The latest “A View from Afar” with Selwyn Manning and I follows the lines drawn in my most recent post here at KP. Because the podcast is basically a dialogue between Selwyn and I on the subject of the day, it goes in some directions not covered in the KP post. For those interested, the show can be found here.
Although I shared some thoughts about the US election on other social media platforms, here are some items that emerged from the wreckage:
Campaigns based on hope do not always defeat campaigns based on fear.
Having dozens of retired high ranking military and diplomatic officials warn against the danger Trump poses to democracy (including people who worked for him) did not matter to many voters. Likewise, having former politicians and hundreds of academics, intellectuals, legal scholars, community leaders and social activists repudiate Trump’s policies of division mattered not an iota to the voting majority.
Nor did Harris’s endorsement by dozens of high profile celebrities make a difference to the MAGA mob. In fact, it enraged them. What did make a difference was one billionaire using the social media platform that he owns to spread anti-Harris disinformation and pro-Trump memes.
Raising +US$ billion in political donations did not produce victory for Harris. Outspending the opponent is not a key to electoral success.
Decisively winning the presidential debate–with 65 million live viewers–proved inconsequential for Harris. Conversely, getting trounced in the debate, where he uttered the comment that “they are eating the digs, they are eating the cats, they are eating the pets of people who live there,” proved no liability for Trump. The debate was just theatre and viewers retained the partisan preconceptions before and after its airing. In other words, debates are overrated as indicators of political mood shifts or campaign success.
Trump’s incoherent, racist and xenophobic rants did not give the MAGA mob any pause when considering their choices. In fact, it appears that the resort to crude depictions of opponents (“stupid KaMAla”) and scapegoats (like Puerto Ricans) strengthened the bond between Trump and his supporters.
Macroeconomic and social indicators such as higher employment and lower crime and undocumented immigrant numbers could not overcome the MAGA narrative that the US was “the garbage can of the world.” Positive macroeconomic data was drowned out by the MAGA drumbeat decrying high inflation and rising retail costs even if those costs are the product of global supply chain disruptions and corporate price-gouging. Nor could Harris, despite her accomplished resume in all three government branches at the local, state and federal levels, overcome the narrative that she was “dumb” and a DEI hire who was promoted for reasons other than merit. It did not help that she refused to stake a clearly different position from Biden on some key policy issues, something that ultimately cost her votes (Harris received 15 million less votes than Biden did in 2020, while Trump remained close to his 2020 vote total in a race marked by significant numbers of eligible non-voters).
Culture war narratives worked for Trump. Attacks on “woke” ideology and relentless negative advertising about the dangers of transgender people struck a nerve not only in red states, but nation-wide (remember that Trump won the popular vote and all seven of the so-called swing or battleground states). The same was true for Congressional races, where the GOP won the Senate and looks to be on the verge of retaining the House. The result is a MAGA mandate, which extends into the Supreme Court as a result of its ruling that sitting presidents are immune from prosecution for “official” acts and which will likely see more Trump appointees replacing some of the current justices over the next four years.
It did not matter to the MAGA mob that Trump threatened retribution against his opponents, real and imagined, using the Federal State as his instrument of revenge. In fact, they want him to do so and, in contrast, support Trump’s promised to pardon all January 6 rioters. It also did not matter that Trump’s second term agenda is more radical, punitive and comprehensive than his first term (Project 2025 and Agenda 47 are extensive in scope and will leave an indelible mark on the federal government). Calling Trump a fascist only whetted the MAGA appetite for his authoritarian approach to politics.
Having 34 felony fraud convictions, including paying hush money to a porn actress out of campaign funds and then covering the payments up using dubious accounting methods did not hurt Trump at all and in fact was seen as an example of Democrats using the legal system against him (“lawfare”). His losses in defamation suits, including an adjudication that he is a sexual predator, meant absolutely zero to more than 70 million voters. For many in the voting majority, voting for the felon was a badge of honour. There were t-shirts made and sold at Trump rallies that read out variations of “I am with the felon.”
Age was not a factor even though Trump displays evident signs of cognitive decline. In contrast, gender and race were negative factors for Harris. It appears that the US has a major problem with selecting female presidents and the re-emergence of overt racism courtesy of Trump’s foray into politics produced a backlash against her mixed-race heritage.
