regional environment. This was followed, in the 2000s, by attempts to achieve balance between scarce budgets and Page 14 of 21

 

Ukraine uncertainties regarding threat assessment. The Yanukovych presidency from (p. 194) 2010 to early 2014, which constitutes the third subperiod, was characterized by a return to a posture of ‘military non-alignment’ vis-à-vis Russia, as well as by a further downsizing of the armed forces coupled with an expansion of military tasks. Overall, between 1991 and 2013, the process of transformation of the large conventional military contingent inherited from the Soviet Union to national armed forces was hampered by a lack of consistency in defence policy. In large part, the oscillations of Ukraine’s defence policy between NATO and Russia were driven by the inability steadily to balance and prioritize threats, resources, and security partnerships. The second major period began in February 2014 with the Russian invasion of Crimea. Plagued by years of underfunding, the Ukrainian military and other security structures appeared unable to respond effectively to Russia’s direct occupation of Crimea in early 2014 and the pro-Russian armed separatist insurgency in Donbass. However, since 2015, Ukraine has mobilized, equipped, and trained a substantial force. It has also revised its National Security Strategy and related documents, putting greater emphasis, and resources, on countering a potentially renewed aggression from Russia. After multiple recalibrations of its defence policy between NATO and Russia, Ukraine appears to be on a path of growing focus on the preparation for interstate and hybrid conflicts, and on closer ties with NATO, while relying primarily on its own military and industrial capabilities. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Baev, Pavel K., and Tor Bukkvol, ‘Ukraine’s Army under Civilian Rule’, Jane’s Intelligence Review, 8/1 (1996). Grytsenko, Anatoliy S., ‘Civil–Military Relations in Ukraine: On the Way from Form to Substance’, NATO-EAPC Fellowship Programme Paper (NATO, 2000), (accessed 30 November 2017). Kuzio, Taras, ‘Ukraine: A New Military Power?’, Jane’s Intelligence Review, 4/2 (1992). Melnyk, Oleksiy (ed.), Almanac on Security Sector Governance in Ukraine 2012 (Kyiv: DCAF and Razumkov Centre, 2013). Miller, James, Pierre Vaux, Catherine A. Fitzpatrick, and Michael Weiss, ‘Invasion by Any Other Name: The Kremlin’s Dirty War in Ukraine’, The Interpreter (Institute of Modern Russia, 2015), (accessed 22 January 2017). Morozov, Kostiantyn P., Above and Beyond: From Soviet General to Ukrainian State Builder (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Ukrainian Research Institute, 2000). Polyakov, Leonid, US–Ukraine Relations and Value for Interoperability (Carlisle, PA: US Army Strategic Studies Institute, 2004). Puglisi, Rosaria, ‘General Zhukov and the Cyborgs: A Clash of Civilisation within the Ukrainian Armed Forces’, Rome: Istituto Affari Internazionali (May 2015), (accessed 25 April 2016). Sanders, Deborah, ‘Ukraine’s Military Reform: Building a Paradigm Army’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 21/4 (2008), 599–614. Sherr, James, ‘A Fresh Start for Ukrainian Military Reform?’, Survival, 43/1 (2001), 107–23. Notes:

(1) Taras Kuzio, ‘Ukraine: A New Military Power?’, Jane’s Intelligence Review, 4/2 (1992); Anatoliy Grytsenko, Civil–Military Relations in Ukraine: A System Emerging from Chaos (Center for European Security Studies, the Netherlands, 1997); Lubomyr A. Hajda (ed.), Ukraine in the World: Studies in the International Relations and Security Structure of a Newly Independent State (Cambridge, MA: Ukrainian Research Institute, Harvard University, 1998); James Sherr, ‘A Fresh Start for Ukrainian Military Reform?’, Survival, 43/1 (2001), 107–23; Deborah Sanders, ‘Ukraine’s Military Reform: Building a Paradigm Army’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 21/4 (2008), 599–614. (2) Alyson J. K. Bails, Oleksiy Melnyk, and Ian Anthony, ‘Relics of Cold War: Europe’s Challenge, Ukraine’s Experience’, SIPRI Policy Paper, 6 (SIPRI/BICC, 2003). (3) The non-aligned status of Ukraine, which prevents the state from joining military alliances, was first declared in the Concept of the Foreign Policy of Ukraine, 1993. In 2005, it was revoked by President Viktor Yushchenko in favour of joining NATO, only to be reinstated in 2010 by President Viktor Yanukovych, and then to be abolished again in 2014 by President Petro Poroshenko. For more details on this point, see ‘Ukraine Votes to Drop Non-Aligned Status’, BBC News, 23 December 2014, (accessed 22 January 2017). (4) Memorandum on Security Assurances in Connection with Ukraine’s Accession to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, signed on Page 16 of 21

 

Ukraine 5 December 1994 by the Presidents of Ukraine, the Russian Federation, and the United States of America, and the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. UN General Assembly Document A/49/765, UN Security Council Document S/1994/1399, 19 December 1994. (5) For more details, see NATO Trust Funds, NATO Headquarters, Brussels, NATO online library, ; and Mans Hanssen, International Support to Security Sector Reform in Ukraine: A Mapping of SSR Projects (Sandö and Stockholm: Folke Bernadotte Academy, 2016), (both accessed 17 October 2016). (6) Partnership for Peace: Framework Document, para. 8, NATO Headquarters, Brussels, 10–11 January 1994, NATO online library, (accessed 30 November 2017). (7) NATO, ‘Charter on a Distinctive Partnership between the North Atlantic Treaty Organization and Ukraine’, NATO Headquarters, Brussels, 9 July 1997, NATO online library, (accessed 30 November 2017). (8) Leonid Polyakov, ‘An Analytical Overview of Democratic Oversight and Governance of the Defence and Security Sector of Ukraine’, A Self-Assessment Study on the Ukrainian Security Sector, DCAF Working Paper, 152 (Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces, DCAF, 2005), (accessed 1 December 2017). (9) Ministry of Defence of Ukraine, ‘General Summary of Reform and Development of the Armed Forces, 2001–2005’, in Ministry of Defence of Ukraine, White Book 2005: Defence Policy of Ukraine (2006), 9–14. (10) Ministry of Defence of Ukraine, ‘General Summary of Reform and Development of the Armed Forces’. (11) This programme was not a new one. It represented an upgrade of the earlier programme approved in 1997. (12) This programme was not a new one. It represented an upgrade of the earlier programme approved in 1997. (13) In 2002, Ukraine allocated close to $3,000 for one serviceman, while neighbouring Russia, in the same year, spent $7,500, the Czech Republic $20,100, and Poland $18,000. In Western countries, as a comparison, France allocated over $90,000, the United Kingdom $160,000, and the United States $200,000. For a more detailed overview of this problem, see Anatoliy Grytsenko, Page 17 of 21

 

Ukraine Leonid Polyakov, and Mykola Sungurovskyi, ‘Military Reform in Ukraine: The Start, or Another False Start?’, National Security & Defence (Ukrainian Centre for Economic and Political Studies, 2000), 3–16. (14) On Ukraine’s participation in the UN peacekeeping operations, see the website of the Permanent Mission of Ukraine to the United Nations, (accessed 22 January 2017). (15) Leonid Polyakov, US–Ukraine Relations and Value for Interoperability (Carlisle, PA: US Army Strategic Studies Institute, 2004). (16) Decree by the President of Ukraine, No. 348/2002 of 14 April 2002, ‘On the State Program for Transition of the Armed Forces of Ukraine to Manning with Contract Military Servicemen’, website of the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, (accessed 14 August 2016). (17) ‘NATO Launches “Intensified Dialogue” with Ukraine’, NATO Headquarters, Brussels, NATO website, (accessed 17 October 2016). (18) NATO, ‘Charter on a Distinctive Partnership between the North Atlantic Treaty Organization and Ukraine’. (19) ‘Bucharest Summit Declaration. Issued by the Heads of State and Government participating in the Meeting of the North Atlantic Council in Bucharest on 3 April 2008’, NATO Headquarters, Brussels, NATO online library, (accessed 14 August 2016). (20) Decree by the President of Ukraine, No. 2/2009 of 10 January 2009, ‘On Decision of the National Security and Defence Council of Ukraine of 26 September 2008 “On Urgent Tasks Concerning the Enhancement of Ukraine’s Defence Capability”’, website of the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, (accessed 25 April 2016). (21) ‘Strategy of National Security of Ukraine: “Ukraine in a Changing World”’, in Philipp Fluri, Marcin Koziel, and Andrii Yermolaiev (eds), The Security Sector Legislation of Ukraine, 2nd edn (Kyiv: Center for Army, Conversion and Disarmament Studies, DCAF, 2013), 128. (22) ‘Strategy of National Security of Ukraine: “Ukraine in a Changing World”’, 141. (23) Decree by the President of Ukraine, No. 772/2012 of 29 December 2012, ‘On Decision of the National Security and Defence Council of Ukraine of 29 December 2012 “On Concept of Reform and Development of the Armed Forces Page 18 of 21

 

Ukraine of Ukraine for the Period until 2017”’, website of the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, (accessed 25 April 2016). (24) For comprehensive details on this period, see Oleksiy Melnyk (ed.), Almanac on Security Sector Governance in Ukraine 2012 (DCAF and Razumkov Centre, 2013). (25) Valentyn Badrak, Leonid Polyakov, and Volodymyr Kopchak, Building Integrity in Defence Establishments: A Ukrainian Case Study (Kyiv: Center for Army, Conversion and Disarmament Studies, 2012). (26) Decree by the President of Ukraine, No. 389/2012 of 8 June 2012, ‘On Decision of the National Security and Defence Council of Ukraine on 8 June 2012 “On a New Version of the National Security Strategy of Ukraine”’, website of the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, (accessed 25 April 2016). (27) ‘Strategy of National Security of Ukraine’, 122–46. (28) ‘Participation of the Armed Forces of Ukraine in International Peace and Security Operations’, website of the Ministry of Defence of Ukraine, (accessed 22 January 2017). (29) Anatoliy Grytsenko, Leonid Polyakov, and Mykola Sungurovskyi, ‘Military Reform in Ukraine: The Start, or Another False Start?’, National Security and Defence, 1 (2000), 2–39. (30) Igor Sutyagin and Michael Clarke, ‘Ukraine Military Dispositions: The Military Ticks Up While the Clock Ticks Down’, RUSI Briefing Paper (April 2014), 4. (31) ‘Ukraine’s Army Has Suffered Years of Neglect, With a Reported 6,000 Battle-Ready Troops at the Moment’, quoted from Alec Luhn, ‘Ukrainian Oligarch Offers Bounty for Capture of Russian “Saboteurs”’, Guardian, 17 March 2014, (accessed 13 November 2016). (32) Yaroslav Tynchenko, ‘In the Army Now: Answering Many Why’s. The Ukrainian Army After 23 Years of “Ingenious” Military Reforms and Three Months of Warfare in Eastern Ukraine’,Ukrainian Week, 8 July 2014, (accessed 22 January 2017). (33) John Koeller, ‘Putin’s Grand Strategy: Russia’s Campaign of Controlled Instability in Ukraine and Beyond’ (Ph.D. dissertation, Angelo State University, 2015). Page 19 of 21

 

Ukraine (34) Proceedings to the Second Anniversary of the Russian Aggression against Ukraine (Kyiv: National Institute for Strategic Studies, 2016), 12, (accessed 13 November 2016). (35) ‘A Total of 51 Vessels Were Confiscated by Russia, and Most of the 12,000 Ukrainian Naval Personnel Defected to the Russian Side’, quoted from ‘Poroshenko Says Ukraine Should Rebuild Its Navy’, UNIAN News, 10 April 2015, (accessed 22 January 2017). (36) ‘US Senator John McCain: Ukraine Can Win the War If Given Weapons to Defend Itself’, Ukraine Today, 16 March 2015, (accessed 13 November 2016). (37) Leonid Polyakov, Si vis pacem, Ukraine, – para bellum (Washington: American Center for European Ukraine, 2015), ; and Rosaria Puglisi, General Zhukov and the Cyborgs: A Clash of Civilisation within the Ukrainian Armed Forces (Rome: Istituto Affari Internazionali, 2015), (both accessed 25 April 2016). (38) Rosaria Puglisi, Heroes or Villains? Volunteer Battalions in Post-Maidan Ukraine (Rome: Istituto Affari Internazionali, 2015), ; and Rosaria Puglisi, A People’s Army: Civil Society as a Security Actor in Post-Maidan Ukraine (Rome: Istituto Affari Internazionali, 2015), (both accessed 25 April 2016). (39) Rikard Jozwiak, ‘International Criminal Probe Blames Missile from Russia for MH17 Tragedy’, RadioFreeEurope-RadioLiberty, 28 September 2016, (accessed 13 November 2016). (40) Polly Mosendz, ‘Ukraine’s Military Budget Will Be Over $3 Billion in 2015’, Newsweek, 12 December 2014, (accessed 22 January 2017). (41) Ministry of Defence of Ukraine, The White Book 2014: The Armed Forces of Ukraine (2015), (accessed 25 April 2016); and Gzirian Ruben, ‘Ukraine’s Got a Real Army Now: But Is It Preparing to Fight the Last Battle?’, Atlantic Council, 9 February 2016, (accessed 22 January 2017). (42) Volodymyr Shekhovtsov and Roman Bodnarchuk, ‘Ukraine’s Defence Industry Complex: Status and Prospects for Development’, Strategic Panorama, 3–4 (1998), 138. (43) For more details, see ‘UKROBORONPROM: Ukrainian Defence Industry. 2015 Results’, Report of the State Company ‘Ukroboronprom’ (Kyiv, December 2015), (accessed 14 August 2016). (44) Adam Nathan, ‘Ukraine Fears “Big War” as Russia Sends in More Troops’, Independent, 16 August 2015, (accessed 14 November 2016). (45) ‘Poroshenko Approved the National Security Strategy’, Ukrainska Pravda, 27 May 2015. (accessed 25 April 2016). (46) It took over two years for the ministry to develop the new programme of the development of Armed Forces of Ukraine for the period until 2020 and to get it approved in December 2016. See ‘NSDC Supports National Program of the Armed Forces Development till 2020’, UNIAN News, 30 December 2016, (accessed 22 January 2017). (47) ‘Concept of Ukraine’s Security and Defence Sector Development’, approved by the Decree of the President of Ukraine, No. 92/2016 of 14 March 2016, from the website of the President of Ukraine, (accessed 17 October 2017).

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Austria and Switzerland

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Austria and Switzerland Gunther Hauser Mauro Mantovani

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0011

Abstract and Keywords Since the end of the cold war, Austria and Switzerland have maintained their status of neutrality, but reinterpreted their neutrality policy in pragmatic yet different ways. Both, however, joined NATO’s Partnership for Peace (PfP) initiative at an early stage. Within the EU and PfP, Austria focused on armed forces interoperability, whereas Switzerland increased its formerly very low contribution to international peace missions. Both alpine republics conducted three major reforms of their armed forces, which entailed a substantial downsizing of overall mobilization strength and weaponry, while maintaining territorial defence as the core mission. Austria and Switzerland both aim at slightly increasing defence expenditures up to the early 2020s as a consequence of widely increased threat perception (owing to mass migration, Islamist terrorism, and a reasserting Russia), yet they will still find it difficult to replace their rapidly ageing main weapons systems. Troop contributions to international operations are likely to remain at at the 2017 levels. Keywords:   Austrian armed forces, Swiss armed forces, neutrality, transformation, security cooperation, Common Security and Defence Policy, Partnership for Peace

Introduction THIS chapter aims to define Austria’s and Switzerland’s role within European security policy and to describe the development of their respective armed forces since the end of the cold war, including a tentative mid-term forecast. This is done by means of an analysis of the two alpine republics’ national security and defence policies, and their impact on force structures, on procurement, and on Page 1 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland the mission spectrum, including contributions to peacekeeping and PeaceSupport Operations (PSO) abroad since the end of the cold war. The latter, especially with regard to the Balkans, caused Austria and Switzerland to strengthen their security partnership. The chapter is based on official documents as well as on academic studies and contributions to public debates, most of them published in periodicals (listed in the Select Bibliography). Building upon, but going beyond, the existing literature, this chapter is the first attempt ever to analyse both developments within Austrian and Swiss security policy and the transformation of the armed forces over three decades (roughly 1990–2020) in a comprehensive and comparative manner. This comparison yields, unsurprisingly, convergences such as the maintenance of neutral status, the widening of the armed forces’ mission spectrum—from territorial defence, disaster relief, and peace missions to the inclusion of (counter)terrorism and cyber defence—or the reduction of the armed forces in size while upholding the principle of general (male) conscription. Divergences, however, abound in terms of the countries’ respective ambitions to render their armed forces interoperable, in terms of supporting United Nations (UN) peacekeeping and North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) peace-support missions, and in terms of their readiness to address the migration and refugee crisis, not least with respect to funding. Particularly, Austria and Switzerland have both adapted their security concepts according to the past and present security environment, focusing on increased and coordinated international cooperation aimed at facing security threats and challenges.

(p.198) Austrian and Swiss Security and Defence Policies This section aims to analyse and compare the security and defence policies of both countries. It addresses changes in domestic- and foreign-policy orientation since the end of the cold war. It is argued that security and defence policies, while being conducted under similar labels, produced ever more diverging features as a consequence of different prevailing drivers. One of the major differences was clearly that the two countries were affected in different ways by the strategic events of the early 1990s: for Austria, the demise of the Warsaw Pact and the radical foreign-policy reorientation of its direct neighbours, the Czech Republic and Hungary, towards Western Europe amounted to the removal of any immediate threat of invasion. On the other hand, the outbreak of the wars in the Balkans made Austria more immediately susceptible to its consequences. Switzerland, by contrast, which had not been a ‘front state’ during the cold war, was less exposed to these developments in the new European security environment. Austria

After Austria regained its sovereignty in 1955, it assumed a status of permanent neutrality, which then resulted, together with Switzerland, in a ‘neutral alpine wedge’ separating the northern flank of NATO from the southern flank.1 At a national strategic level, Austria launched its first strategic defence concept Page 2 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland (National Defence Plan) in 1983. This concept was based on the 1975 doctrine on ‘Comprehensive National Defence’ (Umfassende Landesverteidigung (ULV))in that it encompassed issues ranging from preparations for overall national defence to contributions to United Nations (UN) peacekeeping as well as to strengthening peace efforts in the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) process. ‘Military Defence’ (Militärische Landesverteidigung (MLV)) was based on three scenarios: crisis—the task of the Austrian Armed forces (Bundesheer) was to secure borders and to preserve air sovereignty; neutrality—the task of the Bundesheer was to respond to invasion of foreign troops into Austria; and defence.2 In 2001, Austria adopted the Security and Defence Doctrine (SDD) and thus adapted its security policy according to the goals and instruments launched by the European Union (EU) Treaty of Nice. Contrary to the National Defence Plan, the SDD emphasized three fundamental principles: first, the principle of comprehensive security recognized both the military and the non-military aspects of security;3 secondly, the principle of preventive security replaced the concept of threat response; thus, the active participation in international measures for conflict prevention and crisis management became an integral part (p.199) of Austria’s security policy;4 thirdly, the principle of European solidarity replaced the concept of autonomous security policy.5 In the SDD, the definition of Austria’s security policy status changed from neutrality to nonalliance, consequently making NATO membership an option. This option was kept open by the Austrian People’s Party (Österreichische Volkspartei) until October 2004, but never seemed to be a realistic possibility.6 The 2013 Austrian Security Strategy stresses the new cyber threats and cyber defence, and the definition of Austria’s security policy status was changed to one of neutrality again. Since 2012, Austria has participated in exercises (such as ‘Locked Shields’) at the NATO Cooperative Cyber Defence Centre of Excellence in Estonia within the framework of the NATO Partnership for Peace (PfP).7 In 2013, the Austrian Ministerial Council adopted a cyber security strategy, with the Ministry of Defence assuming responsibility for military cyber defence. Subsequently, military cyber emergency readiness teams were established as coordination centres in the Austrian armed forces in order to protect the military cyber system and to counter cyber attacks.8 Security policy in Austria continues along the lines of ‘pragmatic’, ‘active’, or ‘engaged’ neutrality.9 This kind of neutrality is supposed to increase and increasingly characterize cooperation with armed forces from Europe and the United States. An important feature of Austrian ‘active’ neutrality policy has always been its international cooperation in peacekeeping, starting in 1960, when Austria first deployed a medical team to the Congo within a UN peacekeeping mission. This cooperation was continuously expanded to the Middle East within the UN, and to

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Austria and Switzerland the Middle East, the Balkans, and Sub-Saharan Africa within the frameworks of the EU and NATO’s PfP.10 In 1998, a special provision was added to the Austrian Federal Constitution to ensure that participation in the EU Common Foreign and Security Policy would not be restricted by the 1955 Neutrality Act. Austria transformed its armed forces into more flexible forces in order to increase contributions to international peacekeeping and peace enforcement within the frameworks of the EU (Battlegroups) and NATO PfP.11 In early 1995, Austria had signed the PfP framework document as the twenty-fifth participating state. Ever since, NATO and Austria have been detailing areas of cooperation and timelines in Austria’s Individual Partnership and Cooperation Programme in accordance with NATO’s new partnership policy. The Planning and Review Process (PARP) and the Political–Military (p.200) Framework (PMF) for NATO-led operations with PfP nations are used as planning mechanisms for contributions to the headline goal of the Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) within the framework of the ‘tailored cooperation programme’.12 Austria’s cooperation with NATO and the PfP mainly includes peacekeeping missions, humanitarian and disaster relief, as well as search and rescue operations strengthening standardization and interoperability.13 As a PfP nation, Austria has been contributing to NATO-led multinational peace operations and has been deploying troops to Bosnia and Herzegovina since early 1996 and to Kosovo since autumn 1999. Between 2011 and 2014, two Austrian brigadier generals served as Kosovo Force (KFOR) Deputy Commanders. In 2002, Austria provided seventy-five personnel in support of the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) mission in Afghanistan, offering logistical support.14 During the Election Support Operation in Afghanistan of autumn 2005, Austria deployed ninety-five infantry soldiers to support and work alongside the German-led Provincial Reconstruction Team Kunduz.15 In 2007, the Austrian Council of Ministers took a decision to participate in the EU Military Operation in Eastern Chad and North Eastern Central African Republic (EUFOR Chad/RCA) with up to 160 troops for a limited time. In early 2008, the troops, mainly consisting of special forces, were deployed and came under fire. It was the first time that Austria had gone into an international operation with special forces.16 Parallel to these developments, Austria co-launched forums, mainly with Central European states, during the 1990s and 2000s, aimed at increasing interoperability of armed forces in crisis management. In 1996, Austria and then neutral Sweden were founding members of the UN Multinational Standby High Readiness Brigade for UN Operations (SHIRBRIG, 1996–2009), a brigade made up of 4,000 troops from fourteen states. Austria assumed the SHIRBRIG presidency in 2004, coordinating UN operations. Austria’s contingent to SHIRBRIG consisted of a transportation company. In order to prepare Slovak troops for one UN unit of AUSBATT (Austrian Battalion) Page 4 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland on the Golan Heights in Syria (UNDOF), Austria conducted training and education. The Austrian infantry battalion, consisting of up to 380 troops, was stationed in Syria from 1974 to 2013.17 In Cyprus, until 2001, Austria, together with Hungary and Slovenia, provided an infantry battalion for the UN.18 Specific cooperation also means increased defence expenditures in order to enhance interoperability for facing new risks and challenges. The underlying motivation behind (p.201) peacekeeping and PSO—comprising at least 1,100 personnel and up to a hundred experts—is ‘to support the Strategic Guidelines on Security and Development and for the purposes of reforming the security sector and contributing to military advisory tasks as well as for conflict prevention and post-crisis rehabilitation measures’. Moreover, ‘targeted preparation’ is foreseen in order ‘to enable some parts of the Austrian Armed Forces to cooperate in operations with the European Gendarmerie Force’.19 The increasing range of tasks performed by the Austrian armed forces—also in terms of new investments to replace old equipment—is likely to have a significant impact on the future budget of the Austrian armed forces. Severe cuts in Austrian defence expenditure are clearly evident, from its height in 1985 of 1.186 per cent of GDP down to 0.990 per cent in 1989 and then 0.553 per cent in early 2016.20 In June 2016, the Austrian government approved a very slight increase in defence expenditures until 2020. Therefore, the Austrian armed forces can expect investments of €1.2 billion for procurement and another €535 million for military infrastructure, totalling up to €2 billion devoted to homeland defence (national and EU border control, electronic warfare, airspace control, counter UAV measures).21 This decision was made after years of severe cuts and extremely scarce resources—even petrol had been limited owing to heavy budgetary restraints.22 In fact, because of this, Austria removed traditional counter-air missions from the operational repertoire during the 2000s. However, air policing and surveillance are the primary missions for the air component, based on twelve rapidly ageing Saab 105 and 15 Eurofighter Typhoons.23 Overall, Austria has emphasized the active component of its security policy, which had been strong since the 1960s, by means of integration into the frameworks of the EU and NATO’s PfP since the 1990s. This is true for Switzerland, but only to a minor degree. Switzerland

The best starting point for tracing Swiss security and defence policy since the end of the cold war is the recurrent national security policy reports by the Federal Council to parliament, for various reasons: they show a coalition government’s consensus on the understanding of security, threat perceptions, and the national instruments meant to be concerned with security policy. Beyond that, they enumerate the main ‘achievements’ of those instruments in the Page 5 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland previous few years and the intended way of making use of them in the future. Of course, these reports use varying terminology over time and reflect the theory, but only part of the practice of Swiss security policy. (p.202) At the end of the cold war, Switzerland’s security policy was based on the Federal Council’s report on comprehensive defence (Gesamtverteidigung) of 1973,24 which became known as a two-pronged ‘strategy’ as it included contributions to securing peace abroad as well as preparations to defend Switzerland and deter armed aggression, referred to with the French word for deterrence: dissuasion. The bulk of funds and efforts went—as was true for any other state—to the latter. The strategy’s first component, ‘promotion of peace’, focused on the traditional good offices of Switzerland, its participation in the CSCE process since 1972, and—starting in the late 1980s—also on participation in UN-led peacekeeping operations, in addition to its participation, since 1953, in the Neutral-Nations Supervisory Commission in Korea. In 1990, the Federal Council issued a new report on security policy.25 It reflected the hope for lasting and peaceful cooperation in Europe without excluding the possibility of a return to confrontation. Its successor a decade later, the report on security policy of 1999, emphasized security cooperation with international organizations and other states.26 The 2010 report on security policy incorporated police matters into the realm of security policy and consequently stressed cooperation among all security agencies in Switzerland.27 The resulting so-called Swiss Security Network (Sicherheitsverbund Schweiz) is supposed to improve coordination among all agencies relevant to security policy, military and civilian, at the federal level, and also among the 26 cantons and roughly 2,250 municipalities.28 In August 2016, the latest report on security policy was published. Its most remarkable feature is a new definition of armed attack (and, as a consequence thereof, also of the armed forces’ defence mission). Armed attack is no longer confined to aggression by conventional armed forces at the borders, but may also include warfare waged in the interior, provided that the level of damage, duration, and geographical impact are similar to a conventional military attack. The concept of armed attack was clearly influenced by the notion of ‘hybrid’ warfare in eastern Ukraine. Another new feature was the use of the key words ‘cooperation’, ‘autonomy’, and ‘engagement’, whereas before only ‘cooperation’ had been used.29 Overall, Swiss reports on security policy differ both in their wording and with regard to the inclusion of civilian instruments. The core instruments have always been foreign policy, armed forces, intelligence, civil defence, federal police, and national economic supply. As a rule, Swiss reports on security policy reflect past developments and already-executed adjustments rather than announce or promote future change. The report of 1999, for example, mentions a number of Page 6 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland earlier (and quite significant) departures by Switzerland from its traditional cold war posture, derived from its neutral status: increased personnel (p.203) contributions to UN peace-support missions (from 1988) and to the Organization for Security and Cooperation (OSCE) mission in Bosnia and Herzegovina (1996– 2001). During those six years, the Swiss Army was present in Bosnia and Herzegovina, with headquarters in Sarajevo. Its mission, part of the Swiss Peacekeeping Missions, was to provide logistic and medical support to the OSCE and to carry out protection duties and humanitarian demining. The mission was called Swiss Headquarters Support Unit to Bosnia and Herzegovina. It was composed of between fifty and fifty-five Swiss soldiers under contract for six to twelve months. None of the active soldiers was armed during that mission.30 Beyond that, Switzerland joined NATO’s PfP program in 1996 and the EuroAtlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) in 1997,31 and acceded to the Chemical Weapons Convention in 1995 (with the Spiez Laboratory making substantial technical contributions to the Organization for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons) and to the Mine Ban Treaty (Ottawa Convention) in 1997. Finally, Switzerland ‘autonomously’ began supporting UN economic sanctions and even selectively supported sanctions by the EU from 1992 onwards, and has contributed to KFOR by means of a company-sized unit (SWISSCOY) since 1999, until 2014 in close cooperation with the Austrian Company AUCON.32 In 2002, SWISSCOY was given the right to carry weapons for self-defence through a change in the law on the armed forces. In the same year, Switzerland joined the UN. Both decisions were approved by public vote. With respect to arms control, Switzerland has entered into all agreements that stand open to a neutral country, except for the Open Skies Treaty of 2002, providing for mutual overflights for purposes of confidence-building.33 Overall, Switzerland moved quite significantly, by its own standards, towards international security cooperation in the first decade after the end of the cold war. It did so by joining various multilateral frameworks and increasing its commitments therein. As of 2017, some 300 men and women serve in peacekeeping and PSO, with a political target of 500 personnel permanently deployed (within an unspecified timeframe), as stated in the 2010 and 2016 reports on security policy. These figures reveal that the extent of Switzerland’s ambition to engage in international security policy remains limited in (p.204) absolute terms, and not merely in comparison with its Austrian partner’s. The likelihood of the target being reached anytime soon are rather low, in view of general political sentiment34 and the fact that since 1995 all Ministers of Defence have belonged to the Swiss People’s Party (Schweizerische Volkspartei), the strongest party in the Swiss political system and the most sceptical about foreign military involvement in general.

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Austria and Switzerland Clearly, Swiss neutrality continues to loom large with regard to the country’s security policy. It explains Switzerland’s traditional aloofness from entangling alliances and its largely autonomous preparations for any defence scenario. Moreover, it sheds light on Switzerland’s strong emphasis on the military component (that is, the armed forces) and on a mainly reactive course of action with regard to external challenges. Finally, it is at the root of quite substantial efforts to protect the civilian population (even though the national shelter programme was stopped and much of the fortification infrastructure dismantled after the cold war). Non-membership in any military alliance also explains why training efforts of the Swiss Army take place almost exclusively inside Switzerland. Since the cold war years, however, there has always been an exchange of officers for training purposes on a bilateral level (predominantly with NATO countries), to which multilateral training courses were added in the framework of PfP from 1996 onwards. Furthermore, the Swiss air force has continued to increase its foreign ‘campaigns’ and has taken part in multinational air defence exercises since 1990.35 Switzerland’s official defence expenditures shrank from 5.872 billion CHF in 1990 to 4.272 billion CHF in 2006, but have gradually increased since then to about 4.7 billion CHF in 2016 (c. €4.3 billion) and, according to a parliamentary decision, will reach an annual average volume of 5 billion CHF from 2017 onwards. These figures include defence-related expenditures by civilian ministries, but omit costs borne by the civilian sector owing to Switzerland’s traditional militia system. Total expenditures for defence would have equalled about 7 billion CHF in 2015, or roughly 1.1 per cent of Switzerland’s GNP, had these additional costs been factored in.36 Thus, Austrian and Swiss security policies have undergone modification several times since 1990, resulting in a broader mission spectrum for the armed forces, more international cooperation, but also reduced funding.

The Role of the Armed Forces This section elaborates on the new tasks and reform processes of the armed forces of Austria and Switzerland resulting from their respective security and defence policies since 1989. It addresses the evolving mission spectrum of the armed forces, their changing size, (p.205) training, equipment, and pattern of cooperation, as well as the role of militia forces therein. The key findings of this section are that both countries’ armed forces went through three major reforms, which entailed a substantial downsizing of overall mobilization strength and weaponry, while maintaining territorial defence as the core mission. And, whereas Austria has been focusing on armed forces interoperability within the EU and PfP, Switzerland increased its formerly very low contribution to international peace missions.

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Austria and Switzerland Austria

The major driver of Austria’s armed forces reforms after the end of the cold war were the gradual political integration of the country into European and transatlantic security structures and the perceived increased need for crisis management in the Balkans and outside Europe. Like Switzerland, Austria has been transforming its armed forces for different reasons and gearing them towards the higher spectrum of the more demanding tasks and operations abroad.37 According to the 2013 Austrian Security Strategy, the main tasks of the Austrian armed forces as defined by the Federal Constitution are as follows: (1) to guarantee full state sovereignty and integrity, (2) to protect the constitutional institutions and the critical infrastructure, (3) to protect the population, also by means of disaster relief, (4) to support the national capacity to act in strategic crisis situations, (5) to contribute to the management of crises as an expression of solidarity, and (6) to make a military contribution to EU security endeavours in the spirit of solidarity.38 Since the end of the cold war, the size of the Austrian armed forces (Bundesheer) has been gradually reduced from 240,000 (target size: 186,000 soldiers plus reserve forces) in 1987 down to 120,000 soldiers (plus 30,000 reserve forces) in 1991 and, finally, to 110,000 soldiers (92,000 soldiers plus 18,000 reserve forces) in 1997.39 In 1990, the Bundesheer also began to assist the border police in safeguarding Austrian borders against illegal immigrants and to cooperate with Slovak and Hungarian servicemen to counter human trafficking along the borders. According to the 2004 Austrian Armed Forces Reform Commission report, the target level of mobilization was halved, from approximately 110,000 to 55,000 troops, including about 3,000 for international peace operations.40 The latter figure was limited to at least 1,100 in 2013. Fifty per cent are made up of professional servicemen and women with both temporary and permanent contracts. The Bundesheer consists of 15,000 active professional soldiers and 10,000 conscripts,41 and continues to be based on general conscription. In their training, particular attention is paid to military national defence, foreign commitments, disaster relief, protection of critical infrastructures, border surveillance, support for maintaining public order and security in Austria, and (p.206) cyber security. Moreover, about 20,000 young conscripts complete their basic training in the Austrian Armed Forces every year. At least 12,500 personnel are available for national disaster relief operations.42 The Reform Commission report indicates that the running budget is supposed to be increased from 0.8 per cent (2004) of the GDP to approximately 1 per cent over the next decade.43 This objective has so far not been achieved, and it remains unclear whether governments are indeed prepared to assume that recommendation.

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Austria and Switzerland According to the Austrian Ministry of Defence (MoD), the militia comprised 25,700 soldiers in 2015 and has its principal tasks in disaster relief, in assistance missions on behalf of the police (border control), and in protecting domestic critical infrastructure. Some 15,000 militia soldiers are trained over a two-year period, about 7,500 each per year.44 The 2005 Defence Law amendment reduced the compulsory military service obligation from eight to six months, and the obligation to join the militia system for one month in order to participate in military exercises is now voluntary. Therefore, the Austrian MoD started to make compulsory military and militia service more attractive after a majority of the Austrian population had voted in early 2013, by a majority (59.7 per cent),45 to maintain compulsory military service. The success of these MoD initiatives has been quite limited. The militia plays a crucial part in Austrian PSO deployments. In some missions, especially in the Balkans and in the Near East, the percentage of militia soldiers amounted to 70 per cent.46 Austrian armed forces participate in most of the EU missions and some of the NATO-led missions and UN missions, especially in Bosnia and Herzegovina (188 troops), in Kosovo (447 troops), and in Lebanon (179 troops).47 Austria participates in two NATO-led missions: KFOR, where Austria is the third largest troop contributor and the largest non-NATO troop-contributing country, and the Resolute Support Mission, with nine personnel.48 NATO PfP cooperation with the Austrian armed forces aims at focusing on command and control, development of interoperability with NATO, host nation support, and enhancement of capabilities. In 2012, Austria took the leading role with regard to the EU Pooling & Sharing— Mountain Training Initiative to standardize the military mountain training at EU level. After years of cooperation between Austrian and German mountain troops, the readiness of mountain troops is further developed with other European partners by means of this Austro-German initiative. Nine nations are part of this initiative, the permanent members being Austria, Belgium, Bulgaria, Croatia, Germany, the Netherlands, Poland, Slovenia, (p.207) and Sweden.49 Close coordination was established with the NATO Centre of Excellence for Mountain Warfare (NATO COE) in Slovenia in order to exchange experience, especially within the ‘Lessons-Learned’ process and in order to avoid duplication. The NATO COE focuses on doctrines and rules, the EU initiative on concrete educational and training cooperation.50 In order to enhance cooperation within the EU framework, Austria declared its willingness in 2003 to contribute to the EU Battlegroup process. Austria had been part of EU Battlegroups in the first half year of 2011 (180 troops), in the second half of 2012 (350 troops—logistic lead nation), and in the second half of 2016 (500 troops—logistic lead nation). Furthermore, Austria has committed itself to participating in several EU Battlegroups through 2020 and beyond. According to the 2013 Security Strategy, the ‘Austrian Armed Forces must be Page 10 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland able to contribute to the pool of civil–military capabilities for the implementation of the EU Solidarity Clause’.51 However, ‘the capability of the Austrian Armed Forces must be maintained and organized to make a solidarity-based contribution within a potentially developing common European defence, taking into account the “Irish Clause”’.52 Thus, because of more comprehensive requirements in European armed forces cooperation, Austrian forces structures continue to be revamped and adapted within a framework of specialization. From the 1990s, the structure of the Austrian armed forces had been moulded in accordance with budgetary circumstances and enhanced military cooperation within the framework of the EU and NATO PfP. In 2016, a €1.7 billion investment package was adopted by the Austrian government, the first after a very long period of heavy budgetary cuts.53 A new command (Rapid Reactions Command) derived from the former 3rd Mechanized Infantry Brigade (3. Panzergrenadierbrigade) was established in order to be deployable in Austria and abroad, and to operate in the urban theatre and in counterterrorism missions. By 2016, one heavy brigade (4. Panzergrenadierbrigade) was operating in Austria comprising all mechanized forces. This brigade is designated to conduct robust operations in Austria and abroad and contains the core capability for conventional defence. One Austrian airborne capable light brigade (7. Jägerbrigade) is tasked to conduct stabilization operations abroad; this brigade also supports the Rapid Reactions Command in order to assume its tasks. The Mountain Warfare Command (Kommando Gebirgskampf), derived from the former 6th Infantry Brigade (6. Jägerbrigade), is responsible for mountain training, education, and operations relating to the European Mountain Warfare Centre (Mountain Training Initiative).54 Since 2016, the nine military commands have been responsible for militia training and education. Moreover, conscripts have been educated and trained for border missions (p.208) during the first four months of their compulsory military service, and during the last two months they have also been deployed to border missions. Since 2015, about 2,200 servicemen of the Austrian armed forces have been able to be deployed to a ‘security police assistance operation’ in support of the Ministry of the Interior in order to control movements of refugees and migrants along the Austrian border.55 In September 2016, the Austrian Ministry of Defence decided to increase the number of personnel in the Austrian militia system from 25,700 up to 31,200 in 2026. The main focus is and will be the protection of critical infrastructure and border control.56 Thus, the transition processes of the Austrian armed forces are characterized by a focus on adapting resources in manpower and equipment to the changing security and defence environment. This includes enhanced civilian–military cooperation in domestic as well as foreign missions. The same is basically true for Switzerland.

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Austria and Switzerland Switzerland

In Switzerland, the armed forces have likewise been undergoing a profound ‘transformation’. Since 1990, however, the mission spectrum of the Swiss Armed Forces has remained unchanged: (1) defence (legal terms: Aktivdienst and Ordnungsdienst); (2) support of civilian authorities for security operations (such as air policing, or protection of persons or objects), like the annual economic summit World Economic Forum, or disaster relief (legal term: Assistenzdienst); and (3) PSO (legal term: Friedensförderungsdienst). Over the years there has been a cautious shift of political emphasis from the first to the second mission. The Swiss armed forces have gone through three major reforms since 1989; these can be described in a manner analogous to that of the country’s security policy by tracing the main conceptual reports by the government. Fundamentally, while the first two reforms aimed to maintain the mission spectrum as well as capabilities at lower costs in terms of finances and manpower, the latest reform clearly shifted the mission spectrum towards domestic civil–military cooperation. The first major armed forces reform after the cold war (Armee 95) was the result of several mutually reinforcing developments. Internal factors included an ageing population in the 1980s, and a broad public perception that the armed forces were out of touch with changes in societal values—reflected in a surprising 35.6 per cent approval rate for an initiative calling for the wholesale abolition of the armed forces in 1989. To this, external factors were added: the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact and the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1990 and 1991 respectively, and the eroding willingness on the part of Swiss companies, whose top management had meanwhile become increasingly internationalized, to support the militia system. Thus, Armee 95, while maintaining the principle of general (male) conscription, reduced the mobilization level from roughly 650,000 to 400,000 men by lowering the maximum age of military service obligation to 42. Moreover, the traditional (p.209) reserve categories were dissolved, basic training was reduced to fifteen weeks, repetition courses no longer took place every year but biannually, and many traditional units were disbanded, completely so in the case of the frontier and redoubt brigades. Furthermore, four quick reaction regiments were established to secure the international airports of Zurich and Geneva and the capital of Bern, and for deployment in disaster relief operations, yet were abolished again in the 2004 reform. Two tank brigades and an artillery regiment became reserves. To each of the three field army corps (1, 2, and 4) were assigned two field divisions, one tank brigade, and a territorial division. The 3rd (‘mountain’) army corps consisted of three alpine divisions, three fortress brigades, one territorial division, and two territorial brigades. The 5th corps—air force and air defence— was restructured into four brigades: air force, airfield, air defence, and information technology. The armed forces expected the remaining five tank brigades and the partial mechanization of the infantry to achieve an improved Page 12 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland readiness, in accordance with the new doctrine of ‘dynamic area defence’ (dynamische Raumverteidigung).57 In the course of the 1990s, the defence budget came under pressure (as already discussed) and deficiencies became apparent, especially with regard to the level of training and recruitment of cadre; thus another reform was launched: ‘Armed Forces XXI’ (Armee XXI) of 2004. That reform cut the mobilization level by half (down to 120,000 active plus an 80,000 reserve force) and adopted the NATO command and force structure (brigades, battalions), aiming at comprehensive interoperability in the long term. Since then, the basic structure of the land forces has consisted of two infantry brigades (2 and 5), two mountain brigades (9 and 12), and two armoured brigades (1 and 11). Additionally, two large reserve brigades (Infantry Brigade 7 and Mountain Brigade 10) exist. Four territorial regions link the land forces with the cantons by coordinating territorial tasks inside their respective areas.58 The reform ‘Armed Forces XXI’ has never been formally rescinded, yet it has undergone a series of adjustments since its launch in 2001 under the labels of ‘Development Step 08/11’ (Entwicklungsschritt 08/11)59 and ‘Development of the Armed Forces’ (Weiterentwicklung der Armee (WEA)), of which the latter was eventually adopted by parliament in 2016.60 Both resulted in a de facto military reform. The key feature of the first was a shift of the efforts in personnel, training, and equipment from the mission of conventional territorial defence to that of supporting civilian authorities (which during Armee 95 had been called ‘Area Securing’, Raumsicherung) as well as a significant downgrading of ambitions to render the armed forces interoperable with NATO beyond PSO. (p.210) WEA, on the other hand, aims at balancing ends and means in general, and entails a structural reform of the armed forces’ headquarters into two joint commands, one for training and the other for operations, as well as a further reduction in the mobilization level to 100,000 personnel (with more than 140,000 being liable for service, but taking into account that up to 40,000 of them might not be able to join the armed forces because of their civilian commitments; in addition, about 15,000 personnel in basic training are not included in the figure of 100,000). Of these, some 3,300 are professional soldiers. This is accomplished by lowering the maximum age of military service obligation (for soldiers and non-commissioned officers) to 34 and by dissolving the reserve. In return, operational readiness is to be improved by ensuring the full (and modernized) equipping of all units and by modifying training: the duration of basic training will, as a rule, be eighteen weeks. At the same time, the links to cantonal and regional authorities are to be further strengthened.61

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Austria and Switzerland As the Swiss armed forces continue to be based on the militia principle, their level of preparedness is limited: as of 2017, the terrestrial forces can mobilize (within 48 hours) and permanently sustain some 1,070 men—professional units, single-term soldiers, and conscripts at an advanced stage of training.62 The largely professional air force, on the other hand, can provide ready-to-take-off aircraft (for air policing) for only 10 hours on working days, as was long deemed adequate. WEA intends to improve both capabilities, to introduce a 24/365 readiness of the air force and, moreover, to re-establish a proper mobilization system (abolished with Armee 95). But as long as the Swiss army is based on the militia principle—which was reaffirmed overwhelmingly (73.2 per cent) in a popular referendum in 2013—there are natural limits to enhancing the readiness capability owing to the fact that the majority of its members are not available for the armed forces beyond their annual refresher courses. In contrast with the first two missions of its armed forces, Swiss contributions to peacekeeping and PSO remain modest in size. As of 2017, there is one companysized unit, SWISSCOY, which, as previously described, has been active as a part of KFOR since 1999. At the beginning, security, emergency aid, and reconstruction after the war in Kosovo were the focus of this mission; since 2010, however, its main tasks have been intelligence (by means of Regional Detachment North and four liaison and monitoring teams), engineering support, and air transport. Moreover, there are two minor ‘units’: first, the Swiss contribution to the Neutral Nations’ Supervisory Commission, created to monitor the armistice on the Korean Peninsula, a mission set up in 1953 with more than ninety Swiss military personnel, yet gradually reduced to five officers; and, second, Switzerland’s contribution to the EUFOR ALTHEA mission in Bosnia and Herzegovina since 2004. This provides Liaison and Observation Teams (LOT) and staff officers at the LOT Coordination Centre and at EUFOR headquarters. In 2011, Switzerland expanded its support of EUFOR to include a mobile training team. Beyond these three units, as of 2017 there are some thirty Swiss officers serving as military observers, liaison officers, and military advisors in various (p.211) UN missions as well as staff officers in UN and OSCE headquarters; from 2004 to 2008, temporarily, there was also a small number of staff officers within ISAF.63 Under the umbrella of EAPC and PfP, Switzerland cooperates formally with NATO, engaging in a security dialogue, in PARP, PMF, and interoperability efforts, but also by supporting specific projects and by attending and likewise offering training courses to partner states. Besides, Swiss armed forces observe developments on other NATO platforms such as the Smart Defence and Connected Forces Initiatives, the Framework Mission Networking, and the Operational Capabilities Concept.64

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Austria and Switzerland With the EU, Switzerland also conducts a regular dialogue on shared foreignpolicy concerns and participates in the EU’s peace-promotion missions within the framework of the EU’s CSDP on a case-by-case basis without having concluded a formal framework agreement under CSDP (by 2017). Swiss contributions to CSDP consist mainly of civilian experts. Armed forces personnel have been seconded only to operation EUFOR ALTHEA in Bosnia and Herzegovina.65 In March 2012, Switzerland concluded a framework agreement on cooperation with the European Defence Agency.66 Overall, Swiss security cooperation is much more substantial with NATO than with the EU, but this still involves less than 1 per cent of Swiss armed forces personnel and defence expenditures in total.67

The Ways Ahead What are the mid-term prospects of mutual security and defence policies and armed forces development, based on the trends that have been laid out? Austria will continue to specialize in niche capacities in order to strengthen cooperation within CSDP and NATO PfP frameworks. As a major contribution to CSDP, Austria operates as the lead nation of the EU Mountain Training Initiative. One essential pillar of Austrian security policy focuses on regional cooperation within CEDC. This initiative aims at conducting capability development projects such as helicopter pilot and Special Operations Forces training, CBRN defence and logistical cooperation, regional cross-border disaster-management cooperation, the establishment of a regional joint terminal air controller training centre, and tackling the refugee and migration crisis. The Austrian Ministry of Defence is planning a nominal increase in military expenditures from €2.071 billion up in 2016 to 2.162 billion in 2020 for arms procurement purposes (unarmoured and armoured vehicles, protective (p.212) multi purpose vehicles, ‘Husar’ and ‘Hägglund’ vehicles, UAVs, 20,000 helmets, and so on). In the near future, the ‘Saab 105’ aircraft will be replaced and new light multipurpose helicopters are to be procured.68 In Switzerland, the Federal Assembly’s approval of WEA in the spring of 2016 put an end to lengthy and highly controversial debates involving cantons, political parties, and militia organizations on the ‘transformation’ of the Swiss armed forces. As a consequence, the armed forces’ de facto reform will legally come into effect on 1 January 2018 and is supposed to be (largely) implemented by 2021. Moreover, parliament and the Federal Council have agreed on an across-the-board increase in defence spending to 20 billion CHF (some €18 billion) for the four-year period of 2017–20. These funds are deemed to cover the running costs but also to allow for the procurement of modernized weaponry required for ‘transformation’. The most costly of them, a new fighter aircraft (set to replace the 30 F/A-18s and the 54 F-5 Tigers currently in stock from 2025 on) and a new air defence system (equally at an early stage of evaluation), and the army’s main weapon systems, will, however, require sustained high defence Page 15 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland funding into the 2030s. In view of the long-term prospects for federal funding, it is uncertain whether the renewal of all major air and land systems—beyond WEA proper—can be accomplished. Another challenge will remain the recruitment and retention of highly educated personnel.

Conclusion Austrian and Swiss security and defence policies as well as armed forces reforms have changed in parallel to only a certain degree as a reaction to the completely new security environment since 1990. Both Austria and Switzerland clung to their neutral status under international law, but began interpreting it in a more flexible way. The two alpine republics have reduced quite considerably the size of their armed forces while maintaining the principle of general (male) conscription, resulting in mobilization strengths of 55,000 men in Austria and 100,000 men in Switzerland. Both countries have preserved conventional defence capabilities—whose cores are mechanized brigades—while enhancing their relative contributions to UN peacekeeping and NATO PSO. In this regard, the Austrian level of ambition has been persistently and considerably higher than the Swiss one, with greater emphasis on EU peace missions. With regard to structural and doctrinal changes, the Austrian armed forces strive to follow the benchmarks set by EU, CSDP, and NATO PfP, whereas domestic cooperation (with civilian partner organizations) increasingly became the main driver of the Swiss armed forces’ ‘transformation’. However, unlike Switzerland, the Austrian armed forces contribute significantly to border control in the context of the migration and refugee crisis. Both countries have recently recognized counterterrorism and cyber defence as new challenges without, however, really assigning their armed forces a central role in these (p.213) fields. In terms of finances, Switzerland enjoys more leverage in allowing its army and air force to envisage major procurement projects, whereas Austria has no plans for introducing new and expensive equipment on a large scale. Thus, after decades in which the two countries were fellow travellers in the international security arena, the mutual paths and roles of Austria and Switzerland within European and international security policy have diverged significantly since the end of the cold war. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Allgemeine Schweizerische Militärzeitschrift, ed. Schweizerische Offiziersgesellschaft [1834/1948–] (Volketswil, 1990–). Baumann, Andrea, and Marco Wyss, ‘Contributor Profile: Switzerland’, Providing for Peacekeeping Project (International Peace Institute), updated January 2016,

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Austria and Switzerland (accessed 18 July 2017). Bulletin zur Schweizerischen Sicherheitspolitik, ed. Center for Security Studies/ ETH Zurich (Zurich, 1991–). Hauser, Gunther, ‘ESDP and Austria: Security Policy between Engagement and Neutrality’, in Günter Bischof et al. (eds), Austrian Foreign Policy in Historical Context, Contemporary Austrian Studies, 14 (New Brunswick and London: Transaction, 2006), 207–45. Military Power Review, ed. Chief of the [Swiss] Armed Forces (CdA) (Bern, 2010–). Mirow, Wilhelm, ‘The Idiosyncrasies of Contemporary Swiss Security Policy and Practice: A Strategic Culture-Based Explanation’, Contemporary Security Policy, 33/2 (2012), 337–59. Österreichische Militärische Zeitschrift [1808–] (Vienna, 1991–). Schmidl, Erwin, ‘1960–2010: 50 Years of Austrian Participation in International Operations’, Austrian Armed Forces: 50 Years in the Service of Peace. Truppendienst International, 3/1 (2010), 4–14. Truppendienst. Magazin für Ausbildung, Führung und Einsatz im Österreichischen Bundesheer [1962–] (Vienna, 1991–). Wyss, Marco, ‘Military Transformation in Europe’s Neutral and Non-Allied States’, RUSI Journal, 156/2 (2011), 44–51. Notes:

(1) Gunther Hauser, ‘Austrian Security Policy: New Tasks and Challenges’, Obrana a strategie (Defence & Strategy), 7/1 (2007), 45–56 at 46. (2) Bundeskanzleramt (ed.), Landesverteidigungsplan, (Vienna: Österreichische Staatsdruckerei, March 1985), 41–2. (3) Austrian Parliament (Resolution), Austrian Security and Defence Doctrine. General Considerations (Vienna: Federal Chancellery, 2002), 1. (4) Austrian Parliament, Austrian Security and Defence Doctrine, 1. (5) Austrian Parliament, Austrian Security and Defence Doctrine, 1. (6) Gunther Hauser, ‘ESDP and Austria: Security Policy between Engagement and Neutrality’, in Günter Bischof et al. (eds), Austrian Foreign Policy in

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Austria and Switzerland Historical Context, Contemporary Austrian Studies, 14 (New Brunswick and London: Transaction, 2006), 211. (7) Walter Unger [Head of Cyber Defence at the Abwehramt des Bundesheeres], ‘Eine dramatische Herausforderung’, Profil, 1 (4 January 2016), 27. (8) Republic of Austria, Austrian Cyber Security Strategy (Vienna: Federal Chancellery, 2013), 11; Johannes Viehhauser, ‘Cyber Defence’, Der Soldat. Unabhängige Zeitschrift für Wehr- und Sicherheitspolitik, 20 November 2013, 9. (9) Gunther Hauser, ‘The Concept of Neutrality in Today’s Security Environment’, Defensor Pacis, 18 (2006), 140–64 at 144. (10) Hauser, ‘The Concept of Neutrality’, 144. (11) Friedrich Hessel, Strukturentwicklung des Bundesheeres von der ‘Wende’ 1989/90 bis zum Jahr 2003 (Vienna: Landesverteidigungsakademie, 2004), 10– 11. (12) Austrian Foreign Ministry, Austria Participation in the NATO Partnership for Peace (PfP) and the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC), (accessed 2 June 2017). (13) Austrian Foreign Ministry, Austria Participation. (14) NATO, Relations with Austria, (accessed 5 December 2017). (15) NATO, NATO’s Relations with Austria. (16) Wolfgang Zecha, ‘Austrian Security Policy Documents: A Walk on a Tightrope between Neutrality and International Solidarity’, Academic and Applied Research in Military and Public Management Science (AARMS), 14 (2015), 327. (17) Gerold Fraidl, ‘The Austrian Armed Forces in the Middle East’, Austrian Armed Forces: 50 Years in the Service of Peace. Truppendienst International, 3/1 (2010), 38–48. (18) Erwin Schmidl, ‘1960–2010: 50 Years of Austrian Participation in International Operations’, Austrian Armed Forces: 50 Years in the Service of Peace. Truppendienst International, 3/1 (2010), 4–14 at 7. (19) Republic of Austria, Austrian Security Strategy: Security in a New Decade: Shaping Security, Federal Chancellery of Austria, Federal Ministry of Interior, Federal Ministry of Europe, Integration and Foreign Affairs, Federal Ministry of Defence and Sports (Vienna: Federal Chancellery, July 2013), 22.

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Austria and Switzerland (20) BMLVS/Kommunikation, ‘Bundesheer Neu: Budgetentwicklung und Vergleichsdaten’, Interne Information, 8 (10 March 2016). (21) Offiziersgesellschaft Wien, ‘Aktuelle Entwicklungen im Bundesheer’, Unser Auftrag, Zeitschrift der Offiziersgesellschaft Wien, 3 (October 2016), 4–5. (22) Martin Fritzl, ‘Trendwende beim Heeresbudget’, Die Presse, 23 April 2016, 4. (23) Thomas Newdick, ‘As Typhoons Arrive, Austria Seeks Jet Trainers, Euro Cooperation’, Defence News International, 8 September 2008, 11. (24) Federal Council, Bericht des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung über die Sicherheitspolitik der Schweiz (Konzeption der Gesamtverteidigung) (Bern: Federal Council, 27 June 1973). (25) Federal Council, Schweizerische Sicherheitspolitik im Wandel: Bericht 90 des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung über die Sicherheitspolitik der Schweiz (Bern: Federal Council, 1 October 1990). (26) Federal Council, Sicherheit durch Kooperation: Bericht des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung über die Sicherheitspolitik der Schweiz (SIPOL B 2000) (Bern: Federal Council, 7 June 1999). (27) Federal Council, Bericht des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung über die Sicherheitspolitik der Schweiz, 23 June 2010, and Armeebericht 2010 (Bern: Federal Council, 1 October 2010). (28) Confederation and Cantons, Verwaltungsvereinbarung über den Sicherheitsverbund Schweiz (Bern: Federal Council, 4 December 2015). (29) Federal Council, Die Sicherheitspolitik der Schweiz: Bericht des Bundesrates (Bern: Federal Council, 24 August 2016). (30) Ulrich Kägi, Schweizer Soldaten im Einsatz in friedensfördernden Operationen 1992–8 (Lenzburg: Kromer, 2015). (31) Federal Department of Foreign Affairs, ‘Schweizer Partnerschaft mit der NATO: 20 Jahre Schweizer Teilnahme an der Partnerschaft für den Frieden’, Politorbis: Zeitschrift zur Aussenpolitik, 61/1 (2016). (32) See the official website maintained by the Swiss Armed Forces International Command (SWISSINT), (accessed 15 December 2017); Marco Wyss, ‘Military Transformation in Europe’s Neutral and Non-Allied States’, RUSI Journal, 156/2 (2011), 44–51; Marco Wyss, ‘Is Kosovo the Beginning and the End? Swiss Military Peacekeeping’, Baltic Security and Defence Review, 13/1 Page 19 of 23

 

Austria and Switzerland (2011), 51–70; Andrea Baumann and Marco Wyss, ‘Contributor Profile: Switzerland’, Providing for Peacekeeping Project (International Peace Institute, updated January 2016, . (33) Andreas Wenger and Daniel Trachsler, ‘Bewaffnete Teilnahme an Friedensoperationen: Schlüssel für die Umsetzung von “Sicherheit durch Kooperation” und Armee XXI’; Andreas Wenger and Victor Mauer, ‘Die Schweiz und friedensunterstützende Operationen: Eine verteidigungspolitische Herausforderung mit strategischer Dimension’, in Bulletins 2001/2004 zur schweizerischen Sicherheitspolitik (Zurich: CSS/ETHZ, 2001/2004), 11–39, 9–32, respectively. For Swiss Arms Control Policy in particular, see Federal Council, Bericht des Bundesrates über die Rüstungskontroll- und Abrüstungspolitik Schweiz (Bern: Federal Council, 30 November 2012). (34) See the annual public opinion research study by Tibor Szvircsev Tresch et al. (eds), Sicherheit 2016: Aussen-, Sicherheits- und Verteidigungspolitische Meinungsbildung im Trend (Zurich: Militärakademie an der ETH, 2016), 122–30. (35) Aldo Wicki, ‘Schweizer Luftwaffe trainiert im Ausland’, Allgemeine Schweizerische Militärzeitschrift, 167/3 (2001), 22–3; Fiona Lombardi, The Swiss Air Power (Zurich: vdf, 2007), esp. ch. 4, ‘Changes after 1989’. (36) Milizkommission C VBS, Die Bedeutung der Armee für die Schweiz: Eine ganzheitliche volkswirtschaftliche Analyse von Nutzen und Kosten (Luzern: UD Print, 2012). (37) Austrian Ministry of Defence, Report of the Austrian Armed Forces Reform Commission (Vienna: Federal Chancellery, 2004), 7. (38) Republic of Austria, Austrian Security Strategy, 11. (39) Hessel, Strukturentwicklung des Bundesheeres, 13. (40) Austrian Ministry of Defence, Report of the Austrian Armed Forces Reform Commission (Vienna: Federal Chancellery, 2004), 52. (41) Erich Cibulka, ‘Bundesheer am Scheideweg’, Der Offizier. Zeitschrift der Österreichischen Offiziersgesellschaft, 3 (2014), 4–5 at 4. (42) Republic of Austria, Austrian Security Strategy, 20–1. (43) Austrian Armed Forces Reform Commission, Report, Preface by Helmut Zilk [Chair of the Commission] (Vienna: Federal Council, 2004), 6.

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Austria and Switzerland (44) Erwin Hameseder, ‘Die Miliz im ÖBH: Aktuelle Entwicklungen und Ausblick’, Der Offizier. Zeitschrift der Österreichischen Offiziersgesellschaft, 4 (2015), 20– 4 at 21. (45) Wien-konkret, Wehrpflicht-Volksbefragung 2013: Ergebnis der WehrpflichtVolksbefragung vom 20.1.2013, (accessed 2 June 2017). (46) Otmar Lahodynsky, ‘Golan: Ende des Einsatzes macht viele Milizsoldaten arbeitslos’, Profil, 3 July 2013, (accessed 4 July 2013). (47) Federal Ministry of Defence and Sports, Auslandseinsätze des Bundesheeres, Stand: November 2017, www.bundesheer.at (accessed 5 December 2017). (48) Gerhard Jandl, ‘20 Years of Austrian Partnership with NATO: Record and Outlook’, Politorbis. Zeitschrift zur Aussenpolitik, 61/1 (2016), 77. (49) Peter Grünwald, ‘Mountain Training Initiative’, Der Offizier. Zeitschrift der Österreichischen Offiziersgesellschaft, 1 (2016), 24–7 at 24. (50) Grünwald, ‘Mountain Training Initiative’, 26. (51) Republic of Austria, Austrian Security Strategy, 22. (52) Republic of Austria, Austrian Security Strategy, 22. The ‘Irish Clause’ states that neutrality will not be affected in the case of an armed attack. (53) Der Offizier, ‘Landesverteidigung 21.1 Investitionsprogramm’, Der Offizier: Zeitschrift der Österreichischen Offiziersgesellschaft, 3 (2016), 17. (54) Der Offizier, ‘Landesverteidigung 21.1 Neue Strukturen des Bundesheeres’, Der Offizier: Zeitschrift der Österreichischen Offiziersgesellschaft, 3 (2016), 15– 16. (55) Der Offizier, ‘Assistenzeinsatz und Unterstützungsleistung/Migration’, Der Offizier. Zeitschrift der Österreichischen Offiziersgesellschaft, 1 (2016), 30. (56) ‘Miliz des Bundesheeres soll auf 31.200 Soldaten wachsen’, Salzburger Nachrichten, 25 September 2016, (accessed 26 September 2016). (57) Federal Council, Bericht des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung über die Konzeption der Armee in den neunziger Jahren (Armeeleitbild 95) (Bern: Federal Council, 27 January 1992).

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Austria and Switzerland (58) Federal Council, Bericht des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung über die Konzeption der Armee XXI (Armeeleitbild XXI) (Bern: Federal Council, 24 October 2001). (59) Federal Council, Botschaft über Änderungen der Armeeorganisation und des Bundesgesetzes über Massnahmen zur Verbesserung des Bundeshaushaltes (Rechtliche Anpassungen zur Umsetzung des Entwicklungsschrittes 2008/11 der Armee) [of 31 May 2006]; Botschaft zur Änderung der Militärgesetzgebung (Militärgesetz und Bundesgesetz über die militärischen Informationssysteme), 7 March 2008, and Armeebericht 2010 [of 1 October 2010] (attached to Bericht des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung über die Sicherheitspolitik der Schweiz, 23 June 2010, see n. 27) (all Bern: Federal Council). (60) Federal Council, Botschaft (des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung) zur Änderung der Rechtsgrundlagen für die Weiterentwicklung der Armee (Bern: Federal Council, 3 September 2014). (61) Federal Council, Botschaft (des Bundesrates an die Bundesversammlung) zur Änderung der Rechtsgrundlagen für die Weiterentwicklung der Armee. (62) ‘Bei Terrorgefahr wären nur 1070 Soldaten verfügbar’, SRF, 2 March 2016, (accessed 16 June 2017). (63) SWISSINT, ‘Military Peace Support’, (accessed 2 June 2017). (64) See Federal Council, Die Sicherheitspolitik der Schweiz: Bericht des Bundesrates (Bern: Federal Council, 24 August 2016), 48–50. (65) Federal Council, Die Sicherheitspolitik der Schweiz. (66) For Swiss defence cooperation, see Martin Sonderegger, ‘armasuisse und die Partnerschaft für den Frieden’, Politorbis: Zeitschrift zur Aussenpolitik, 61/1 (2016), 63–6. (67) See Swiss Armed Forces, Jahresbericht Schweizer Armee 2015 (Bern: Swiss Armed Forces, 2015), (accessed 16 June 2017). (68) Bundesministerium für Landesverteidigung und Sport, Investitionen 2016– 2020, Planungsstand: May 2016 (Vienna: 2016).

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Austria and Switzerland

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Baltic States

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Baltic States Masha Hedberg Andres Kasekamp

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0012

Abstract and Keywords Since the end of the cold war, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania have been confronted with four major milestones that necessitated the cardinal transformation of their national security and defence policies: the collapse of the Soviet Union, NATO membership, EU accession, and the resurgence of Russia under Putin. This chapter analyses the countries’ responses to these changes and challenges, tracing and explaining the evolution of Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian national strategies, military doctrines, and capabilities since 1989. It both provides an analytical overview of how the countries collectively have adjusted to the new regional and international security order, as well as compares the similarities and differences in their security outlooks, postures, and actions, in order to shed light on the degree of convergence and divergence among these three post-communist states. Keywords:   Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, state-building, NATO enlargement, Baltic Sea region, Russia, EU accession, collective security, post-communist states

Introduction THE security concerns of the Baltic States have come full circle since Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia regained their independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. In all three countries, the initial years of reclaimed sovereignty were dominated by ‘hard’ security concerns rooted in perceptions of territorial vulnerability, misgivings as to Russia’s intentions vis-à-vis the former Soviet republics, and uncertainty as to whether their aspiration to find shelter under the security umbrella of Western institutions would be fulfilled. The acceptance Page 1 of 23

 

Baltic States of their bids to join the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and the European Union (EU), and their membership of both in 2004, ushered in a period of unprecedented security in the region, a sense that traditional military threats had largely abated, and, concomitantly, the adaptation of their respective national security strategies and defence establishments to the requirements and non-traditional security challenges emphasized by NATO and the EU. However, basic and ‘hard’ security concerns quickly returned. The eruption of violence in eastern Ukraine and Russia’s annexation of Crimea in March 2014 not only reinforced earlier anxieties over the defensibility of borders but once again laid bare the stark asymmetry between the Baltic States’ domestic military capabilities and those of their large eastern neighbour. As a consequence, Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania have been driven back to focus on Russia-related threats and territorial defence, while once again pondering whether anything or anyone can fully guarantee the security of small states inhabiting this historically volatile geopolitical neighbourhood. While they are formally shielded by NATO’s Article 5, current defence thinking in all three states reflects uneasiness over the extent of the United States’ commitment to Europe and the Euro-Atlantic alliance’s ability to stay as robust and united as its most vulnerable members would wish. This chapter analyses the evolution of Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian national security strategies and military capabilities since the end of the cold war, focusing in particular on the developments that transformed their security environment: the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, their accession to NATO and the EU in 2004, and Russia’s increasing military assertiveness following the 2008 Russo-Georgian war. It both provides an overview of how the Baltic States, as a group, have adjusted to shifts in the regional and international security order and compares the similarities and differences in their (p.215) approaches to national defence. While there have been differences of emphasis and tempo in their policies, such as conscription, on balance Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania have pursued very similar strategies regarding NATO, the EU, and Russia, and thus have commonly been analysed together.

Safeguarding Reclaimed Sovereignty Upon regaining their freedom in 1991,1 after nearly fifty years as constituent republics of the Soviet Union, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia were faced with the daunting task of safeguarding their newly reclaimed statehood, while simultaneously building a democracy and a market economy. The early years of independence were marked by an acute sense of insecurity rooted in the Baltic States’ geographical location and the legacies bequeathed by their incorporation into the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) during the Second World War. In each case, the spectre of Russia loomed large, such that the establishment of national armed forces was viewed as indispensable both for addressing proximate security concerns, and, as importantly, for furthering their longer-term aspirations to integrate fully into the Euro-Atlantic community and Page 2 of 23

 

Baltic States find more durable protection under the umbrella of NATO and the EU. Thus, from the very start, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania oriented themselves to developing defence capabilities that, on the one hand, could serve as at least a minimally credible deterrent to Russia and, on the other, would demonstrate their political will and fitness for membership of the multinational organizations they desperately sought to join.2 Territorial Defence

In the years immediately following independence, Russia-related concerns dominated the security agenda in the Baltic States for a number of reasons. First, while the Soviet Union had disappeared, large contingents of former Red Army troops still remained on Latvian, Lithuanian, and Estonian soil until 1994.3 Second, even as all three nations sought a stable modus vivendi with Russia, each continued to have misgivings about the Kremlin’s intentions of keeping the former Soviet republics firmly within its sphere of influence. Third, the complex demography Estonia and Latvia inherited as a result of their time as Soviet republics made each wary of Russia’s potential to destabilize domestic politics by fomenting unrest among their ethnic Russian and Russian-speaking residents, which, in (p.216) 1992, constituted some 29 per cent of Estonia’s population and 33 per cent of Latvia’s.4 Lithuania, while having a much smaller Russophone minority, confronted the thorny issue of Kaliningrad, a militarized Russian enclave wedged between it and Poland.5 The visceral sense of political and territorial vulnerability drove the newly sovereign states to seek to develop independent national forces that, in the short term, would be able to control their borders and territories, and, in the longer term, could be built up into at least a minimally credible deterrent against military aggression from the East. In each case, nascent security and defence policies emphasized the concept of territorial defence, which, concomitantly, required the formation of ground, maritime, and air forces, and a significant mobilization pool of trained reserves.6 However, in contrast to the former Warsaw Pact countries, such as Poland and Hungary, which had retained both their formal status as sovereign nation states and the institutional endowments of statehood, including armed forces, during the cold war, the Baltic States had had no military establishments separate from those of the USSR. They thus needed to rebuild everything from scratch, while facing severe shortages of funds, experience, personnel, and equipment. All three moved quickly to lay the basic foundations for their armed forces (Table 11.1). The Estonian Defence Forces (Eesti Kaitsevägi) were officially restored in September 1991, the same year that Lithuania founded the Voluntary Service of National Defence. Latvia founded its Ministry of Defence in December 1991, with the Latvian National Armed Forces coming into being formally in 1994.

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Baltic States

Table 11.1. The Baltic States’ armed forces by service, 1995–2015 Country

Army personnel

Navy personnel

Air Force personnel

1995

2005

2015

1995

2005

2015

Estonia

3,300

3,429

5,300

150

331

200

Latvia

1,500

1,817

1,250

1,000

685

550

Lithuania

4,300

11,600

7,500

[350]

710

500

Notes: Figures within brackets are IISS estimates. Sources: IISS, The Military Balance (Abingdon: Routledge, 1995, 2005, 2015).

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1995

2005

2015

193

250

150

255

310

250

1,200

950

Baltic States Following the example of much of Europe at the time, the Baltic States opted for a conscription-based model, quickly passing legislation introducing compulsory military service. In the early days, Latvia, with a population of 2.65 million in 1991, projected an annual conscription pool of 10,000, which it believed would eventually enable it to achieve a mobilization potential of about 100,000. Estonia, though smaller in size, similarly foresaw (p.217) conscripting some 10,000 men a year, with the aim of mobilizing a force of 120,000–130,000 in case of need. Lithuania, the largest of the three Baltic countries with a population of 3.7 million in 1991, stipulated a mobilization requirement of 300,000.7 In order to reinforce their overall military capacity, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia placed considerable emphasis on citizens’ self-defence, enshrining in their respective constitutions that the defence of the nation from foreign invasion was the right and duty of every citizen.8 The Estonian Defence League (Kaitseliit), a paramilitary defence organization first formed in 1918, was refounded on popular initiative in early 1990 and officially integrated into the Defence Forces in 1992. Latvia formed its Home Guard, later renamed the National Guard, less than a month after declaring independence from the USSR. Lithuania’s National Defence Volunteer Forces (NDVF) likewise emerged in early 1991. Underpinning much of Baltic defence planning in the early 1990s was the firm belief that only the ‘maximum use of all available resources to counter aggression’ could offset the states’ acute military inferiority vis-à-vis Russia in the absence of NATO membership.9 In this vein, Lithuania’s 1996 Law on the Basics of National Security featured prominently the principles of ‘total and unconditional defence’ and ‘total civil resistance in the event of aggression’, while Latvia’s 1994 Law on National Defence similarly stipulated that, besides military means, all possible social, economic, and political measures must be deployed in the service of homeland defence.10 Early military plans suggest that, by mobilizing regular troops, the border guard, and the home guard, the Baltic States hoped to muster a force sufficient to provide several weeks of resistance in the contingency of a major military offensive against them.11 Defence would be based on a combination of small rapid-reaction forces and mobilizable territorial units. In case of invasion, lightly armed, locally mobilized, and relatively stationary territorial units—the main part of the armed forces—would entangle the enemy troops in a territorial net, hindering their advance. The better-armed and equipped mobile forces would initially hold key terrain and, when possible, counter-attack, taking on a guerrilla role if and when defences were penetrated.12 Given the stark asymmetry between their military capabilities and those of Russia, deterrence strategies revolved around demonstrating that their national forces could

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Baltic States quickly respond to any military intrusion and would be able to inflict material and moral damage on the aggressor. However, early plans for ‘total defence’ ran ahead of the governments’ ability to finance them. In the first half of the 1990s, the Baltic countries were not just small states, but small states undergoing historically unprecedented economic transitions to capitalism. The Baltic (p.218) economies went into free fall from 1992 to 1994, rocked by negative growth rates of as much as 30 per cent and soaring inflation. Such economic difficulties seriously hampered the Baltic States’ ability to recruit and retain experienced personnel, as well as follow through on their initial ambitions for conscription.13 Budgetary constraints also limited prospects for properly arming and equipping the fledgling armed forces. While there was substantial aid from a number of Western countries, most of this assistance came in the form of non-lethal equipment, light infantry arms, and funds for training and planning, rather than the kind of heavy-duty equipment (for example, anti-tank and anti-aircraft weapons) they needed to realize their officially formulated plans for territorial defence.14 Western Allies and Alliances

The Baltic States strove hard to demonstrate their will to defend themselves. However, all three understood that neither their individual nor their combined military capabilities would be sufficient to resist for long, much less outright defeat, large-scale military aggression originating from Russia, identified in the 1990s as the ‘only tangible source of foreign threat’.15 Thus, from the perspective of Vilnius, Tallinn, and Riga, durable security was achievable only through close ties to more powerful global players, particularly the United States, and, ultimately, membership of NATO. Yet, while temporarily shying away from overt talk of integration into NATO and the EU, the Baltic States’ quest to ‘internationalize’ their security by gaining the recognition and membership of international organizations was palpable even in the early 1990s. For example, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia joined the United Nations (UN) and the Organization for Cooperation and Security in Europe in 1991, and were admitted to the Council of Europe in 1993. Each also strove to cement ties to the United States and establish defence cooperation with their Nordic neighbours. The hope was that collaboration with Western partners would not only yield the immediate material assistance needed to build up their defence establishments but also generate long-run support for their aspirations to join both NATO and the EU.16 Major importance was attached to close bilateral relations with the Unites States, whose presence in Europe was seen as crucial to the Baltic States’ own national security.17 With American realpolitik widely credited for having brought Page 6 of 23

 

Baltic States down the USSR, and the EU lacking a viable defence dimension, the world’s now lone superpower was viewed as the only state willing and capable of repelling Russia, were it to re-emerge as an expansionist or revisionist power. (p.219) Active regional cooperation, particularly with their wealthy Nordic neighbours, offered another ‘interim’ solution to the Baltic States’ security concerns, as well as a means to return to European structures. While the wide network of regional organizations and frameworks in which the Baltic States embedded themselves in the 1990s provided no ‘hard’ security guarantees, they served the valuable function of ensuring multinational support for their ongoing defence reforms and the upgrading of their armed forces.18 But, while greatly valued and seen as indispensable, neither bilateral nor multilateral relationships could supplant the Baltic States’ ultimate goal of fullfledged integration into NATO and the EU, the two institutions viewed as the sine qua non for their long-term security.19 As soon as Russian forces had withdrawn from their territories in 1993–4, the Baltic States vocally proclaimed their westward orientation, signing on to the NATO Partnership for Peace (PfP) plan in 1994 and the Europe Agreements in 1995. From here on in, the evolution in the Baltic States’ strategic thinking and defence planning would be largely influenced by their efforts to join NATO, just as their political and economic reforms would be powered by their quest for membership of the EU. While NATO promised a ‘hard’ security guarantee against military threats, the EU offered the prospect of economic prosperity and political development, as well as served as a powerful symbol of the Baltic States’ ‘return to Europe’. Despite the widespread understanding that NATO was not yet ready to expand its ranks, the prospect of membership propelled the majority of the reforms undertaken by Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia in the sphere of defence in the mid-1990s. While the need to adopt the security concepts laid out in NATO doctrines inspired changes in their security strategies, the imperative to adapt their armed forces to NATO requirements drove a host of civil–military reforms20 as well as inspired closer trilateral cooperation between the three Baltic States, and their joint, as well as individual, participation in international missions. The alliance’s implicit stipulation that the Baltic States demonstrate their readiness for membership by first cooperating more among themselves spurred Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia to make significant investments in joint military projects.21 In 1994, the three jointly established BALTBAT, a peacekeeping battalion, which undertook its first mission under Danish command as part of the Stabilization Force (SFOR) operation in Bosnia–Herzegovina. Subsequent years saw the establishment of the Baltic Naval Squadron (BALTRON) and the Baltic Air Surveillance Network (BALTNET) in 1998, and the Baltic Defence

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Baltic States College (BALTDEFCOL) in 1999. All these joint initiatives initially had a West European country as its lead partner. As the prospect of NATO membership became increasingly real in the late 1990s,22 Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia made tangible increases in defence spending (Table 11.2) and undertook further reforms to bring their defence establishments in line with the requirements set by the alliance.

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Baltic States

Table 11.2. The Baltic States’ defence spending, 1993-2015 Year

Estonia

Latvia

Lithuania

Constant (2014) $m.

As % of GDP

Constant (2014) $m.

As % of GDP

Constant (2014) $m.

As % of GDP

1993

74.7

0.8

97

0.7

[176]

0.8

1995

94.2

1.0

110

0.8

[99.1]

0.5

1997

122

1.0

83.1

0.6

181

0.7

1999

161

1.3

116

0.8

241

1.0

2001

222

1.5

183

1.0

369

1.4

2003

306

1.7

344

1.6

360

1.1

2005

402

1.9

432

1.6

453

1.2

2007

548

2.1

593

1.6

546

1.1

2009

478

2.3

369

1.4

425

1.1

2011

396

1.7

289

1.0

343

0.8

2013

478

1.9

285

0.9

355

0.8

205

546

2.0

341

1.0

566

1.1

Note: Figures within brackets are SIPRI estimates. Source: Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), Military Expenditure Database.

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Baltic States (p.220) Upon receiving the Membership Action Plans (MAP) in 1999, the three countries embarked on some rather ambitious defence reforms that closely followed NATO’s recommendations that the Baltic States did not build all-round defence capabilities, but focus instead on modernizing defence management structures, interoperability, and the development of deployable land forces capable of contributing to the full spectrum of the alliance’s operations.23 The need to develop the military infrastructures necessary for receiving and supporting alliance forces (Host Nation Support) also rose up the agenda. For example, during the second MAP cycle (2000–1), Estonia adopted its first National Military Strategy, reorganized its General Staff into a Joint Staff, and announced plans to create the Estonian Rapid Reaction Battalion within four years.24 Lithuania’s Defence Policy 2001–4 set the goal of having the Iron Wolf reaction brigade, consisting of three mechanized infantry battalions and an artillery battalion, fully operational by 2006, while also pledging a companysized contingent to the NATO Response Force. In order to meet the targets set out in the MAP, Latvia, for its part, significantly increased the proportion of the defence budget spent on NATO-related procurement and activities, and announced plans to bolster its niche capabilities, concentrating on those areas identified by the alliance as needing additional assets.25 (p.221) Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia also took pains to take part in international missions, particularly those led by NATO or the United States, in order to demonstrate that they could contribute to the alliance, and not just benefit from it. All three strongly supported the US-led coalition in Iraq and contributed troops and civilian personnel to serve under US and NATO command in Afghanistan.26 Prior to their accession to the EU, the Baltic States also participated in EU military operations in the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia and Bosnia–Herzegovina, though their contributions were largely symbolic. These early deployments abroad reflect the Baltic States’ sense that active participation in out-of-area operations was vital to proving their growing maturity and fitness for NATO, as well as buying the goodwill of larger Western states whose support of their membership hopes were seen as key to success. From Soviet Republics to Credible Candidates

The evolution of the Baltic States’ defence establishments during their first decade of independence was characterized by two central trends, both driven by their ultimate strategic goal of achieving NATO and EU membership. The development of national armed forces, despite the high costs such investments entailed, proceeded apace in order to demonstrate tangibly and symbolically to domestic and international audiences alike that Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania were determined to make their reclaimed sovereignty irreversible and to allay Western doubts about the ‘defensibility’ of the Baltic countries. To reinforce their westward orientation, all three countries strove to embed themselves in a web of bilateral and multilateral relationships with Western states, in order Page 10 of 23

 

Baltic States further to distance themselves from Russia and anchor their security in international structures and institutions. Despite the odds, in less than ten years the Baltic States were able to transform themselves from politically and economically struggling former Soviet republics into credible candidates for both NATO and EU membership.