Reproductive rights were not the watershed issue many thought that they would be, including for many female voters. The economy and immigration were the top priorities of female voters. Conversely, MAGA efforts to court “bro” support via social media catering to younger men “Alphas” worked very well, as this usually apathetic voting bloc turned out in record numbers. In a way, this is a double setback for women: as an issue of bodily autonomy and as an issue of gender equality given the attitudes of Trump endorsers like Tucker Carlson, Joe Rogan, Andrew Tate, Charlie Kirk, Ben Shapiro etc. Their misogyny has now been reaffirmed as part of a winning political strategy. Individually and collectively, women will bear the consequences of this intergenerational move backwards.
Undocumented immigrants in the US will now become targets for Trump’s mass deportation campaign. This could well force many underground since entire families, including US-born children of undocumented migrants, are targeted for deportation. The logistics involved in doing so may prove impossible to undertake, but it will not be for lack of trying (Stephen Miller will head the effort). This will have a decided negative effect on the low wage economy that underpins the US productive apparatus. Ordering the military to participate in the round-ups and detention of undocumented people and their US-born relatives could well spark a constitutional crisis (because that might violate the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878).
Ukraine and Western Europe have much to fear. Perhaps Taiwan as well. Palestinians will be forsaken by Trump. With the exception of Iran, authoritarians around the world will be pleased. So will the Netanyahu government in Israel. Liberal democracies new and old will need to adopt hedging strategies depending on what Trump demands of them. Some, like the current NZ government, may simply behave like obsequious supplicants bowing before the Orange Master.
Fear will extend to the federal bureaucracy and regulatory system, which will now be subject to Project 2025/Agenda 47, Trump loyalty tests, Elon Musk’s razor gang approach to public spending and RFK Jr.s public health edicts. In fact, it looks like the Trump second term approach to governance will take a page out of Argentine president Javier Milei’s “chainsaw” reforms, with results that will be similar but far broader in scope. Cost-cutting in and further privatisation of public services will have a profoundly dislocating effect on the social and economic fortunes of millions of people tied in one way or another to federal public services and good provision.
All in all, from where I sit it looks like a bit of a calamity in the making. But then again, I am just another political scientist that got the results all wrong–and there are many of us who did so. So much for the value of an advanced degree from a prestigious university and three+ decades of reading, writing and teaching about politics. I just as well could be a wino in the street when it comes to my US election prognostication skills.
I think that I will sit out on the deck and stare at the sea for a while because that is my saving grace: At least I am living in NZ and not in the US.
A US friend of mine wrote on social media about attending a Homecoming football game at her niece’s Red State university. Although the referees stunk and her team lost, my friend said that she enjoyed her visit, especially the halftime show that featured a tribute to veterans (it is approaching Veterans Day in the US). Because I have a self-righteous contrarian streak, I commented on her post by asking when did glorification of militarism and (by extension) war-mongering became a fixture US sports? I suggested that maybe it came from US military service academies (West Point, the Naval Academy and Air Force Academy) and somehow leaked into other sports institutions sometime after WW2. Not surprisingly given that my friend is a very patriotic and polite American, she declined to answer.
What I would have said to her had she answered is that I asked because cultural historians and sociologists have noted that although all liberal democracies have military ceremonies, displays, celebrations and commemorations on significant national dates and public holidays such as Anzac Day and Bastille Day, only the US has military displays at private sporting events from Little League to the professional level pretty much every week. American football, baseball, basketball, automobile racing (NASCAR is a patriotism fetishist’s delight), soccer, ice hockey, volleyball, lacrosse–these and more all regularly feature tributes to the military, with some including static and moving exhibits of death machines in the forms of warplane fly-overs, paratroop drops, assorted artillery gun salutes and even the occasional tank. Remember, this is not July 4th, Veterans Day or Memorial Day, which are genuine national holidays celebrated publicly with displays of patriotism, parades, picnics, pomp and circumstance even if the original, more sombre reason for them was about victory, sacrifice and service to the country, not the military per se.
So why and how did sports get turned into an adjunct to US militarism? Beyond the constant invocations of “fighting for freedom” (I guess “fighting for imperialism and “making the world more safe for Yanks” does not have quite the same ring to them), what normalised this practice?