Finding Shelter Accession to both NATO and the EU in 2004 ushered in another distinctive period in the evolution of the Latvian, Lithuanian, and Estonian defence establishments. Membership of the NATO collective defence system, bolstered by accession to the EU, kindled hopes of durable security and stability in the region, bringing about visible reorientations in the Baltic States’ strategic planning. The non-state security threats, such as terrorism, emphasized by NATO and the EU, rose to the top of the official agenda, partially displacing the traditional, Russia-related concerns that had dominated the first decade of independence. Concomitantly, the earlier focus on territorial defence made way for an emphasis on the development of smaller, more agile, and deployable armed forces. In this respect, the taking-up of membership commitments required the Baltic States to make difficult choices (p.222) about how best to reconcile their domestic defence needs with their newly acquired obligations to NATO and the still-evolving European Security Defence Policy (ESDP), particularly in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis, which damaged their economies, and Russia’s 2008 conflict with Georgia, which renewed fears that conventional military threats to European security had not disappeared. Improved Security Outlooks

The faith that the long-sought integration into NATO and the EU had cardinally transformed the Baltic States’ security outlook is palpable in the security strategies adopted in all three countries between 2004 and 2008. While Lithuania’s 2002 National Security Concept still prominently featured the principal of ‘total and unconditional defence’, the 2005 National Security Concept drops mention of this term entirely. Instead, ‘the security policy of the Republic of Lithuania’ is described as being based on ‘the assumption that our country will never again be left alone to face a potential threat’.27 A similar trend can be seen in the evolution of Latvia’s security doctrines. The National Security Concept approved by the Latvian parliament in 2005 notably states that membership of NATO and the EU has ‘significantly changed the external security environment of Latvia by maximally reducing external military and political threats’. Estonia, for its part, retained references to the principal of ‘total defence’ even after gaining entry to both NATO and the EU, which partly reflects the influence of the example of neighbouring Finland. While the possible return of direct military threats is deemed to be ‘very unlikely’, the 2004 National Security Concept nonetheless cautions that ‘the recurrence of such a threat cannot be Page 11 of 23

 

Baltic States totally excluded’. While not mentioning Russia by name, the concept not so obliquely intimates where the source of danger lies by underscoring that, owing ‘to the contradictory democratization processes and foreign policies of certain neighbours…it is still not possible to rule out threats to Estonia’s security’. However, the conviction that NATO and the EU give ‘Estonia a historically unique opportunity for enhancing its national security’ is equally clear in the strategic doctrines adopted following the dual enlargement. Thus, while fears of Russian revisionism, rooted in the experience of fifty years of occupation, never fully abated, the types of Russia-related threats that had dominated the security agenda of the 1990s increasingly came to be displaced in order of importance by a range of new threats—including terrorism, the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, and natural and manmade disasters—identified by NATO and the EU as undermining the international and European security environment.28 These shifts in threat perceptions, together with NATO’s increasing emphasis on mobile capabilities and reaction time rather than territorial defence, drove a host of reforms to the (p.223) Baltic States’ armed forces. In Latvia and Lithuania, in particular, the post-2004 period was characterized by the scalingdown of ground forces personnel, as well as a movement away from the conscription-based model, which was abandoned in Latvia and Lithuania in 2006 and 2008, respectively. The 4,000-strong army (including conscripts) that Latvia possessed in 2004 was pared down to a little over 1,100 by 2012. The size of the National Guard, which serves as a reserve base for the professional armed forces, also shrunk from some 11,200 members in 2006 to around 7,850 in 2014.29 Post-accession reforms in Lithuania, likewise, focused on creating a small, professional all-volunteer force and reducing the number of territorial units.30 If in 2005 the Lithuanian army numbered 10,100, including some 3,500 conscripts, only five years later that figure was down to 7,190, divided between regulars and active reservists from the National Defence Voluntary Forces. By contrast, Estonia, in keeping with the principle of ‘total defence’, chose to retain conscription and maintain a high mobilization capacity, even as it too sought to expand out-of-area capabilities. In order to keep up with their newly acquired international commitments, the Baltic States pledged to boost international contributions and further strengthen the niche capabilities they had begun to develop, particularly land and naval mine-clearing, border control, and medical support.31 In the second half of the 2000s, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia also began to participate in the multinational Battlegroups being formed under the aegis of the ESDP.

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Baltic States Hard Choices and Strained Budgets

But, while membership of NATO and the EU was seen as conferring innumerable security benefits, the process and obligations of integration also entailed hard choices about where to allocate scarce resources. The dual enlargement presented a dilemma about how to balance the states’ close alignment with the United States with their desire to be ‘good Europeans’ in the eyes of Brussels.32 The Baltic States’ concerns were rooted in strategic, as well as practical, considerations. With the US-led NATO alliance seen as their primary security guarantor, the emergence of a more autonomous ESDP in the 2000s caused distinct unease that the EU as a defence actor in its own right could undermine the role of NATO in European security.33 More practical concerns revolved around the prospect of EU military standards and armament policies becoming different from, or even at odds with, those of NATO. Having worked hard to adapt to NATO standards, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia were consistently opposed to any duplication between NATO and EU defence structures. The prospect of having simultaneously to contribute to EU and (p.224) NATO rapidreaction forces also sat uneasily, given that, as small states, the Baltic States can make only one substantial deployment at a time. Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia also had to juggle their need to maintain their initial self-defence capacity with their newly acquired obligations to NATO and the EU and an expanded security agenda that encompassed issues originating far from their national borders. In some areas, at least, the need to keep up with membership commitments can be said to have delayed the development of military capabilities directly related to national defence. While defence spending as a percentage of GDP remained relatively steady, at least prior to the 2008 financial crisis, budgetary constraints hampered the acquisition of arms and equipment. As a result, even by the late 2000s, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania’s land forces, the main military branch in each country, possessed few or even no tanks, and only limited anti-tank and air defence capabilities. Their navies remained small and limited heading into the second decade of the twenty-first century.34 Likewise, the air forces, equipped with only a small number of transport aircraft and helicopters, could not provide independently for the security of their national airspace. This gap was compensated somewhat by NATO’s air policing mission, which involved Allied Nations, on a rotating basis, providing four fighter planes to patrol Baltic airspace. Until 2014, this example of ‘smart defence’ was the only tangible presence of NATO forces on Baltic soil. The 2008 financial crisis further eroded the resources that could be devoted to military capabilities. In Lithuania, for example, defence spending as a percentage of government spending dropped from 3.2 per cent in 2008 to 1.9 per cent in 2011, forcing the government to introduce a moratorium on procurement and cut officers’ salaries. Similar trends can be seen in Latvia, which suspended most development projects.35 Estonia, by contrast, attempted to keep to NATO’s spending benchmark of 2 per cent of GDP, despite having Page 13 of 23

 

Baltic States been hit equally hard by the economic crisis, though its defence budget, too, did not go unscathed (see Table 11.2). From Aspirants to Members

The double enlargement cardinally changed the Baltic States’ security environment, leading to the widespread belief that the extension of the ‘collective defence’ shield to the Baltic States meant that traditional military risks had dwindled. The importance and relevance of different security issues and threats changed accordingly. Following accession to NATO and the EU, the Baltic States broadened their approach to security, which was no longer seen as ending at their national borders. Membership, however, came with the need for sacrifice in the pursuit of common goals. In the domain of defence, newly acquired international obligations meant that the Baltic States needed to set aside at least partially their historical anxieties over Russia and reorient their traditional agenda of territorial security in order to make more resources available for NATO and EU mobile needs. As would become clear in hindsight, the decreased focus on conventional threats coincided (p.225) with Russia’s increased investment in its military machine, which showcased its potential in the short, but portentous, 2008 conflict with Georgia, another small, former Soviet republic.

Russia’s Resurgence With Europe mired in a lengthy financial crisis and Russia flexing its muscles, the sense of security that had come with the 2004 accessions quickly began to be eroded. Russia’s swift victory in Georgia in 2008, coupled with the 2007 large-scale cyber attacks against Estonia, widely held to have originated in Russia, and the 2009 and 2013 Zapad exercises staged by Russia near the Baltic borders,36 revived traditional security concerns. The outbreak of violence in eastern Ukraine and Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014 cemented these fears for good. The cardinally revised security strategies adopted by Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia in the wake of Crimea all stress that Russia remains the most significant threat to the Baltic region and that homeland defence capabilities must remain an essential part of long-term defence planning. Apprehensions over the unity and resolve of the Euro-Atlantic alliance, and its central security institutions, have also returned, harkening back to the 1990s era, when worries of having to go it alone pervaded Baltic strategic thinking. Age-Old Threats

The return of traditional security fears is on prominent display in the evolving characterization of Russia in the national defence doctrines adopted by Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia since 2008. Estonia’s 2011 National Defence Strategy, which replaced the previous 2005 version, states outright that the ‘Russian Federation has demonstrated an increased interest in re-establishing its sphere of influence and strengthening its influence over Europe’s security environment’.37 Similarly, Lithuania’s 2012 National Security Strategy is a Page 14 of 23

 

Baltic States rather stark change from its 2005 predecessor. While underscoring that ‘there is no direct military threat to the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the State’, the strategy notes that ‘a dynamic, complex and difficult to predict security environment poses certain external and internal risks, dangers and threats to the national security interests of the Republic of Lithuania’.38 Among the new risks facing Lithuania, the strategy includes ‘the growing military power of some states of the region’ and ‘non-transparent, undemocratic integration projects in the neighbouring countries not based on the free will of citizens of those states’. The 2016 Military Strategy goes even further, declaring that ‘Russia’s growing military (p.226) power and decisions to use it in violation of international norms and commitments…have the most negative impact on the security environment of Lithuania’.39 Ringing the same tone of alarm, Latvia’s 2015 National Security Concept states that the ‘actions of the Russian Federation have significantly worsened security within the Euro-Atlantic area and have created long-term effects on the national security of the Republic of Latvia’.40 Notably, the sense that allies and alliances, while absolutely indispensable, may not be as united as hoped, or as capable of a quick response as needed, pervades myriad strategic documents. As the 2011 Estonian National Defence Strategy underscores, ‘small countries must account for the possibility that an unfavourable concurrence of events may result in the international community failing to pay attention to their security issues’. Lithuania’s 2012 National Security Strategy adds the continued ‘viability of NATO and the EU’ to the list of the country’s ‘vital interests’, and considers ‘global or regional processes which could weaken ties of the Euro-Atlantic community, NATO’s collective defence commitments, [and] the EU’s capacities to implement a common policy’ as one of the ‘risks, dangers and threats’ to its national security. The growing threat emanating from Russia has spurred the Baltic States to up defence budgets and refocus on their initial self-defence capabilities. Less than a month after the eruption of violence in Ukraine, Latvia and Lithuania announced plans to raise defence spending to 2 per cent of GDP by 2018 from its current level of some 1 per cent.41 In its 2012 Military Strategy, Lithuania notably returned the principle of ‘total and unconditional’ defence to a place of prominence, while emphasizing the importance of ‘credible national defence capabilities, supported by national defence financing’. The National Defence System Development Programme 2014–23 gives top priority to the strengthening of the Iron Wolf motorized infantry brigade, the core unit of Lithuania’s land forces.42 Plans have also been made to extend the duration of NDVF exercises from twenty to thirty days per year and increase the number of soldiers called on to undergo reserve officers’ training.43 Lithuania reintroduced conscription in 2015.

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Baltic States Like their Lithuanian analogues, recent defence plans developed in Latvia and Estonia stress the need to increase the size of their territorial defence forces and improve their combat readiness by providing them with better training and equipment. Latvian authorities, too, pondered a return to compulsory military service in 2015, though refrained from doing so at that time. The Latvian Armed Forces Development Plan 2012–24, however, includes the expansion and modernization of the National Guard (Zemessardze) among its priorities. The Ministry of Defence’s stated goals are to have eighteen Zemessardze units (p. 227) with higher combat readiness and increased rapid-response capabilities by 2018 and to up the number of volunteers to 12,000 by 2020.44 Estonia’s National Defence Development Plan 2013–22, for its part, seeks to establish rapidresponse infantry brigades, develop armoured manoeuvre capability, and strengthen anti-tank defences. Priority has been assigned to providing the professional Scouts battalion within the 1st infantry brigade with modern infantry fighting vehicles, having the 2nd infantry brigade fully operational by 2022, and increasing the size of the Defence League to 30,000 members by 2020. While stepping up arms and equipment procurement, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia have also intensified efforts to have a larger NATO and US presence in the Baltic States. At NATO’s Warsaw Summit in 2016, it was announced that one multinational battalion will be stationed in each of the Baltic States from 2017 on a rotational basis. Canada, Germany, and the United Kingdom pledged to serve as the framework nations for Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia respectively. Contemporary Hybrid and Cyber-Security Challenges

The beefing-up of conventional defence and deterrence, however, has been only one part of the response to the Ukraine crisis. The search for adequate responses to ‘hybrid’ warfare, triggered by Moscow’s simultaneous use of a broad array of conventional and non-conventional instruments in Crimea and eastern Ukraine, is now a permanent feature of the Baltic States’ strategic thinking. Of pronounced concern is that many of the activities entailed in a hybrid conflict can take place well beneath the ‘armed attack’ threshold that would trigger a NATO response under Article 5.45 Since the 2007 large-scale cyber attacks targeted at Estonia, cyber security has taken on an increasingly important role in defence policy. Since that time, Estonia has substantially developed its cyber-security infrastructure, adopting a national Cyber Security Strategy in 2008 and establishing a Cyber Security Council to support strategic-level inter-agency cooperation in 2009. Tallinn is now home to NATO’s Cooperative Cyber Defence Centre of Excellence. Furthermore, Estonia has been an agenda-setter for cyber security and cyber defence within the EU and NATO. Similarly, Latvia published its first Cyber Security Strategy in 2014, establishing a Cyber Defence Unit under the National Guard. Following the lead of its Baltic neighbours, Lithuania founded a National Cyber Security Centre under the Ministry of National Defence in early 2015.46

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Baltic States The prospect of irregular warfare, encompassing (dis)information campaigns, cultural influence, and economic pressure, has come hand in hand with renewed concern over Russia’s potential to exploit the sentiments of the still-significant Russian-speaking segments of the Baltic populations. With Crimea serving as a prime example of how Russia could stoke public opinion as a prelude to a land grab, defence doctrines in Estonia and (p.228) Latvia, in particular, have once again returned to the mention of potential internal sources of political vulnerability, just as they did during the first decade of independence. In this vein, Estonia’s 2011 National Defence Strategy introduced the concept of ‘psychological defence’, the purpose of which is to ‘prevent panic, the spread of hostile influences and misinformation, thereby ensuring continued popular support to the state and its national defence efforts’. To counter Russia’s ‘information war’, Latvia established the NATO Strategic Communications Center of Excellence in Riga in 2014. From the Western Fringe of the USSR to the Eastern Fringe of the EU

With Europe’s peaceful equilibrium upended by the eruption of violence in Ukraine and Russia’s annexation of Crimea in March 2014, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia have been forced once again to grapple with basic and ‘hard’ security concerns. The return of the ‘eastern threat’ has once again raised alarms about the vulnerability of borders, while underscoring that the Baltic States remain ill-prepared militarily to respond if the worst-case scenario were ever to materialize.47 In response, Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia have upped defence spending, increased arms procurement, and stepped up military training exercises, in the belief that an essential element of deterrence is demonstrating in advance that they are willing to put up a fight. But, even if traditional warfare, much less an outright invasion of the Baltic States, is unlikely, given NATO’s protective shield, from the perspective of Tallinn, Riga, and Vilnius, there is more than enough evidence to suggest that Russia seeks to exert political, economic, and cultural influence in the region.48 Thus, in addition to renewed attention to conventional defence, the Baltic States now seek to build capacity to counter unconventional ‘weapons’, including propaganda campaigns, cyber assaults, and other subversive political acts, that Russia might levy against them.49

Conclusion The geopolitical location of the Baltic States continues to be of central importance to their security outlooks. As recent developments have amply shown, the challenges spurred by location, while mitigated by membership of NATO and the EU, have not disappeared. The prospect of a revanchist Russia, which had spurred the development of their national security strategies and armed forces in the years immediately following their independence from the USSR, is once again driving debates about the current and future directions that Latvian, Lithuanian, and Estonian defence policies should take. Throughout the 1990s, the Baltic States’ foreign and security policies were underpinned by their Page 17 of 23

 

Baltic States desire to dissociate themselves from their Soviet past and to rejoin the Western community. Early investment (p.229) in national armed forces provided a means to demonstrate their political will, if not full capacity, to defend themselves, as well as symbolically reinforce the return of sovereignty. Having started from scratch and shoestring budgets, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania made remarkable progress in building up their defence establishments, ensuring that they would meet their strategic goals of joining the EU and NATO, membership of which was seen as the only possible permanent guarantee of their security. The landmark 2004 dual enlargement symbolized both an end to their status as European ‘outsiders’ and the beginning of a new era of security in a Europe that was ‘whole, free and at peace’. With the spreading of NATO’s protective shield over the Baltic States, the evolution of Latvian, Lithuanian, and Estonian armed forces entered a second phase, characterized by an expanded security agenda and new obligations to adapt their defence establishments, in word and deed, to the needs and requirements of the multinational organizations of which they were now full members. The outbreak of military conflict in Ukraine brought an abrupt end to many hopeful expectations of the 2000s and another sea change in the regional security environment. With Moscow’s commitment to honour internationally recognized post-Soviet borders cast in doubt, the Baltic States’ security concerns, in a number of key aspects, have come full circle. In all three countries, grave apprehensions about Russia abound, as do concerns over initial self-defence capabilities and existing divisions between Western countries about how best to respond to Russia. A 2016 report co-authored by former NATO commanders noted that the Baltic States are a single operational theatre and that their armed forces should follow a ‘porcupine strategy’, forming ‘speedbumps with spikes’ to win time for the deployment of NATO troops.50 In the coming years, just as they did in the 1990s, the Baltic States will probably focus on the development of military capabilities directly related to national defence, and the preservation of transatlantic unity and America’s continued leadership role within the alliance. Despite the great strides made since the early 1990s, Latvian, Lithuanian, and Estonian armed forces remain limited, and wholly dependent on NATO for the protection of territories that some have deemed ‘nearly impossible to defend from a determined aggressor’.51 Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Bajarūnas, Eitvydas, Mare Haab, and Ilmars Viksne, The Baltic States: Security and Defence after Independence (Paris: Institute for Security Studies of the Western European Union, 1995).

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Baltic States Corum, James S., The Security Concerns of the Baltic States as NATO Allies (Carlisle Barracks, PA: US Army War College Press, 2013). Dalsjö, Robert, ‘Baltic Self-Defence Capabilities: Achievable and Necessary, or Futile Symbolism?’, Baltic Defence Review, 1 (1999), 11–15. (p.230) Jermalavičius, Tomas, and Tony Lawrence (eds), Apprenticeship, Partnership, Membership: Twenty Years of Defence Development in the Baltic States (Tallinn: International Centre for Defence Studies, 2013). Jurkynas, Mindaugas, ‘Security Concerns of the Baltic States in the Twenty-First Century’, in Clive Archer, Alyson Bailes, and Anders Wivel (eds), Small States and International Security: Europe and Beyond (New York: Routledge, 2014). Kasekamp, Andres, and Viljar Veebel, ‘The Baltic States and ESDP,’ in Klaus Brummer (ed.), The North and ESDP (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann Stiftung, 2007). Männik, Erik, ‘The Evolution of Baltic Security and Defense Strategies’, in Tomas Jermalavičius and Tony Lawrence (eds), Apprenticeship, Partnership, Membership: Twenty Years of Defence Development in the Baltic States (Tallinn: International Centre for Defence Studies, 2013). Paulauskas, Kestutis, The Baltics: From Nation States to Member States (Paris: European Union Institute for Security Studies, 2006). Rublovskis, Raimonds, Margarita Šešelgyte, and Riina Kaljurand, Defence and Security for the Small: Perspectives from the Baltic States (Reykjavík: Centre for Small State Studies, Institute of International Affairs, 2013). Šapronas, Robertas, ‘BALTBAT and Development of Baltic Defence Forces’, Baltic Defence Review, 2/2 (1999), 55–70. Notes:

(1) Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia enjoyed a period of independence after the First World War, which ended with the Soviet occupation in 1940. In the spring of 1990, the three became the first republics to declare their independence from the USSR, though the Soviet government recognized their independence only in September 1991, in the wake of the failed August coup in Russia. (2) Margus Kolga, ‘Quo Vadis Baltic Defence Cooperation?’, in Andres Kasekamp (ed.), The Estonian Foreign Policy Yearbook 2005 (Tallinn: Estonian Foreign Policy Institute, 2006). (3) Some 100,000 to 120,000 Russian troops remained on the territories of the Baltic States in 1992. See International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance 1992 (Abingdon: Routledge, 1992), 75, 78–9.

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Baltic States (4) Eitvydas Bajarūnas, Mare Haab, and Ilmars Viksne, The Baltic States: Security and Defence after Independence (Paris: Institute for Security Studies of the Western European Union, 1995), 8. (5) In the early 1990s, Kaliningrad was assigned the role of a Russian military outpost, to which Russia moved some of the troops and equipment it had withdrawn from Eastern Europe. In 2010, the district was merged with the Leningrad and Moscow military districts to create the Western Military District. Russia’s Baltic Fleet is headquartered in Kaliningrad. (6) Phillip Petersen, ‘Security Policy in the Post-Soviet Baltic States’, European Security, 1/1 (1992), 13–49; Talavs Jundzis, ‘Defence Models and Strategies in the Baltic States’, International Spectator, 31/1 (1996), 25–37. (7) Roy Allison, ‘Military Forces in the Soviet Successor States: Ukraine, Belarus and the Baltic States’, Adelphi Paper, 33/280 (1993), 52. (8) Bajarūnas et al., The Baltic States: Security and Defence after Independence, 16. (9) Erik Männik, Estonian Defence: Ten Years of Development (Oslo: Institut for Forsvarsstudie, 2002). (10) Law on the Basics of National Security of Lithuania, (accessed 20 February 2016). (11) Allison, ‘Military Forces in the Soviet Successor States’, 50. (12) See Erik Männik, ‘The Evolution of Baltic Security and Defense Strategies’, in Tomas Jermalavičius and Tony Lawrence (eds), Apprenticeship, Partnership, Membership: Twenty Years of Defence Development in the Baltic States (Tallinn: International Centre for Defence Studies, 2013); Raimonds Graube, ‘The Latvian Armed Forces Today’, NATO’s Nations and Partners for Peace, Special Issue (1999), 63–8; Bajarūnas et al., The Baltic States: Security and Defence After Independence. (13) Männik, ‘The Evolution of Baltic Security and Defense Strategies’. (14) Robert Dalsjö, ‘Baltic Self-Defence Capabilities: Achievable and Necessary, or Futile Symbolism?’, Baltic Defence Review, 1 (1999), 11. (15) Andrus Park, ‘Russian and Estonian Security Dilemmas’, Europe-Asia Studies, 47/1 (1995), 27. (16) Kestutis Paulauskas, The Baltics: From Nation States to Member States (Paris: European Union Institute for Security Studies, 2006); Petersen, ‘Security

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Baltic States Policy in the Post-Soviet Baltic States’; Ronald D. Asmus and Robert C. Nurick, ‘NATO Enlargement and the Baltic States’, Survival, 38/2 (1996), 121–42. (17) See James Corum, The Security Concerns of the Baltic States as NATO Allies (Carlisle Barracks, PA: US Army War College Press, 2013). (18) Examples of these include the Nordic–Baltic cooperation format (NB8), formed in 1992, and the Baltic Security Assistance Forum (BALTSEA), established in 1997. (19) Andres Kasekamp and Viljar Veebel, ‘The Baltic States and ESDP’, in Klaus Brummer (ed.), The North and ESDP (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann Stiftung, 2007); Paulauskas, The Baltics: From Nation States to Member States. (20) See Timothy Edmunds, ‘NATO and its New Members’, Survival, 45/3 (2003), 145–66. (21) Kasekamp and Veebel, ‘The Baltic States and ESDP’. (22) One big milestone was the 1998 signing of the Baltic–US charter, which pledged full American support for the Baltics’ NATO integration efforts. (23) Paulauskas, The Baltics: From Nation States to Member States. (24) Jeffrey Simon, ‘Roadmap to NATO Accession: Preparing for Membership’, INSS Special Report (Washington: Institute for National Strategic Studies, October 2001). (25) NATO Parliamentary Assembly, ‘Invited Members Progress on Military Reforms’, 2003 Annual Session, (accessed 12 June 2016). (26) See Corum, The Security Concerns of the Baltic States as NATO Allies. For the Baltic States’ contributions to these missions, see Jeffrey Simon, NATO Expeditionary Operations: Impacts upon New Members and Partners (Washington: Institute for National Strategic Studies, 2005), 18–19, 28–9. (27) Ministry of National Defence, Republic of Lithuania, National Security Strategy 2002, (accessed 11 February 2016); National Security Strategy 2005, (accessed 11 February 2016). (28) Official national security strategies from the 2000s make no direct references to Russia as a military threat. However, lingering concerns over Russia’s potential to exert undue influence are reflected in references to the dominant role that ‘other states’ play in strategically important economic sectors (e.g. energy, transport, finance). Page 21 of 23

 

Baltic States (29) IISS, The Military Balance 2006 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2006); IISS, The Military Balance 2014 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014). (30) Riina Kaljurand, Karlis Neretnieks, Bo Ljung, and Julian Tupay, Developments in the Security Environment of the Baltic Sea Region up to 2020 (Tallinn: International Centre for Defence Studies, 2012). (31) Andres Kasekamp and Viljar Veebel, ‘Overcoming Doubts: The Baltic States and European Security and Defence Policy’, in Andres Kasekamp (ed.), The Estonian Foreign Policy Yearbook 2007 (Tallinn: Estonian Foreign Policy Institute, 2007), 30. (32) Paulauskas, The Baltics: From Nation States to Member States. (33) Kasekamp and Veebel, ‘The Baltic States and ESDP’. (34) Justyna Gotkowska and Olaf Osica, ‘Closing the Gap? Military Cooperation from the Baltic Sea to the Black Sea’, OSW Report (December 2012), (accessed 11 March 2016). (35) Kaljurand et al., Developments in the Security Environment of the Baltic Sea Region. (36) The Zapad (‘West’) 2009 military exercise, staged in Belarus, involved approximately 12,500 service personnel, 40 aircraft, and around 200 items of military equipment and hardware. The Zapad 2013 exercise geographically covered the western parts of Russia, western Belarus, the enclave of Kaliningrad, and the Baltic Sea. The manoeuvres simulated an incursion by foreign-backed ‘terrorist’ groups that originated from the Baltic States. (37) Estonian Ministry of Defence, National Defence Strategy 2011, (accessed 22 February 2016). (38) Ministry of National Defence, Republic of Lithuania, National Security Strategy 2012, (accessed 1 March 2016). (39) Ministry of National Defence, Republic of Lithuania, The Military Strategy of the Republic of Lithuania 2016, (accessed 2 May 2016). (40) Ministry of Defence, Republic of Latvia, National Security Concept, (accessed 15 March 2016).

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Baltic States (41) Richard Milne, ‘Baltic States Pledge More Defence Spending as US Presses Allies’, Financial Times, 27 March 2014. (42) Ministry of National Defence, Republic of Lithuania, ‘Long-Term Project of Mechanization of the Lithuanian Land Force’ (accessed 11 March 2016). (43) Piotr Szymański, ‘The Baltic States’ Territorial Defence Forces in the Face of Hybrid Threats’, OSW Commentary 165, 20 March 2015, (accessed 11 March 2016). (44) Ministry of Defence, Republic of Latvia, (accessed 15 March 2016). (45) See Henrik Praks, ‘Hybrid or Not: Deterring and Defeating Russia’s Ways of Warfare in the Baltics’, in Guillaume Lasconjarias and Jeffrey Larsen (eds), NATO’s Response to Hybrid Threats (Rome: NATO Defense College, 2015). (46) NATO Cooperative Cyber Defence Centre of Excellence, (accessed 15 March 2016). (47) Andres Kasekamp, ‘Why Narva is Not Next’, in Ann-Sofie Dahl (ed.), Baltic Sea Security: How Can Allies and Partners Meet the New Challenges in the Region (Copenhagen: Centre for Military Studies, 2016). (48) See Mike Winnerstig, Tools of Destabilization: Russian Soft-Power and NonMilitary Influence in the Baltic States (Stockholm: Swedish Defence Research Agency, 2014). (49) Praks, ‘Hybrid or Not’. (50) Wes Clark, Jüri Luik, Egon Ramms, and Richard Shirreff, Closing NATO’s Baltic Gap (Tallinn: International Centre for Defence and Security, 2016), 25. (51) Michael Birnbaum, ‘Fearing Russian Expansion, Baltic Nations Step up Military Exercises’, Washington Post, 16 May 2015. See also David A. Shalpak and Michael Johnson, ‘Reinforcing Deterrence on NATO’s Eastern Flank: Wargaming the Defense of the Baltics’, RAND Corporation, (accessed 7 July 2016).

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Belarus

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Belarus Flemming Splidsboel Hansen

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0013

Abstract and Keywords The Belarusian armed forces are caught in an unsettled struggle between past and future. A pyramid-shaped resource base with a disproportionately large Soviet-era foundation and a much smaller tip of modern technology, the pool of equipment is impressive at first glance, but upon closer inspection it becomes clear that a substantial part is obsolete and Belarus’s force readiness is occasionally put into question by even its closest ally, Russia. The particular understanding by the Belarusian authorities of the implications of the country’s aspirations for neutrality is unlikely to change even in a long-term perspective. Consequently, Belarus is likely to remain a hesitant ally within the Common Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) and even in its relations with Russia. In the absence of a major reinterpretation by the regime of the country’s geopolitical context, the defence burden is likely to remain well below the 2 per cent mark even in a long-term perspective. Keywords:   Russia, CSTO, authoritarianism, hybrid warfare, Soviet

Introduction BELARUS stands out from the other states discussed in this book simply by virtue of its political system. Often labelled ‘the last dictatorship’ in Europe, Belarus has a strict authoritarian system of government and it has travelled a shorter distance from its troublesome Soviet past than the other post-Soviet states in Europe.1 While it may in fact not be the only remaining dictatorship in Europe, the Belarusian regime under President Alexander Lukashenko is arguably the most repressive.2 A few figures may help set the scene. The United States think tank ‘Freedom House’ in 2016 awarded Belarus a score of 7 and 6 Page 1 of 22

 

Belarus (on its political rights and civil liberties, respectively), which puts the country on a par with states such as Azerbaijan, China, Tajikistan, and Yemen.3 As a reflection of this situation, Reporters Without Borders in 2016 ranked Belarus 157th in its annual World Press Freedom Index (out of a total of 180 states surveyed), situating the country between Burundi and Iraq.4 Reporters Without Borders further notes how ‘the information ministry has stepped up its control over print media distribution networks and the Internet, and has banned the software used to circumvent online censorship’.5 Moreover, it should be noted that the Belarusian economy has remained relatively unreformed, leaving the country, in the words of the Heritage Foundation, with heavy state control and a ‘repressed’ economy similar in overall terms to that found in Angola and Burma.6 And, finally, Transparency International (p.232) in 2015 gave Belarus a Corruption Perceptions Index score of 32, leaving the country to share the 107th spot (out of a total of 167 states surveyed) with states such as Argentina and the Ivory Coast.7 What all of this suggests is that the Belarusian military operates in an environment of strict political control and little public oversight. President since 1994, Lukashenko in 2016 orchestrated a parliamentary election to produce a 110-seat parliament, which holds 108 of his own supporters and merely two deputies from the opposition. As the media are under strict regime control, there is little independent (and critical) reporting on defence issues, usually a prominent topic on the parliamentary floor in freer states. Moreover, as a result of the relatively restricted and unstable Belarusian economy, defence economics are difficult to follow, even for persistent observers in Belarus or abroad. On 1 January 2016, four digits were cut from the Belarusian Ruble (10,000:1) in an attempt to make an economy of high inflation more manageable, and this measure alone illustrates the challenges of measuring and overseeing defence spending in the country. Even if reliable figures were being produced, corrupt practices (for instance, kickbacks in procurement) would still pose a challenge for anyone attempting to assess the state of the Belarusian armed forces. These observations are relevant for the present chapter as well. The information given here should be read against this background. The Belarusian Ministry of Defence hosts an informative website entitled ‘a military information portal’, but its contents clearly need to be viewed with a healthy dose of scepticism.8 And caution also needs to be applied to more trustworthy Western sources, as the data available are surrounded by a considerable degree of uncertainty. Given these conditions, analyses of the Belarusian military are dominated by historical works, especially relating to the Second World War, and contemporary country studies tend to focus on the European political anomaly that the Belarusian regime under Lukashenko represents.9

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Belarus The chapter begins by offering a discussion of the all-important post-Soviet geopolitical context, overwhelmingly dominated by Russia, within which Belarus operates and finds its military allies. It then outlines Belarus’s perception of its regional security environment as this is described by the main doctrines, noting in particular how this world view seems to differ from that of Russia by being less focused on confrontation with the West. Next, it analyses the armed forces of Belarus, offering an overview of the main categories of equipment and describing the problematic state of the armed forces. Finally, it concludes that the Belarusian armed forces are largely stuck in the past, having failed to implement much-needed reforms, and that the overall military capacity, while relatively impressive at first sight, is actually much more modest than figures alone would otherwise suggest.

(p.233) The Post-Soviet Geopolitical Context Belarus is a founding member of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), established on 8 December 1991 as an umbrella organization for the postSoviet republics interested in joining such an entity.10 By 2017, the CIS had eleven member states, of which Belarus was in the organizational core.11 Six of these member states were also allies in the Common Security Treaty Organization (CSTO), a military alliance originally set up on 15 May 1992 as the Collective Security Treaty (CST) and without the organizational structure added later (in 2002) to support its work.12 Belarus was not a founding member of the CST, and the then Chairman of the Belarusian Supreme Soviet and head-of-state, Stanislav Shushkevich, cited the neutrality aspirations of the new state as the reason for the non-participation of Belarus in the military cooperation.13 In the words of the 1992 military doctrine, the country’s first, Belarus ‘refuses to join military blocs and alliances’.14 However, a still stronger political push towards Russia within Belarus—the same process that led to the July 1994 election of Lukashenko as Belarus’s first-ever president—eventually brought the country into the CST in December 1993. It has since, albeit with certain reservations, remained a firm supporter of the alliance. One important reservation is found in the legal sphere. According to Article 18 of its constitution, Belarus aspires to be a neutral state.15 The precise meaning of this provision is still surrounded by considerable uncertainty. In the very first years of sovereignty (even before neutrality had been formally expressed in the constitution adopted in 1994), it was interpreted by Shushkevich and others so as to dictate strict military non-alignment (the 1992 military doctrine referred to ‘armed neutrality’).16 Subsequently, however, a more flexible interpretation allowed Belarus to join the CST in 1993 and, when the constitution was finally adopted the following year, continued CST membership was evidently considered not to be in violation of Article 18. The 2002 military doctrine, replacing the 1992 doctrine and appearing against the background, most importantly, of a regime change in Minsk and the enlargement of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) to the (p.234) borders of Belarus, Page 3 of 22

 

Belarus emphasizes the military ties to, first, Russia and, second, the CSTO.17 The earlier ‘refusal’ to join military blocs and alliances clearly had gone. Even with this more flexible interpretation of ‘neutrality’ introduced before the 1993 entry of Belarus into the CST, however, it is generally understood that Belarusian troops may not be deployed abroad. While the current 2016 military doctrine does not specifically rule out the deployment of troops abroad, such a prohibition was in fact included in earlier drafts. This self-imposed restriction was met with some criticism within the CSTO circle and subsequently excluded from the final document.18 However, the inclusion of such a restriction in earlier drafts does signal a particular view on the modalities under which Belarusian troops may be activated and employed, and it may be difficult for the regime, however strong its authoritarian nature, to go against a collectively shared understanding in the country of both the neutrality of the state and the use of its armed forces. A second important reservation is political, and it is related to the first issue. Belarus occasionally demonstrates a certain reluctance to be involved in still closer military cooperation. This relates in particular to Russia, which is Belarus’s closest ally. The two states in 1999 announced the establishment of a union state scheduled to see the eventual merger, also within the military domain, of two otherwise sovereign entities.19 Cooperation has cooled down considerably, however, and Belarus has occasionally decided to demonstrate quite clearly its military autonomy. To illustrate, after a prolonged political tug of war, Lukashenko in late 2016 seemed successful in finally forcing out of Belarus four Russian SU-27 fighter jets semi-permanently stationed in the country. The controversy arose in 2013, as Russia offered temporary support to Belarus to allow the latter to meet its obligations under the common air defence system of the two states. Moscow later suggested that it would be preferable for Belarus simply to continue to rely on the Russian planes already deployed to an air base in Belarus, rather than for Belarus to upgrade its own air force through Russian exports.20 Lukashenko insisted, however, that ‘we need planes—not bases’, adding that ‘we have our excellent pilots’.21 The controversy seems to have ended in late 2016, with Russia accepting the Belarusian requests that the SU-27s returned to Russia and that replacement fighter jets were delivered to the Belarusian air force.22 This controversy notwithstanding, however, the military cooperation between Belarus and Russia, which is additional to the CSTO obligations, can only be described as both wide and deep. It is regulated through some thirty-five major agreements dating as far back as the mid-1990s.23 As mentioned, the two states operate a common air defence system involving aircraft, fixed- and rotary-wing, missile defence systems, and radio-technical as well as deception and jamming troops. In its 2017 shape it builds on a 2009 agreement, according to which the tasks of the common air defence system include, for instance, (p.235) defence Page 4 of 22

 

Belarus of the external borders of the union state in the air space and ensuring that the rules regulating the use of the air space of Belarus and Russia are observed.24 This cooperation, however, has not been unproblematic. Thus, the 2013–16 controversy surrounding the Belarusian air base originally arose as the host country found it difficult to meet the expected standards of air protection during the 2014 ice hockey world championship held in Belarus, and therefore requested temporary Russian support. This support then later proved difficult to return, as Moscow suggested that the Russian air force should continue to police the Belarusian air space. Needless to say, the air force capacities of the two countries are vastly dissimilar in size, available technology, and the number of flying hours (including now actual combat experience for the Russian air force from the Syrian theatre).25 Similarly, since 2000, Belarus and Russia have maintained a common Regional Group of [land] Forces (RGF). The group consists of the Belarusian army and Russian ground troops from the Western Military District. The RGF is designed to facilitate a high degree of interoperability between neighbouring formations and to provide a stronger and more flexible defence of the Union state (or at least Belarus and the western part of Russia).26 Finally, it should be mentioned that Belarus and Russia participate together in annual CSTO exercises such as Nerushimoe bratstvo (Unbreakable brotherhood; held in Belarus in 2016) and Vzaimodeistvie (Interaction; held in Russia in 2017), as well as engage in bilateral exercises such as Shchit Soyuza (The Union Shield) and Zapad (West).27 The backbone of the bilateral exercises is supplied by the RGF. Zapad-17, held in September 2017, was introduced by the Russian government newspaper Rossiiskaya Gazeta with a note that ‘the foreign policy reality today is such that on the Western borders of the Union State…[the United States of America, USA] and other NATO member states increase their offensive potential, opening new bases and developing military infrastructure’.28 The paper then cited Sergei Shoigu, Russian Minister of Defence, who explained how ‘Russia is forced to undertake measures of a strategic character in response’.29 The armed forces of Belarus and Russia enjoy a high degree of interoperability: from shared technical (p.236) platforms over frequent exercises to common educational backgrounds and even a shared operational language (Russian).30 Belarus’s alliance relationships, with Russia and within the CSTO, are clearly both close and problematic. The next section discusses the country’s main doctrines with a special view to how Minsk interprets its regional security challenges and to possible differences between these doctrines and those of Russia.

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Belarus Perception of Regional Security Challenges The main political doctrines offer an opportunity for the state to present itself, usually at the strategic level, to the world and to its own population. This is where it identifies risks and challenges, and possibly even partners and adversaries, and where it may specify modalities for addressing these former. As a general rule, the security doctrine will provide the basis for the more thematically specific doctrines, such as, for instance, the military doctrine. Before turning to the active doctrines, we should sketch the early evolution of the military doctrines of Belarus since 1992. The country has had a total of three doctrines, passed in 1992, 2002, and 2016, respectively. The first was never officially published, and most of the analyses of this version are based on fragments that have made their way to the public domain. As already mentioned, ‘armed neutrality’ was a key term in 1992, and this reflected the nature of a state that emphasized international cooperation and political dialogue, and that would allow itself to be drawn into a military conflict only once all non-military alternatives to conflict resolution had been exhausted. As part of this thinking, Belarus had a ban on the use of its territory by other states for military purposes (for instance, the launch of operations or even the deployment of troops or opening of bases).31 The 2002 military doctrine was different. As already indicated, important domestic and foreign developments had occurred in the years prior to the adoption of the 2002 doctrine, and these were reflected in the doctrine. The Lukashenko regime brought the country much closer to Russia, also in the military sphere, leading the doctrine to announce as a new priority ‘the formation of a single, defence space with [Russia]’.32 This space, so it was understood, should help Belarus counter the external threat posed by the ‘expansion of military blocs and alliances to the detriment of the military security of [Belarus]’, clearly a reference to NATO.33 The earlier and more narrow interpretation of ‘neutrality’ had been abandoned, as had also the selfreference to ‘armed neutrality’, but it should also be added that the 2002 doctrine should not be viewed as a doctrine of aggression.34 It was still said to be ‘profoundly defensive’ in nature.35 (p.237) The new term instead was ‘collectivity’, the most immediate meaning of which was defence in cooperation with Russia and the CSTO allies, but which could also include efforts by other states and international organizations, such as the United Nations and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe, to work with Belarus to prevent and resolve conflicts, thus helping to avoid an escalation into an armed confrontation. The world had changed since 1992, and the European theatre had witnessed war in the former Yugoslavia and the enlargement of NATO, but the 2002 military doctrine still insisted that Belarus did not recognize any state as being ‘a potential aggressor’.36 It struck a delicate balance between signalling, on the one hand, increased military Page 6 of 22

 

Belarus readiness and loyalty to its allies, and, on the other, a belief in a relatively benign external environment. The same essence is found in the 2016 military doctrine. The current Belarusian security doctrine, adopted in November 2010, depicts a security landscape moving from uni- to multipolarity and in which a number of states use ‘forceful methods, pressure, economic and resource superiority to further their interests’.37 Belarus, so the document continues, ‘does not belong to any of the power centres of the world, [but] conducts a peace-loving foreign policy and aspires to create the conditions [necessary] for the attainment of a status as neutral’.38 Among the national interests in the military domain are listed ‘the consistent development and strengthening of the military and military–technical cooperation with [Russia]’, as well as ‘an increase in the effectiveness of the CSTO’.39 Neither point is surprising, but it should be noted that both are offered at the end of a list of a total of seven national interests (the strengthening of patriotism in Belarusian society is seen as the first priority), indicating that the international dimension of the military policy of Belarus is of lesser political significance. Undoubtedly a snub to its allies, the comment about the less-thanhoped-for effectiveness of the CSTO indicates a certain degree of dissatisfaction with the organization and may serve to legitimize a reluctance on part of Belarus fully to commit to the alliance. Finally, the security doctrine notes how ‘the development of the European region is a testament to the current absence of a military threat to [Belarus]’.40 Given the much more dramatic interpretation by Russia, Belarus’s closest military ally, of the state of affairs in Europe (outlined later in this chapter), it is quite noteworthy that the Belarusian authorities decided not to identify one or more specific military threats in the security doctrine, but instead drew attention to a cautiously optimistic view of some of the dominant, yet unspecified, processes in Europe. The security doctrine does add, however, that ‘at the same time a military danger at the level of risks and challenges exists, which may become a source of a military threat’.41 The list of possible sources is rather extensive and includes, for instance, in the domestic arena, the weakening of a sense of patriotism in Belarus and, in the international arena, ‘clashes of (p.238) geopolitical interests of the leading states (or groups of states) in the…transition from a unipolar to a multipolar world order’.42 The military doctrine adopted in July 2016 builds on this. Echoing the earlier doctrines, it is said to be ‘strictly defensive in nature’ and proceeds from the assumption that ‘no state is an adversary’.43 This contrasts with the 2014 Russian military doctrine, which lists among the ‘fundamental external military dangers’, for instance, ‘the approach of military infrastructure of the member Page 7 of 22

 

Belarus states of [NATO] to the borders of [Russia], including through a future enlargement of the bloc’.44 The Belarusian equivalent to this statement, listed under ‘fundamental military dangers’, identifies as one such ‘the enlargement ([or] establishment), in the European region, of military–political unions to which Belarus is not a party, or the appropriation by these [unions] of global roles’.45 It requires only a little stretch of the imagination to read this as a warning against NATO (and possibly Europan Union (EU)) enlargement, but it is noteworthy that no specific actor(s) is (are) singled out. In fact, the Belarusian military doctrine refers to NATO only once, since it makes clear that ‘supporting…relations of partnership with [NATO], [Belarus] strives for the build-up of a dialogue of equality, greater openness and the development of mutual understanding within the framework of a strengthening of regional security’.46 This difference in outlook between the Belarusian and Russian military doctrines, however symbolic it may seem, suggests a difference also in the fundamental view of the purpose of the military cooperation between the two states and, more widely perhaps, also of the CSTO. It may be said, as a minimum, that a clearly stated balancing aspect of the cooperation is absent from the Belarusian military doctrine, whereas it figures quite prominently in the Russian military doctrine.47 When meeting CSTO Secretary General Nikolai Bordyuzha in Minsk in September 2016, Lukashenko summed it up nicely by reminding the head of the alliance that ‘we need to develop the CSTO and turn it into a stronger organization without threatening anyone’.48 Moreover, it is unclear whether the less than unconditional embrace of the CSTO, as evidenced by the debate preceding the adoption of the security doctrine, is a function of a relatively strict interpretation of the neutrality provision rather than vice versa; it does seem reasonable to speculate that the continued insistence that Belarus is constitutionally restricted as described may be a convenient tool to allow the country to keep a certain distance from its CSTO allies, for instance, because it does not fully subscribe to the dominant view of the (balancing) purpose of the organization. It is beyond the scope of the present chapter to discuss the motivation behind Belarus’s choice of alliances (in a narrow setting, Russia; in a wider setting, the CSTO), but there is little doubt that the financial benefits for Belarus of its present military cooperation are (p.239) quite significant.49 In the military domain, this is most obviously and directly in the form of subsidized imports of military technology from Russia, but Belarus also benefits from issues such as upgrades and training and even military education.50 The Belarusian Minister of Defence, Andrey Ravkov, in late 2016 confirmed that ‘arms deliveries are made on preferential terms’, and those terms are undoubtedly influenced by the

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Belarus general political climate between the two states, including also the nature of their military cooperation.51 While the military doctrine does not include the term ‘hybrid’ warfare, it does make several references to both kinetic and non-kinetic aspects of this type of warfare.52 As far as the latter is concerned, most of the focus is on what are referred to as ‘informational–communicational’ and ‘informational– psychological’ technologies and methods—that is, the targeted use of various types of information to shape the preferences of the general public or groups within closer settings such as ethnic or religious minorities or political or military actors.53 It is designed to weaken, for example, the socio-political cohesion in the target country in general, or the loyalty of smaller groups such as the officers corps towards the political elite.54 The military doctrine outlines a conflict scenario initiated by a ‘sharp destabilization of the situation in [Belarus] by an exacerbation of internal political, national–ethnic, and religious contradictions, including through external influence’.55 As part of this thinking, of special concern here is clearly the level of patriotism, defined as loyalty towards the state, in Belarusian society. References are thus made both to the ‘military danger’ represented by a ‘weakening of the feeling of patriotism in society, to the readiness of the citizens of [Belarus] for the armed protection of [Belarus]’, as well as to the ‘implementation of a state policy for the strengthening of the sense of patriotism in society and a readiness for the protection of the national interests of [Belarus]’.56 This concern could refer, for instance, both to the immediate willingness to serve in the armed forces, as well as to the willingness to consider as legitimate the present regime or, perhaps, even the Belarusian state itself. As an authoritarian state, the regime is, not surprisingly, concerned about stability and policies, directed from within as well as from outside, to weaken this stability. Given the nature of the regime, it seems reasonable to assume that it will worry about a fairly broad catalogue of ‘informational–communicational’ and ‘informational–psychological’ activities, many of which may seem rather mundane and simply represent critical reporting in, for instance, the Western media.57 The extensive control that the regime exercises over (p.240) the Belarusian media would certainly suggest that this is the case. Interestingly, however, the military doctrine again excludes specific references to either states or organizations. While there can be very little doubt about the primary source of these concerns —it will have to be the liberal–democratic West, so markedly different from neighbouring Belarus—reports are suggesting that the Belarusian regime is increasingly worried about a Russian hybrid-warfare campaign in eastern Belarus.58 Such a campaign would include a heavy non-kinetic aspect in the form of extensive (dis)information activities targeting the population of Belarus Page 9 of 22

 

Belarus in general and the Russian minority group in particular.59 The scenario could develop in ways similar to those observed in eastern Ukraine, where (dis)information from Russian state-controlled media outlets has weakened the social fabric of the regions of Luhansk and Donetsk, paving the way for Russia to support anti-regime separatists with weapons, personnel, finances, and intelligence. The aim of such a development would not necessarily be to see a transfer of political power in Minsk, but rather to weaken the Lukashenko regime, forcing it either to maintain close ties, or even to develop closer ones, with Russia.60 Lukashenko has remained sceptical not only of the 2014 Russian annexation of Crimea and the development of the war in eastern Ukraine, including Russia’s role in this, but also of the Russian-supported secession of Abkhazia and South Ossetia from Georgia in 2008. Tellingly, despite considerable Russian pressure, Belarus has never recognized the latter two as sovereign states, insisting instead that the principle of non-interference in the internal affairs of other states be recognized.61 The main Belarusian doctrines present a relatively benevolent external environment, which is quite different from the more hostile world identified by Russia. The next section presents the armed forces of Belarus and argues that the capacity of those forces is relatively low. The defence burden is decreasing, suggesting that the Belarusian authorities are not acutely concerned about a military threat to the national security of Belarus.

The Structure of the Armed Forces The armed forces of Belarus remain largely unreformed, and the position of minister of defence continues to be occupied by the military. The president of Belarus is Commander-in-Chief and is supported in this work by the Security Council, a powerful body consisting of key representatives from the govenment and military and security structures.62 By late 2017, (p.241) this included Lieutenant-General Ravkov, Minister of Defence, and Major-General Oleg Belokonev, Chief-of-Staff and First Deputy Minister of Defence. The armed forces of Belarus are divided into three branches: army, air, and Special Operations Forces. The army is further divided into a Western and a North-Western Command with headquarters in Grodno and Borisov, respectively. In 2017, the number of active forces was estimated to be 45,000–48,000, with an additional 270,000–289,500 in reserve (the active forces include joint forces of some 10,500). The distribution between branches is approximately 16,500 in the army, 15,000 in the air force and air defence forces, and 6,000 in the Special Operations Forces (plus joint forces).63 According to Article 57 of the constitution of Belarus, a military service of a duration of up to eighteen months (reduced to twelve months for conscripts with higher education) is the ‘duty and sacred obligation’ of every (male) citizen.64 Conscripts represent approximately 40 per cent of the active forces at any given Page 10 of 22

 

Belarus time. Numerous health issues, both physical and mental, are reported, and the general picture in high-corruption post-Soviet states such as Belarus is that those with more resources tend to find a way to avoid military service altogether.65 The military doctrine openly admits that the authorities have been unsuccessful in reversing the tendency towards a ‘lowering of the prestige of [performing] military service’, which clearly indicates the existence of significant challenges of recruitment.66 Belarus has attempted to follow in the footsteps of Russia, which has recorded some success with its plans for a modernization of its armed forces, including a reduced reliance on conscript troops and a greater focus on contract soldiers. Given the financial constraints, however, relatively little has been achieved in Belarus.67 The military doctrine does explicitly emphasize the importance of ‘social protection of service personnel…and members of their families’, suggesting that the issue is relatively sensitive.68 For a military structure accustomed to thinking in mass mobilization, it requires a mental leap to accept the shift from a relatively sizeable but poorly trained and equipped conscript force to a much smaller but better trained, equipped, and paid professional force. The universal military service may, so the constitution adds, be replaced by an alternative service. Despite rulings by the Belarusian Constitutional Court to the effect that the right to an alternative service—conscientious objection—be observed, it was only in June 2015 that the legal framework regulating such a service was adopted.69 The law entered into force in July 2016, and it requests the conscientious objectors, or alternativschiki, to serve a full thirty-six months. The Committee of Ministers of the Council of Europe earlier voiced the opinion that ‘in certain cases, the less onerous duties of civilian service may justify a longer duration than that of military service’, and this is generally interpreted to mean that a longer alternative service, as also in Belarus, is nondiscriminatory.70 (p.242) Figure 12.1 shows the estimated defence spending in the years 1997– 2015 both in absolute numbers and as a percentage of the gross domestic product (GDP) of Belarus. The latter dataset is particularly interesting—and for two main reasons. First, the 1.2 per cent defence burden recorded in 2015 offers a clear impression of the limitations faced by the armed forces of Belarus. With a relatively weak economy, comparable in size to that of Slovakia, which has a population that is some 56 per cent of that of Belarus, it is obvious that such a low defence burden leaves very little room for modernization, training, education, and adequate social conditions, not to mention maintenance.71 Second, while the defence burden has changed over time (reaching a low of 1.2 per cent in 2015 and a high of 1.8 per cent in 1997), it has declined in recent years, suggesting that the Belarusian regime does not see an external Page 11 of 22

 

Belarus environment necessitating dramatic increases in defence spending. This, again, is in contrast to the situation in Russia, where in 2015 the defence burden is estimated to have reached a full 5.4 per cent.72 As outlined earlier, the positive interpretation by the Belarusian regime of the current development in Europe even suggests a possible peace dividend, and this may have obvious consequences for its relations with allies who view the world differently.73 Given these figures, it is of little surprise that the Belarusian armed forces are facing challenges as far as equipment is concerned. Table 12.1 offers an overview of the most important equipment of the different branches. What is immediately noticeable in the table (p.243) is the very heavy reliance on Soviet and Russian Figure 12.1. Defence spending by equipment, the relatively large Belarus, 1997–2015. pool of equipment dating one or two generations back, and the small pool of state-of-the-art equipment. This distribution reflects the situation surrounding the break-up of the Soviet military from which Belarus profited. (It had actually been a nucleararmed state before, but by 1994, together with Kazakhstan and Ukraine, it had given up its Soviet-era nuclear weapons as part of an internationally sponsored agreement to reduce the distribution of nuclear weapons throughout the former Soviet Union.74) It is illustrated, for instance, by the large fleet of secondgeneration T-72 battle tanks and BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicles, most of which are undoubtedly rusting away in the absence of much-needed but expensive maintenance. It should also be noted that some of the most prominent examples of Russian state-of-the-art military engineering are absent from the inventory of the Belarusian armed forces. This is true, for instance, of the T-14 battle tank (and even the older T-90) and the S-400 missile system. This may be an unreasonable comparison with the Russian military, especially given the fact that several of the ‘crown jewels’ of the Russian weapons industry have not yet been released for export, but it is nonetheless noteworthy how Belarus, as a close ally, is lagging behind. The SU-35 fighter jet is also prominently absent from the Belarusian armed forces, although it was reported that Belarus ordered four of these fourth-plus generation aircraft for delivery in 2017.75 Similarly, it is reported that Belarus is also planning to acquire S-400 and Iskander missile systems.76 It remains to be seen, however, whether Belarus has the funding necessary for these acquisitions and/or Russia is willing to sell. As far as the much-needed upgrade of the Page 12 of 22

 

Belarus Belarusian air force is concerned, the SU-30 fighter jet may more realistically reflect both what may be afforded and what may be delivered.77 International defence experts see the Belarusian air defence system as the most sophisticated and capable part of the Belarusian armed forces. The S-300 surface-to-air missile system is highly capable and well integrated with the Russian air defence structures.78 The remaining parts are considered to have either medium or low capacity, and some of the problems were outlined earlier.79 The general evaluation, according to Jane’s, is that, despite important recent improvements in command, control, and communications systems, the Belarusian armed forces have a low force readiness, ‘largely due to the lack of spare parts and adequate and effective maintenance, which means that a substantial proportion of vehicles and equipment is not usable at any time’.80 Table 12.1. Main categories of Belarus equipment Army

Air Force and Air Defence Forces

Special Operations Forces

Battle tanks

Aircraft

Armoured personnel carriers

446 T-72

24 MiG-29S/Fulcrum

39 BTR-70

69 T-80

12 Su-25K/Frogfoot

153 BTR-80

Amphibious infantry fighting vehicles

Helicopters

Artillery (towed)

875 BMP-2

4 Mi-24/Hind

48 D-30 (122 mm)

136 BRM-1

5 Mi-26/Halo 8 Mi-8/Hip

Armoured personnel carriers 50 MTLB

Missile systems R-60/Aphid

Artillery (selfpropelled)

R-73/Archer

198 2S1 (122 mm)

R-27R7Alamo

108 2S3 (152 mm)

Kh-25/Karen

116 2S5 (152 mm)

Kh-29/Kedge

12 2S19 (152 mm)

Kh-58/Kilter

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Belarus

Army

Air Force and Air Defence Forces

Artillery (towed)

Air defence systems

48 2A36

S-300V/Gladiator

132 2A65

S-300PS/Grumble

Special Operations Forces

S-200 Gammon BUK 9K37/SA-11— Gadfly 9K35/SA-13—Gopher 9K332/SA-15—Gauntlet Source: IISS, Military Balance 2016, 182–3. Given the regime characteristics outlined in the introduction to this chapter, this assessment should not be of surprise. The largely unreformed nature of the political system suggests the existence of a similarly unreformed defence sector, where new thinking is viewed with scepticism. The Russian subsidies notwithstanding, there are also clear limits as to what may be done in terms of acquisition and modernization. This is even more so, of (p.244) course, when the defence burden, for political reasons, is held constantly at a relatively low level. The security doctrine openly admits as much when noting that ‘[we have] not succeeded in fully overcoming the negative tendencies associated with the moral and physical ageing of equipment and military technology, the deterioration of the conditions of the military infrastructure, of the lowering of the prestige of the military service’.81

Conclusion The Belarusian armed forces, like Belarus itself, are caught in an unsettled struggle between past and future. Operating under an authoritarian regime, which has largely remained (p.245) unreformed since the collapse of the former Soviet Union, the military finds itself in an environment of highly centralized political rule, limited public scrutiny and oversight, and a relatively weak economy struggling to defeat a harmful culture of corruption. The pool of equipment, the most important parts of which are listed in Table 12.1, illustrates this well. A pyramid-shaped resource base with a disproportionately large Soviet-era foundation and a much smaller tip of modern technology, the pool of equipment is impressive at first glance, but upon closer inspection it becomes clear that a substantial part is obsolete and Belarus’s force readiness is occasionally put into question by even its closest ally, Russia. Given the resource constraints, both equipment and the supporting infrastructure are decaying, a fact openly acknowledged by the Belarusian authorities. Moreover, doctrinal thinking is reported to be old fashioned and the educational support programme Page 14 of 22

 

Belarus offered to the armed forces of Belarus by Russia should be viewed not only as an attempt by the latter to increase and secure much-needed interoperability between the two states, but also as a gesture to support its Belarusian colleagues. The particular understanding by the Belarusian authorities—and, more widely, Belarusian society—of the implications of the country’s aspirations for neutrality is unlikely to change even from a long-term perspective. This suggests that Belarus will remain a hesitant ally within the CSTO and even in its relations with Russia. The occasional political disagreement between Belarus and Russia, as illustrated by the controversy over Russian access to an air base in Belarus, will only serve to cement this hesitancy. The possible concern within the Belarusian regime, as reported by Western media, of a possible Russian hybrid-warfare campaign in Belarus will potentially do much more damage to the relationship. This, however, is still surrounded by considerable uncertainty. The Lukashenko regime seems unlikely to be able to implement the structural economic reforms usually considered a requirement for stronger growth. Russian subsidies may compensate for some of these losses, but it is an uncertain source of revenue, directly and indirectly. Figure 12.1 revealed the downward trend in the Belarusian defence burden. In the absence of a major reinterpretation by the regime of the country’s regional security environment, the defence burden is likely to remain well below the 2 per cent mark even from a long-term perspective. This suggests that the Belarusian armed forces will continue to struggle to bridge the gap between the shadow of the past and the requirements of the future. A major overhaul seems required, but, without the injection of the funding necessary to implement this, the armed forces instead will continue to maintain a partially obsolete defence system. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance 2016 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016). Ioffe, Grigory, ‘Understanding Belarus: Belarussian Identity’, Europe–Asia Studies, 55/8 (2003), 1241–71. Lukyanov, Fyodor, ‘Rossiya i Belorussiya—Noviy etap?’, Rossiyskaya Gazeta, 7 February 2017. Shadurski, Victor, ‘Policy of the Republic of Belarus in the Field of Security: Impact of Internal and External Factors’, International Relations and Foreign Policy, 7 (2016), 13–19.

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Belarus (p.246) Shlapentokh, Dmitry, The Role of Small States in the Post-Cold War Era: The Case of Belarus (Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 2012). Tsarik, Yury, A Containing Ally: Belarus’ Regional Role in the Context of the New Containment (Budapest: Institute for Foreign Affairs and Trade, 2016). Vieira, Alena, ‘The Politico-Military Alliance of Russia and Belarus: Re-Examining the Role of NATO and the EU in Light of the Intra-Alliance Security Dilemma’, Europe–Asia Studies, 66/4 (2014), 557–77. White, Stephen, and Valentina Feklyunina, Identities and Foreign Policies in Russia, Ukraine and Belarus: The Other Europes (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014). Wilson, Andrew, ‘Belarus Wants Out’, Snapshot, Foreign Affairs, 20 March 2014. Zgirovskaya, Yekaterina, ‘Opasnost yest, ugrozy nyet’, Gazeta, 25 February 2016. Notes:

(1) Andrew Wilson, Belarus: The Last European Dictatorship (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011). (2) Belarus, for instance, is the only European country still to use the death penalty, and it does so in a way which draws heavy international criticism; see, e.g., Council of Europe, ‘Belarus Executions: Council of Europe Secretary General Deeply Concerned’, 2 December 2016. (3) Freedom House, Freedom in the World 2016, (accessed 1 February 2017). This is on a scale from 1 (most free) to 7 (least free). For comparison, Russia in 2016 was awarded a score of 6/6. (4) Reporters Without Borders, 2016 World Press Freedom Index (2016), (accessed 1 February 2017). (5) Reporters Without Borders, Belarus: Nothing New under the Snow (2016), (accessed 1 February 2017). (6) The Heritage Foundation, 2016 Index of Economic Freedom (2016), (accessed 1 February 2017). (7) Transparency International, Corruption Perceptions Index 2015 (2016), at (accessed 1 February 2017). This is on a scale from 100 (least corrupt) to 0 (most corrupt). (8) (accessed 15 December 2017). The website presents information in three languages: Russian and Belarussian (the former version is

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Belarus slightly richer in content that the latter version), as well as English (a strongly truncated version). (9) See, e.g., Wilson, Belarus: The Last European Dictatorship; Brian Bennett, The Last Dictatorship in Europe (London: Hurst, 2011); Matthew Frear, Belarus under Lukashenka: Adaptive Authoritarianism (London: Routledge, forthcoming); also David Glantz and Harold Orenstein (eds), Belorussia 1944 (London: Frank Cass, 2001); Walter Dunn, Soviet Blitzkrieg (Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 2008); David Marples, ‘Our Glorious Past’: Lukashenka’s Belarus and the Great Patriotic War (Stuttgart: Ibidem-Verlag, 2014). (10) Russian Foreign Ministry, ‘Soglashenie o sozdanii sodruzhestva nezavisimykh gosudarstv’ (8 December 1991), in Russian Foreign Ministry, Vneshnyaya politika Rossii: Sbornik dokumentov 1990–1992 (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniya, 1996), 121–4. See also Gennadiy Chufrin, Ocherki evraziyskoi integratsii (Moscow: Ves mir, 2013); Yulia Nikitina, ODKB i ShOS: Modeli regionalizma v sfere bezopasnosti (Moscow: Navona, 2009); Alisher Babadzhanov, Voenno-politicheskoe sotrudnichestvo postsovietskikh gosudarstv (Moscow: Aspekt Press, 2013). (11) Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Moldova, Russia, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan were all full members, while Turkmenistan and Ukraine claimed associated membership only. (12) ‘Dogovor a kollektivnoi bezopasnosti’, 15 May 1992, in Russian Foreign Ministry, Vheshnyaya politika Rossii, 357–60. It is important to note that the CST(O) is an alliance and not a collective security regime; the parties to the treaty are clearly not committed to oppose acts of aggression undertaken by other member states. (13) Shushkevich, in Arkady Dubnov, ‘Three Men in a Forest: Shushkevich Remembers the Meeting That Ended the Soviet Union’, Wilson Center, 9 December 2016. (14) In Steven Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, Conflict Studies Research Center (2002), 2. (15) Konstitutsiya Respubliki Belarus (1994 (2004)), Art. 18, (accessed 1 February 2017). (16) Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, 2. (17) Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, 10. (18) Arseni Sivitski, ‘Belarus’ New Military Doctrine: What’s the Message?’, Belarus Digest, 1 September 2016. Page 17 of 22

 

Belarus (19) Nadezhda Pastukhova, Soyuz Rossii i Belorussii (Moscow: Kniga i biznes, 2000). (20) Siarhei Bohdan, ‘Thwarting Plans for a Russian Airbase, Minsk Strengthens Its Air Force’, Belarus Digest, 12 October 2016. (21) ‘Belarus “Does not Need” Russian Air Base—Lukashenko’, BBC, 7 October 2015. (22) Bohdan, ‘Thwarting Plans for a Russian Airbase’. (23) Belarusian Embassy to Russia, Voennoe sotrudnichestvo (n.d.), (accessed 1 February 2017). (24) Belarusian Embassy to Russia, Edinaya regionalnaya sistema PVO Belorusi i Rossii (n.d.), (accessed 1 February 2017). (25) See International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance 2016 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), 182–3, 194–5, respectively. (26) Belarusian Embassy to Russia, Regionalnaya gruppirovka voisk Belarusi i Rossii (n.d.), accessed 1 February 2017, (accessed 1 February 2017). (27) See the News Forum at the CSTO website for brief descriptions of the CSTO exercises, 19 August 2016, and (accessed 1 February 2017). (28) ‘Voennie vedomstva Belarusi i Rossii “sverili chasi”’, Rossiiskaya Gazeta, 16 November 2016. The title refers to a ‘synchronization of watches’, indicating probably that the time for action is immiment; sceptics could interpret the title as suggesting that the two states have different views of the world and that this represents an attempt by Russia to transfer its world view to Belarus. (29) ‘Voennie vedomstva Belarusi i Rossii “sverili chasi”’. (30) To illustrate, according to Russian Ministry of Defence figures, by the end of 2016, 383 Belarusians were studying at Russian military educational institutions; see ‘Voennie vedomstva Belarusi i Rossii “sverili chasi”’. (31) Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, 2. (32) Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, 7.

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Belarus (33) Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, 6. (34) Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, 11. (35) Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, 4. (36) Main, ‘The Military Doctrine of the Republic of Belarus’, 4. (37) Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, 9 November 2010, II/1/5. (38) Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, II/ 1/6. Quite interestingly, the security doctrine, in a rather visionary anticipation of an international agenda to come, mentions the anthropocene; in Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, II/1/5. (39) Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, II/ 2/15. (40) Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, III/4/28. The various definitions are laid out in Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, I/4. (41) Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, III/4/28. (42) Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, / 5/35 and III/6/37, respectively. (43) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, 20 July 2016, II/5/14. (44) Voennaya doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii, 25 December 2014, II/12/a. (45) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, II/4/11.3. (46) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, II/5/19. (47) See Stephen Walt, The Origins of Alliances (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987), and Bruno Tertrais, ‘The Changing Nature of Military Alliances’, Washington Quarterly, 27/ 2 (2010), 133–50. (48) ‘Alexander Lukashenko Meets with CSTO Secretary General Nikolai Bordyuzha’, Belta, 13 September 2016. (49) A closer inspection could possibly reveal elements of a multifaceted omnibalancing, where regime stability and survival are central elements.

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Belarus (50) It could also, however, include subsidized energy supplies; see, e.g., ‘Belarus, Russia Reach Deal on Energy Prices, Debts’, Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (RFE/RL), 10 October 2016. (51) ‘Belarus, Russia Signed over 20 Arms Deals in 2016—Defense Minister’, TASS, 2 November 2016. (52) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, II/4. For brief outlines of hybrid warfare, see, e.g., John McCuen, ‘Hybrid Wars’, Military Review (March–April 2008), 107–13, and Valerii Gerasimov, ‘Tsennost nauki v predvidenii’, Voenno-promyshlenniy kurer, 27 February 2013. (53) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, II/3/9. (54) Barry Buzan, People, States and Fear (Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1991), ch. 2. (55) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, III/7/33. (56) In Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, II/4/12.1 and II/ 6/22.7, respectively. The latter is listed under ‘Measures to obtain military security’. (57) An example is RFE/RL in Belarusian; it is available at (accessed 15 December 2017). (58) Oleg Belokonev, Belarusian Chief-of-Staff, in December 2016 complained that ‘there are states that are taking part in hostilities. They share their experience. There are countries that have stepped forward in information warfare. Therefore, the CSTO is practising the full range of these activities’ (Belarusian CTV, 21 December 2016). (59) See, e.g., Paul Goble, ‘Minsk Fears Moscow May Organize Hybrid War and Color Revolution in Belarus’, Eurasia Daily Monitor, 13/116 (28 June 2016), and Jane’s Sentinel Security Assessment, Belarus, 10 January 2017. (60) Goble, ‘Minsk Fears Moscow May Organize Hybrid War and Color Revolution in Belarus’. (61) See, e.g., Vasili Rukhadze, ‘Bilateral Ties between Georgia and Belarus Take a New Turn’, Eurasia Daily Monitor, 12/79 (28 April 2015). (62) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, III/8/37. (63) IISS, Military Balance 2016, 182. (64) Konstitutsiya Respubliki Belarus, Art. 57.

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Belarus (65) Jane’s Sentinel Security Assessment, Belarus, 10 January 2017. (66) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, III/3/24. (67) Jane’s Sentinel Security Assessment, Belarus, 10 January 2017. (68) Ob utverzhdenii Voennoi doktriny Respubliki Belarus, II/6/22.7. (69) Constitutional Court of [Belarus], On Some Issues of Realization of Article 57 of the Constitution of [Belarus], 26 May 2000, (accessed 1 February 2017). (70) Committee of Ministers of the Council of Europe, Exercise of the Right of Conscientious Objection to Military Service in Council of Europe Member States —Parliamentary Assembly Recommendation 1518 (2002), (accessed 1 February 2017). (71) See the Central Intelligence Agency, World Factbook, (accessed 1 February 2017). (72) Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), Military Expenditure Data 1988–2015 (2016), (accessed 1 February 2017). (73) The estimated 2015 defence burden for the other CSTO allies was as follows: Armenia 4.5%; Kazakhstan 1.2%; Kyrgyzstan 3.5%; and Tajikistan N/A; all in SIPRI, Military Expenditure Data 1988–2015. (74) Belarus, Kazakhstan, Russia, and Ukraine all held strategic nuclear weapons. The Belarusian inventory of strategic nuclear weapons consisted solely of SS-25s. (75) Bohdan, ‘Thwarting Plans for a Russian Airbase’. (76) ‘Belarus to Consider Buying S-400 and Iskander Missile Systems’, Russian Aviation, 5 February 2016. (77) Jane’s Sentinel Security Assessment, Belarus, 10 January 2017. (78) Jane’s Sentinel Security Assessment, Belarus, 10 January 2017. (79) See Jane’s Sentinel Security Assessment, Belarus, 10 January 2017. (80) In Jane’s Sentinel Security Assessment, Belarus, 10 January 2017. (81) Ob utverzhdenii Kontseptsii natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Respubliki Belarus, III/3/24.

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Benelux Countries

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Benelux Countries Wim Klinkert

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0014

Abstract and Keywords The defence policy of the Netherlands and Belgium has changed substantially following the end of the cold war. Both countries suspended conscription early on and actively participated in many (UN) peacekeeping missions. Both countries also experienced traumatic events that influenced their defence policy: in Ruanda for the Belgians in 1994 and in Bosnia (Srebrenica) for the Dutch (1995). Drastic budget cuts and the integration of the new, but small, professional armies within new NATO and EU defence structures (CSDP and NRF) are also themes with which both countries struggled. Both countries embraced pooling and sharing and cultivated European defence cooperation, especially within Benelux but also with Germany, the UK, and increasingly with other partners. Simultaneously they also attached much value to their ties with the USA. The Dutch furthermore attach great importance to the development of the international legal order and the safeguarding of the flow of trade by sea. Keywords:   The Netherlands, Belgium, peacekeeping operations, Common Security and Defence Policy, NATO Response Force, pooling and sharing

Introduction: Benelux, Pioneering European Cooperation IT was the hope for a better world after the war that brought representatives of the three governments of the Low Countries, in exile in London, to the negotiating table. In 1943, they concluded a monetary union, followed the next year by a customs union. This meant, in fact, that Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg were the pioneers of European economic cooperation and integration. Militarily, the Benelux cooperation was, and still is, much less pronounced. Its place in this chapter will therefore be modest.1 The focus will be Page 1 of 21

 

Benelux Countries on the reaction of the Netherlands and Belgium to the new security threats after 1989, and the ways those countries tried, during decades of unprecedented budget cuts, to maintain a defence capability relevant both as a foreign-policy instrument and as a safeguard in an increasingly complex international security environment. Their choices reflect both their commitment to international defence cooperation, and their national ambitions and characteristics. The Netherlands will receive rather more attention, as its armed forces are by far the largest of the three. Moreover, the Dutch have extensive experience in a broad range of international missions, and contribute significantly more to European and NATO forces than Belgium is able to. The battalion-sized Luxembourg volunteer army will be touched upon marginally, as it is very closely integrated with the Belgian army. Luxembourg supports European defence efforts financially and sends missions abroad, mostly as part of the Belgian ones. The Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg were all founding members of the United Nations (UN), the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), and the European Union (EU). For decades their defence policy was based mainly on NATO’s defence of Western Europe. Conscript soldiers traditionally made up the bulk of the Dutch and Belgian forces. (p.248) The Dutch navy had, and still has, additional tasks outside the NATO treaty area, as the Kingdom of the Netherlands also comprises six islands in the Caribbean.2 The Belgian armed forces have their special, historic relationship with Central Africa. Although Belgium and the Netherlands are neighbours with historically close ties, their respective defence policies possess their own characteristics, based on different cultural outlooks and different historical experiences. Belgium, a relatively young state, for instance, has been stronger in its focus on the development of a powerful European defence effort, which prevails over the transatlantic orientation.3 This does not mean that Belgium does not wholeheartedly support NATO, but the ties with the United States are historically less dominant and more dependent on the political affiliation of the incumbent minister than is the case with the Dutch.4 The Dutch possess a centuries-old commercial–maritime outlook and a legalistic approach to international relations, both of which have resulted in a willingness actively to pursue interests and ideals worldwide. This chapter will show how historic differences are reflected in the respective defence policies.

The Netherlands The tasks and organization of the Dutch armed forces changed rapidly after the end of the cold war, but they kept reflecting the country’s traditional Atlantic orientation and its emphasis on furthering international law. New and more complicated tasks had to be performed while the budget shrank enormously and expensive investments in new military technology were required. The Dutch solved these dilemmas partly by pooling and sharing, abolishing expensive weapons systems, reducing the size of the army, and putting more emphasis on Page 2 of 21

 

Benelux Countries international cooperation. The Netherlands considered participation in international military missions essential for humanitarian and international legalistic reasons, but also to strengthen its own position in the world diplomatically and economically. The main task for Dutch defence policymakers was, and still is, to find a politically and socially acceptable balance between the conflicting developments and objectives. The First Decade: UN Peacekeeping Missions as Life Buoy

The Dutch constitution describes the main tasks of its defence organiszation as follows: ‘There shall be armed forces for the defence and protection of the interests of the Kingdom, and in order to maintain and promote the international legal order’.5 The fall of the Berlin (p.249) Wall led to an important new task: next to defending the Dutch and NATO-treaty territories came participation in international peacekeeping operations. The Dutch army had some earlier experience of participating in peacekeeping operations (UN Interim Force in Lebanon, UNIFIL, 1979), but during the cold war this had been no more than a ‘sideshow’, fostered strongly by the Foreign Office to enhance the Dutch position in international diplomacy and more or less frowned upon by the army as an unwelcome distraction from its primary NATO tasks. Also, sending conscripts abroad for this purpose against their will gave rise to legal and social objections. Participation in international peacekeeping operations as an additional main task for the armed forces was announced in January 19936 and entailed fundamental consequences for the structure of the defence organization: conscription had to be suspended, and the armed forces had to reorganize fundamentally and change their focus from fighting a formidable opponent on, and above, the north German plain, to very diverse and unpredictable missions all over the globe.7 And all these fundamental changes had to be implemented with shrinking budgets, significantly fewer personnel, and uncertainty about the nature of future threats. The last conscript soldier left the Dutch armed forces in 1996. The army lost two of its three divisions, de facto abolishing the multi-division field army that the Dutch had had since the 1890s. The one division that remained became part of a binational Dutch–German army corps (1995). This division became available for NATO’s combined joint task forces (1994) for out-of-area operations. The navy lost six frigates, and its mine-clearance capacity was halved. It slowly moved towards a ‘brown water’ fleet dedicated to power projection. The air force lost one of its bases and just over 10 per cent of its F-16s—a number that would rise quickly—but gained modern helicopters and strategic air transport, although this did not compensate for the loss of fighter squadrons and extensive air defence systems deployed in Germany.8 The Dutch ambition of the early 1990s was to be able to participate in four peacekeeping operations simultaneously with a battalion-sized unit, or a naval (two frigates) or air force (a squadron F-16) equivalent, for a period of three years at the low end of the conflict Page 3 of 21

 

Benelux Countries spectrum. It also included one operation of up to a year with a brigade, a maritime task group, or three squadrons as part of a peace-enforcement mission. The defence effort hence changed from threat driven to capabilities driven, which made the allocation of means more dependent upon the political whims and financial trade-offs of the day.9 The Dutch government decided to participate in UN missions in Angola (1991) and Cambodia (1992), but the real test came shortly after, with the large Dutch military deployment in Yugoslavia. Dutch military had already served in Yugoslavia in 1991 as part of the rather unsuccessful European Community Monitoring Mission. In 1992, the Dutch army provided signals personnel who took care of UN Protection Force’s (UNPROFOR) communications network. That same year, a Belgian–Dutch transport battalion followed. Political and (p.250) societal pressure, with both humanitarian and military overtones, led in 1993 to the Dutch acceptance of the UN request to implement the safe-haven policy in Bosnia as part of the UNPROFOR mission. Inexperienced with the brutality that can be inherent in civil wars and equipped for traditional peacekeeping, the untried Dutch battalion of the airmobile brigade could not implement an ill-thought-through UN concept, led inefficiently by the UN. In July 1995, the fall of Srebrenica and the following genocide deeply impressed the Dutch nation as a whole. In a number of ways, Srebrenica became a benchmark for Dutch defence policy for the years to come. The experiences of UNPROFOR in Bosnia taught the Dutch that traditional ‘firstgeneration’ peacekeeping was not the answer for areas still in turmoil.10 A more robust military presence was required, as the Dutch air force already had provided in Deliberate Force, in which eighteen Dutch F-16s took part, bombing Serbian military targets, and Dutch Royal Marines participated as part of the Rapid Reaction Force in offensive operations on Mount Igman to end the siege of Sarajevo. These NATO missions in and around Bosnia paved the way for Dutch participation in the Implementation Force (IFOR), which confirmed the Dutch preference for working within NATO-led structures. The Dutch military and political leadership had been deeply disappointed in the slow and contradictory ‘dual key’ UN–NATO military command structure during the whole Bosnia crisis. It made The Hague more inclined to accept operations led by a strong lead nation such as the United States.11 The experience in Bosnia had a range of consequences for the Dutch armed forces. First, it led to further centralization of the Dutch command structure. Command and control of peacekeeping and peace-enforcement missions came into the hands of the chief of defence staff, at the expense of the respective services. Also, parliament demanded more say in how to respond to requests from international organizations for Dutch military contributions. In the end, parliament did not acquire the right of consent, but in 2000 the government agreed that it had the duty to give parliamentary opinion its due weight. For this purpose, an assessment framework was developed, based on Article 100 of the Page 4 of 21

 

Benelux Countries constitution, which obliges the government to inform parliament of its motives to participate in a mission, of the nature of the mandate under which the operation will be executed, the risks involved, and the degree of influence the Dutch government has on the mission’s decision-making process. Informing parliament is not required in the case of an emergency that necessitates rapid decisionmaking or in the case of a NATO Article 5 operation, when force is applied in self-defence. Thirdly, the Bosnia mission emphasized the need for clear international command structures and full command of the Dutch government over its military in any future coalition.12 In practice, this also meant that either fighters or attack helicopters under Dutch command would always be available for the protection of Dutch ground units. (p.251) The UNPROFOR experience might have shown the structural weaknesses of the UN in leading complex military operations, but it did not lessen the Dutch willingness to support international organizations in general and to strive for vigorous international structures. The idea of strengthening international law and organizations, if possible with internationally led military forces, has deep roots in Dutch juridical and diplomatic thought, based on the idea that small states—and the country of Hugo Grotius pre-eminently—are best suited to further peaceful relations between nations based on international law.13 International institutions are also considered effective vehicles to prevent large states behaving unilaterally. Such an international and legalistic orientation implied, for some, strong support for the UN; for others, mostly on the left side of the political spectrum, an idealistic world view was more essential. It also explains the duality in foreign and security policy, which displays a strong interest in maintaining transatlantic ties as well as a strong tendency to strengthen the EU. Interestingly, the constitutional task to further the rule of international law is seen by many politicians and diplomats as a rational instrument furthering Dutch security, while others emphasize it as a moral obligation to strive for certain standards of behaviour worldwide. This tension with Dutch defence policy is reflected in all major policy papers, which mention both war-fighting capabilities and humanitarian missions. In particular, the Dutch Foreign Office considered tangible proof of the strengthening of Dutch diplomatic and political influence on the world stage as the best justification for defence spending, while societal pressure regularly focuses more on humanitarian missions as good value for money.14 It is difficult to assess to what extent the Dutch political and military support for the UN in the 1990s paid off. In both Bosnia and Kosovo, where the Netherlands air force was the second largest European contributor to allied air operations, political benefits for the Netherlands were minimal. The substantial military contribution had not made the Netherlands eligible for a seat on international contact groups, where the important decisions were made. The Netherlands did obtain a seat on the Security Council in 1999–2000, but that accomplishment was based mainly on the long-term Dutch support for the UN in general and the Page 5 of 21