Here is my hunch. At some point in the last half century a PR genius in the Department of Defense (DoD) realised that combining sports, especially “manly” contact sports, with militaristic displays and tributes framed as patriotic commemorations was a natural recruitment tool for the armed forces. The US military is already allowed to recruit in high schools and universities (some private schools refuse them but all public institutions receiving federal funding of any sort must allow military recruiters on campus). But sports, especially big-ticket sports like college and professional football, is a type of social glue that binds American society in a way that pretty much everything else does not. Race, class, religion, geographic location, now even gender–all bow before the alter of sports, with stadiums being the secular churches in which people congregate for common purpose. If you want to make friends and influence people by participating in the ritual, a sporting event is a good place to start.
(I use “American” here well aware that is is an appropriation of a continental name common to all of the Western Hemisphere simply because it has become normalised as a way to identify people from the US).
Partnering with sports is therefore way for the US military to get deeply involved in a core aspect of US society–the glue that holds together its social cohesion–by becoming an integral part not only of its sporting culture but also of its national identity. That perhaps is where US militarism is reproduced at its most basic level. If you can get people to adopt a certain favourable (and non-critical) mindset and predisposition regarding the military and its role in US society through sports, you pave the way for ideological reproduction of a military-aligned perspective. That in turn makes recruitment easier but also makes it easier to sell rationales for aggressive foreign polices, large military budgets and ultimately, war-mongering as a foreign policy tool. You can see the results in a number of popular culture artefacts: marching bands, camouflage apparel, guns, more guns and assorted accessories for guns (like bump stocks, silencers and extended magazines) in case the zombie finally arrive from south of the border, “tactical gear,” militarised local police forces, etc, to say nothing of the names of numerous sports teams themselves. You see it in the media, especially among conservative outlets. You see it in language, such as in the overuse of the word “heroes” to describe anyone who has served. You see it in oversized flags with Vietnam Era POW-MIA logos at car and gun dealerships, in the retail discounts offered to active duty service members and veterans and in the veneration of the military in churches. Militarism (I shall refrain from calling it military fetishism) permeates every aspect of US social life, and sports is at its core. I am not saying that there are no legitimate spinoffs and benefits from exposure to military culture and technologies, but in the US sometimes the crossover is a bit too much.
This occurs in spite of the fact that US in recent decades has not been particularly successful in war. For every victory in Granada, Panama or Gulf War One and in spite of overwhelming advantages in weaponry (courtesy of those enormous military budgets), most recent US expeditionary wars have ended in stalemates and withdrawal–sometimes chaotic–in places like Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq, as well as in a number of “low intensity conflicts” such as those in Niger, Somalia, and 1980s Lebanon. In fact, the US has been continuously at war, big or small, for the better part of my existence, and yet the world is arguably more dangerous today for the US than it was before it became the world’s policeman. Where is the national interest cost/benefit value in this?
That is where what former general and President Dwight “Ike” Eisenhower’s phrase enters the frame: “military-industrial complex.” Ike warned about the emerging military-industrial complex in the 1950s, arguing that it was leading to distortions in foreign policy, particularly those associated with militarism for profit. Needless to say he was shouting into the dark because the beast that he was looking at then is now a Godzilla that through lobbying controls the Federal Executive and Legislative branches as well as those of most if not all states and even local districts. From the United Fruit Company’s backing of coups in Central America in the 1950s and 60s things have evolved into a conglomerate of blood-soaked profiteers ranging from Blackwater in the 1990s ((now rebranded and decentralised under shell fronts) to assorted outfits supplying staples, fuel, transportation, close personal protection, anti-piracy squads and even Halloween costumes to the troops deployed abroad. Godzilla is now too big too fail.
Godzilla is also very smart. By marrying the military-industrial complex to the sports-military complex it has created the prefect vehicle for the profitable reproduction of a permanent militarist outlook as a cornerstone of US society. I’ll say it again, bloodshed is profitable and if sports is means for the military-industrial complex to profit, it has found a welcome partner. It is therefore not surprising that sports moguls and big entertainment companies, including dodgy outfits like those that control cage fighting and staged wrestling competitions, have partnered with the armed services in order for both to sell their “product.” The arrangement works well for the synergistic (some might say “symbiotic”) enhancement of their bottom lines.
So what we have in the US is a military-industrial-sports complex that serves as an ideological and material war-mongering reproduction machine. Only in America!
And now, a digression.
I had my “Ike moment” in 1994 when the Zapatistas staged an uprising in Chiapas Province, Mexico. Initially overwhelmed by the guerrilla assaults, the Mexican Army sent an urgent request for helicopter gunships, armoured personnel carriers and special operations troops. This, in spite fo the fact that up and until that moment Mexico styled itself to be a leader of the non-aligned movement, one of the “old school” revolutionary regimes dating to the early 20th century and regularly gave the US the finger in international forums. Its authorities were not very cooperative when it came to the illegal drug trade, something that made some of them rich, made more of them dead, and which made all of them regret their indifference down the road.
Well as it turns out on January 1, 1994 I just happened to be the regional policy analyst for the InterAmerican region in the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) and got called into my office to consider the request before sending it up the chain of command on the way to the White House. I explained to a group of formidable civilian and military leaders (some of whom I still admire), that a rebellion/revolt like that of the Zapatistas (known by the acronym EZLN in Spanish and led by the much vaunted “Comandante Marcos”) was rooted in socio-economic inequality and broken government promises, not some global Marxist conspiracy. It was a symptom, not a cause of instability and therefore could not be solved via US military intervention (or any use of force, for that matter). I advised against agreeing to the request and instead recommended that the Mexicans tend to their internal affairs by listening to the EZLN demands and proposing a negotiated solution. After all, they were on the right side of history, only sought was was promised to the peasantry in the 1930s, and had no means or intentions of expanding their armed activities to make revolution at the national level.
Historical Note: The EZLN were acting on historical campesino (peasant) grievances about having their communal (State-owned) land holdings (known as ejidos) taken over by large private land owning entities in spite the promise made by the post-revolutionary government of Lazaro Cardenas in the 1930s. After years of dispossessions and usurpation by Cardenas’s political heirs working hand in glove with landed agricultural elites, Maoist and Guevara-inspired guerrilla forces emerged in the 1980s and finally began the forcible reclamation project on New Year’s Day 1994. Talk about starting that year with a bang!
My comments to the Pentagon brass fell on deaf ears. To their credit the uniforms in the room were more sympathetic to my view than were my civilian counterparts, but the overall response was silence. A day or so later I was passed an interagency memo signed off by the NSC, CIA, NSA, JCS, Treasury, my bosses in OSD, the department of the Army and various other lesser agencies authorising a limited provision of the requested items subject to the condition that they “respect all national and International humanitarian conventions and the laws of war.”
Yeah, right. I may not have known it at the time, but a Yanqui Tui ad was in the making.
I was young and stroppy at the time so in response I fired off an interagency reply denouncing the decision, pointing out the few of those who signed off had expertise In Mexican history history and affairs, much less the history of Chiapas (the poorest state in Mexico) or the nature of the rebellion, and some did not even speak or read Spanish. I received no replies and the project was approved.
A few days later I was summoned for a private lunch by a very senior DoD official. That was unusual because a mid-level C ring analyst like me did not usually get a 1-on-1 invitation to meet with an E ring heavyweight (the Pentagon is divided into five rings running five stories high and five deep on each side, connected by internal corridors and with the service branches controlling three sides of the Pentagon and the Office of the Secretary of Defence for which I worked controlling the side that faces the Potomac River from the West. With the best views and largest offices, the E ring was where the civilian big boys and girls played. Among a lot of source on the building, see: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Pentagon)
The official complimented me on my knowledge of the region, the detail and energy that I brought to my job and the good work that I had done while serving in OSD/DoD. But he suggested that when my initial term expired I should return to academia and eventually write (once my security clearance lapsed) about my experiences there (subject to review and approval by DoD compliance mechanisms). Since I was hoping to extend my tenure in OSD I asked if the memo had something to do with his suggestion, to which he replied “yes.” I said that I thought that my job was to protect the US best interests in Latin America, balancing hard reality with as much idealism on human rights etc. as could be mustered under the circumstances (remember this was in the first couple of years of the first Clinton administration, when the US was pushing a so-called “Cooperative Security” doctrine based on confidence and security-building measures (CSBMs) as a replacement for Cold War “collective security” agreements based on credible counter-force). Since the Cold War had ended, part of my remit was to write the Latin American component of the new doctrine given the changed realities in my area of responsibility (Latin America and the Caribbean, which at the time meant that narco-trafficking and guerrilla warfare were the main concerns). His reply was to say “yes, that is true and commendable but you must understand that in this city corporate interests prevail.”