 

Benelux Countries substantial Dutch development aid for Third World Countries. In 2003 the secretary-generalship of NATO went to a Dutchman, but in fact this cannot be explained as a direct result of the Dutch military role during the Balkans war. Rather, Dutch political support for Operation ‘Iraqi Freedom’ seems to have been more crucial. More obvious was the link between the Dutch seat at the G20 summits (2008–10) and the Dutch military efforts in Afghanistan.15 In its 2000 White Paper, the Ministry of Defence announced its first significant policy adjustment since 1993.16 This, taken together with the implications of 9/11, meant that (p.252) Dutch armed forces moved into a new phase: they were to be smaller and more integrated with international structures, EU and NATO in particular, and to move definitively away from the traditional territorial task while adapting to very diverse global threats that required a comprehensive approach. As the Dutch wanted to remain at the forefront technologically for all services and to participate in the entire spectrum of violence, the dilemma of how to match these ideals with budget cuts and an international position of some influence grew more pressing indeed. The unceasing budgetary reductions, making the budget fall to 1.2 per cent of GNP in the new century,17 compelled the ministry to implement drastic cuts in reserve units and material, thereby diminishing the sustainability of military missions abroad. Meanwhile, the air force abolished an F-16 squadron and closed another air base. The navy cut back further on the number of its frigates and closed its air service down completely. The helicopters were transferred to the air force. Money was also found by downscaling the size of staffs, abolishing the heavy artillery (Multiple Launch Rocket System), abandoning some army barracks, and further centralizing command. From 2005 the Dutch armed forces possessed, for the first time, a unified command.18 The centralization became public symbolically in the first joint Dutch Defence Doctrine, in 2005.19 These choices were made on the basis of financial considerations, not on real operational requirements. Also, the ambition of 1993 to be able to conduct four expeditionary missions was reduced to three.20 But it was not only financial pressures that provoked change; the 9/11 attacks also played their part. The Dutch government instantly saw the 9/11 attacks as an onslaught on Western values and Western democracy. It also immediately expressed Dutch support for the United States and the American retaliatory actions against Al Qaida. And even before 2001 was over, the government reacted positively to American and NATO requests for active support within Operation ‘Enduring Freedom’ (OEF) and the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) respectively. In 2002, the government added strengthening of the rule of international law and of the Dutch position in international diplomacy to its reasons for participation in ISAF, next to its support for NATO, the United States, and Western values in general.21 In 2003, the Dutch–German High Readiness Headquarters from Münster led ISAF in Kabul. Two years later, the Page 6 of 21

 

Benelux Countries Netherlands responded positively to US requests to strengthen OEF with special forces in Afghanistan and naval forces in the Arabian Sea as part of Combined Task Force 150.22 Although the Dutch had declined active (p.253) military participation in the invasion of Iraq, the government did support the American invasion politically, and contributed in 2004–5 with a stabilization force in the southern province of al Mutannah.23 In Afghanistan, the Dutch participation developed into the largest deployment of a Dutch fighting force,24 and the heaviest offensive actions by Dutch land forces since the Korean War. The first step was the establishment, in 2004, of a Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) as a contribution to the comprehensive approach as defined by ISAF. When, that same year, the US-led coalition decided to implement regional headquarters, Regional Command South fell to a coalition of the United Kingdom, Canada, and the Netherlands, which had previously worked together successfully in Bosnia. A Dutch Task Force was chosen to provide security and reconstruction in Uruzgan. Especially in the period from 2005 to 2008, Dutch special forces and regular infantry units, supported by Apache helicopters and F-16 fighters, conducted full-scale military combat operations that were, by Dutch standards, exceptional.25 In the eyes of the world the Dutch professional armed forces proved their worth, trying to overcome the dark shadow of Srebrenica. At the same time, PRTs undertook reconstruction efforts. The Dutch performance in Uruzgan was noted internationally when the Obama administration declared the so-called Dutch approach ‘a model for our own efforts’.26 In fact, this praise was premature. The Dutch ‘comprehensive approach’, executed by the Battlegroup and the adjoining PRT, was neither very different, nor more successful, than the efforts made by other countries.27 In Afghanistan, the Dutch armed forces operationally worked closely with US and Australian forces. This showed that, notwithstanding the financial restraints, the interoperability of Dutch armed forces with the most technological advanced armies still existed.28 But, on the other hand, Uruzgan depleted Dutch financial resources severely, and sustainability was low. It became obvious that the budgetary cuts, both quantitatively and qualitatively, substantially affected the ambition to participate in major expeditionary operations side by side with the major Western powers on an equal footing. After all, personnel in 2005 were about half the number they had been in 1990. Per capita defence expenditure had decreased in real terms by 30 per cent.29 Furthermore, the high costs of (p. 254) over €1 billion for expeditionary missions could be met only by cofinancing from the budget of the Foreign Office and the Ministry of Development. Also, Uruzgan brought defence issues into the centre of public debate, but very differently when compared to the wide support for intervention in Yugoslavia just over a decade earlier. Now the perceived need to deploy massively and even offensively was not supported by a majority of the public, although the soldiers individually, as professionals, were.30 Moreover, the very character of the mission—was its primary aim to reconstruct or offensively to Page 7 of 21

 

Benelux Countries fight the Taliban?—became the subject of a heated political and public debate. In 2010, the Netherlands ended its commitment in Uruzgan.31 The Dutch F-16 Air Task Force returned from Afghanistan only in 2014 after a twelve-year stay, during which it had flown over a thousand missions. While the military deployment overseas brought the armed forces politically and socially in the limelight on a scale not seen for many decades, other shifts of a fundamental nature took place closer to home. European Cooperation Intensified

From 1999 onwards, a European alternative for structuring defence capabilities slowly emerged, initiated by the United Kingdom and France.32 Initially, some Dutch military and politicians were hesitant, because they valued close US– European ties as a counterweight to major European powers. Also, the effectiveness of European institutions in times of security crises was questioned. But, step-by-step, European military cooperation did materialize, with Dutch endorsement and participation, especially from the Minister of Defence, if only to keep the Dutch defence effort affordable and to present Europe as a credible and strong partner to the United States.33 For the Netherlands military, international cooperation had been common practice during the 1980s and 1990s. The air force, for instance, was the founding partner in the F-16 European Participating Air Forces programme.34 In addition, it relied completely on NATO capabilities for operational command and control. The navy had a longstanding practice of participation in NATO’s standing maritime forces. The Dutch had participated in the NATO Response Force since its founding in 2003, and from 2004 onwards also chose to join the EU Battlegroups, which meant closer military cooperation with several counterparts, both bigger and smaller. Dutch participation in EU-led operations was consistent, albeit modest, from their conception. In 2004, for instance, the Netherlands participated in Operation ‘Althea’ (Bosnia–Herzegovina), and, from its beginning in 2008, (p. 255) the navy very actively participated in the first major maritime operation of the EU, Operation ‘Atalanta’, to protect commercial shipping against piracy near the Somali coast and in the Indian Ocean. All this came alongside older bilateral cooperation such as the UK–Dutch amphibious force, dating back to 1972, and now part of the European Multinational Maritime Force, and BENESAM, the near amalgamation of the Belgian navy with its Dutch counterpart (to be discussed later in this chapter). With the Bundeswehr (the German armed forces), a long-term partner in exercises and staffs, cooperation reached unique levels when, from 2014 onwards, army units were placed alternately under Dutch and German command.35 Another solution to compensate for dwindling resources was found in ‘pooling and sharing’ in specific areas, of which strategic air transport is the most prominent.36 To what kind of armed forces did this all lead?

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Benelux Countries A ‘Swiss Army Knife’ or a Powerless Symbol?

In an extensive strategic survey dealing with the future of the Dutch defence effort, a group of renowned experts declared in 2010 that the Dutch armed forces should be as multifunctional as the famous Swiss Army Knife.37 This opinion reflected a long-standing Dutch aim to have a military that was technologically as advanced as the leading armed forces of the Western world, in order to ensure interoperability in a wide range of possible deployments. Only with a technologically advanced army could the Dutch, so many military and politicians reasoned, not just make a difference in a coalition with major powers but also promote what they considered to be Dutch interests in legalistic, economic, or security terms. This line of thinking is based on the idea that the Netherlands, because it ranks within the top ten of exporting countries and is among the twenty largest economies worldwide, is more than just another small power.38 The sincerely felt opinion that the Dutch have a role to play internationally, backed up by their military forces, reflects this. But, after decades of financial reductions and the expensive Afghanistan adventure, sustainability and keeping up with expansive technological developments became more and more problematic. During the first two decades of the postcold war era, the navy and air force had been more than cut in half, while only one-third of the army was left. This means that the Netherlands’ land forces consist almost exclusively of infantry, as tank units were disbanded completely in 2011 and heavy artillery was reduced to pocket size. By 2010 the British defence analyst Julian Lindley-French concluded: ‘The capabilities and capacities of the Netherlands’ armed forces are today dangerously close to being below (p.256) operational utility or sustainability’. Dutch defence expenditure has slipped from an average of 2.8 per cent of GNP in 1985–9 to 1.1 per cent in 2016. Investment in new equipment has halved, and for over a decade has been dangerously far below the NATO recommended guidelines of 20 per cent of the defence budget.39 The 2013 Defence White Paper reflected this view, stating that the armed forces were no longer capable of performing more than one major deployment at a time, and that even then only for a limited period.40 In 2015–16, the Dutch armed forces consisted of little over 58,000 men and women, including almost 15,000 civilians. Six years previously, these numbers had been 69,000 and 20,000.41 Between 1,200 and 1,500 served on international missions abroad. Since 1990, the number of frigates and mine-clearing vessels had been reduced by 60 per cent, armoured vehicles and F-16s by around 70 per cent, and both tanks and maritime patrol planes had been abolished altogether.42 These reductions are only very modestly offset by stronger special forces, more helicopters, a Defence Cyber Command (2014), and the decision to purchase the F-35 multirole fighter aircraft. The Swiss Army Knife lacks some parts, to say the least. Financially, the defence organization remained in dire straits.43 For

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Benelux Countries Benelux-partner Belgium, struggling with essentially the same kind of problems, the situation is even more dramatic.

Belgium From the 1990s the Belgian government cut its defence spending even more severely than its northern neighbour, thereby making even more drastic choices in pooling and sharing, in international cooperation, in reducing international missions, and in adapting its force structure at home. The result after almost three decades is a very small, skimpily funded armed force that struggles to remain credible and attractive either for international partners or as a tool for foreign policy. European defence cooperation runs as a red thread through Belgian security policy, more prominently than in the Netherlands; nevertheless Belgium also remains committed to participation in UN and NATO missions, albeit on a small scale. How are dwindling means put to use? The 1990s: UN and WEU Missions

The Belgian reaction to the fall of the Berlin Wall was as swift and fundamental as the Dutch one. In 1992, conscription was suspended—implemented in 1994— and high budget (p.257) cuts were carried out. Within a remarkably short period, from 1990 to 1993, the size of the armed forces was reduced from 90,000 to about 75,000;44 the budget was frozen, and armament programmes were cancelled. The goal was to have a professional army of 47,500 by 1997, deployable in a broad range of international missions and in strengthening the European pillar of NATO.45 Simultaneously, Belgium began to promote itself internationally by contributing militarily to both the Western European Union (WEU) and the UN. During the Gulf crisis of 1990–1, Belgian politicians saw an opportunity to strive even more strongly for the development of a European defence policy, first through the WEU, but only as a first step towards a genuine EU security and defence apparatus. In 1990–1, Belgian naval forces were sent to the Gulf of Oman as part of a WEU deployment to uphold the maritime embargo (Operation ‘Southern Breeze’). But in 1991 Belgium also participated actively within NATO. During the Gulf War it sent military aircraft to Turkey (Operation ‘Ace Guard’) and medical personnel to Cyprus (Operation ‘Green Split’). The Yugoslavian civil war was the next test for a European military response. In 1991, Belgium tried diligently to organize a WEU-led intervention to contain the crisis, but failed. More transatlantic-inclined states, such as the United Kingdom and the Netherlands, preferred a military response by NATO, and lack of unanimity made a WEU action impossible.46 Belgium did participate in UNPROFOR in 1992–5 within a combined Dutch–Belgian transport battalion in Bosnia and also in Croatia through BELBAT (1992–7). This showed a Belgian commitment to UN-led international crisis management, which was particularly strong in the early 1990s. Belgium obtained a non-permanent seat on the Page 10 of 21

 

Benelux Countries Security Council in 1991–2, and it demonstrated its commitment to it by participating in 1993 in UNOSOM2, the UN mission in Somalia, Belgium’s first ‘real’ UN operation since the Korean War.47 African Missions

Parallel to its new tasks, Belgium also held on to its traditional role in Central Africa. It could deploy a para-commando brigade and Hercules C-130 transport planes for non-combatant evacuation operations. In 1991, for instance, 1,000 troops were dispatched to Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo) for the protection of 11,000 Belgian residents, of whom 8,000 were evacuated.48 In 1993, when civil war threatened to destabilize Rwanda, the Belgian army returned, now as part of a UN-peacekeeping force. Belgium was in fact the only Western country that offered to provide troops to the UN Assistance Mission for Rwanda after a request from the UN Secretary General (p.258) himself.49 The mission ended dramatically when ten para-commandos were massacred. The mission was immediately terminated, and 800 paras were sent in to evacuate 1,500 Belgians and other foreign nationals. The brutal killings had a traumatic impact in the ‘mother country’. A commission of inquiry was set up. Its findings (1997) led to the decision not to send combat forces to the former colonies anymore; only logistic support to peacekeeping operations, diplomacy, and Security Sector Reform (SSR) remained possible.50 Only low-risk deployments were accepted.51 Turning away from UN peacekeeping after 1993 meant an increase in focus on operations within the NATO and EU frameworks. The Belgian air force in close cooperation with the Dutch contributed to a series of operations in quick succession: Operations ‘Joint Falcon’ and ‘Joint Forge’ over Bosnia and Kosovo (1996–2001), and Operation ‘Allied Force’ over Kosovo (1999). In 2002, the Belgian military arrived in Kabul as part of ISAF to protect the international airport. Four years later, Belgian troops, now numbering about 600, intensified their involvement in Afghanistan with air and land operations.52 From 2009 to 2014, Belgium participated in the European maritime ‘Atalanta’ mission to protect shipping around the Somali coast.53 UNIFIL brought Belgian troops in 2006 not only to Lebanon, but also back into the world of UN peacekeeping. It became the start of a prolonged and successful demining operation (BELUFIL), in which Luxembourg also participated. At the same time, Belgium again acquired a seat on the Security Council (2007–8). Back in Europe, Belgian politicians worked with much commitment for closer defence cooperation. Towards a European Federal Army

Almost from the conception, in 1991, of a multinational Eurocorps that could operate outside the NATO command structure, talks with France and Germany began in order to achieve Belgian participation. But by 1992 Belgian participation in the Eurocorps was conditional upon it being connected to NATO and WEU, with Belgium hoping the Eurocorps could contribute to closer ties Page 11 of 21

 

Benelux Countries between NATO and France. Belgium also reacted with enthusiasm to the French–UK proposals of 1999 to give the EU a military role. This sentiment peaked prematurely in 2003, when the Belgian government, together with France and Germany, took the initiative to strengthen the European defence capacity further with the creation of a European Security and Defence Union and new rapid reaction forces built around the Franco-German Brigade, supplemented by Belgian commandos and units from Luxembourg. An autonomous EU military headquarters would take command. But such a union was too much and too drastic for both the United Kingdom and the United States. Afterwards Belgian political leaders stressed that European defence could coexist perfectly (p.259) with well-developed transatlantic ties within NATO and a primacy for the UN.54 But Belgian participation in any international mission became more and more jeopardized as a result of persistent budget cuts. Transformation of the Force Structure

After 2000, it became clear that Belgium had to reorganize its defence apparatus even more drastically. The budget cuts, high personnel costs, and the difficulties that arose when even small international missions had to be manned weakened the defence effort substantially. The Minister of Defence declared that participation in international missions and coalitions for peace and security was the raison d’être of the Belgian armed forces.55 Staffs were reduced and units suitable for expeditionary tasks were promoted in order to be able to send 1,200 military on international missions yearly as the main task of the Belgian army. Many barracks and bases were closed, and the size of the armed forces was further reduced.56 During 2007–9, for instance, the landcomponent (land forces) lost its heavy weapons (tanks and artillery). Since 2010, it has consisted of only a light brigade with para commandos, light infantry and special forces, and a medium brigade with wheeled armoured vehicles, numbering 12,000 men in total.57 It focuses on participation in international missions. The naval component concentrates on mine hunting, and the backbone of the air component consists of F-16s and air transport. The Belgian defence effort leans more towards international cooperation,58 pooling and sharing,59 and Belgium aims at participation in a broad range of military missions from stabilization and SSR to air transport. Its participation in the EU Security Sector Reform Mission (EUSEC) in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (since 2005), training missions for armies in northern Africa and the Sahara, and in the European Training Mission in Mali (2014–present) reflects these ambitions.60 But the fact remains that the means are lacking for any substantial contribution to combat operations especially. Both navy and air force are de facto adapted to operations such as anti-piracy, drugs, police-like maritime tasks, and precision bombing (Operation ‘United Protector’, 2011). As a whole, the armed forces are highly dependent on non-Belgian logistic support.61 Moreover, financial restraints in particular limit the scope (p.260) and deployment of the Belgian armed forces Page 12 of 21

 

Benelux Countries seriously. In 1990, 25 per cent of the defence budget was available for investments. This had shrunk to 6–9 per cent in 2010, depending on how the budget is calculated.62 In 2010, the size of the Belgian army had fallen to 36,000, and it is projected to decrease further in the 2020s to approximately 25,000, compensated for by investments in new weapon systems.63 Since 2013, less than 1 per cent of GNP has been spent on defence, in comparison to around 2.9 per cent in the late 1980s. One way of reducing at least some of the effects of all these cutbacks is found in sometimes radical international cooperation, and even integration.

Benelux and Wider Defence Cooperation The pooling and sharing between the Benelux countries stand out as one of the solutions for limited Belgian means. Although, as has been said, the Benelux Treaty was solely economical, in its slipstream it led to defence cooperation, also called BENESAM (Belgian–Dutch Cooperation). At first, cooperation was restricted mainly to mine clearing and mine hunting at sea, but an important step was taken in 1995, when a bi-national staff was set up in the Dutch naval base Den Helder. Naval standardization and cooperation were now widened considerably, a rare feat between services of different countries, although actual deployment remained a sovereign national decision.64 The Benelux Declaration of 2012 aims at further cooperation in training, logistics and maintenance, air policing and education, extended beyond the naval domain, in order to share costs and increase operational output.65 The same advantages were gained with the Deployable Air Task Forces that Belgium established with its Benelux partners in 1996, which proved its worth in operations above former Yugoslavia. In 2000, the cooperation was extended to Portugal.66 Furthermore, Belgium has developed close cooperation with the Netherlands, Portugal, and Scandinavia concerning the F-16 fighter. In 2005 it joined Organisation Conjointe de Coopération en Matière d’Armement (OCCAR), which aims for a more efficient management of multinational collaborative armaments programmes, like the A400M transport aircraft, and, in 2010, the European Air Transport Command.67 In 2017 it initiated the European Expeditionary Helicopter Wing, together with the Netherlands.

(p.261) Conclusion Belgium and the Netherlands are confronted with similar problems: budget cuts, rising costs, and multiple tasks for their defence organization. In order to cope with this reality, their solutions are not that different: integration and bi- and multinational cooperation with strong, like-minded partners, together with pooling and sharing. These choices, financially driven, are intended to keep segments of the armed forces at the technological forefront so as to remain operationally effective and stay a relevant coalition partner. Both countries have also integrated the services and promoted a comprehensive approach, making defence a permanent partner of a wide range of institutions shaping internal security and civil–military cooperation. This last development might be more Page 13 of 21

 

Benelux Countries significant in the Netherlands. The Benelux cooperation has become part of this adaptation: it may be small in size, but it is unique and far-reaching in character and as such, as in the economic field in 1944, a forerunner for defence cooperation within Europe. Belgium tries to find security by fostering intensive European cooperation, and perceiving European federalism as a solution to the vulnerability of a small state. But the difference is not that distinctive, as Belgium also supports UN and NATO missions, and the Dutch armed forces get more and more involved in European cooperation, with the Benelux and German–Dutch collaboration as prominent examples. But the two nations, similar as they might look, keep their own national priorities and views. The Dutch still have a more transatlantic perspective and activist international–legalistic approach, which they see as their mission in the world, but not devoid of self-interest. Both countries are challenged by the combination of rising costs, shrinking budgets, and ever more complex and diverse military tasks and will have to make even more fundamental choices in the near future. If the last decades are anything to go by, a gradual further European military integration, bilateral and multilateral, will probably lie ahead for small armed forces such as the Dutch and Belgian. This said, decisions on their deployment will in all probability remain a national prerogative. Acknowledgements The author would like to express his gratitude to Frans Osinga and Kris Quanten for their critical remarks on the draft version of this chapter. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Biscop, Sven, Jo Coelmont, Margriet Drent, and Dick Zandee, The Future of the Benelux Defence Cooperation, Egmont Report (Brussels: Egmont, 2013). Brocades Zaalberg, Thijs, ‘The Use and Abuse of the “Dutch Approach” CounterInsurgency’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 36/6 (2013), 867–97. Cate, Arthur ten, and Martijn van der Vorm, Callsign Nassau: Dutch Army Special Forces in Action in the ‘New World Order’ (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016). (p.262) Coolsaet, Rik, ‘Atlantic Loyalty, European Autonomy: Belgium and the Atlantic Alliance’, Egmont Paper, 28 (Brussels: Egmont, 2009). Janssen, Irene, Benelux: Closer Cooperation within the European Union? (Maastricht: Shaker, 2006).

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Benelux Countries Klep, Christ, and Richard van Gils, Van Korea tot Kabul: De Nederlandse militaire deelname aan vredesoperaties sinds 1945 (Den Haag: Sdu, 2005). Liégeois, Michel, ‘A Small Power under the Blue Helmet’, Studia diplomatica, 61/3 (2008), 111–38. Osinga, Frans, and Rob de Wijk, ‘Innovating on a Shrinking Playing Field’, in Theo Farrell, Terry Terriff, and Frans Osinga (eds), A Transformation Gap? American Innovations and European Military Change (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010), 108–43. Sauer, Tom, ‘Deep Cooperation by Belgian Defence: Absorbing the Impact of Declining Defence Budgets on National Capabilities’, Defence Studies, 15/1 (2015), 46–62. Wijk, Rob de, ‘Seeking the Right Balance: NATO and EU in Dutch Foreign and Defence Policy’, Nação e Defesa, 118/3 (2007), 147–64. Notes:

(1) George J. Stein, Benelux Security Cooperation: A New European Defense Community? (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1990); Irene Janssen, Benelux: Closer Cooperation within the European Union? (Maastricht: Shaker, 2006). (2) For general information on the history of Dutch foreign and security policy, see Duco A. Hellema, Dutch Foreign Policy (Dordrecht: Republic of Letters, 2009); William Mallinson, From Neutrality to Commitment: Dutch Foreign Policy, NATO and European Integration (London: I. B. Tauris, 2010). (3) Kris Deschouwer, The Politics of Belgium (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2009); Els Witte, Jan Craeybeckx, and Alain Meynen, Political History of Belgium (Brussels: ASP, 2009); Rik Coolsaet, Atlantic Loyalty, European Autonomy: Belgium and the Atlantic Alliance, Egmont Paper, 28 (Brussels: Egmont, 2009). (4) Benno Barnard, How Can One Not be Interested in Belgian History: War, Language and Consensus in Belgium (Ghent: Academia Press, 2005); Josip Kesic and Jan Willem Duyvendak, ‘Anti-Nationalist Nationalism: The Paradox of Dutch National Identity’, Nations and Nationalism, 22/3 (2016), 581–97. (5) Dutch constitution, 2000, article 97. (6) Proceedings of Parliament, Second Chamber, 1992–3, document number 22975, no. 2. (7) See, for an authoritative overview, Frans Osinga and Rob de Wijk, ‘Innovating on a Shrinking Playing Field’, in Theo Farrell, Terry Terriff, and Frans Osinga

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Benelux Countries (eds), A Transformation Gap? American Innovations and European Military Change (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010), 108–43 at 111–13, 118–19. (8) L. W. E. M. van Geel, ‘De metamorfose van de Koninklijke Luchtmacht, 1988– 2013’, Militaire Spectator, 182/1 (2013), 21–40. (9) Osinga and De Wijk, ‘Shrinking Playing Field’, 120. (10) First-generation peacekeeping implies the consent of the conflicting parties; the non-use of force, except in self-defence; and political neutrality and legitimacy. In Bosnia ‘there was no peace to keep’. See Oliver Ramsbotham, Tom Woodhouse, and Hugh Miall, Contemporary Conflict Resolution: The Prevention, Management and Transformation of Deadly Conflicts (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005), 134. (11) The overview of Dutch peacekeeping in the 1990s is based on Christ Klep and Richard van Gils, Van Korea tot Kabul: De Nederlandse militaire deelname aan vredesoperaties sinds 1945 (Den Haag: Sdu, 2005), 136–46. (12) Proceedings of Parliament, Second Chamber, 2000–1, letter by the Minister of Defence 31 October 2000, document number 26,454, no. 18. (13) In 1995, when the crisis in Bosnia reached its peak, the Dutch again, but in vain, proposed a 5,000-men-strong UN Rapid Deployment Brigade. A decade later, the Netherlands initiated Shirbrig, the UN Stand-by High Readiness Brigade. See H. P. Langille, Developing a United Nations Emergency Peace Service (Ottawa: World Federalist Movement, 2015). (14) Osinga and De Wijk, ‘Shrinking Playing Field’, 112; Peter Baehr, Monique Castermans-Holleman, and Fred Grünfeld, ‘Human Rights in the Foreign Policy of the Netherlands’, Human Rights Quarterly, 24/4 (2002), 992–1010. (15) Sebastiaan Rietjens, ‘Civil–Military Interaction’, in William Maley and Susanne Schmeidl (eds), Reconstructing Afghanistan (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2015), 68. (16) Proceedings of Parliament, Second Chamber, 1999–2000, 29 November 1999, document number 26,900, no. 2. (17) Overview of the defence budget 1990–2019 in Proceedings of Parliament, Second Chamber, 2014–15, 24 October 2014, document number 34,000 X, no. 12. (18) Report by the Advisory Committee on the Role of the Supreme Commander, The Hague, 19 April 2002; Osinga and De Wijk, ‘Shrinking Playing Field’, 127, 132.

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Benelux Countries (19) Marcel de Haas, ‘Nederlandse Defensie Doctrine’, Internationale Spectator, 59/11 (2005), 595–9. See also Osinga and De Wijk, ‘Shrinking Playing Field’, 137–40. (20) Proceedings of Parliament, Second Chamber, 2001–2, 3 July 2002, document number 28,375, no. 5, 29. (21) Proceedings of Parliament, Second Chamber, 2001–2, letter by the Ministers of Foreign Affairs, Defence, and Development, 9 October and 9 November 2001, document number 27,925, no. 11, and 2002–3, letter by the Ministers of Foreign Affairs and Defence, 6 November 2002, document number 27,925, no. 71. (22) Christ Klep, ‘The War on Terror’, in Hans Krabbendam et al. (eds), Four Centuries of Dutch–American Relations, 1609–2009 (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2009), 728–38; Lenny Hazelbag, ‘Politieke besluitvorming van de missie in Uruzgan, een reconstructie’, Research Paper, 90 (Breda: Nederlandse Defensie Academie, 2009). (23) Arthur ten Cate and Thijs Brocades Zaalberg, A Gentile Occupation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014). (24) The Dutch Veterans Institute on its own website estimates that, during the entire period that Dutch forces were active in Afghanistan, 29,000 men and women served there, (accessed 16 April 2016). (25) Arthur ten Cate and Martijn van der Vorm, Callsign Nassau: Dutch Army Special Forces in Action in the ‘New World Order’ (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016). (26) Jay Solomon, ‘US Takes Dutch Military as Role Model in Afghanistan’, Wall Street Journal, 30 April 2009. (27) Thijs Brocades Zaalberg, ‘The Use and Abuse of the “Dutch Approach” Counter-Insurgency’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 36/6 (2013), 867–97; Sebastiaan Rietjens, ‘Learning from Afghanistan: Towards a Compass for Civil– Military Cooperation’, Small Wars and Insurgencies, 24/2 (2013), 257–77, and Martijn Kitzen, Sebastiaan Rietjens, and Frans Osinga, ‘Soft Power the Hard Way: Adaptation by the Netherlands’ Task Force Uruzgan’, in Theo Farrell, Frans Osinga, and James Russell (eds), Military Adaptation in Afghanistan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2013), 159–291. (28) Gerald Meyerle, Megan Katt, and Jim Gavrilis, On the Ground in Afghanistan: Counterinsurgency in Practice (Quantico, VA: Marine Corps University Press, 2012).

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Benelux Countries (29) Edwin de Bakker and Robert Beeres, ‘An Economic Interpretation of Dutch Military Expenditure 1990–2005’, in Robert Beeres et al. (eds), Netherlands Annual Review of Military Studies (Breda: NLDA, 2007), 9–36 at 15. (30) Remko Voogd and Amber Vos, ‘Publieke steun voor de missie in Uruzgan’, Militaire Spectator, 179/9 (2010), 440–53. (31) Duco Hellema, ‘De politieke betrekkingen tussen Nederland en de Verenigde Staten 1945–2005’, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis, 121/3 (2008), 284–95; Ph. P. Everts, De Nederlanders en de wereld: publieke opinie na de Koude Oorlog (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2008); George Dimitriu and Beatrice de Graaf, ‘De missie in Uruzgan als strategisch narratief’, Atlantisch Perspectief, 35/8 (2011), 9–13. (32) Wim van Eekelen, From Words to Deeds: The Continuing Debate on European Security (Brussels: Centre for European Policy Studies, 2006), 27–47; Jolyon Howorth, ‘European Security Institutions 1945–2010: The Weakness and Strengths of “Brusselization”’, in Sven Biscop and Richard G. Whitman (eds), The Routledge Handbook on European Security (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), 5– 17. (33) Proceedings of Parliament, Second Chamber, 2011–12, letter of the Minister of Defence on international military cooperation, document number 33,279, no. 3. (34) Christian Anrig, The Quest for Relevant Air Power (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 2012), 235–55. (35) Bruno Kasdorf, ‘Military Cooperation between the German Army and the Royal Netherlands Army’, Militaire Spectator, 183/4 (2014), 199–205. (36) Margriet Drent and Dick Zandee, Breaking Pillars: Towards a Civil–Military Security Approach for the European Union (The Hague: Clingendael Report, 2010); webblog B2, 5 March 2010, (accessed 20 July 2016). (37) Future Policy Survey: A New Foundation for the Dutch Armed Forces (The Hague: Ministry of Defence, 2010). (38) Joris Voorhoeve, ‘Nederland: Een middelgrote mogendheid in zakformaat’, Internationale Spectator, 44/2 (1991), 54–61; Rob de Wijk, ‘The Implications for Force Transformation: The Small Country Perspective’, in Daniel Hamilton (ed.), Transatlantic Transformations: Equipping NATO for the 21st Century (Washington: Center for Transatlantic Relations, 2004), 115–45.

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Benelux Countries (39) Julian Lindley-French, ‘Between the Polder and a Hard Place: The Netherlands and the Defence Planning Challenges for Smaller European Countries’, RUSI Whitehall Report 2–10 (London, 2010), 17. (40) Official website of the Dutch Ministry of Defence, (accessed 6 December 2017). The main deployment after Afghanistan was MINUSMA (Mali). (41) The largest deployments were SFOR and ISAF. In both well over 20,000 individual rotations took place. (42) The Hague Centre for Strategic Studies, De waarde van defensie, 16 (September 2012). (43) Ko Colijn et al., Clingendael’s visie op de krijgsmacht van de toekomst (The Hague: Netherlands Institute of International Relations, 2013). (44) Wally Struys, ‘Country Survey XV: Defence Policy and Spending in Belgium’, Defence and Peace Economics, 13/1 (2002), 31–53 at 34–5. (45) Tom Sauer, ‘Deep Cooperation by Belgian Defence: Absorbing the Impact of Declining Defence Budgets on National Capabilities’, Defence Studies, 15/1 (2015), 46–62 at 56. (46) Rik Coolsaet, ‘Atlantic Loyalty, European Autonomy. Belgium and the Atlantic Alliance’, Egmont Paper, 28 (Brussels: Egmont, 2009), 35–41, 47–8. (47) Marc Houben, International Crisis Management: The Approach of European States (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2005); United States Forces, Somalia after Action Report (Washington: Center of Military History, 2003), 82– 115, 125–6. (48) Alain Rouvez, Disconsolate Empires (Boston: University Press of America, 1994), 345–50. (49) Fred Grünfeld and Anke Huijboom, The Failure to Prevent Genocide in Rwanda (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), 47–60. (50) Philippe Manigart, ‘Risks and Recruitment in Postmodern Armed Forces: The Case of Belgium’, Armed Forces and Society, 31/4 (2005), 559–82. (51) Sauer, ‘Deep Cooperation by Belgian Defence’, 52. (52) David Auerswald and Stephen Saideman, NATO in Afghanistan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), 168–72.

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Benelux Countries (53) Ben Crum and John Fossum (eds), Practices of Interparliamentary Coordination in International Politics (Colchester: ECPR Press, 2013), 108–10. (54) Wim van Eekelen, From Words to Deeds: The Continuing Debate on European Security (Brussels: Centre for European Policy Studies, 2006), 160–1; Rik Coolsaet, ‘Atlantic Loyalty, European Autonomy: Belgium and the Atlantic Alliance’, Egmont Paper, 28 (Brussels: Egmont, 2009), 44–8. (55) Guido Andries, The Value of the Belgian Defence (Brussels: Ministry of Defence, 2014), 21. (56) Website of the independent research project ‘Providing for Peacekeeping’, (accessed 16 April 2016). (57) For all the details, see ‘De Landcomponent: With People amongst People’, Defensie, (accessed 22 September 2016). (58) Kees Homan, ‘Internationale maritieme samenwerking’, Marineblad, 122/6 (2012), 15–18; Sauer, ‘Deep Cooperation by Belgian Defence’, 46–62. (59) Marc Houben, International Crisis Management: The Approach of European States (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2005). (60) An overview of Belgian international military missions can be found on the website of the Belgian Armed Forces, (accessed 22 September 2016), and the weblog (accessed 22 September 2016). (61) Michel Liégeois, ‘A Small Power under the Blue Helmet’, Studia Diplomatica, 61/3 (2008), 111; Michel Liégeois, ‘The Role of Small Powers in the UN Security Council’, in Jan Wouters (ed.), Belgium in the UN Security Council: Reflections on the 2007–2008 Membership (Oxford: Intersentia, 2009), 51–61. (62) Wally Struys, ‘Country Survey XV: Defence Policy and Spending in Belgium’, Defence and Peace Economics, 13/1 (2002), 31–53 at 39. (63) See ‘La Vision stratégique pour la défense’, Defensie, 29 June 2016, (accessed 9 May 2017). (64) Sauer, ‘Deep Cooperation by Belgian Defence’, 54. (65) Sven Biscop et al., The Future of the Benelux Defence Cooperation, Egmont Report (Brussels: Egmont, 2013).

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Benelux Countries (66) Dave L. Orr, ‘The Benelux Deployable Air Task Force: A Model for NATO/EU Defence Force Integration’, Air & Space Power Journal, 17/3 (2003), (accessed 25 May 2016); Aart Fokkema, ‘Militaire samenwerking Benelux’, Militaire Spectator, 181/12 (2012), 572–84. (67) Margriet Drent, Sovereignty, Parliamentary Involvement and European Defence Cooperation, Clingendael Report (The Hague: Clingendael, 2014).

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Bulgaria and Romania

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Bulgaria and Romania Jordan Baev

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0015

Abstract and Keywords The evolution of the security and defence reforms in Bulgaria and Romania after the cold-war era includes the elaboration of leading strategic and doctrinal acts, a change from conscript to professional national armies, the implementation of the principles of civil–military relations with the establishment of integrated defence ministries and strong democratic oversight, and the achievement of interoperability in the accession process to NATO and EU membership. Bulgaria and Romania have had a similar process of military transformation and geopolitical reorientation from the East to the West in their common transition to a pluralist democracy. A significant requirement in the process of transformation was the establishment and training of specially qualified mobile forces capable of participating in NATO- or EU-led peace missions. Bulgaria and Romania have also actively contributed to the development of regional defence cooperation in south-eastern Europe by launching various multinational initiatives. Keywords:   south-eastern Europe, Bulgaria, Romania, transition, transformation, NATO accession, civil–military relations, peace missions, regional defence cooperation

Introduction DURING the cold war era both Bulgaria and Romania belonged to the Soviet bloc in a bipolar international system. Under Moscow’s direct domination, all East European armies were transformed emulating Soviet armed forces—in structure, armament, and field regulation. Among the most significant results was the implementation of a joint military doctrine instead of the development of national ones. While Bulgaria was qualified as the most loyal ally to Moscow, in Page 1 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania the last three cold war decades Romania behaved as the Warsaw Pact internal ‘dissident’. Soon after the Warsaw Pact intervention in Czechoslovakia in August 1968, the Romanian communist leader Nicolae Ceausescu proposed a new national defence doctrine, ‘The Entire People’s War’, which meant the organization of a total people’s resistance on the entire territory of the country in case of a foreign armed intervention.1 Because of the Romanian opposition to Moscow and the emerging confrontation between Bulgaria and Turkey in the 1980s, at the end of the cold war era the two Balkan nations had large conscript armies with heavy armament. In 1989, the Romanian armed forces consisted of 180,000 servicemen, 140,000 of them in the Land Forces.2 The wartime strength of the Romanian Land Forces was of about 320,000 troops with 4.5 million reserves (20 per cent of the entire population). The defence organization was based on three military districts (Bucharest, Bacau, and Cluj Napoca). with four army staffs. At the beginning of 1989, the Bulgarian armed forces consisted of 117,000 personnel. The Land Forces were organized in three armies with staffs in Sofia, Plovdiv, and Sliven. They included thirteen motorized, five armoured, and one artillery divisions, four missile brigades, and one air-defence missile brigade. The Air Force was equipped with 285 aircraft (p.264) and sixty helicopters, while the Navy had a brigade with guided missile and torpedo boats, a landing brigade, and two naval bases in Varna and Burgas.3 The Romanian armed forces and their military leadership took a decisive role on the side of the citizens during the bloody fights with Ceausescu’s secret police in December 1989, while the Bulgarian defence minister General Dobri Dzhurov actively supported Todor Zhivkov’s overthrow a month earlier. Although the military in both countries had received a ‘strong’ education ‘to defend the Communist regime’, and almost 90 per cent of the senior and high-ranking officers were Communist Party members,4 there was no visible reaction against the radical political and societal transformation of their countries to liberal democracies and market economies. One of the first significant government measures in Bucharest and Sofia shortly after the overthrow of the former authoritarian regimes was the total depoliticization of the armed forces, which accepted the legal ban on military and security personnel being members of any political party during active duty. This chapter shows that the evolution of the security and defence reforms in Bulgaria and Romania in the post-cold war era had a similar and synchronized process of military transformation and strategic reorientation in each country in its way towards full membership of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and the European Union (EU). The accomplishment of that priority task in the mid-2000s marked the end of the transition period and the start of the next period of full integration with the Euro-Atlantic structures.

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Bulgaria and Romania The study of the post-war military history in Romania and Bulgaria still needs to be rewritten or even reinvented. In the mid-2000s, the documentary evidence for the cold war era, including the specific roles of the two Balkan countries inside the Warsaw Pact, was made available almost in its entirety, but analytical interpretations continue to be rare and fragmented.5 Comprehensive and generalized monographic studies of the post-cold war evolution of the Bulgarian and Romanian armed forces are still missing from both the European and national historiography. This situation makes it difficult to provide more categorical and accomplished conclusions. The chapter’s main focus is thus on the key legislative and executive acts that have determined the defence reforms in Romania and Bulgaria in the post-cold war years, after the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact (1991). This chapter discusses the similarities and the specifics of the transformation of the Romanian and Bulgarian armed forces in the two distinct ‘transition’ and ‘post-transition’ periods. The research is based on the key strategic, conceptual, doctrinal, and other defence planning documents since 1991, and the annual government reports on the state of the (p.265) national defence systems.6 The first section of the chapter analyses the incorporation of the two Balkan countries into the Euro-Atlantic system from the end of the cold war era to their accession as NATO member states in 2004. The second section reveals the process of full integration that took place in the following decade, and the planned development of the Bulgarian and Romanian armed forces up to 2025 and 2027 respectively. The last main section of the chapter briefly describes the roles and contribution of the Bulgarian and Romanian armed forces to the development of a more active international and regional defence and security cooperation in the neighbouring Balkan and Black Sea regions.