I left a short while after that conversation and a couple of years later emigrated to NZ. In the 25 years since then I have never once been asked by anyone in NZ government, academia, and the private sector about my experiences in that role, although when I was an academic I did illustrate to my students objective examples of foreign and security policy problems based on those experiences.
Instead, after 9/11 I got branded by the NZ (and now foreign) media as a security or terrorism “expert” when it fact those were just routine aspects–but not all of–what I did at OSD (TBH, I cringe when I am referred to as a security expert because those are people who install and maintain home and commercial alarm systems. And since terrorism “expertise” has become a cottage industry since 9/11, mostly directed at Islamicists (including in NZ), I would prefer to not be associated with those that currently embrace the label. Remember: terrorism is a tactic in unconventional, irregular and hybrid warfare (and sometimes even in conventional warfare if the laws of war are deliberately violated, as has been seen in recent times), but not an end in itself. Focusing on it is to consequently misses the forest for the trees (much like the US approach to the Zapatistas), something that just might have contributed to NZ being caught off-guard by the March 15 rightwing extremist terrorist attack in Xchurch. Just saying.
I will simply end this anecdotal sidebar by noting that even if the US sports-military-industrial complex does not deliver ” victory” in recent times, in the days when I associated with them the special and covert operations communities, with much more limited and specific mandates, did a very good job at solving problems for the US when nothing else could.
And as far as I know none of those that I worked with back then were recruited via sports.
A few days ago I responded to a post about Trump being a fascist on one of my friend’s social media page, then made a few comments on the consultancy social media page by way of follow up. Given the subsequent back and forth (including with regular KP reader Diane under her other social media moniker) I figured I might as well share my thoughts here. I realise that it may seem pedantic (it is) and inconsequential (it is not), but the misuse of value added terms is a trigger for me. So, with my political science/comparative politics hat on, let me offer some thoughts on the matter.
First, by way of prelude and backdrop to why I have decided to opine about this particular subject, let me explain something about analytic precision, specifically the notion of conceptual integrity. Conceptual transfer is an analytic tool where a concept is taken out of its original context in order to explain a different phenomenon that replicates the original meaning intact. The integrity of the original meaning is upheld in spite of the transfer. Say, a wheel back when is a wheel today even if its specific features are different. Conversely, conceptual stretching is a situation when a concept is stretched beyond its original meaning in order to describe a different, usually related but not the same, phenomenon. It loses explanatory and analytic integrity as it is stretched to explain something different. For example, when a hawk is called an eagle or an orca is called a killer whale. As an analytic tool the former is methodologically sound and intellectually honest. The latter is not. Conceptual integrity and precision is particularly important when using loaded or charged words, especially in contentious areas like politics.
There are plenty of authoritarians but only few were fascists or neo-fascists. There are Sultanistic regimes like those of the Arab oligarchies. There are theocracies like Iran (which used elections as a legitimating device). There one party regimes like the Belarus, PRC, DPRK, Syria and Cuba, one party dominant/limited contestation regimes like Algeria,Egypt, several of the K-stans, Hungary, Russia, Singapore, Tunisia, Turkey, Nicaragua and Venezuela and Egypt, military-bureaucratic regimes like those of the Sahel, and a variety of personalist and oligarchical leaders and regimes elsewhere. The way in which leadership is contested/selected and exercised, the balance between repression and ideological appeals in regime governing approaches, the mixture of inducements (carrots) and constraints (sticks) when it comes to specific key policy areas (say, in labor, tax, sexual preference and reproductive rights laws). There are many manifestations of the authoritarian phenomenon, so mislabeling some types as others compounds the practical and conceptual problems associated with the conceptual imprecision and confusion.
That is why it is unfortunate that Trump is being labeled a “fascist.” He clearly is a dictator wanna-be but fascism was a political movement specific to 20th century interwar Europe that combined charismatic leaders at the head of a mass mobilisational one party regimes with specific economic projects (state capitalist heavy industrialisation in the case of Nazi Germany) and state-controlled forms of interest group representation (state corporatism, to be specific). Fascist gain power via elections, then end them. Trump may lead the MAGA movement but he has no ideological project other than protectionist economics, diplomatic and military isolationism and nativist prejudice against assorted “others.” He prefers to manipulate rather than eliminate elections as a legitimating device. Barring an outright military takeover at this command, he will not be able to control the three branches of government even if he wants and tries to. He cannot control how interest groups are organised and represented unless he changes US laws governing interest representation and intermediation. Most fundamentally, he is just about himself, using tried and true scapegoating and fear-mongering in an opportunistic push to gain power. It worked once in 2016, so he is at it again, this time with a “better” (Project 2025) plan. That is scary but not fascist per se.
The closest he gets to a proper political category is national populist. As seen in the likes of Juan Peron in Argentina, Getulio Vargas in Brazil and Lazaro Cardenas in Mexico, these were charismatic leaders of mass mobilised movements as well, but who had different economic projects, different social bases (e.g. German Nazism and Franco’s fascist regime in Spain were middle class-based whereas Italian fascism and Argentine Peronism was urban working class-based and Mexican populism under Cardenas was peasantry-based), and who did not use warmongering to restore their nations to a position of global dominance (as did the European fascists). Trump’s base is low education working and lower middle class rubes encouraged by opportunistic business elites who self-interestedly see short-term benefit from supporting him. In other words, his supporters are the greedy leading the stupid.
It appears that respected people like Generals Milley and Kelly, who served in the Trump administration, are mistaken when they ever to him as a fascist. What they are describing is no more than garden party electoral authoritarians such as that of Viktor Urban or Recep Erdogan. Trump may admire despots like Putin, Kim and Xi, but he is a long way from being able to copy them, and none of them is a fascist in any event. Dictatorial ambition and authoritarian approaches come in many guises beyond the often misused term fascism. In fact, superstructural affinities like rhetorical style, corruption and bullying tendencies aside, Trump is less a fascist than he is a lesser moon in the authoritarian universe.
If I had to label him, I would say that Trump is a populist demagogue who has strong authoritarian ambitions such as purging the federal government of non-loyalists and persecuting his political opponents. Perhaps he will graduate into becoming a full-blown dictator. But what he is not is a fascist, at least not in the proper sense of the word. He is too ignorant to implement a modern variant of fascism in a place like the US, and there are too many institutional and social counters in the US to any move he may make in that direction. What I will admit is that he has neo-Nazis in his inner circle (Stephen Miller) and evil Machiavellians as his consiglieri (Steve Bannon, soon to be released from jail for contempt of Congress). Along with assorted lesser ogres equipped with the Project 2025 playbook, it is possible that they could turn the US political system into something resembling a modern variant of a national populist regime. But there is a ways to go before that happens.
I therefore feel that it is unfortunate and counterproductive to call him a fascist. It is like how he and his minions call Kamala Harris a “communist” or “socialist.” The labels are absurd and betray a profound ignorance of what those terms mean (and the differences between them), but they make for good red meat rallying points for a MAGA base that lacks the education or common sense to see the smear for what it is or the reality that communists and socialists do not get to hold the positions of California Attorney General, US Senator and Vice President (the closest they have come in recent times is Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders, and he is no communist).
If the good generals and Vice President Harris decided to take a page out of his fear-mongering smear playbook by calling him a fascist, that may be understandable given the danger he poses for US democracy. But it is also dishonest (given Milley and Kelly’s educations, I find hard to believe that they do not know what fascism is and is not, but then again, many general grade officers major in military history, international relations and/or security studies rather than comparative political science and so may not be familiar with the proper definitions of the term. As for Harris, she is trained as a lawyer. Enough said).
Anyway, the point of this undoubtably boring exegesis is to get a pet peeve off of my chest, which is the resort to conceptual stretching in order to negatively frame narratives about political phenomena.
In this episode of the “A view from Afar” podcast Selwyn Manning and I discuss Israel’s expansion of its war in Lebanon as part of a “six front” strategy that it thinks it can win, focusing on the decision-making process and strategic logic at play that led to the most recent turn of events. Plus some game theory references just to place things in proper context.
This week’s “A View from Afar” podcast addresses the issue of multidimensional hybrid warfare using the Israeli pager attacks in Lebanon as a starting point before moving on to discuss the failures of multilateral institutions, the UN in particular, when it comes to handling war crimes and crimes against humanity. It is a sad state of affairs.