From East to West: The Way to NATO and the EU The accession to NATO and the EU was the most imperative task in the Romanian and Bulgarian national doctrines after 1993. The two Balkan countries carried out similar defence reforms in the post-cold war era, which were significantly influenced by their cooperation with NATO and the United States. These reform efforts can be divided analytically into three phases up to 2004. The first one ranges from 1990 to 1994, the second one from 1995 to 1997, while the third stage covers the next seven years, from 1998 to 2004 and the inclusion into the Euro-Atlantic defence and security organization. The Dissolution of the Warsaw Pact

During the last year of the Warsaw Treaty Organization (July 1990–June 1991), a visible differentiation emerged between two specific geopolitical groups within the Soviet bloc. While the governments of the three Central European states (Hungary, Czecho-Slovakia,7 and Poland) argued strongly for the discontinuation of the military structures of the East European bloc and even for the dissolution of the organization as a whole, the three other member states—the Soviet Union, Page 3 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania Bulgaria, and Romania—insisted on transforming the pact into a regional collective defence organization of ‘fully sovereign and independent countries’.8 Another, more serious, source of tension between the two subregional groups emerged during consultations to reach a joint position on the reduction of conventional forces at the end of the negotiations for the Treaty on Conventional Armed Forces in Europe (CFE). During the three sessions in Prague in July– October 1990 of the Warsaw (p.266) Pact’s Special Disarmament Commission, the delegations of Bulgaria and Romania felt ‘isolated’ and under heavy pressure from the representatives of Czecho-Slovakia, Hungary, and Poland to accept a larger reduction of their own forces and armament. For the first time in the postwar era, some differences and discord appeared on this issue between the positions of the Soviet and Bulgarian military.9 Finally, at the last session in Budapest on 3 November 1990, the representatives of the ‘Southern Flank’ achieved a ‘compromise’ decision,10 which was presented on behalf of the Warsaw Pact at the Vienna CFE conference and was included in the CFE Treaty, signed in Paris on 19 November 1990. In the initial post-cold war years, the primary political task for Bulgaria and Romania was the elaboration and adoption by a qualified majority of the national parliaments of the leading legislative acts of the state organization. In July 1991 the Bulgarian parliament approved the first non-Communist constitution on the previous half-century. The Romanian parliament did the same in November of the same year. In both countries, the fundamental national law defined the roles and goals of the military, clarified the cases and procedures for the use of military contingents abroad, and established the presidents as supreme commanders of the national armed forces.11 In parallel to the depoliticization of the military, in the first two or three years of transition, the state and military leaderships dismissed a large number of highranking officers who were considered to be close or loyal to the former regimes. Another synchronized political action in all former Warsaw Pact member states was the realization of a major arms conversion inside the national defence industrial systems,12 which led to the closure of many military factories and research institutes in the next few years. Meanwhile, the defence budgets of all Central East European countries constantly decreased each year. For Romania, the defence expenditures dropped from 4.6 per cent of the national GDP in 1990, to 3.1 per cent in 1994,13 while for Bulgaria those expenditures plunged from 3.56 per cent of the GDP in 1990, to 2.32 per cent in 1994.14 The first new legislative act on security and defence management, passed by the Romanian parliament in 1990 (Law No. 34), established the Supreme Council of National Defence (CSAT), headed by the president but required to deliver annual reports for its work to the National Assembly. Subsequently, the Law No. 41/1990 on the organization and functioning of the Ministry of National Defence was also approved. In July 1991, the Romanian parliament passed Law No. 51 on Page 4 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania the first Concept on National Security. (p.267) It focused on the threats against the ‘unity and territorial integrity’ of the Romanian state.15 The new basic Law of the Integrated Concept of National Security, as well as the Law on National Defence (Law No. 45),16 was approved three years later. With the implementation of these legislative documents began the process of a more visible restructuring and relocation of the command structures—General Staff and Staffs of the Land, Air, and Naval Forces. The strategic and conceptual documents and the structural reforms within the Bulgarian armed forces were delayed or even blocked in the first post-cold war years, mainly because of the frequent change of the ruling elites and sharp political competition and confrontation. In the first eight years after the political turn in November 1989, there were nine different governments and four extraordinary parliamentary elections. Quite indicative was the fate of the first democratic Law on Defence and Armed Forces. The first draft was delivered to the National Assembly on 7 December 1992 by the right-wing government, a month after its announced resignation and three weeks before the establishment of the next government. A new draft was presented on 11 March 1993, but was never discussed in a plenary session of the Bulgarian parliament. Finally, the first democratic Law on Defence and Armed Forces was successfully approved by the National Assembly in November 1995.17 A similar pattern characterizes the elaboration of the first post-cold war Bulgarian strategic documents. In October 1993, a draft of the ‘National Security Doctrine’ was proposed for discussion by the Bulgarian Socialist Party parliamentary group, but was never included in the plenary agenda of the National Assembly. The subsequent ‘National Security Concept’, proposed by the government in June 1995, had a similar fate. Both drafts proposed a relatively broad definition and understanding of ‘national security’, but stressed particularly the role of the intelligence agencies and the defence structures.18 A strong impetus for launching the process of military reform in Bulgaria and Romania came from their cooperation with the former adversaries of NATO. From 12 to 14 June 1991, NATO Secretary General Manfred Wörner paid his first visit to Sofia, and from 4 to 5 July to Bucharest. During his talks with Manfred Wörner at the NATO Headquarters (HQ) in Brussels in November 1991, Bulgarian President Zhelyu Zhelev raised several topics related to bilateral and multilateral cooperation: opening a dialogue ‘on the possibilities to undertake ad hoc initiatives and procedures for prevention and settlement of crisis situations and conflicts’, and widening contacts in the military field through sending Bulgarian officers to NATO military schools, as well as through cooperating in the sphere of military planning, civil–military relations, and airspace control.19 On 17 February 1993, the Romanian President, Ion Iliescu, also paid his first visit to NATO HQ in Brussels, which pushed forward the initial process of practical cooperation with the North Atlantic Alliance. The crucial turning point

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Bulgaria and Romania and a new stage in that process was the announcement of the NATO Partnership for Peace (PfP) initiative in January 1994. (p.268) Within the ‘Partnership for Peace’ Initiative

One of the essential preconditions during the negotiation process with the East European countries for inclusion in the Atlantic Alliance was their active participation in NATO and PfP military exercises, as well as in peacekeeping and peace-support missions. The Romanian government signed a framework document for accession to the PfP NATO initiative on 26 January 1994. On 14 September, the first Individual Partnership Action Plan (IPAP) for Romania was approved, while in September 1995 the first NATO/PfP military exercise on Romanian territory, named ‘Cooperative Determination-95’, was carried out. By 2001 Romania had participated in 169 PfP exercises in total. The Bulgarian government joined the PfP initiative on 14 February 1994, and on 28 November received its first Individual Partnership Action Plan (IPAP). The same year, Bulgaria organized the first multilateral naval operational–tactical exercise, ‘Breeze-94’, in the Black Sea area, with representatives and ships from eight countries participating.20 The next year, Bulgaria also hosted the first naval NATO exercise under the auspices of Partnership for Peace—‘Cooperative Partner-95’. For the period from 1994 to 2000, Bulgaria participated in 137 exercises in the PfP context and two NATO exercises with a total of 700 officers and 4,800 soldiers.21 In June 1995, the two chambers of the Romanian parliament declared the country’s readiness to join Euro-Atlantic structures. During the first two years of the Planning and Review Plan (PARP) of the Romanian IPAP (1995–7), Romania implemented all nineteen goals for interoperability with NATO armed forces, and forty-four more interoperability goals in the second PARP term. However, the reaction in Bucharest was clear disappointment when, during the NATO summit in Madrid in 1997, the country was not among the former Warsaw Pact states invited to join the alliance.22 On 17 March 1997, the Bulgarian government adopted Decree No. 99, which approved a national programme for the establishment of an interministerial committee and a working group to prepare the country for entry into the North Atlantic Alliance. On 8 May, the National Assembly approved with a qualified majority a declaration on the country’s accession to NATO as a major national priority.23 That decision marked the beginning of the third stage in the Bulgarian way towards the full membership into the Euro-Atlantic structures. Towards Full NATO Membership

After five years of disputes among the political and parliamentary groups in Bulgaria, in April 1998 the first National Security Concept was finally approved by the National Assembly.24 The next key strategic document was the national Military Doctrine, which (p.269) was approved by parliament on 8 April Page 6 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania 1999.25 One of the main priorities in the Military Doctrine was the country’s integration into the European and Euro-Atlantic security architecture, perceived as a ‘guarantee for the national security and defence’. According to the first Bulgarian strategic documents, there was no ‘immediate war threat’ to the country, though several military risks existed with the potential escalation of the armed conflicts in the neighbouring areas in the Balkans, the Middle East, the eastern Mediterranean, and the Caucasus. Between the end of 2000 and early 2001, the General Staff of the Bulgarian armed forces accepted some of its new doctrinal documents, including the Doctrine for Joint Operations and the Doctrine for Operations other than War. The next key document was the White Paper on Defence, adopted by the Council of Ministers on 4 April 2002.26 The essence of the White Paper was the determination of the roles, missions, and tasks of the military and the necessary defence capabilities in the new global and regional security environment. Three principal missions were formulated: 1. contribution to peacetime national security; 2. contribution to global peace and security; and 3. participation in national defence. A similar agenda of elaborating the basic strategic documents was carried out by the Romanian government. The first Romanian National Security Strategy had already been prepared by 1997, but it was not submitted to parliament until the end of 1998. The final draft of the strategy was voted at the National Assembly on 23 June 1999. However, two years later, in December 2001, the parliament approved the new version of the National Security Strategy.27 In 2000, the Law No. 63 on defence planning was passed by the National Assembly,28 and for the first time a Military Strategy of the Armed Forces was approved. Bulgaria and Romania, together with five other East European countries, received the first individual NATO membership action plans (MAP) on 25 April 1999 during the NATO summit in Washington. On 22 October 1999, the Bulgarian government presented in Brussels the first annual working programme for the implementation of the MAP, and a year later, in early October 2000, presented the second annual programme. Meanwhile, during his two visits to Sofia and Bucharest, NATO Secretary General Lord George Robertson insisted on accelerating the planned economic and military reforms. At the invitation of the Bulgarian government, on 13 October 2000, the first meeting of defence ministers of the MAP countries was held in Sofia, with the participation of the NATO Secretary General, in order to carry out a comparative review of the implementation of individual MAPs. A similar multilateral meeting of the prime ministers of the applicant countries with their NATO partners was held in Bucharest in March 2002. On 14 May, the foreign policy commissions of the Romanian and Bulgarian parliaments issued a common declaration expressing their strong belief that the two countries would be invited to join NATO during the next alliance summit in Prague in November 2002, and this is what (p.270) happened. In the November 2002 to March 2004 period, the last two annual Page 7 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania programmes of the updated MAPs were implemented in the five main areas— political and economic issues, military issues, resources, security issues, and legal issues. The implementation of the IPAP and MAP for Romania and Bulgaria directly influenced the reform of their armed forces’ structures and the process of the consequent reduction of their personnel. When the first programme for organizational restructuring of the national armed forces, Project Force–2005, was proposed in 2000 in Bucharest, the size of the military personnel was reduced to 144,000 servicemen, while in 2004 it became 91,000 personnel. In accordance with the Objective Force Concept, the structures of the Romanian armed forces were divided into operational forces (early warning, rapid-reaction, and augmentation troops) and territorial forces (low-readiness and reserve troops). As in Romania, since the beginning of the twenty-first century, the Defence Ministry and the General Staff in Sofia have adopted the principle of defence planning, programming, and budgeting. In 1999, in accordance with MAP, a new Plan-2004 for further organizational development was proposed, and it was approved a year later. The size of the Bulgarian armed forces at that time plunged to 80,760. It was reduced in 2004 to 43,000 servicemen in accordance with the government’s goals, announced in the White Paper on Defence. In compliance with the Military Doctrine, the functional organization of the Bulgarian armed forces was divided into active and reserve forces. The active forces included deployable (with rapid-reaction units) and in-place forces, while the reserve forces were composed of augmentation and territorial defence forces, as well as mobilization bases. Romania participated at the end of 1995 in the Implementation Force (IFOR) in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and later sent an infantry battalion to support the Stabilization Force (SFOR). SFOR was the first participation of the Bulgarian army in a NATO-led operation. After the cessation of SFOR, starting in December 2004, Romanian and Bulgarian military contingents continued their participation in multinational forces of the EU (Operation ‘Althea’). The subsequent NATO missions, which included Romanian and Bulgarian military contingents, were the Kosovo Force, the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan, and the Stabilization Force Iraq, before the official accession of the two former Warsaw Pact member states to the NATO on 29 March 2004. Just two and a half years later, in January 2007, the two Balkan states also joined the EU. With the accession to NATO and the EU, the main national goals and priorities of the Romanian and Bulgarian policy during the transition era were successfully accomplished. The next principal tasks were to reach full integration into the Euro-Atlantic security and defence structures in the period of further armed forces transformation.

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Bulgaria and Romania Comprehensive Reforms: Doctrinal and Force Transformation After the accession of Bulgaria and Romania to NATO, the adequate application of some of the alliance’s key principles, tools, and guidance documents played an important role in the process of military transformation of their armed forces. These defence-planning documents include, for instance, the Strategic Defence Review (SDR), originally a cycle with a (p.271) duration of four, and later six, years; and the Long Term Vision (LTV), usually with terms of ten to fifteen years. With Government Resolution No. 650, a comprehensive SDR of the Bulgarian armed forces was carried out from 15 September 2003 to the beginning of March 2004. The outcome of the SDR resulted in a Long Term Vision for the Development of the Bulgarian Armed Forces until the year 2015, proposed in September 2004. It was yet another step in harmonizing the national defence policy with the alliance’s policy, and with the aims and goals of the EU European Security Strategy of 2003. Security and Defence Reforms: The First Stage

According to the Strategic Defence Review of the Bulgarian armed forces, the new security challenges included international terrorism, the proliferation and the use of weapons of mass destruction (WMD), the instability of democratization processes in the neighbouring conflict zones in the West Balkans, Black Sea region, and the Middle East, organized crime, and the illegal traffic of strategic raw materials, technologies, arms, drugs, and people. The potential destructive impact of cyberattacks on the information systems, the economic instability, and the environmental disasters were specified as well. The complex global and regional environment of dynamically changing opportunities and barely predictable challenges required the use of non-traditional, preventive, and anticipatory approaches and solutions, complementary and coordinated efforts involving political, economic, technological, and informational—both military and civil—measures. In compliance with the evaluations and recommendations of the Review and the Long Term Vision, a plan for the organizational build-up of the national armed forces up to 2015 was approved with a consequent Government Resolution, No. 301/2004.29 Following the accession to NATO, discussions around the elaboration of a new National Security Strategy (NSS) began in 2005, but the NSS was not completed before the end of the decade. The SDR of the Romanian armed forces also began in the second half of 2003. It resulted in the adoption the following year of ‘Objective Force-2007’ plan for organizational reforming of the national defence system. According to the document, the Romanian armed forces had to be reduced to 90,000 servicemen by January 2007, with 75,000 active forces and 15,000 reserve forces. A significant next step was the publication in 2004 of the White Paper on Security and National Defence. In 2006, the National Assembly in Bucharest approved

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Bulgaria and Romania both the new National Security Strategy and Law No. 346 on the organization and functioning of the Ministry of Defence.30 The process of professionalization in Eastern and south-eastern Europe began in the late 1990s, at the same time as the beginning of the enlargement of NATO eastwards, and was characterized by a sharp acceleration in the first years of the new century. Law No. 395/2005 on mandatory service in Romania decreed that the national armed forces should be fully professional by January 2007. The initial estimates for Bulgaria asserted that the conscript service would be terminated in 2010, but in 2007 both the Romanian and the Bulgarian defence ministry declared officially that the process of full professionalization of their armies had been successfully accomplished. (p.272) The strategic Romanian documents suggested a three-stage process of reconstruction and modernization of the Romanian armed forces in a mediumand long-term vision. The first stage, 2005–7, was called ‘Basic Reorganization Process’, the second one for 2008–15 ‘Operational Integration’, while the third stage for 2016–25 was named ‘Full Integration’ with NATO. In 2007, the Romanian Ministry of Defence elaborated a long-term strategic document for the transformation of the armed forces (‘Objective Force‐2008’) for the period up to 2018. After several years of military and security expert discussions on the necessity for the elaboration of a new defence strategy, November 2008 saw the publication of the National Defence and Security Strategy,31 which determined the main security risks, threats, and vulnerabilities in the actual security environment, and the principal tasks of the Romanian armed forces in national and collective defence. Military Transformation: The Second Stage

After the implementation of the first Strategic Defence Review, the Bulgarian defence ministry adopted in 2008 an updated version of the ‘Plan for the Development and Modernization of the Bulgarian Army by 2015’, according to which personnel should be reduced to 37,000 people. In 2009, a radical reform to integrate HQ structures inside the civilian Ministry of Defence was carried out, and, in 2010, a new ‘Development Plan of the Armed Forces’ was adopted. According to this document, the Bulgarian armed forces should be reduced to 32,000 servicemen by the end of the second decade of the twenty-first century.32 The period 2009–14 was characterized by the financial and economic crisis, which led to defence budgets restrictions and reductions in many countries within the Euro-Atlantic area, including the poorest EU member states Romania and Bulgaria. However, it was positive in terms of shaping the strategic visions of these countries through the development of key strategic documents in the security and defence sector. This was a period in which the Bulgarian and Romanian governments seized the opportunity to re-edit their strategic and doctrinal documents at a time when NATO was working on its new strategic Page 10 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania concept, and the EU restructured its Common Foreign Policy and Common Security and Defence Policy after the Lisbon Treaty. The basic obstacle in the process of gradual transformation and modernization of the Romanian and Bulgarian armed forces was the drastic reduction of the defence budgets owing to the continuing economic and financial crisis. While in 2008 the Bulgarian defence budget was 2.24 per cent of the national GDP, in 2010 it dropped to 1.52 per cent, in 2012 to 1.42 per cent, in 2014 to 1.35 per cent, in 2015 to 1.30 per cent, and in 2016 to 1.28 per cent. After heated discussions in the Bulgarian parliament and the National Security Consultative Council, it was agreed that in 2017 it would grow to 1.65 per cent, although this had not been implemented at the end of the year. The proposed defence budget for 2018 was fixed in November 2017 to 1.55 per cent, with the intention of it being increased annually to reach 2 per cent by 2025.33 The Romanian defence budget fell from 1.57 per (p.273) cent of the national GDP in 2007 to 1.31 per cent in 2009, and to 1.24 per cent in 2012. However, since 2013 the decrease of the Romanian defence budget has stopped. In 2013, it stood at 1.38 per cent, in 2015 at 1.50 per cent, and in 2016, unlike Bulgaria, where the promises have not yet been implemented, it reached 1.7 per cent of GDP, with the intention of reaching 2 per cent in 2017.34 The first step in the process of elaboration of the new package of legislative and normative documents in Bulgaria was the adoption of a new law on defence and armed forces in April 2009.35 The year 2010 was announced by the Bulgarian defence ministry as the Year of Strategic Rethinking. In February 2010, a Force Structure Review (FSR) was launched, which resulted in the elaboration of the second White Paper on Defence and the Armed Forces, and the Armed Forces Development Plan for the period 2011–14. The necessity for this comprehensive ‘strategic rethinking’ was explained by the White Paper with a few main reasons: ‘The changes in the strategic security environment; the new definitions of risks and threats; the significant lack of balance between capabilities planned and resources projected for their respective development and maintenance; the ineffective management of national defence; the negative influence of the global financial and economic crisis’.36 The main task for the next four years was formulated in the AF Development Plan as ‘to achieve a real transformation of defence capabilities, rather than another set of technical reductions’.37 According to the FSR, in 2010 the strength of the Bulgarian armed forces was 44,100 people, of which 34,700 were military personnel and 9,400 civilian personnel. The new strategic documents recommended that by 2014 the armed forces should have no less than 37,000 personnel on active duty (of which 73 per cent would be military and 19 per cent civilian personnel), and 3,000 reservists. The number of Bulgarian army servicemen was planned to be no lower than 29,000. The proposed organizational structure was comprised of Joint Forces Command (9 per cent), Land Forces (53 per cent), Air Force (25 per cent), and Page 11 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania Navy (13 per cent). The functional structure of the Bulgarian army included gradual reaction forces (high-readiness and low-readiness forces), and long-term build-up forces. The period 2011–12 was announced in the FSR as the next step for strategic and doctrinal ‘over build-up’. In February 2011, the Bulgarian National Assembly approved a new National Security Strategy,38 while in April the Council of Ministers approved a Defence Strategy of the Republic of Bulgaria for the period until 2020. On 30 January 2012 a new Armed Forces Doctrine was announced, followed in the same year by seven other military doctrinal documents. In June 2011, the National Assembly voted for the (p.274) first Law on the Military Police, in February 2012, The Armed Forces Reserves Act, and finally—after three years of disputes—the Law on Military Intelligence was approved in November 2015.39 Thus, during the second stage of military transformation the leading normative frames were finally approved, while the other principal task for armed forces modernization still needed to be accomplished in the next third stage. Strategic Perspectives for Full Integration: The Third Stage

The last significant reform of the strategic defence documents in Bulgaria was carried out in 2015–16, following the completion of the Strategic Defence Review between late 2013 and early 2014. On 30 September 2015, the Bulgarian government adopted the Programme for the Development of the Defence Capabilities of the Bulgarian Armed Forces 2020 and, on 30 December 2015, the Plan for the Development of the Armed Forces‐2020.40 It was underlined that in 2015 the state and number of the Bulgarian armed forces had reached ‘the lowest critical level’. According to these documents, in the period from 2016 to 2018, urgent measures should be taken for ‘defence stabilization’. It was prescribed that in 2018 a new Strategic Defence Review was to be carried out, and in 2019–20 the second stage of modernization was to be launched. The documents confirmed that the number of the Bulgarian armed forces should not be below 37,000, and no more than 40,000 personnel. The prospects for the Bulgarian armed forces’ further transformation would require a move from structural reorganization to accelerating military modernization. With Resolution No. 283 of 13 April 2016, the government in Sofia approved the new National Defence Strategy of Bulgaria. It defined the increasing instability and unpredictability of the global and regional security environment, which required an ‘adaptation of the national security and defence system’. The determinant factor for the protection of the national interests would be ‘constructive cooperation’ within the international and regional formats and a priority development of the defence capabilities for the participation in missions and operations led by NATO, the EU, and other international and regional organizations. For the first time in the post-cold war era, the potential participation of the Bulgarian armed forces inside the national territory in ‘crisis Page 12 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania situations and incidents’ and in case of ‘migrant crises’ was defined as a task by the document.41 According to the White Paper on Defence, published in Bucharest in 2011, the strength of the Romanian armed forces in 2010 was about 90,000 servicemen, 60,000 of whom were active forces and 30,000 territorial reserves. The Joint Forces comprised in that time of 13,500 personnel: Land Forces—43,000, Air Force—9,700, and Naval Forces—7,150 personnel. In June 2015, the new Romanian president Klaus Johannis proposed a draft of the National Defence Strategy42 for the period 2015–19. The document introduced the concept of ‘extended security’, evaluating also aspects related to public policy, the economy, infrastructure, education, health, environment, and culture, because ‘they all impact on national security’. The strategy stated: ‘National security cannot be ensured individually by (p.275) a sole state, the new challenges of the security environment require effective and efficient collaboration within international cooperation mechanisms and formats’. On 9 September 2015, the next White Paper on Defence was also announced.43 The organizational build-up of the Romanian armed forces for the next ten years was planned in Programme Force 2027, a new strategic planning document issued at the beginning of 2016. The two leading strategic priorities were determined as: ‘A. Continuing transformation of the Romanian Armed Forces; B. Operationalization and ensuring the optimal functioning of Allied command and control structures built on Romanian territory’. Thus, the Romanian and Bulgarian state and military leaderships outlined their views on the development of their armed forces in middle term (up to 2020) and long term (up to 2025 for Bulgaria and 2027 for Romania) perspectives. The first decade after the accession of Bulgaria and Romania to NATO and the EU was much more difficult for the transformation process of the armed forces in the two Balkan countries than it had initially been foreseen. The leading factor for this was the global financial and economic crisis; however, of great importance were also the internal political instability and the significant new security risks and threats that appeared in the beginning of the second decades of the twenty-first century.

Regional Cooperation: South-Eastern Europe and the Black Sea Region Being a part of the Euro-Atlantic defence and security community, Romania and Bulgaria focused their attention on more intensive multilateral and regional cooperation inside the neighbouring areas. Initially, in accordance with their own defence capabilities, the two countries launched some new initiatives in the Balkans, while at the beginning of the twenty-first century they expanded the scope of their activities, sending military contingents in peace-support missions to the wider Middle East region. The newly evolving security situation with the Ukrainian crisis in 2014 led them to revisit their regional security

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Bulgaria and Romania responsibilities and to start new cooperative security initiatives in the Black Sea area with their allies in NATO. Inside the Euro-Atlantic Security System

Since joining NATO in April 2004, Romania and Bulgaria have focused the activity of their armed forces on ensuring intensive international defence cooperation within the NATO and EU security frameworks and in a regional format. Even before joining the NATO, in 2002–3 the governments of the two Balkan countries took decisions to provide two air force bases on the Black Sea coast—in Burgas (Sarafovo) and Constanta (Mihail Kogalniceanu)—for the needs of the US air force involved in the ‘Enduring Freedom’ military operation in Afghanistan. Besides the missions in Afghanistan and Iraq, the (p.276) Romanian and Bulgarian armed forces also took part in other NATO-led operations, such as ‘Active Endeavour’ in the eastern Mediterranean and ‘Unified Protector’ in Libya. Since the first EU peace-support mission ‘Concordia’ in 2003, military contingents, experts, or observers from the two Balkan countries have taken part in more than thirty EU-led missions. They have also contributed to some projects and activities under the NATO ‘Smart Defence’ and EU ‘Pooling and Sharing’ initiatives. In 2011, Romania was the first East European partner state to sign an agreement with the United States on joining the initiative to establish a NATO ballistic air defence system in Europe. US Aegis Ashore ballasting air defence intercepting system components were stationed at the 99th Romanian air force base in Deveselu, which was officially opened on 18 December 2015 and became fully operational in May 2016. At the NATO summit in Warsaw in July 2016, a new initiative was announced— to set up a multinational framework brigade in Romania. The NATO Headquarters Multinational Brigade South-East, located in Craiova, declared initial operating capability in April 2017. The force was initially built around a Romanian brigade of up to 4,000 soldiers, supported by troops from nine other NATO countries and complementing a separate deployment of 900 US troops.44 In 2006, Bulgaria and Romania also joined the EU Battlegroups concept. The first Balkan Battlegroup ‘HELBROC’, with participating troops from Greece, Romania, Bulgaria, and Cyprus,45 was made effective in July 2007, while in 2010 another EU Battlegroup with troops from Italy, Romania, and Turkey was formed too. In 2011, Bulgaria and Romania established a joint Defence Advisory Group (DAG).46 Another form of regional trans-border defence cooperation was the establishment of joint military units, such as the Joint Peacekeeping Hungarian– Romanian Battalion, created in 2000. Two years later, a multinational engineer battalion, TISA, was established with the participation of units from Romania, Hungary, Slovakia, and Ukraine.

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Bulgaria and Romania Regional Defence and Security Cooperation: The Near Neighbourhood

In parallel to the Euro-Atlantic accession process, Romania and Bulgaria intensified their new ‘defence diplomacy’ efforts of confidence-building measures and multilevel military cooperation in two neighbouring directions— the West Balkans and Black Sea areas. In July 1996, on the initiative of the Bulgarian government, the regional organization Process of Cooperation in South-East Europe (SEECP) was launched in Sofia to involve twelve countries in the neighbouring area. The main purpose of this initiative was to create an atmosphere of trust, good neighbourhood relations, and stability in the region. The management was performed on a rotational basis with the organization of annual meetings of the state and government leaders, as well as the foreign ministers of the participating countries. The important SEECP initiative was announced at the annual meeting in Sofia in (p.277) February 2008 with the creation of the Regional Cooperation Council (RCC). It replaced the Stability Pact for South-Eastern Europe from June 1999. In March 1996, Tirana, Albania, hosted the first joint meeting of defence ministers and chiefs of general staffs of the Balkan countries, where the beginning of another regional organization South-Eastern Europe Defence Ministerial (SEDM) was established.47 During the third meeting of the defence ministers from south-east Europe in September 1998, an agreement was signed on the establishment of the Multinational Peace Force South-Eastern Europe. The HQ of the multinational brigade (MPFSEE, known as SEEBRIG), designed for use in humanitarian assistance, conflict prevention, maintenance, and enforcement of peace, was rotating, with a four-year term. As a result of an agreement with the United States, in February 2006 the staff of SEEBRIG were stationed for six months in the Afghan capital as the HQ of the multinational brigade ‘Kabul’ (KMNB) directly under the command of the NATO-led multinational ISAF mission. Another initiative in the regional security field was the creation in 2001 of the task force for naval cooperation in the Black Sea (BLACKSEAFOR). This multinational group was also intended to be used in rescue, humanitarian, environmental, and other naval operations. The BLACKSEAFOR initiative involved Bulgaria, Georgia, Romania, Russia, Turkey, and Ukraine with their vessels.48 In 2003, an integrated centre for coordination and information in the Black Sea region began to operate in Burgas. The combination of ‘bottom-up’ and ‘top-down’ partnerships in the Balkans and the Black Sea area catalysed the tendencies of transformation towards an EU-compatible subregion.

Conclusion The evolution of the national defence systems in Romania and Bulgaria in the post-cold-war era was characterized by several complex and interdependent trends of geopolitical and strategic reorientation and security and military Page 15 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania transformation. Those processes were significantly influenced by the priority of NATO and EU membership, at a time when the two organizations went through their own internal transformation and functional reorientation. Thus, the inclusion in the Euro-Atlantic security system for Romania and Bulgaria was a process that meant both changing and adapting to integration. The radical social changes at the time, with the accompanying economic problems, aggravated the situation, slowing down the necessary modernization and restructuring of the armed forces. They also interfered with cooperation with the partner armies in NATO and the EU. Additional obstacles in that evolution were the lack of a relevant doctrinal and normative base and experience in multinational peace missions, which should be basic (p.278) requirements in the process of integration. In spite of these serious challenges, the military in Bulgaria and Romania managed to undertake several stages of gradual transformation and to contribute both to their own national security and stability, and to a more peaceful and stable environment in the neighbouring regions. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Ionescu, Mihail (ed.), Romania–NATO. Chronology: 1989–2004 (Bucharest: Military Publishing House, 2004). Minchev, Ognyan, et al. (eds), Bulgaria for NATO 2002 (Sofia: IRIS, 2002). National Security Strategy of the Republic of Bulgaria (Sofia: National Assembly, 2011). Programme for the Development of the Defence Capabilities of the Bulgarian Armed Forces 2020 (Sofia: Council of Ministers, 2015). The Republic of Bulgaria’s Armed Forces Development Plan (Sofia: Ministry of Defence, 2010). Romanian Defence 2013 (Bucharest: Ministry of National Defence, 2013). A Strong Romania within Europe and the World: National Defense Strategy 2015–2019 (Bucharest: Ministry of National Defence, 2015). White Paper on Defence (Sofia: Ministry of Defence, 2002). White Paper on Defence and the Armed Forces of the Republic of Bulgaria (Sofia: National Assembly, 2010). White Paper on Defense–Romania (Bucharest: Ministry of National Defence, 2016). Page 16 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania Notes:

(1) See Alexander Alexiev, Romania and the Warsaw Pact: The Defensive Policy of a Reluctant Ally, P-6270 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, January 1979); Jordan Baev, ‘The Warsaw Pact and Southern Tier Conflicts, 1959–1969’, in Mary Ann Heiss and S. Victor Papacosma (eds), NATO and the Warsaw Pact: Intrabloc Conflicts (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2008), 198–203. (2) Ronald Bachman, Romania: A Country Study (Washington: Library of Congress R613, 1990), 269–74. (3) For more details about the structures, number, and armament of Bulgarian armed forces in the cold-war years, see Jordan Baev, ‘Komunisticheskoto upravlenie I sistemata za nacionalna sigurnost I otbrana v Balgaria’ [The Communist Rule and the National Security and Defence System in Bulgaria 1944–1989], in Izsledvania po istoria na socializma v Balgaria [Studies on the History of Socialism in Bulgaria], ii (Sofia: Grafimaks, 2010), 368–72. (4) One of the imperative requirements in the recruitment of the officers corps from the late 1940s until the 1990s was ‘loyalty’ and ‘fidelity’ to the ruling Communist Party. Even the junior officers, who were still not promoted to party membership, had to be active members of the youth Communist organization (Komsomol). (5) e.g. Jordan Baev (ed.), Bulgaria in the Warsaw Pact (Sofia: B-M Publishing House, 2000); Dennis Deletant and Mihail Ionescu (eds), Romania and the Warsaw Pact (Bucharest: Institute for Political Study of Defense and Military History, 2002); Vojtech Mastny and Malcolm Byrne (eds), A Cardboard Castle? An Inside History of the Warsaw Pact, 1955–1991 (New York: CEU Press, 2005). (6) The Romanian annual reports have been available for the public since 2004, and from 2010 they were published after approval by the National Assembly in Monitorul Oficial. In Bulgaria, the annual reports were larger in size (about 40– 70 pages) and were published from 2009 onwards on the Council of Ministers and Ministry of Defence websites even before their approval by the National Assembly. They were never published in the official State Gazette (Darzhaven vestnik). All data related to the armed forces personnel and military budgets used in the chapter are taken and compared from these annual reports and the White Papers on Defence of both countries. They have also been checked with the digital database of the National Statistical Institute in Sofia. (7) In 1990–92, before the final division of this country into two independent states, its name was officially changed from Czechoslovakia to Czecho-Slovakia. (8) Diplomatic Archive of Ministry of Foreign Affairs (DA), Sofia, Opis 47–10, A.E. 34, 10, 32–5.

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Bulgaria and Romania (9) DA, Opis 47–10, A.E. 32, 30–41; Opis 48–10, A.E. 44, 2–23. (10) Jordan Baev, Sistemata za evropeiska sigurnost i Balkanite v godinite na Studenata voina [European Security System and the Balkans in the Cold War Years] (Sofia: Damyan Yakov Publishers, 2010), 402–6. (11) Darzhaven vestnik [State Gazette], Sofia, 56, 13 July 1991; Monitorul Oficial, Bucharest, no. 233, 21 November 1991. (12) Zoltan Barany, ‘East European Armed Forces in Transitions and Beyond’, East European Quarterly 26, no. 1 (1992), 1–30; Richard Cupitt, ‘The Political Economy of Arms Exports in Post-Communist Societies’, Communist and PostCommunist Studies 26, no. 1 (1993), 87–103. (13) Romania was the only former Warsaw Pact country that increased its defence budget in 1991 because of the still preserved military doctrine for ‘Entire People’s War’ and the concerns of the ruling elites of possible escalation of the ethnic conflicts in the near neighbourhood. (14) Summarized comparative data about the defence expenditures in Bulgaria and Romania for the period 1990–2010, based on SIPRI, NATO, and other sources, can be found in: Sabi Sabev, Voennata transformatsia v novite strainclenki na NATO [The Military Transformation in the New NATO Member States] (Sofia: Voenna Akademia, 2011), 165–6. (15) Monitorul Oficial, 163, 7 August 1991. (16) Monitorul Oficial, 172, 7 July 1994. (17) Darzhaven vestnik [State Gazette], Sofia, 112, 27 December 1995. The Law came into force in February 1996. In the period 1996–2008, more than 30 amendments were made to the Law before voting for a new one in 2009. (18) Copies of the drafts are kept in the author’s personal records. The registered originals may be found in the National Assembly archives. (19) DA, Opis 48–10, A.E. 24, 130–3. (20) Bulgaria, France, Greece, Romania, Russia, Turkey, Ukraine, and the United States. (21) Jordan Baev, ‘NATO na Balkanite’ [NATO in the Balkans], in Alexander Kostov and Ekaterina Nikova (eds), Balkanite prez parvoto desetiletie na 21 vek [The Balkans in the First Decade of the 21st C.] (Sofia: Paradigma, 2012), 65–6. (22) See Mihail Ionescu (ed.), Romania–NATO. Chronology: 1989–2004 (Bucharest: Military Publishing House, 2004).

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Bulgaria and Romania (23) State Gazette, 38, 13 May 1997. (24) State Gazette, 46, 22 April 1998. (25) Voenna doktrina na Republika Balgaria [Military Doctrine of Republic of Bulgaria] (Sofia: Ministry of Defence Publishing House, 1999). The Military Doctrine was re-edited in February 2002. On its basis the General Staff of Bulgarian armed forces approved in 2002 the first Military Strategy of the armed forces. (26) White Paper on Defence (Sofia: Ministry of Defence, 2002). (27) Monitorul Oficial, 822, 20 December 2001. The changes were proposed by the new Romanian President Ion Iliescu, who had replaced his predecessor, Emil Constantinescu, a year earlier. (28) It was amended in 2004 with a new Law No. 473, which introduced the planning, programming, budgeting, and evaluation system. (29) The Plan‐2015 was revised after realization of the next SDR in 2008. (30) Monitorul Oficial, 220, 10 March 2006; 654, 21 July 2006. (31) Monitorul Oficial, 399, 28 November 2008. (32) The Republic of Bulgaria’s Armed Forces Development Plan (Sofia: Ministry of Defence, 2010). (33) According to the annual reports for 2009–16. For the planned increase of the state budget for defence expenditure for 2017 up to 1.65 per cent of the national GDP, see State Gazette, 98, 9 December 2016. (34) White Paper on Defense (Bucharest: Ministry of National Defense, 2016), 59. (35) State Gazette, 35, 2 May 2009. In the following seven years, the Bulgarian National Assembly approved almost thirty corrections and amendments to the text of that law; the first four corrections were proposed by the newly elected government at the end of 2009. The last significant amendment from March 2016 was urgently proposed because of the strong migration wave at the EU and Bulgarian borders with Turkey; it permits the Bulgarian army to support the actions of border police with servicemen and military techniques against illegal infiltration of refugees or unidentified groups inside the national territory of the country. (36) The White Paper on Defence and Armed Forces of Republic of Bulgaria (Sofia: Ministry of Defence, 2010), 16. (37) The Republic of Bulgaria’s Armed Forces Development Plan, 3. Page 19 of 20

 

Bulgaria and Romania (38) State Gazette, 19, 8 March 2011. (39) State Gazette, 48, 24 June 2011; 20, 9 March 2012; 88, 13 November 2015. (40) State Gazette, 93, 1 December 2015; 3, 12 January 2016. (41) Natsionalna otbranitelna strategia [National Defence Strategy] (Sofia: Council of Ministers, 2016), 7–8. (42) Monitorul Oficial, 450, 23 June 2015. (43) The document was officially approved with Resolution no. 12 of 11 April 2016 by the Romanian Senate and Chamber of Deputies. (44) (accessed 1 December 2017). (45) In the period 2011–14 troops from Ukraine also attended HELBROC BG activities. (46) Since 2011 another initiative in the spirit of EU cross-border cooperation and the concept of single European space was launched by Romania and Bulgaria—the DANUBE Functional Airspace Base. (47) For more information on these regional organizations, see Jordan Baev, ‘The “Out of Area” Euro-Atlantic Missions: Some Implications for Bulgarian Participation in the Black Sea Security Cooperation’, in Corina Vladu (ed.), Security and Stability in the Black Sea Area (Bucharest: National Defence University ‘Carol I’ Publishing House, 2005), 112–24. (48) As a result of the Russian–Georgian armed conflict, in 2008 Georgia withdrew its units from BLACKSEAFOR, but returned in 2011. After the incident with the shot-down Russian aircraft SU-24M in November 2015, the Russian authorities suspended their participation in BLACKSEAFOR.

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia Michal Onderco

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0016

Abstract and Keywords This chapter focuses on defence transformations in the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Hungary since the end of the cold war. The three lesser powers of Central Europe all eventually joined NATO and the European Union, following the fall of the Iron Curtain. The process they underwent completely transformed their security strategies and military doctrines, but the plans to transform their military forces have developed slowly, and the actual process has been interrupted and incomplete. This chapter addresses the development of civil– military relations, the main milestones in the development of the respective states’ national security policies, and the main changes in the structure of military forces in each of these countries. Finally, the chapter looks at the nascent trends towards military cooperation between the three countries, including military sharing and joint procurement. Keywords:   Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, military transformation, armed forces

Introduction THE end of the cold war presented the militaries of the former Central European satellites of the Soviet Union with a unique challenge. They were uniquely well positioned to develop further mutual cooperation on favourable grounds: they were all facing a similar geopolitical puzzle—their former patron was disintegrating rather fast; the transformation process they had to undergo was similar in all of them; their military plans had all the same flaws, as all Warsaw Treaty Organization members had to prepare for the same deployment scenario (invading the West); their equipment was identical (not merely interoperable, as was the case with the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO)); and their Page 1 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia armed forces had been training together for decades. And yet, despite great potential for mutual cooperation, these countries’ leadership opted for championing the domestic industry and for addressing military issues on a national basis. The result of this process, after almost thirty years, is that their armies are still in an incomplete and slow process of transformation. Hence, this chapter tells a story about the transformation of the armed forces in the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia since the end of the cold war. The needs for transformation were numerous at the time of Communism’s collapse. The armies needed to be depoliticized. In Czechoslovakia, the Main Political Administration, the political bureau attached to the military units at regional and central levels, was disbanded in order to cut off the link between the Communist Party and the military forces.1 In 1992, the Czechoslovak Federal Assembly passed a law banning membership of political parties for soldiers, another step aimed at depoliticizing the armed forces.2 Similar (p.280) laws were passed in Hungary, where the paramilitary troops established by the former Communist regime were disbanded, too.3 Another challenge was the collapse of heavy industry, in particular in former Czechoslovakia. The decline had already started in the last years of Communist rule. The defence cuts in the Soviet Union during Gorbachev’s reign translated into lower demand for heavy weaponry produced in Czechoslovakia.4 While research and development had been concentrated in the Soviet Union, the local military complex provided an important source of employment and income. The fall of Communism meant an almost complete collapse of the Czechoslovak defence industry, which was heavily export dependent (about 80 per cent of the production was exported to Warsaw Treaty Organization states and friendly developing countries).5 Between 1989 and 1990, 80 per cent of customers disappeared when the former Soviet clients in the developing countries were free to choose their supplier.6 Another dent in the Czechoslovak defence industry was provided by Iraq, a major importer of Soviet-designed, Czechoslovak-produced heavy weaponry prior to the First Gulf War. The quick collapse of Iraq’s army and the obvious superiority of the Western military during the First Gulf War further dampened interest in military products from Czechoslovakia.7 By the time that Czechoslovakia split in 1993, its defence industry had basically disintegrated.8 A painful process of transformation ensued, an important element of which was the NATO accession by the Czech Republic and Hungary in 1999 and by Slovakia in 2004. This chapter provides an overview of the challenge of transforming the armed forces in former Soviet satellites in Central Europe—the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia. The first section discusses the development of civil– military relations in all three countries after the collapse of Communism, as this laid the ground for further transformation of armed forces. The second section consequently debates the strategic thinking in these countries. The third section focuses on development and modernization of the armed forces. Low levels of defence spending have plagued Central Europe since 1989, which translated Page 2 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia into a slow process of rearmament and resulted in armies that still largely rely on cold war weaponry based on Soviet designs. At the same time, it discusses the deployments of armed forces abroad, which is the task for which these armed forces prepare. The final section will discuss nascent trends in cooperation in defence matters in Central Europe, particularly in the framework of the so-called Visegrád arrangement. Despite the ample possibilities for cooperation stemming from similarity (of equipment, training, and doctrine) at the end of the cold war, the early divergence led to a situation where cooperation remains limited.

(p.281) Civil–Military Relations The transformation of military leadership in the post-Communist era was a crucial step in the development of the armed forces. Prior to 1989, civilian input in defence matters was limited, and military matters were mostly decided by the armed forces themselves.9 The increased input of the civilians was at first met with scepticism and distrust from the military professionals, but the involvement of civilians in security and defence has been on a steady rise. Furthermore, influential local analysts frequently enter the civil service at a senior rank, and senior officials often turn to important think tanks after leaving the world of politics, and vice versa (a model not too different from the Beltway think tanks). The following subsections describe the development of the civilian control of the armed forces in the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia. Czech Republic

Establishing civilian leadership of the armed forces and replacing the allegiance the military had to the Communist Party with support for the newly formed democratic government proved a challenge in the early days of post-Communist development. One of the first challenges in establishing oversight was to give the parliament the right to review the military budget, spending, its compliance with law, and levels of preparedness.10 As was the case in Hungary (to be discussed in the next subsection), in the then Czechoslovakia mistrust between civilians and military professionals in the area of security and defence was running high.11 The mistrust deepened further in 1990, when Czechoslovakia deployed a force of 200 soldiers during ‘Desert Shield’, the first active battlefield mission since the end of the Second World War. These soldiers, specialists in chemical defence, were deployed in Saudi Arabia. However, one of the units crossed into Kuwait during one of the operations, following the orders of the unit commander. The action, which was in violation of the unit’s mandate, created a shock in Prague. Upon their return, the unit members were denied military honours, and most of them left the army. The incident left a deep scar on the relations between civilian leadership and military professionals.12 The legal framework gives considerable power to the executive. The constitution formally distributes power over the armed forces between the president, the government, and parliament. The president acts as the supreme commander of Page 3 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia the armed forces, and appoints the Chief of the General Staff. The government makes decisions about defence-related matters, which need to be approved by parliament, which also approves legislation and budget. Since independence, all Czech defence ministers have been civilian, though (p.282) some of them have had a military background: Jaroslav Tvrdík (2001–3) and Miroslav Kostelka (2003–4) were officers; Vlastimil Picek (2013–14) was a former Chief of the General Staff. Despite the increasing number of civilians working at the Ministry of Defence, sceptical voices point out that many of these civilians are retired military professionals, and therefore the influence of civilians over the Czech military is ultimately hard to gauge.13 Hungary

On the eve of the democratic revolution, the situation in Hungary was different from that in Czechoslovakia. The Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party had been increasingly reformist in the late 1980s, and in early 1989 the reformist wing within the party took over.14 The military in Hungary was not trusted. Public opinion saw that the army had not been on the winning side in any war since 1487 and hence did not deserve much credit. The population mistrusted the armed forces for their participation in the suppression of the 1956 uprising, and the politicians mistrusted the army because parts of it had actively participated in the uprising.15 As a result, the politicians limited investment, and the public did not demand it. Hence, the Hungarian armed forces had been underequipped and poorly trained since 1960s. The Workers’ Guards, a paramilitary arm of the party, was established in 1957. One of the first steps in post-Communist political development was the abolition of the Workers’ Guards, the disbanding of its corps, and the integration of its equipment into the regular armed forces. The constitutional arrangements of 1989 were intended to shift power to the civilian leadership, but the exact delineation of powers between the commander of the armed forces and the Chief of Staff was settled only in two successive lawsuits before the Constitutional Court in 1991 and 1992, which led to the merger of the two positions.16 As in Czechoslovakia, the mistrust between the military and civilians ran deep, as military professionals had been deeply suspicious of all civilians interested in security even before 1989. However, by the time of NATO accession in 1999, the number of civilians in the defence ministry had started to increase, and mistrust dissipated.17 Of all the three countries discussed in this chapter, Hungary has the most restrictive legal framework for the deployment of troops abroad. It is the only country from these three that requires ex-ante approval by parliament for any deployment of troops abroad.18 This does not apply to missions deployed as a part of NATO or the European Union (EU)—the required provisions were amended after the NATO Secretary General (p.283) Lord Robinson complained about Hungary’s inability to participate in NATO missions. This legal framework Page 4 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia gives the parliament more power compared to other Central European countries, but the legal developments have strengthened the powers of the executive over time, so that there are more possibilities for it to deploy troops without legislative approval.19 Slovakia

Compared to the situation in the Czech Republic and Hungary, the build-up of the Slovak armed forces was an exercise of a different sort. The formation of armed forces required the redeployment of the assets formerly held by the Czechoslovak army to the territory of Slovakia. A complete reconstruction of the armed forces (from apartments for officers to military education) took place, and former Czechoslovak soldiers who swore allegiance to the newly born Slovak Republic by the end of January 1993 were redeployed.20 The defence ministry was predominantly staffed with military professionals, a trend that continued for an extended period of time. As opposed to Hungary, where the army did not enjoy popular support, the army in Slovakia was seen as highly credible. By staying out of the political battles, the army became one of the most trusted institutions in Slovakia in the mid-1990s.21 With the constitutional arrangements making the president the commander of the armed forces, the battles between the president and the prime minister in the late 1990s during the Mečiar administration were also tussles over the authority over defence.22 Once Mečiar had been voted out of office in 1998, however, the relations quietened down, and the distribution of power ceased to be a contentious issue. Three Ministers of Defence had previously been professional soldiers: the first minister, Imrich Andrejčák (1993– 4, a former general), František Kašický (2006–8, a former military intelligence officer and defence diplomat), and Peter Gajdoš (from 2016, a former deputy Chief of the General Staff). Until 2001, Slovakia had a very restrictive legal framework for the deployment of troops abroad, similar to that of Hungary. However, the constitutional amendment adopted in 2001 eased the conditions, and since then the government has had much more autonomous power to approve the deployment of troops. The war powers of the Slovak parliament, inspired by the US Congress, are similar to those of the Czech parliament and allow the government to deploy troops for sixty days without consulting parliament. While parliament needs to vote on the deployment of troops abroad, it has no power to veto government proposals (or to recall troops) when treaty obligations are being fulfilled, as in NATO operations.23

(p.284) Defence Policy and Threat Assessment Up until 2015, the strategic documents of all three countries were very similar— with the risk of armed conflict considered to be low and the focus on distant asymmetric threats. The increased instability in Ukraine and Russia’s new Page 5 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia assertiveness have led to some updates of strategy in the Czech Republic and Slovakia, but not in Hungary, which is yet to develop a strategic response to the new security environment. Preparation for expeditionary deployments against irregular forces has thus also influenced the ways in which the armed forces of these countries have been modernized. Czech Republic

Czech strategic documents published up to 2015 resemble each other more than they differ, even though ‘updating’ previous documents was frequently given as the motivation for issuing new ones.24 Since independence, all strategic documents produced in the Czech Republic considered the international environment to be relatively stable and secure and the risk of an attack on the country to be small.25 For example, the Security Strategy of the Czech Republic, published in 2003, rejects the idea that the territory of the Czech Republic or any of its allies could be directly attacked.26 Similarly, Czech military doctrines consider the possibility of deployment of armed forces to be only abroad, against non-state actors, in low-intensity conflicts, and under the aegis of international law.27 The Security Strategy published in 2015 breaks with the past in many ways. First, it acknowledges that the security situation in Europe has deteriorated significantly. Secondly, while maintaining that a direct attack against the Czech Republic remains unlikely, it recognizes that ‘a direct threat to some NATO or EU member states cannot be excluded’. Among the sources of threats, it lists the ‘power aspiration of some states, which increasingly stop respecting international order and the basic principles of international law’, in a not-toohidden nod to Russia. While the Security Information Service, the domestic intelligence service, has gained fame for repeatedly singling out Russia as an active intelligence player in the Czech Republic,28 the strategic documents did not consider the threat until 2015. Furthermore, the strategy calls for decreasing economic dependence on countries that could create security threats for the Czech Republic. The strategy also gives (p.285) increased importance to the armed forces and calls for joint acquisition programmes to gain capabilities otherwise unavailable to the country.29 Hungary

Hungarian strategic documents hail back to the 1995 Defence Reform Plan. The purpose of this plan was essentially to decide how to deal with the legacies of the cold war (especially in terms of equipment and personnel) and how to build up the armed forces. The plan recognized that the armed forces needed to be smaller, while duplication needed to be removed.30 The Defence Reform Plan’s update, the National Security Strategy of 2004, adopted after the accession of the country to NATO and the EU, recognizes the challenges identified in both NATO’s Strategic Concept of 1999 and the European Security Strategy of 2003. While the Hungarian document recognizes the importance of the EU’s Common Page 6 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia Foreign and Security Policy, it considers NATO as the primary forum for security cooperation.31 Like the strategic documents adopted in the Czech Republic, the Hungarian strategic documents have considered the security environment to be stable and risks towards the country’s security to be low. The 2012 Security Strategy continues this pattern. It highlights that the democratization and spread of the EU and NATO in the country’s neighbourhood meant that the security situation was ‘basically stable’, with the risk of conventional armed attack on Hungary or any of its allies being minimal.32 Despite this observation, the strategy highlights the need to strengthen the capabilities for territorial defence and the ability to participate in international missions, including the capacity to take part in highintensity operations.33 Startlingly, despite recent developments in the East, the official documents do not reflect any perception of the threat from Russia. In striking opposition to the Czech Republic and Slovakia, Hungarian official documents have not been updated to reflect the developments in Ukraine and Crimea. Slovakia

The first Slovak strategic document adopted after independence was the 1994 Defence Doctrine. The document was tailored towards Slovakia’s participation in NATO’s Partnership for Peace programme, and above all underscored the goal of integration with the West. The EU and NATO are, in this document, described as the ‘area [to which Slovakia] is connected historically and by civilization’.34 The security strategy was developed in 2001 (p.286) and updated in 2005, and had not been revised by 2016. It is, therefore, an outdated document today. Though a White Paper on Defence was published in 2013, this document focuses largely on the next steps in the armed forces’ development and does not provide strategic guidance. The 2005 Security Strategy, similarly to the documents published in the Czech Republic and Hungary, considers the risk of direct military threat as low. While generally understood as a modern and far-sighted document (it already discusses cyber threats, for example), it still focuses on terrorism and the threats posed by the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction.35 It stresses Slovakia’s reliance on NATO for the country’s defence, and singles out the United States as the country’s ‘strategic ally’.36 The calls for a new document have been forthcoming from think-tank analysts and former officials, who highlight the outdated opinion of the main threats to Slovakia’s security, and emphasize the need to consider the new instability in the East.37 The March 2016 Government Manifesto lists ‘instability in the East’ as one of the main threats to Slovakia’s security.38 In September 2016, the government adopted a new White Book on Defence, which explicitly recognized the new threat from Russia. This document also contains a long list of new equipment that should be procured, partially in response to the EU sanctions on Russian goods.39

Modernization of Armed Forces Page 7 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia The armed forces of the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia faced similar problems at the beginning of their transformation: the equipment, inherited from the Communist-era Warsaw Pact armies, was focused on fighting a conventional war in Europe, and consisted primarily of heavy machinery. The number of personnel was inflated and top heavy, with a significant proportion made up of conscripts. The transformation of armed forces, therefore, focused on both rearmament as well as downsizing. The modernization was driven by the need to replace ageing infrastructure and machine, but more importantly by the need to respond to the new strategic priorities. All these countries abolished conscription and moved towards a model with fully professional armies.40 For example, between 1993 and 2015, Slovakia downsized its military personnel by 64 per cent, and reduced the number of tanks by 97 per cent and of fighter jets by 92 per cent. At the same time, the three countries cut their defence expenditure from cold war levels to arrive at levels that are well below the 2 per cent commitment made by NATO countries. (p.287) Figure 15.1 shows that military spending in these countries has been decreasing as a share of GDP since 1993 (there are no prior reliable crossnational data including these countries). The trend was further accelerated after the onset of the financial crisis in 2008, and by 2015 the three countries were all spending around 1 per cent of their national GDPs on defence. The Czech Republic made the second largest defence cuts among NATO members as a response to the financial crisis of 2008, behind Romania.41 However, in December 2014, a political agreement was made among the Czech political parties to stabilize defence spending and ultimately to start increasing it.42 Hungary spent the least—the annual defence budget in 2015 was around 0.7 per cent of the country’s GDP.43 The structure of spending confounds the problem. The major part of the defence budgets is spent on personnel. In the Czech Republic, about half of the defence expenditure since independence has been spent on personnel, and in 2012 the share increased to 60 per cent. The situation is similar in Hungary, where 54 per cent of military spending went to personnel in 2015. However, the situation is the worst in Slovakia—70 per cent of the country’s military expenditure went dropped to 61 per cent in 2015.

44

Figure 15.1. Military spending by NATO members, 1993–2015. Source: SIPRI, SIPRI Military Expenditure Database (2016), (accessed 11 May 2016).

to personnel in 2013, though the share

Figure 15.2 illustrates this trend. While the

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia part of the budget allocated to operations, maintenance, and research and development has hovered steadily at about 20–30 per cent, the spending on equipment has been steadily decreasing. Whereas in the early days after independence these countries spent as much as 20 per cent of their defence budget on equipment, the share has fallen to around 10 per cent over time. (p.288) Czech Republic

The Czech armed forces went through a process of downsizing of personnel and heavy machinery as they focused on the process of restructuring. The process of reform and restructuring has intensified since the country entered NATO. As a result, the Czech armed forces are seen as very well trained and as possessing a high level of capability as a result both of reform and of deployment in missions in Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Iraq.45

Figure 15.2. Composition of defence spending, Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia, 1999–2014. Source: NATO, ‘Information on Defence Expenditures’, (accessed December 2017).

The 2011 White Paper concluded that the armed forces were operating at a budget deficit that was too high, and hence recommended further cuts to personnel and the abandonment of some procurement programmes; it was intended that some capabilities would be dropped. An important development was the adoption of a professional career path model, inspired by French law and practice.46 A decision was made to preserve supersonic aircraft, in spite of suggestions that this capability should be sacrificed.47 So a lease of Swedish Gripen aircraft continues to provide the capability. The initial contract, worth approximately $1 billion, was signed in 2004 for a period of ten years; this was extended in (p. 289) December 2014 until at least 2027.48 In 2015, the 4th Rapid Deployment Brigade became part of the NATO Response Force. Further political ambitions include the development of a brigade-sized task force to contribute to NATO’s Article V operations, and the preparation of troops for high-readiness tasks. Another aspiration is to have specialized troops for expert teams, including a chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear defence (CBRN) battalion. The 2014 political agreement to stabilize spending aimed to continue the modernization process, as well as decrease dependency on Russia for spare

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia parts. Armoured vehicles, mobile radars, and mortars are among the capabilities that are likely to benefit from the move.49 Hungary

At the time of NATO accession, the equipment of the Hungarian armed forces was approaching the end of its lifetime, and many assets were unavailable. Given the low spending on modernization, equipment has been lacking ever since, and Hungary made extensive use of second-hand equipment acquired free or at a nominal charge from allies.50 Like the Czech Republic, Hungary leases Gripen fighter jets. The Gripen, selected in 2001, entered service in Hungary in 2006 and will be used until at least 2026. Furthermore, Hungary hosts a multinational C-17 strategic airlift unit, which is based on an agreement signed in 2008 between the governments of Bulgaria, Estonia, Finland, Hungary, Lithuania, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Romania, Slovenia, Sweden, and the United States. The aircraft, delivered in 2009, can be used by EU, NATO, and UN missions.51 Land elements, nevertheless, remain centred around ageing equipment from the pre-1989 era. Acquisition plans centre on vehicle modernization, CBRN capabilities, and an upgrade of air defence capabilities. Hungary is also active in developing a cyber-security strategy (the Military Cyber Defence Concept), developed by the Ministry of Defence, led by the Office of the Prime Minister.52 Slovakia

The challenge of outdated Soviet-era equipment applies equally to Slovakia. The Strategic Defence Review, which started in late 2010 and culminated with many twists and turns in a 2013 White Paper, recommended restructuring the armed forces and matching the available financial means to the perceived security needs.53 The White Paper on Defence, adopted by the government in 2013, underscored that 70 per cent of land equipment was past its service life. The training of troops is focused on core national commitments to international operations, air defence (a NATO commitment), (p.290) and participation in international operations.54 Outside observers have noted that the ambitious modernization goals are hard to reconcile with limited budgets. Further investment is planned to concentrate on a small fighter and rotary-wing transport fleet, as well as on land equipment. In 2016, Slovakia received a delivery of nine Black Hawk helicopters.55 As opposed to the situation in Hungary and the Czech Republic, the debate about the future of supersonic aircraft has been left open. While the White Paper argued that keeping the capability was absolutely essential for maintaining the country’s air defence, low funding and reliance on twelve ageing Russian Mig-29 fighter jets has meant that the issue has been reopened time and again. One of the options discussed is to participate in a lease of Gripen jets from 2018, possibly jointly with the Czech Republic.56

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia In 2011, the Military Defence Intelligence and the Military Intelligence Service were merged, following a scandal when Military Intelligence Service assets were used to wiretap journalists (the scandal cost Defence Minister Galko his position). In 2012, military intelligence was again at the centre of a scandal when numerous embezzlement charges were raised. Though former high-level officers confirmed the accusations, the government dismissed the charges, and the former director of the Military Intelligence Service, together with another officer, were charged with leaking classified information.57 Worryingly, the lack of transformation and modernization has been partially blamed for extraordinarily high support for far-right and extremist groups among the armed forces in Slovakia. The Association of Slovak Soldiers, a veteran organization, is open in its pro-Russian and anti-NATO orientation, and extremist ideologies attract significant support among the military.58 In all three countries, the modernization of the armed forces has been erratic, and their armed forces continue to rely on equipment that is past its service life. In each of the countries, the heavy machinery from the cold war era has been downsized, but is yet to be replaced. The partial modernization has mainly reflected the priorities that arose from the commitments to multilateral deployments abroad, which strategic documents of all three countries consider as the only likely scenarios for deployment of armed forces.

Participation in Military Missions Abroad Deployment of troops abroad has been the only possibility seriously considered in the strategic documents in the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia since the end of the cold war. Participation in international crisis-management missions has been the chief task for which the armed forces of these countries have trained recently. We should therefore look (p.291) at the actual deployments of national troops abroad in missions, either as a part of coalitions of the willing, as a part of NATO, or in UN missions. Figure 15.3 demonstrates the active participation of these countries’ armed forces in diverse missions abroad. These decreased rapidly in 2013, when the ISAF mission in Afghanistan ended. Contributions are geographically concentrated in the Balkans, where most of the deployments were allocated, as well as Afghanistan and Iraq. The contributions to peacekeeping in Cyprus and on the Golan Heights have been considered a relatively risk-free, profile-raising enterprise.

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia All three countries participated in the NATO mission in Afghanistan—the Czech Republic provided at most 700 troops, while Hungary’s contingent was up to 550 troops and Slovakia’s troop contribution was 340 soldiers at its peak.59 The Czech contribution included logistical support, base protection, and special forces. Hungary contributed to special operations forces, too, whereas the Slovak contribution focused on base protection. All the countries also participated in the US-led coalition of the willing in Iraq. Furthermore, representatives of the Czech Republic and Hungary signed the so-called (p.292) Letter of Eight in support of the intervention, whereas the representatives of the Czech Republic and Slovakia signed the Vilnius Letter. Both of these letters have been seen as casting their lot with the United States as

Figure 15.3. Participation in international operations, Czechoslovakia/ Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia, 1990–2015. Sources: For data up to 2012, see Khusrav Gaibulloev et al., ‘Personnel Ccontributions to UN and Non-UN Peacekeeping Missions: A Public Goods Approach’, Journal of Peace Research, 52 (2015), 727–42. For data since 2012, see Margit Feher, ‘Hungary to Send up to 150 Troops to Iraq’, Wall Street Journal (2015), (accessed 11 May 2016); NATO, ‘Troop Numbers and Contributions (Resolute Support Placemat)’ (2016), , (accessed 11 May 2016); UN, ‘Troop and Police

Contributors Archive (1990–2014)’, opposed to Europe.60 In Iraq, United Nations Peacekeeping (2015), the Czech Republic provided (accessed 11 Slovakia chose to contribute May 2016). base protection forces, whereas the Hungarian military police were deployed to Iraq upon the request of the governments of the United States and the United Kingdom. The contribution to the war in Iraq was a major source of domestic debate in all the countries. In Hungary, the government had been very hesitant to contribute and permitted overflights of the country’s territory to the coalition only with heavy restrictions. The troops were withdrawn in 2005 after the change of government Page 12 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia in Hungary. However, Hungary has contributed to the anti-ISIS coalition by providing base protection in Erbil. Slovakia too contributed troops to the coalition of the willing in Iraq. However, in 2007, it withdrew its troops in the aftermath of a change of government. In addition to the participation in deployments, NATO Centres of Excellence (COE) have been established in each of these countries. In the Czech Republic, the Joint Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear Defence COE was established in 2007. Hungary has hosted the Military Medicine COE since 2009. Slovakia participates in the Counterintelligence COE in Poland, established in 2015, and has hosted the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) COE since 2011.61 In all three countries, the participation in NATO missions and in Iraq has been seen as contributing significantly to troop preparedness. Some of the countries also define their goals in terms of their ability to sustain operations abroad through rotations—in 2004 the Hungarian government stated its ambition was to be able to sustain 1,000 soldiers abroad,62 whereas the Czech government in 2011 stated its goal was to be able to participate in three military missions abroad simultaneously. The focus on participation in multilateral operations, where armed forces specialize in niche tasks (such as EOD or CBRN), suggests that the countries consider possible alliance needs, but also tailor their capability developments to those needs.

Nascent Defence Cooperation The Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovakia, and Poland form the so-called Visegrád group, established in 1991 by the Visegrád Declaration. The founding document of the group stipulates that ‘the similarity of the situation that has evolved over the past decades has determined for these three countries convergent basic objectives’.63 Though the (p.293) institutionalization of the group has been low, it continues to provide an important space for joint action in foreign and security policy.64 The idea for more cooperation between the Visegrád countries has been ongoing for some time, but it has only gained momentum since 2008, when austerity pushed the governments to think about ways to develop (or maintain) defence capabilities at a lower cost. The launch of a prominent report, ‘Surviving Austerity’, by the well-regarded analyst Tomáš Valášek (a former senior official in Slovakia’s Ministry of Defence, and Slovakia’s Permanent Representative to NATO in 2013–17) suggested that countries with similar strategic cultures, policy goals, mutual trust, and troops of a similar level may benefit from increased cooperation in order to survive austerity.65 The idea caught on in Central Europe, where it was developed in a Defence Austerity in the Visegrad Region (DAV4) research initiative led by four influential think tanks from Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland.66 Part of the inspiration came also from successful cooperation in Scandinavia, where the countries have Page 13 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia successfully cooperated on defence matters for an extended period of time. Analysts and policymakers alike spent significant time travelling to Scandinavian countries and meeting Scandinavian counterparts to learn about details (and pitfalls) of the cooperation before issuing the final report. Unsurprisingly, the analysts (many of whom were former or future high-level civil servants in the area of defence and security) argued for more cooperation between the four countries, and this for two reasons: they fulfilled Valášek’s above-mentioned criteria for ‘ripeness’ for cooperation; and the cooperation had the potential to strengthen their mutual ties and trust. The final report of the initiative matches a communiqué issued by the Ministers of Defence at their 2012 meeting in Litoměřice, which addressed the same goal —cooperating together on a range of well-defined tasks, including air controller training, CBRN capabilities, helicopter pilot training, logistics and medical teams, multinational experimentation, and training in explosive ordnance disposal.67 In 2014, the defence ministers of the Visegrád group published the ‘Long-Term Vision of the Visegrád Countries on Deepening their Defence Cooperation’, in which they highlighted three ‘critical areas’ for future cooperation: (a) capability development, (b) the establishment of multinational units and running cross-border activities, and (c) education, training, and exercise initiatives.68 Capability development was to focus on long-term planning with a view to achieving a convergence of defence plans, in line with NATO’s Defence Planning Process and with due attention to the Framework Nations Concept and NATO Force Structure. The vision also calls for exploiting the mechanisms provided by the NATO Support Agency and the European Defence Agency; while promoting the Visegrád (p.294) countries’ defence industry and turning it into a part of the European defence industrial base. In April 2015, this idea materialized in a proposal for an ‘advanced ground combat vehicle’ for the armed forces of the four countries.69 In practical terms, these initiatives turned into cooperation in training and education, on the one hand, and the development of the Visegrád Battlegroup battalion, on the other. The battalion, first discussed in 2011, has become the ‘linchpin for [the] defence cooperation’70 of the Visegrád countries. The Battlegroup was established to be on standby for the EU in the first half of 2016 and in the second half of 2019. The Battlegroup was certified in exercise ‘Common Challenge 2015’ (November 2015) in Poland. With a total of 2,500 soldiers, up to 1,200 are contributed by Poland, 700 by the Czech Republic, 450 by Hungary, and 400 by Slovakia. The establishment of this cooperation provides the most advanced type of mutual cooperation between the Visegrád countries. While the capabilities contributed to the Battlegroup already exist, the very idea of the structure is novel, and its implementation is an important step towards future cooperation.71 Poland’s suggestion to turn some of its elements (currently

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia temporary in nature) into a permanent standing capability has not yet been followed by other countries.72 Yet, beyond the establishment of the Battlegroup, cooperation between the countries proves difficult. Political goodwill was created and ambitious goals appeared in declarations, but ‘the big potential and expectations were not exactly fulfilled’, to quote the assessment by some of the report’s original authors. Budgetary constraints and national priorities were cited among the chief reasons for the lack of success.73 Hence, despite similar capability problems and the stated desire to cooperate, actual cooperation remains only partial and temporary.

Conclusion Since 1989, the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia have undergone a process of transformation of their armed forces. From the Communist era, these three countries inherited ample Soviet-designed heavy machinery, large conscript armies, and militaries designed to wage conventional wars in the European theatre. The pressures of dealing with ageing technology and enormous costs forced all these countries to pursue modernization and reform. In all three countries, the adopted solution included a full professionalization of the army. Despite the distrust between civilians and military professionals in the early days (p.295) after the fall of the Communist regimes, the gap was overcome by the time these countries entered NATO, owing to increasing participation of civilians in defence affairs. The professionalization of the armies and the abandonment of conscription were intertwined with a process of rearmament and modernization. The modernization was mostly driven by a redirection of the strategic priorities and an upgrade of the ageing Soviet-design technologies. However, the decreasing funding and increased reliance on national solutions meant that the process was slow. As a result, the armed forces continue to depend on Soviet-era equipment. This creates multiple problems: the equipment is generally past its life span, is costly to maintain, and creates dependence on Russia for spare parts and servicing. The process of replacement keeps being interrupted—the case of supersonic jets illustrates this nicely. The Czech Republic and Hungary leased Gripen jets after much deliberation (and at a significant cost), whereas Slovakia has been unable to make a decision about the future direction of its supersonic capability. The story of the transformation of the armed forces in the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia is therefore a story where three countries, in theory ideally positioned to cooperate, end up only painfully finding ways to work together. Despite having the advantages of identical equipment, experience in joint training, and a similar strategic environment, the countries have decided to champion national solutions. The possibility of mutual cooperation within the Page 15 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia framework of the Visegrád arrangement offers much promise and is of great interest to all of the Visegrád group’s members, including Poland. However, despite ample intellectual energy put into the process and high-level political commitments, the process has been only a partial success. While the Visegrád countries had their EU Battlegroup certified in 2015, and by April 2016 were on standby, any further cooperation has been problematic. The main cause of the difficulties has been found in a lack of funding and diverging national priorities. However, recent commitments to maintain (and possibly increase) defence spending, combined with repeated political commitments and a changed strategic situation in the East, may ultimately persuade the Visegrád countries to work together on their defence in the future. Acknowledgements The author thanks editors of this handbook, as well as Falk Ostermann, Jozef Bátora, Marián Majer, and senior officers who wish to remain anonymous, for their insights and comments on earlier drafts of this chapter. All mistakes remain my own. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Barany, Zoltan D., Soldiers and Politics in Eastern Europe, 1945–1990: The Case of Hungary (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1993). Dangerfield, Martin, ‘The Visegrád Group in the Expanded European Union: From Preaccession to Postaccession Cooperation’, East European Politics & Societies, 22/3 (2008), 630–67. Dunay, Pál, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Hungary: No Big Deal’, in Andrew Cottey, Timothy Edmunds, and Anthony Forster (eds), Democratic Control of Military in Postcommunist Europe: Guarding the Guards (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 64–87. (p.296) Edmunds, Timothy, Andrew Cottey, and Anthony Forster, Civil–Military Relations in Post-Communist Europe: Reviewing the Transition (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013). Kříž, Zdeněk, ‘Czech Military Transformation: Towards Military Typical of Consolidated Democracy?’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 23/4 (2010), 617– 29. Mesežnikov, Grigorij, and Radoslav Bránik, ‘Hatred, Violence and Comprehensive Military Training: The Violent Radicalisation and Kremlin Connections of Slovak Paramilitary, Extremist and Neo-Nazi Groups’, Political

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia Capital (2017), (accessed 21 May 2017). Ondrejcsák, Róbert, ‘Security Policies of the Slovak Republic and Hungary: The “Limited Differentiation” in Central Europe’, International Issues & Slovak Foreign Policy Affairs, 15/3–4 (2006), 76–90. Simon, Jeffrey, Hungary and NATO: Problems in Civil–Military Relations (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003). Simon, Jeffrey, NATO and the Czech and Slovak Republics: A Comparative Study in Civil–Military Relations (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2004). Valášek, Tomáš, and Milan Šuplata, ‘Towards a Deeper Visegrad Defence Partnership’, Central European Policy Institute (2012), https://www.globsec.org/ wp-content/uploads/2017/08/dav4_full_report_0.pdf (accessed December 2017). Notes:

(1) Marie Vlachová and Štefan Sarvaš, ‘Democratic Control of Armed Forces in the Czech Republic’, in Andrew Cottey, Timothy Edmunds, and Anthony Forster (eds), Democratic Control of Military in Postcommunist Europe: Guarding the Guards (Palgrave Macmillan: Basingstoke, 2002), 44–63. (2) Zdeněk Kříž, ‘Czech Military Transformation: Towards Military Typical of Consolidated Democracy?’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 23/4 (2010), 617– 29. (3) Pál Dunay, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Hungary: No Big Deal’, in Cottey, Edmunds, and Forster (eds), Democratic Control of Military in Postcommunist Europe, 64–87. (4) Karel Zetocha, ‘V4 Countries and Cooperation in Defence Industry’, in Marián Majer, Róbert Ondrejcsák, Vladimír Tarasovič, and Tomáš Valášek (eds), Panorama of Global Security Environment 2010 (Bratislava: Centre for European and North Atlantic Affairs, 2010), 123–35. (5) Kříž, ‘Czech Military Transformation’; Zetocha, ‘V4 Countries and Cooperation in Defence Industry’. (6) Zetocha, ‘V4 Countries and Cooperation in Defence Industry’. (7) Zetocha, ‘V4 Countries and Cooperation in Defence Industry’. (8) Miroslav Wlachovský, ‘Obrana a armáda’, in Martin Bútora (ed.), Slovensko 1996: Súhrnná správa o stave spoločnosti a trendoch na rok 1997 (Bratislava: Inštitút pre verejné otázky, 1996), 101–11.

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia (9) Andrew Cottey, Timothy Edmunds, and Anthony Forster, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Post-Communist Europe: Assessing the Transition’, in Timothy Edmunds, Andrew Cottey and Anthony Forster (eds), Civil–Military Relations in Post-Communist Europe: Reviewing the Transition (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), 1–15. (10) Jeffrey Simon, Hungary and NATO: Problems in Civil–Military Relations (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2003). (11) Vlachová and Sarvaš, ‘Democratic Control of Armed Forces in the Czech Republic’. (12) Tomáš Karásek, ‘Česká republika a zahraniční vojenské operace: Formování politického konsenzu v letech 1999–2009’, Mezinárodní vztahy, 45/4 (2010), 29– 49. (13) Vlachová and Sarvaš, ‘Democratic Control of Armed Forces in the Czech Republic’. (14) Victor Sebestyen, Revolution 1989: The Fall of the Soviet Empire (New York: Pantheon Books, 2010). (15) Zoltan D. Barany, Soldiers and Politics in Eastern Europe, 1945–1990: The Case of Hungary (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1993); Dunay, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Hungary’. (16) Dunay, ‘Civil-Military Relations in Hungary’. (17) Dunay, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Hungary’; Simon, Hungary and NATO. (18) Dirk Peters and Wolfgang Wagner, ‘Between Military Efficiency and Democratic Legitimacy: Mapping Parliamentary War Powers in Contemporary Democracies, 1989–2004’, Parliamentary Affairs, 64/1 (2011), 175–92. (19) Wolfgang Wagner, Dirk Peters, and Cosima Glahn, ‘Parliamentary War Powers around the World, 1989–2004: A New Dataset’, Occasional Paper, 22 (Geneva: Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces, 2010). (20) Jeffrey Simon, NATO and the Czech and Slovak Republics: A Comparative Study in Civil–Military Relations (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2004). (21) Wlachovský, ‘Obrana a armáda’. (22) Simon, NATO and the Czech and Slovak Republics. (23) Peters and Wagner, ‘Between Military Efficiency and Democratic Legitimacy; Wagner, Peters, and Glahn, Parliamentary War Powers around the World.

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia (24) Vladimír Šnídl, ‘Czech White Paper: How to Avoid Collapse’, in Marián Majer, Róbert Ondrejcsák, Vladimír Tarasovič, and Tomáš Valášek (eds), Panorama of Global Security Environment 2011 (Bratislava: Centre for European and North Atlantic Affairs, 2011), 197–206. (25) Kříž, ‘Czech Military Transformation’. (26) Karásek, ‘Česká republika a zahraniční vojenské operace’. (27) Karásek, ‘Česká republika a zahraniční vojenské operace’; Šnídl, ‘Czech White Paper’. (28) See, e.g., the coverage by Reuters, ‘Czech Secret Service Sees “Extremely High” Number of Russian Spies’, Reuters (2014), (accessed 11 May 2016). (29) International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS), The Military Balance 2016 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016); Ministry of Defence of the Czech Republic, ‘Security Strategy of the Czech Republic’ (2015), (accessed 11 May 2016). (30) Dunay, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Hungary’. (31) Róbert Ondrejcsák, ‘Security Policies of the Slovak Republic and Hungary: The “Limited Differentiation” in Central Europe’, International Issues & Slovak Foreign Policy Affairs, 15/3–4 (2006), 76–90. (32) Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Hungary, ‘Hungary’s National Security Strategy 2012’ (2012), (accessed 11 May 2016). (33) IISS, Military Balance 2016. (34) Wlachovský, ‘Obrana a armáda’. (35) Ondrejcsák, ‘Security Policies of the Slovak Republic and Hungary’. (36) Ministry of Defence of the Slovak Republic, ‘Security Strategy of the Slovak Republic 2005’ (2005), (accessed 11 May 2016). (37) See, e.g., a call by former State Secretary of Defense Róbert Ondrejcsák, ‘Slovak National Security Strategy is Outdated and Needs a Change’, Center for European and North Atlantic Affairs Policy Paper (2014), (accessed 11 May 2016). Ondrejcsák serves again as State Secretary of Defense since 2016.

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia (38) Government Office of the Slovak Republic, ‘Programové vyhlásenie vlády na roky 2016-2020’ (2016), (accessed 11 May 2016). http:// www.mod.gov.sk/bielakniha/. (39) Ministry of Defense of Slovak Republic (2016), ‘Biela kniha o obrane Slovenskej republiky’, (accessed December 2017). (40) Cottey, Edmunds, and Forster, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Post-Communist Europe’. (41) IISS, The Military Balance 2010 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2010). (42) IISS The Military Balance 2015 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2015). (43) IISS, Military Balance 2016. (44) NATO, ‘Information on Defence Expenditures’ (2016), (accessed December 2017). (45) IISS, The Military Balance 2011 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2011); IISS, The Military Balance 2014 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014). (46) An important part of this is a clear idea about progression, promotion, and bench-marking. (47) Šnídl, ‘Czech White Paper’. (48) ‘Saab Contracted for Gripen Lease Extension in Czech Republic’, Airforce Technology (2014), (accessed December 2017). (49) IISS, Military Balance 2016. (50) Jakub Kufčák, ‘The V4 Countries and the Impact of the Austerity Cuts on their Defence Spending and Armed Forces’, Obrana a strategie, 14/2 (2014), 35– 48. (51) IISS, The Military Balance 2010 (2010); IISS, Military Balance 2016. (52) IISS, Military Balance 2016. (53) IISS, The Military Balance 2013 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013). (54) IISS, Military Balance 2014. (55) IISS, Military Balance 2016. Page 20 of 22

 

Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia (56) In December 2015, Slovakia extended the agreement for servicing the Mig-29 jets with Russia till 2018. See Vladimír Šnídl, ‘Západné stíhačky nebudú, Slovensko si v ďalších rokoch nechá ruské migy’ (2015), (accessed 11 May 2016). (57) Freedom House, ‘Nations in Transit: Slovakia’ (2014), (accessed 11 May 2016). (58) Grigorij Mesežnikov and Radoslav Bránik, ‘Hatred, Violence and Comprehensive Military Training: The Violent Radicalisation and Kremlin Connections of Slovak Paramilitary, Extremist and Neo-Nazi Groups’, Political Capital (2017), (accessed 21 May 2017). (59) Khusrav Gaibulloev et al., ‘Personnel Contributions to UN and Non-UN Peacekeeping Missions: A Public Goods Approach’, Journal of Peace Research, 52/6 (2015), 727–42. (60) For the ‘Letter of Eight’, see ‘Europe and America Must Stand United’, The Times (2003), (accessed 11 May 2016). For the ‘Vilnius Letter’, see Mihaela Gherghisan, ‘Vilnius 10 Sign Letter on Iraq’ (2003), (accessed 11 May 2016). (61) NATO, ‘Centres of Excellence’ (2016), (accessed December 2017). (62) Ondrejcsák, ‘Security Policies of the Slovak Republic and Hungary’. (63) Visegrad Group, ‘Declaration on Cooperation between the Czech and Slovak Federal Republic, the Republic of Poland and the Republic of Hungary in Striving for European Integration’ (1991), (accessed 11 May 2016). (64) Martin Dangerfield, ‘The Visegrád Group in the Expanded European Union: From Preaccession to Postaccession Cooperation’, East European Politics & Societies, 22/3 (2008), 630–67; Rick Fawn, ‘The Elusive Defined? Visegrád Co‐ Operation as the Contemporary Contours of Central Europe’, Geopolitics, 6/1 (2001), 47–68. (65) Tomáš Valášek, Surviving Austerity: The Case for a New Approach to EU Military Collaboration (London: Centre for European Reform, 2011).