The Murky World of Israel’s Booby-Trapped Pagers and Walkie-Talkies
In this podcast Selwyn Manning and I talk about what appears to be a particular type of end-game in the long transition to systemic realignment in international affairs, in which the move to a new multipolar order with different characteristics than the previous one is marked by conflict, the inevitable friction that ensures from unregulated competition absent universal norms and boundaries of behaviour, and the unfortunate yet predictable turn to politics of desperation by actors who are personally or politically invested into status quos under siege. The consequences of this turn of events is both uncertain and yet likely negative in the end. We use Trump, Netanyahu, Zelensky, Putin, Maduro and Ortega as examples of desperate leadership, although the trend can be extended to other cases as well.
The bottom line is that little if any good can come from the politics of desperation.
The “double shocks” in post Cold War international affairs.
The end of the Cold War fundamentally altered the global geostrategic context. In particular, the end of the nuclear “balance of terror” between the USA and USSR, coupled with the relaxation of tensions between their respective client states and regional alliances, produced a paradigm shift in views of international security. Not only was there a move away from the bi-polar configuration of global military-political blocs and a general move towards political democracy, something that was argued to be conducive to the modern equivalent of Kant’s “perpetual peace” (recently recast as the so-called “democratic peace thesis”).
There was also a shift in Western security paradigms. Instead of the Cold War emphasis on collective security agreements that provided for mutual defense in the case of attack (and which therefore served to deter attacks), like those that underpinned the NATO and ASEAN alliances, there began a move towards cooperative security based on increased transparency and establishment of comprehensive confidence and security-building measures (CSBMs). Under the new paradigm former adversaries shared information about military capabilities in order to diminish the threat and fear of attack. The objective was not to deter aggression as much as it was to prevent it by addressing root causes. This included de-emphasis on nuclear and large-scale conventional war preparation and a shift in orientation towards counter-terror, peace keeping and nation-building operations under multilateral aegis (most often under UN mandate).
The shift towards cooperative security arrangements was particularly welcomed by the armed forces of smaller countries, which saw in multilateral peacekeeping operations a renewed justification for augmenting their capabilities. Political elites also saw merit in the shift, as it theoretically turned international security decision making into a multilateral enterprise as well. Even so, the shift in perspective was not universally accepted, much less codified by international agreement. If anything, it enjoyed regional credence more than global appeal. Eastern European and Latin American countries were among the most keen to accept the cooperative security paradigm, whereas Middle Eastern and Asian countries preferred to retain traditional, state-centric perspectives with collective security overlays.
In fact, although embraced in principle by many Western nations, the tenets of co-operative security were severely tested, if not put to the sword on a number of fronts. These included the ethic and sectarian violence that flared in places such as Kosovo, Bosnia and Somalia throughout the decade, and which eventually compelled a US-led NATO military intervention against Serbia. Rather than adopt CSBMs, India and Pakistan bucked the nuclear non-proliferation trend by testing atomic devices in a show of mutual deterrence. North Korea and Iran continue to pursue nuclear weapons as a deterrent rather than a first-strike option (rhetoric aside). Low intensity conflicts, including transnationalized non-state terror, proliferated within the Muslim world and increased in the wake of the Iraq occupation, while genocidal campaigns were undertaken in Burundi and Rwanda, other areas of Sub-Saharan Africa and the Indonesian archipelago that the West was powerless to prevent. Even the US, which had championed the adoption of cooperative security during the first Clinton administration, shied away from the concept after the debacle of Moghadishu, Somalia (where US troops deployed in a UN-mandated peace enforcement mission under theater command of Pakistani officers were not reinforced by non-US troops after being ambushed in an unauthorized raid on a warlord’s suspected hideout).
A few years later, using the justification that cooperative security was just a cover for NATO expansion, Russia partially invaded Georgia, then parts of Ukraine, annexing territory in both countries including Crimea, followed by a full-scale assault on Ukraine in 2022 that continues to this day. The Russian narrative that NATO expansion—something that did occur while the concept of cooperative security was in vogue in Europe—was the cause of its preventative wars because it constituted an existential threat to the Russian Motherland, was increasingly accepted by Western nationalists (who saw a globalist agenda at play) and some international relations scholars who saw NATO expansion under the aegis of cooperative security agreements as diverting away from Western existential threats while needlessly provoking the Russians, thereby creating a cycle of escalation based on asymmetrical perceptions of their shared threat environment. In other words, rather than an era of perpetual peace, pursuit of cooperative security in Europe replaced the Cold War status quo (which was mostly peaceful) with an increased danger of “hot” war outbreaks, as eventually proved the case along the Southeastern European flank and which threatens to expand northward into Poland and the Northern Tier.