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Czech Republic, Hungary, and Slovakia (66) Tomáš Valášek and Milan Šuplata, ‘Towards a Deeper Visegrad Defence Partnership’, Central European Policy Institute (2012), (accessed 11 May 2016). (67) Visegrad Group, ‘Joint Communiqué of the Ministers of Defence of the Visegrad Group’ (2012), (accessed 11 May 2016). (68) Visegrad Group, ‘Long-Term Vision of the Visegrad Countries on Deepening Their Defence Cooperation’ (2014), (accessed 11 May 2016). (69) IISS, Military Balance 2016. (70) Visegrad Group, ‘Budapest Declaration of the Visegrad Group Heads of Government on the New Opening in V4 Defence Cooperation’ (2014), (accessed December 2017). (71) István Balogh, ‘The Short-Term Future and the Methodology of Visegrád Defense Cooperation’, in Marián Majer and Róbert Ondrejcsák (eds), Panorama of Global Security Environment 2013 (Bratislava: Centre for European and North Atlantic Affairs, 2013), 25–38. (72) IISS, Military Balance 2016. (73) Jaroslav Naď, Milan Šuplata, and Marián Majer, DAV4 Five Years Later: Success or a Missed Opportunity? (Bratislava: Central European Policy Institute, 2016).

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Serbia and Croatia

The Handbook of European Defence Policies and Armed Forces Hugo Meijer and Marco Wyss

Print publication date: 2018 Print ISBN-13: 9780198790501 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: July 2018 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198790501.001.0001

Serbia and Croatia Filip Ejdus

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198790501.003.0017

Abstract and Keywords During the cold war, the Socialist Federative Republic of Yugoslavia was a middle-sized power pursuing a non-aligned foreign policy and a defence strategy based on massive armed forces, obligatory conscription, and a doctrine of ‘Total National Defence’. The violent disintegration of Yugoslavia in the early 1990s resulted in the creation of several small states. Ever since, their defence policies and armed forces have been undergoing a thorough transformation. This chapter provides an analysis of the defence transformation of the two biggest post-Yugoslav states—Serbia and Croatia—since the end of the cold war. During the 1990s, defence transformation in both states was shaped by the undemocratic nature of their regimes and war. Ever since they started democratic transition in 2000, and in spite of their diverging foreign policies, both states have pivoted towards building modern, professional, interoperable, and democratically controlled armed forces capable of tackling both traditional and emerging threats. Keywords:   Serbian Armed Forces, Croatian Armed Forces, defence, Yugoslavia, Serbia, Croatia, strategy, neutrality, NATO

Introduction DURING the cold war, the Socialist Federative Republic of Yugoslavia (Socijalistička Federativna Republika Jugoslavija (SFRJ)) was a middle-sized power with a distinct foreign and defence policy. In foreign-policy terms, the SFRJ split from the Soviet bloc in 1948 and even entered into a brief military alliance with two North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) member states, Greece and Turkey, in 1953. However, from the early 1960s onwards, the Page 1 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia socialist Yugoslavia strongly pivoted to non-aligned foreign policy. Its Yugoslav People’s Army (Jugoslovenska narodna armija (JNA)) was among the most formidable armed forces in Europe, while its defence posture was based on a doctrine of ‘Total National Defence’. The end of the cold war had a devastating effect on Yugoslavia. While the former members of the Warsaw Pact started democratic transition and Euro-Atlantic integration in the early 1990s, Yugoslavia disintegrated into several independent states and plunged into a decade of armed conflicts: Slovenia (1991), Croatia (1991–5), Bosnia and Herzegovina (1992–5), Kosovo (1998–9), and Macedonia (2001). Ten new armed forces emerged from the ashes of the former state. Seven of them were forged in war: the Croatian Armed Forces, the Croatian Defence Council of Herzeg Bosnia, the Territorial Defence of Slovenia, the Army of Bosnia and Hercegovina, the Army of the Republic of Macedonia, the Kosovo Liberation Army, and the National Liberation Army. The other three grew out of the JNA: the Yugoslav Military, the Army of the Republic of Srpska, and the Army of the Republic of Serb Krajina. In the early 2000s, the guns fell silent, and the state-building process continued by other means, through democratization and European integration. The dissolution of the State Union of Serbia and Montenegro in 2006 resulted in the creation of two additional armed forces: the Armed Forces of Montenegro and the Serbian Armed Forces, while the secession of Kosovo from Serbia in February 2008 led to the creation of the Kosovo Security Forces. Along the way, the former Yugoslav states thoroughly transformed their armed forces. This chapter focuses on post-cold war defence transformation in the two largest post-Yugoslav states, Serbia and Croatia. In many respects, Serbia and Croatia have taken similar paths. During the 1990s, both states were run by authoritarian regimes and devastated by economic breakdown, armed conflicts, and international isolation. (p.298) Consequently, their armed forces were oversized and highly politicized tools used for the purpose of regime survival and ethno-nationalist projects. After 2000, both states embarked on a process of democratic transition and European integration, which has thoroughly transformed their defence policies and armed forces. This chapter analyses defence transformation in Serbia and Croatia with a particular focus on the period after 2000. Each country case will be divided into two sections. The first section will outline the evolution of defence policy, while the second one will discuss the organization of the armed forces. The chapter shows how, over the years, both states professionalized, downsized, and invested significant efforts and resources in adapting their militaries to nontraditional missions and tasks. The two states, however, have also diverged in a number of important ways. To begin with, in contrast to Croatia, which unequivocally identified with Western Europe from the very outset, Serbia has been more ambivalent in that respect.1 Moreover, while Croatia had to build its armed forces from scratch, Serbia inherited the remnants of the JNA. Page 2 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia Furthermore, while Croatia triumphed in war, Serbia was repeatedly defeated. Finally, Croatia made quick progress in defence reforms after 2000, and eventually joined NATO in 2009 and the European Union (EU) in 2013. Serbia, by contrast, had a much slower start, as it has been struggling to achieve the same level of strategic coherence and unity of purpose in foreign and defence policy.

Serbia While the overall course of post-cold war defence transformation in Serbia did not differ substantially from the rest of post-communist Europe, Serbia is in several respects an outlier. After a decade of armed conflicts and illiberal governance, Serbia started its democratic transition in 2000. In 2017, it is the only post-Yugoslav state that has proclaimed military neutrality, still has a significant territorial dispute (over Kosovo), and cultivates close military– political relationships with Moscow. This section first analyses the evolution of its defence policy and then outlines the organization of the Serbian armed forces. Evolution of Defence Policy

One of the successors of the dissolved SFRJ was the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (Savezna Republika Jugoslavija (SRJ)), composed of Serbia and Montenegro. Throughout the 1990s, the country was run by the authoritarian regime of Slobodan Milošević, which was internationally isolated and embroiled in several successive wars.2 As a consequence, (p.299) Yugoslavia was suspended from United Nations (UN) membership and internationally isolated through a regime of international sanctions. In March 1999, NATO launched an air campaign, Operation ‘Allied Force’, in order to protect Kosovo Albanians from the armed forces controlled by President Milošević. Seventy-eight days later, Milošević capitulated and moved his forces out of Kosovo, while the UN and NATO took over by establishing international civilian and military administrations there.3 On 24 September 2000, after a decade of conflict, sanctions, and political repression, Slobodan Milošević lost the presidential elections to Vojislav Koštunica, but was reluctant to admit his defeat. As a result, massive demonstrations broke out across the country on 5 October, effectively ousting one of the last European dictators. The key reason why the regime change took place peacefully was the fact that the top brass in the Military of Yugoslavia (Vojska Jugoslavije (VJ)), as well as in other parts of the security sector, disobeyed orders from Milošević to quash the demonstrations. A few months later, Milošević’s Socialist Party of Serbia and its political allies were defeated by the Democratic Opposition of Serbia (DOS) in the general elections. This motley coalition of nineteen parties, ideologically ranging from centre left to centre right, was united in intent to put an end to the authoritarian regime and international isolation but divided over virtually everything else. The coalition Page 3 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia soon broke apart under the weight of infighting between a reformist camp led by Prime Minister Zoran Đinđić and a conservative camp led by President Koštunica. Since the outset of the democratic transition in 2000, Serbia (and the SRJ) defined Euro-Atlantic integration as its foreign-policy priority. Shortly after the regime change, Yugoslavia returned to the UN while international sanctions were lifted. Although NATO remained unpopular in Serbia because of its air campaign in 1999, the SRJ was nevertheless seeking a closer relationship with the alliance without excluding membership. In his exposé to the Yugoslav parliament, the first post-Milošević foreign minister, Goran Svilanović, was unequivocal about it: ‘The basic foreign policy orientation of the SRJ is directed towards the processes of European and Euro-Atlantic integration’.4 The goal of ‘membership in international security structures, first of all the Partnership for Peace [PfP] programme and NATO’, was repeated in the White Book of Defence of the State Union Serbia and Montenegro adopted in 2005.5 The dissolution of the State Union in 2006 created the momentum for further steps in Euro-Atlantic integration. In December 2006, Serbia joined the PfP programme, and everything seemed to indicate that the country was on a path that had been well trodden by other post-communist states. Then, in 2007, it became increasingly clear that the UN-sponsored Vienna-based talks on the future status of Kosovo would not result in a mutually agreed solution. In December 2007, while anticipating Kosovo’s declaration of independence, Serbia declared military neutrality in a parliamentary resolution. Obviously irritated by Western endorsement of Kosovo’s secession, the authors of the resolution stated that the (p.300) reason for this policy change was ‘the overall role of NATO’ from the bombing in 1999 to the plan issued by the UN Special Envoy Marti Ahtisaari, which recommended a supervised independence for Kosovo.6 Moscow hailed Serbia’s shift away from seeking NATO membership, and in return has been supporting Serbia over the Kosovo issue ever since, most importantly in the UN Security Council. Moreover, the policy of military neutrality has enjoyed a high level of domestic approval and very little political contestation.7 In February 2008, Kosovo declared independence and was soon recognized by most Western states.8 A year later, Serbia adopted its first National Security Strategy, which states that the ‘unlawfully and unilaterally proclaimed independence of Kosovo’ is ‘the greatest threat to the security of the Republic of Serbia’.9 In addition, the strategy provides a very long list of non-traditional threats to the national security of Serbia, including terrorism, proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, climate change, and organized crime. It also mentions threats that are quite unusual for such a document, such as illegal activities of foreign intelligence agencies, destructive religious sects, and drug addiction. Without mentioning either military neutrality or NATO membership, the strategy emphasizes the importance of interdependence, trade, democracy, Page 4 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia regional cooperation, and European integration for the achievement of national, regional, and global security. This was further elaborated in the defence strategy adopted in 2009.10 In practice, in spite of its declared military neutrality, Serbia stepped up its involvement in regional and European defence cooperation. Serbia became a candidate for EU membership in 2011, and has taken an increasingly active role in crisis-management operations of the Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) ever since. Serbia’s contribution to CSDP is not big, but it is symbolically important, as it signifies that Belgrade sees the EU as an important framework of collective security.11 The start of accession negotiations in 2014 created an additional momentum for further engagement with the EU, as one negotiating chapter (31) is to be entirely devoted to security and defence issues.12 In spite of its military neutrality, Serbia has also intensified its engagement with the PfP in recent years. In September 2007, it submitted its presentation document to NATO, and two years later agreed its Individual Partnership Programme.13 (p.301) Strongly motivated to achieve further progress towards EU membership, Serbia has engaged in an EU-led normalization dialogue with Kosovo, which culminated in the Brussels Agreement concluded in April 2013.14 The agreement was very short and covered fifteen points, among which the most important ones stipulated the integration of the Belgrade-controlled north, where the majority of the population is Serbian, and into the Kosovo institutions, as well as the creation of the Association of Serbian Municipalities.15 In December 2014, Serbia and NATO concluded the Individual Partnership Action Plan (IPAP) in order further to deepen dialogue, especially over future defence reforms, albeit explicitly ruling out Serbia’s potential membership.16 In July 2015, the Serbian parliament ratified the Status of Forces Agreement with NATO for the purpose of moving troops through the territory of Serbia. In order to counter domestic criticisms that the government was secretly moving the country into NATO membership, Serbia’s leaders also reaffirmed the military neutrality policy.17 Simultaneously, over the years and in particular since Kosovo’s declaration of independence in 2008, Serbia has developed a special relationship with Russia. In 2012, the Russian–Serbian Humanitarian Centre was established in Niš, a city in south Serbia, raising speculations about its potential for militarization in the future.18 In April 2013, Serbia became an observer in the Parliamentary Assembly of the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO), a move quite unusual for a NATO partner and an EU candidate.19 A month later, at their meeting in the Black Sea resort of Sochi, Presidents Tomislav Nikolić and Vladimir Putin signed a Declaration on Strategic Partnership.20 This was followed up with a Defence Cooperation Agreement signed in November 2013, and a military technical agreement one year later.21 Serbia also holds occasional military exercises with Russia. For example, in 2015, Russian, Belarusian, and Page 5 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia Serbian armed forces participated in the Slavic Brotherhood, a joint exercise in combating colour revolutions.22 Most recently, Serbia was one of the very few candidate countries that did not join the EU’s sanctions against Russia (p.302) over its actions in Ukraine.23 In sum, Serbia has been pursuing a balanced foreign policy that entails seeking EU membership and getting as close to NATO as possible short of membership, while developing a special relationship with Moscow. Organization of the Armed Forces

In 1992, the JNA transformed into the Military of Yugoslavia (Vojska Jugoslavije (VJ)). During the 1990s, the VJ was a massive recruit-based armed force (135,000 soldiers in 1992), designed to defend its territory from external aggression. It was used either for the purpose of counterinsurgency and territorial defence (as in Kosovo), or for logistical assistance to the Serbian insurgents in Bosnia (Army of the Republic of Srpska) and Croatia (Army of the Republic of Serb Krajina).24 While the JNA was an active contributor to peacekeeping operations during the cold war, Yugoslavia’s UN membership was suspended in 1992 and the country was put under international sanctions, while its armed forces were permanently excluded from multinational operations. What is more, the SRJ itself became an object of NATO intervention in 1999. The VJ inherited from its predecessor the JNA not only equipment and leadership but also its doctrines, institutional professionalism, and organizational structure. It was composed of three service branches: the Yugoslav Ground Forces, the Yugoslav Navy, and the Yugoslav Air Force and Air Defence. It was organized, just like the JNA, into armies, corps, and brigades. The army was the biggest service branch, as it included three armies, seven corps, and thirty-four brigades. In spite of economic hardships created by war and sanctions, the defence budget of the VJ throughout the 1990s was over 8 per cent of GDP.25 According to the 1992 Yugoslav constitution, the Supreme Defence Council held ultimate command over the VJ. While the council was composed of the Yugoslav, Serbian, and Montenegrin presidents, it was President Milošević who used loopholes in the legal framework to pull the strings.26 However, in spite of his firm grip over the military, President Milošević never entirely trusted the VJ, owing to its strong professional autonomy inherited from the JNA. In order to counterbalance the prominence of the VJ in the security sector, he heavily militarized the police, thus spurring competition between the two forces in order better to control them.27 After October 2000, the DOS coalition promised radical reforms including in the field of defence. In reality, however, the DOS managed to accomplish very little during the first three years of transition.28 There are at least two reasons for this. First, the informal pacts (p.303) between the leaders of the DOS and top echelons in the security sector concluded in the wake of 5 October 2000 Page 6 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia shielded the Milošević-era military leadership from responsibility. Thus, for example, the Chief of the General Staff, General Nebojša Pavković, later convicted by the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) for crimes against humanity and war crimes in the Kosovo War, remained in office until July 2002. Second, and perhaps even more importantly, defence reforms could not really get off the ground as long as the fate of the rump Yugoslavia was lingering in a state of limbo. In February 2003, the Yugoslav federation was rekindled into a looser State Union of Serbia and Montenegro (Srbija i Crna Gora (SCG)), while the VJ changed its name to the Armed Forces of Serbia and Montenegro. With this, the paralysing uncertainty over the fate of the joint state and its military was temporarily ameliorated, clearing the way for the first modest steps in defence reform. In March 2003, Defence Minister Boris Tadić proposed smaller but more mobile and better-equipped armed forces adjusted to the post-cold war strategic environment in his ten-point plan.29 Moreover, the Constitutional Charter of the State Union adopted in 2003 explicitly stated, for the first time in Yugoslav and Serbian history, that the armed forces would be under civilian and democratic control (article 54). Further foundation for civilian control was laid by subordinating the Army General Staff to the Ministry of Defence in May 2003. However, parliamentary control was still weak, in spite of the constitutional provisions, as the State Union Assembly had little, if any, practical power to exercise it.30 In May 2006, Montenegro held a referendum in which a majority of its citizens decided in favour of independence, thus effectively ending the state union with Serbia. With the last vestiges of Yugoslavia gone, Serbia acquired competences over the military and renamed it the Serbian Armed Forces (Vojska Srbije (VS)). After almost a century, Serbia had military forces of its own again.31 The new Constitution of Serbia, which was adopted in November 2006 and created the VS, laid down a solid foundation for civilian democratic control (article 141). The president of the Republic of Serbia became the supreme commander of the VS (article 112), who appoints the Chief of Staff, while the General Staff became part of the Ministry of Defence of the Republic of Serbia. The General Staff was also reorganized according to the staff system (J1-9), which was adopted by NATO member states, and which reflects the structure of Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE).32 (p.304) According to article 29 of the Law on Armed Forces adopted in 2007, ‘the Serbian Armed Forces are under democratic and civil control’ that ‘shall be exercised by the National Parliament, the Ombudsman, and other state bodies in accordance with their competences, citizens and the public’.33 According to the law, the VS is composed of arms, branches, and services. The two main arms are: (1) the Army and (2) the Air Force and Air Defence (article 4).34 The branches of the VS are infantry, armoured units, artillery, engineering, air defence artillery Page 7 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia missile units, aviation, river units, electronic reconnaissance, and warfare. The services of the VS can be general and logistical.35 The Serbian Armed Forces comprises permanent and reserve compositions (article 5). The permanent composition consists of professional personnel and conscripts. While obligatory conscription was abolished in 2011, there is still an option to enrol in the Serbian Armed Forces as a voluntary conscript. The reserve composition consists of reserve officers, reserve non-commissioned officers (NCOs), and reserve soldiers. The reserve composition of VS is divided into an active and a passive reserve. As of 2016, the VS had 28,150 active military personnel (army 13,250, air force and air defence 5,100, training command 3,000, guards 1,600, and Ministry of Defence 5,200), and 50,150 reserves. The downsizing of the military was accompanied by a decreasing defence budget that stood at a record low of 1.6 per cent of GDP in 2015.36 The Serbian Armed Forces, as stated in the Defence Strategy of 2009, have three main missions.37 The first mission is territorial defence. The second mission of the VS is participation in international Peace-Support Operations (PSO). Serbia expressed its ambition actively to participate in multinational operations, with or without combat elements, but only within a clear UN mandate and in accordance with international law. Finally, the third mission of the VS is to support civil authorities in fighting security threats. Since 2000, the Serbian Armed Forces have been used mostly for the third mission. In 2001, the VJ was deployed to fight the Preševo Valley insurgency in south Serbia, which broke out as a spillover from the Kosovo War. Ever since, the armed forces have played a critically important role (together with the gendarmerie) in securing the ground safety zone, a 5-kilometre-wide perimeter around the administrative line/border with Kosovo, established by the Kumanovo agreement with NATO in 1999. Most recently, the VS was used during the floods in 2014, when more than 15,000 soldiers were deployed.38 In terms of the second mission, the VJ made its first contribution to peacekeeping operations in 2002 after (p.305) more than a decade of isolation.39 Ever since, Serbia’s contribution to international peace and security has been modest but growing.40 In 2015, the VS contributed 316 personnel to eleven peace-support missions, making Serbia a regional leader in this respect.41 While the government has tried to build a professional armed force oriented towards these non-traditional military tasks, neither the political forces across the political spectrum nor wider society have necessarily shared this vision.42 Nationalist political forces have been traditionally sceptical about Serbia’s involvement in international PSO. The unresolved Kosovo issue has particularly stimulated reservations in Serbia towards the second mission of the armed forces, as long as the state seems to be incapable of defending its territorial integrity, which is the task of the first mission. Opinion polls have shown low Page 8 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia enthusiasm by the general population for peacekeeping, resulting in mixed feelings among the professional officer corps.43 Since 2000, a legal and institutional framework has been built for the democratic civilian control of the Serbian military. The Serbian parliament (Narodna Skupština) obtained significant legal competences to oversee the armed forces (and other elements of the security sector), while other elements of the horizontal and vertical accountability have been put in place, including the independent state institutions such as the Ombudsman, the Commissioner for the Information of Public Importance and Personal Data Protection, and the State Audit Institution.44 In practice, however, the new rules of the game have often been ignored or violated, which shows that Serbia’s democracy has a long way to go in order fully to consolidate.45 An important episode in the evolution of civil–military relations in Serbia was a series of public criticisms of Defence Minister Dragan Šutanovac expressed by the Chief of the General Staff, Lieutenant-General Zdravko Ponoš. President Tadić swiftly relieved Ponoš from duty.46 Ever since, civilian control has not been challenged, although there have been increasing concerns about its politicization and democratic backsliding, especially since the Milošević-era parties and leaders returned to power in 2012.47 (p.306) In sum, in spite of significant political challenges, the Serbian Armed Forces have been professionalized, downsized, and reorganized in line with NATO standards since 2000. The next section turns to the case of Croatia, which took a similar trajectory, albeit eased and accelerated by a much clearer strategic orientation.

Croatia During the 1990s, the defence transformation of Croatia was shaped by war and the authoritarian regime of President Franjo Tuđman. In 2000, the country started democratic transition and a Europeanization process, which eventually resulted in EU and NATO membership. This section analyses the evolution of Croatia’s defence policy and outlines the organization of its armed forces. Evolution of Defence Policy

Croatia declared independence on 25 June 1991. A few months later, its sovereignty was recognized by the major Western states, and Croatia became a member of the UN. In parallel, authorities in Zagreb faced a rebellion in the Serbian-populated areas (Western Slavonija, Lika, and Eastern Slavonia), which comprised approximately one-third of the Croatian territory. Until 1995, the Croatian Armed Forces were solely oriented towards fighting JNA forces and the Serb rebels in what came to be known as the Homeland War. However, Croatia’s defence policy was not articulated in any strategic documents at the time. Instead, during the war and under international sanctions, defence policy was

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Serbia and Croatia characterized by constant muddling through the pressing internal and external challenges of the day.48 From the very outset, Croatia’s foreign policy was oriented towards the West. During the first few years, the country managed to establish bilateral military– diplomatic relationships with a limited number of European states. In addition to this, in late 1994, Croatia’s Ministry of Defence started cooperation with Military Professional Resources Incorporated (MPRI), a private US-based military company whose training assistance proved instrumental in winning the war.49 Nevertheless, owing to war and the undemocratic rule of President Tuđman and its misuse of the security system for political purposes, Croatia made little progress in moving closer to either the EU or NATO. In 1995, for example, NATO rejected Croatia’s application for membership in the PfP program, not only because of the ongoing war but also because of its poor democratic track record.50 The war ended when Operations ‘Flash’ and ‘Storm’ in May and August 1995 returned most of the territory under the fold of Croatian sovereignty. Later that year, the remaining Eastern Slavonia was placed under the mandate of the United Nations Transitional (p.307) Authority (UNTAES), and then peacefully reintegrated into Croatia. In elections held in October 1995, the ruling party of President Tuđman, the Croatian Democratic Union (Hrvatska Demokratska Zajednica (HDZ)), won another landslide victory. In his January 1996 address to the Sabor (Croatian parliament), Tuđman identified three objectives for post-war defence policy: a shift from a wartime to a peacetime establishment, a better use of existing resources, and integration into Western security structures.51 Nevertheless, owing to his intransigent stance on human rights, undemocratic rule, and reluctance to cooperate with the ICTY, Croatia remained isolated from major schemes of international defence cooperation for the rest of the decade. In December 1999 President Tuđman passed away, and his HDZ lost the parliamentary elections two months later. The government was formed by a coalition of six reformist parties led by the Social Democratic Party (SDP), which initiated thorough democratic reforms. Just as in Serbia, the military did not meddle in the political process of regime change, in spite of the fact that the officer corps was closely related to Tuđman’s party. Early on, the post-Tuđman government set the EU and NATO membership as the most important national goals.52 In May 2000, Croatia joined the PfP programme and was granted a NATO Membership Action Plan exactly two years later. The opening of the membership perspective had a crucial bearing on the future defence transformation in Croatia.53 The government also stepped up cooperation with the ICTY, which provoked a group of retired and active generals to sign a letter against ‘criminalization’ of the Homeland War. President Stipe Mesić swiftly retired all seven active Page 10 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia generals for overstepping into politics. This was an essential moment in the democratization of Croatia’s civil–military relations.54 In November 2000, Croatia’s 1990 constitution was amended, the role of president was weakened, and the foundation for civilian democratic control over the armed forces was legally established. However, the division of labour between the president and the government remained far from clear, and the turf war between the two continued to hamper reform efforts. As a result, it took two years for the first post-Tuđman government to pass defence legislation, including the National Security Strategy and Defence Strategy, in March 2002.55 The National Security Strategy acknowledged an improved security environment in the region owing to the end of the war and democratic transition. The document also emphasized the importance of Euro-Atlantic integration, including regional cooperation, as national priorities. It also made a list of security threats facing Croatia, including crises in (p.308) the Middle East and the Caucasus, conflicts over energy, state weakness and social unrest, corruption, deficiency in the rule of law, negative demography, open border issues, terrorism, organized crime, refugee flows, and so on.56 This vision was further developed in the 2002 Defence Strategy, in which Croatia was defined as a ‘relatively small state’, which cannot achieve security on its own and therefore needs to take active part in international security cooperation.57 The return of the reformed HDZ-led government in late 2003 further accelerated the defence transformation of the Croatian military and democratization of civil– military relations.58 In the following years, Croatia successfully achieved the goals set in these strategic documents, most importantly by joining NATO in 2009 and the EU in 2013. Organization of the Armed Forces

The 1990 Croatian constitution (amended in 1998) established a semipresidential system, with president and government sharing the executive power, including control over the armed forces. In practice, as the president of the ruling HDZ party, and seen by many as the father of the nation who had led it to victory in the Homeland War, Croatia’s President Franjo Tuđman effectively controlled the entire state apparatus, including the security sector. Croatia’s military was forged in war. Amid a rising crisis and looming civil war, Croatia assembled the Croatian National Guard (Zbor Narodne Garde (ZNG)), an embryo of its future armed forces, in May 1991. As the Republic of Croatia was still formally part of Yugoslavia, the force was first formed within the Croatian Ministry of Interior for legal reasons. By the end of the year, Croatia was an independent state, and its fledgling military force was integrated into a newly established Croatian Army (Hrvatska Vojska (HV)). As the HV was built from scratch and under the conditions of the UN arms embargo imposed in September 1991, it was poorly organized and under-resourced. It lacked Page 11 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia capacity for strategic planning and had poorly educated officers. During the war, the HV was manned by volunteers, militarized police forces, territorial defence forces, and defecting JNA officers. Although it was 200,000-soldiers strong in 1992, by the end of the war it had been downsized to 100,000.59 After the war, the HV was renamed the Armed Forces of the Republic of Croatia (Oružane Snage Republike Hrvatske (OSRH)) and the Ministry of Defence and the General Staff were reorganized in December 1997.60 The military was downsized to 61,000 in 1999,61 while Croatia’s defence budget gradually decreased from 12.77 per cent of GDP in 1995 to 4.67 in 1999.62 This ‘security sector reduction’, as Knezović and Staničić have (p.309) pointed out, ‘was motivated only by a need for downsizing and cost cutting of the sector, rather than driven by some advanced criteria or the process of democratisation’.63 Genuine reforms, however, were thwarted owing to the authoritarian nature of the Tuđman regime. Until the end of the 1990s, President Tuđman held the OSRH under his personal control through a combination of legal loopholes, alternative chains of command, and political clientelism.64 Furthermore, the Sabor played a ‘passive role’, which was one of the ‘central problems’ of civil– military relations in Croatia at the time.65 After 2000, democratic transition included a thorough transformation of the armed forces and civil–military relations in Croatia. To begin with, constitutional amendments were made, effectively diminishing the presidential powers and establishing parliamentary democracy. The predominant role of the executive was counterbalanced through a strengthened role of the Sabor, especially in the oversight of the security sector. In addition to that, although the president of the Republic remained the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces, the executive authority was largely moved into the hands of the government, which became accountable to the Sabor.66 According to the 2002 Law on Defence, the OSRH consists of services, branches of services, and support and technical services.67 The services are the Croatian army, Croatian navy, Croatian air force and air defence (article 95). The peacetime component of the OSRH consists of active military personnel, civil servants, and employees, reservists, cadets, and persons on voluntary education and training. In addition to this, the OSRH also consists of all mobilized citizens during wartime (article 96). However, the 2002 Law on Defence, which further elaborated the duties of these actors, being the result of a compromise, did not clearly divide the roles of the president and the government, because decisions pertaining to defence matters are to be mutually agreed.68 This shared control over the armed forces decreases the space for politicization, but may hamper effective decision-making.69

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Serbia and Croatia An important aspect of defence transformation in Croatia since 2000 has been downsizing. In the Strategic Defence Review adopted in 2005, the government planned to downsize from 25,154 to 18,000 servicemen (16,000 soldiers and 2,000 civilians).70 In 2008, obligatory conscription was abolished, while voluntary conscription remained an (p.310) option. In the 2013 Strategic Defence Review, an improved strategic environment coupled with an economic crisis motivated the government to foresee further downsizing to 15,000 servicemen by the end of 2017.71 As of 2016, the OSRH had 16,550 active service members, including 11,250 in the army, 1,600 in the navy, 1,850 in air command, and 1,850 in the joint command.72 Gradual downsizing was accompanied by a reduction in defence spending. In 2015, Croatia’s defence budget was 1.37 per cent of national GDP.73 The role of Croatia’s military has also been transformed. While during the 1990s the OSRH was oriented towards territorial defence, after 2000 it increasingly took on new roles. According to the Strategic Defence Review adopted in 2013, three missions were identified for the OSRH. The first one is the defence of the territory of the Republic of Croatia and its allies. This involves the tasks of deterring and repelling armed aggression, supporting the defence of its allies, and protecting Croatia’s sovereignty on the sea and in the air. The second mission of the OSRH is the contribution to international security. This mission encompasses the following tasks: participation in PSO, defence diplomacy, disarmament, and non-proliferation. Finally, the third mission of the OSRH is support to civilian authorities, which includes the tasks of assistance to police and other state bodies, support in protection and evacuation, and assistance to civil society.74 In 1999, Croatia started its participation in peace-support missions by sending ten troops to Sierra Leone.75 After 2000, it gradually increased its participation in international missions as part of its integration into NATO and the EU. Croatia has been participating in NATO missions in Afghanistan (since 2003) and Kosovo (since 2009), and in various crisis-management operations of the EU (since 2008). Over the years, Croatia gradually increased its participation in PSO from only ten members in 2000 to 152 in 2016.76 Finally, Croatia has been an active participant in regional defence cooperation, including the Adriatic Charter, the Regional Arms Control Verification and Implementation Assistance Center (RACVIAC), the Regional Cooperation Council, and others.77 In 2014, Croatia has adopted the new Long Term Development Plan for the Croatian Armed Forces 2015–2024.78 The document has acknowledged a deteriorated international security environment owing to an intensified global competition, an increasing number of armed conflicts around the world, rising violent extremism, cyber threats, maritime piracy, (p.311) and so on. The document emphasizes the planned contribution of Croatia to NATO, the EU, and the UN. The document foresaw that the OSRH would participate in international Page 13 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia PSO with up to 1,000 servicemen. Croatia has planned to contribute up to 130 soldiers to the NATO Response Force and up to 300 soldiers to the EU Battlegroups every three to four years.79 In organizational terms, the document foresaw the establishment of more effective decision-making structures, decentralization of command, and rationalization of resources with the aim of creating ‘more operable, well equipped and trained, but smaller armed forces’.80 As this section has clearly shown, ever since Croatia was given a NATO membership perspective, its defence reforms have been driven by the requirements of accession. Unlike Serbia, the Croatian defence transformation towards a modern, professional, and democratically controlled military was not hindered by major domestic disagreements over the strategic orientation of the country. After acceding to NATO in 2009, Croatia’s defence transformation continued, albeit under the constraints of economic crisis, while the foreignpolicy focus shifted to EU accession, which was eventually achieved on 1 July 2013.

Conclusion The end of the cold war ushered in tectonic changes across the post-communist world. While the rest of the continent started early on to transform its armed forces in line with democratic norms and Western standards, the post-Yugoslav space plummeted into a decade of conflict, isolation, and semi-authoritarian rule. After 2000, both Serbia and Croatia embarked on a process of democratization and Europeanization, including the transformation of their armed forces. This comprises steps in the direction of creating modern, professional, and interoperable and democratically controlled militaries able to respond to both traditional and non-traditional threats. In both cases, democratization and European integration have shaped the evolution of civil– military relations and the establishment of a political and institutional environment for democratic civilian control of armed forces. The two states, however, have differed in a number of ways. From the very outset, Croatia has unequivocally identified with Europe and the West. As a consequence, shortly after the Tuđman regime had been ousted in 2000, the state initiated thorough reforms and eventually joined NATO and the EU. The process of integration with the EU and NATO has driven defence transformation in Croatia towards a modern, professional, and interoperable military tailored for tackling contemporary security challenges together with allies. Serbia’s political identity has been more ambivalent towards Europe and the West, and its deep ideological rifts have created tensions in civil–military relations. Moreover, Serbia started its democratic transition as part of a federation whose status remained in limbo until 2006, while Serbia’s borders are still a matter of controversy owing to the unresolved Kosovo issue. Since 2000, Belgrade has sought EU membership, but the process has been fraught with extraordinary challenges, the most important of which is the issue of Kosovo. Furthermore, Page 14 of 23

 

Serbia and Croatia Serbia declared military neutrality in December 2007 and maintains a ‘special relationship’ with Moscow. (p.312) Defence transformation in Serbia and Croatia can be expected to converge in the future owing to common regional security challenges, economic constraints, and a push towards greater European defence and security integration. The future of defence transformation in Croatia will probably be tied to the goal of achieving greater cooperation and integration with NATO allies. As of 2017, Serbia’s policy of military neutrality might have slowed down, but, as in most other post-communist states in Europe, this has not derailed its defence transformation. By balancing between the West and Russia, Serbia has been sending mixed foreign-policy messages, and the crisis in Ukraine has clearly exposed the contradictions of this policy. If Serbia wishes to move closer to the EU, however, it will have to rethink its priorities and adjust its foreign, security, and defence policies accordingly. Unfortunately, the return of geopolitical competition, growing instability, and democratic backslide in the region have all complicated this process and thus made difficult choices even harder. Acknowledgements I would like to thank Sandro Knezović, Hugo Meijer, and Marco Wyss for valuable comments on the earlier draft of this chapter. This chapter has been written as part of my work on the project ‘Political Identity of Serbia in Regional and Global Context’, No. 179,076 at the University of Belgrade, Faculty of Political Sciences, financed by the Ministry of Education, Science and Technological Development of the Republic of Serbia. Select Bibliography Bibliography references: Bellamy, Alex, and Timothy Edmunds, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Croatia: Politicisation and Politics of Reform’, European Security, 14/1 (2005), 71–93. Edmunds, Timothy, Defence Reform in Croatia and Serbia-Montenegro (London: IISS, 2003). Edmunds, Timothy, Security Sector Reform in Transforming Societies: Croatia, Serbia and Montenegro (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007). Hadžić, Miroslav, The Yugoslav People’s Agony: The Role of the Yugoslav People’s Army (London: Ashgate, 2002). Hadžić, Miroslav, Milorad Timotić, and Predrag Petrović (eds), Security Policies in the Western Balkans (Belgrade: Centre for Civil Military Relations, 2010).

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Serbia and Croatia Hendrickson, Ryan C., and Ryan P. Smith, ‘Croatia and NATO: Moving Toward Alliance Membership’, Comparative Strategy, 25/4 (2006), 297–306. Knezović, Sandro, and Mladen Staničić, Context Analysis of the Security Sector Reform in Croatia 1989–2009 (Zagreb: IRMO, 2011). Lozančić, Dragan, and Mislav Burđelez, ‘A Brief Review of Civil–Military Relations in the Republic of Croatia’, Politička Misao, 35/5 (1998), 36–56. Rokvić, Vanja, Zoran Jeftić, and Željko Ivaniš, ‘Civil–Military Relations and Democratic Control over the Armed Forces in the Republic of Serbia’, Armed Forces & Society, 39/4 (2012), 675–94. Subotić, Jelena, ‘Europe is a State of Mind: Identity and Europeanization in the Balkans’, International Studies Quarterly, 55/2 (2011), 309–30. Notes:

(1) Jelena Subotić, ‘Europe is a State of Mind: Identity and Europeanization in the Balkans’, International Studies Quarterly, 55/2 (2011), 309–30; Marko Kovačević, ‘What Place for East and West? Discourses, Reality and Foreign and Security Policies of Post-Yugoslav Small States’, Third World Thematics: A TWQ Journal, 1/1 (2016), 110–31. (2) Slobodan Milošević was president of Serbia from 1991 to 1997 and then president of the SRJ from 1997 to 2000. (3) The EU launched its Rule of Law Mission EULEX in 2008, effectively taking over civilian administration from the UN. (4) ‘Ekspoze Gorana Svilanovića, Saveznog ministra za inostrane poslove u Saveznog Skupštini SR Jugoslavije, Beograd, 24 October 2001’, in Nataša Dragojlović, Stanislav Sretenović, Dragan Đukanović, and Dragan Živojinović (eds), Spoljna politika Srbije: Strategije i Dokumenta (Belgrade: Evropski pokret u Srbiji, 2010), 287. (5) Serbia and Montenegro, Ministry of Defence, White Paper on Defence of the State Union of Serbia and Montenegro (2005), 12. (6) National Assembly of the Republic of Serbia, ‘Resolution on the Protection of National Sovereignty, Territorial Integrity and Constitutional Order’, adopted 26 December 2006. (7) Filip Ejdus, ‘Serbia’s Military Neutrality: Origins, Effects and Challenges’, Croatian International Relations Review, 20/71 (2014), 43–69.

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Serbia and Croatia (8) As of November 2016, 112 UN member states had recognized Kosovo, KosovoThanksYou, (accessed 8 November 2016). (9) Republic of Serbia, National Security Strategy (October 2009), 10, (accessed 6 December 2017). (10) Republic of Serbia, Defence Strategy (October 2009), (accessed 6 December 2017). (11) As of March 2015, the Serbian Armed Forces deployed six soldiers in EUTM Somalia, sixteen in EUNAVFOR Atalanta, and three in EUTM Mali. Republic of Serbia, Ministry of Defence, ‘Forces’, 3 March 2015, (accessed 6 December 2017). (12) Igor Novaković, Vodič kroz poglavlje 31 predpristupnih pregovora Srbije sa Evropskom unijom (Beograd: ISAC fond, 2015), (accessed 6 December 2017). (13) Republic of Serbia, Partnership for Peace Presentation Document, Belgrade, 27 July 2007, (accessed 6 December 2017). (14) Spyros Economides and James Ker-Lindsay, ‘“Pre-Accession Europeanization”: The Case of Serbia and Kosovo’, Journal of Common Market Studies, 53/5 (2015), 1027–44. (15) The Brussels Agreement, officially titled First Agreement of Principles Governing the Normalization of Relations, is officially classified, but it was leaked to the press. It is available here: (accessed 6 December 2017). (16) Republic of Serbia, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Individual Partnership Action Plan (IPAP), Belgrade (December 2014) (accessed 6 December 2017). (17) ‘Unscrupulous Attacks over Cooperation with Russia and NATO’, B92, 17 February 2016, (accessed 6 December 2017).

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Serbia and Croatia (18) ‘Russian Nis Center Again in Media Focus’, Radio Slobodna Evropa, 14 March 2016, (accessed 6 December 2017). (19) ‘Serbia has been Granted to Become a CSTO Observer’, InSerbia, 11 April 2013, (accessed 6 December 2017). (20) ‘Nikolić, Putin Sign Strategic Partnership Declaration’, B92 (May 2013), (accessed 6 December 2017). (21) ‘Serbia, Russia Sign Agreement on Defence Cooperation’, B92, 13 November 2013, (accessed 6 December 2017). (22) Roger McDermott, ‘Slavic Brotherhood 2015 Rehearses Anti-Color Revolution Operations’, Eurasia Daily Monitor, 12/160 (2015),