In parallel, the retreat from cooperative security was accelerated after the attacks of 9/11, to which the US responded by invading Afghanistan and toppling the Taliban regime in 2001-02, followed by the invasion and occupation of Iraq in 2003. At that point notions of cooperative became a distant memory for many Western security planners. If the fall of the Berlin Wall marked the end of the Cold War and the beginning of the short-lived era of cooperative security, then September 2001 marked the end of the cooperative security era and the rise of something very different. As of that date, the international community was faced with the strategic complexities and political requirements of the so-called War on Terror. In spite of the malapropism (since terror is a subjective state of being and terrorism is a tactic used in unconventional warfare), this new global conflict was characterized by the emergence of non-State actors and so-called “rogue states” as primary strategic threats to global order. The major response from the US was the adoption of the policy of unilateral preemption and preventative war, which in turn caused deep divisions within the West over its rationale and suitability.
The result of these trends saw the emergence of a threat environment that was increasingly “glocalized” or “intermestic” (Kenny, 1999; Dominguez, 1998), in which the line between state and non-state actors was increasingly blurred. Facilitated by the explosion of high technologies in communications, transportation and warfare (think social media, space militarisation and autonomous weapons platforms), this evolution saw the growth of a “grey” or “covert” world that resulted from the expansion and overlapping of private and public security agencies, transnational criminal enterprises and intelligence services, military and paramilitary organizations (Cox, 2000). To these have now been added international Islamicist irredentism and the overlapping of the boundaries between internal and external security apparatuses in the West. All of this complicates the security “matrix” in which national armed forces have to operate, regardless of size.
Even so, expansion of NATO to include several Eastern European members, coupled with successful attempts to halt nuclear weapons research and ballistic missile testing by Argentina and Brazil after their respective transitions to democracy in the 1980s, continue to give hope to proponents of the cooperative security paradigm. For this school co-operative security approaches remain an effective alternative to the collective security policies of the Cold War and irregular thrust of the War on Terror, if nothing else because they address the causes rather than the consequences of militarism. With creative extension to non-state actors and other sub- or transnational belligerents, the desire remains that the root causes of armed conflict in the present era can be addressed and diminished.
This matters because small states like the peripheral democracies studied here continue to have an principled interest in a scheme that expands international security decision-making beyond a small circle of military powerful states, if nothing else as a reinforcement of multilateralism as an organizing principle of the international community. But for the time being, a different situation prevails.The larger point is that this changing security environment has a discernible impact on the way in which small peripheral democracies have had to re-configure their armed forces and strategic outlooks after 2001, but is set in deeper historical and institutional context.
The reason for addressing the longer-term historical backdrop is important. Much of the literature on military strategy, to include the so-called “revolution in military affairs,” speaks to evolving security paradigms without fully addressing the dynamics underpinning the transitional global moment that has existed since 1990. In military-security terms, this transitional period is defined by the “double shocks” of the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon in 2001. These defining moments—what could also be called bracketing events or critical junctures (Collier and Collier, 1992)– were in turn part of a longer transition from authoritarianism to democratic governance that began in the early 1970s in Mediterranean Europe. That process of regime change was continued in Latin America throughout the 1980s, overlapping towards the end of the decade with similar transitions in Southeast Asia. These were paralleled by the fall of Stalinist regimes in Eastern Europe and of the apartheid regime in South Africa. As these new electoral regimes struggled to consolidate, the “third wave” (Huntington, 1991) of democratization began to be felt in other areas of the world, most notably Sub-Saharan Africa, Central Asia and the Middle East.
Although it is clear that much will have to be done to justify labeling many of these emerging regimes as “democratic,” it is also clear that their emergence has itself complicated the security environment in which small peripheral democracies must operate. The dual move towards electoral forms of political representation and market steerage of national economies, set against a backdrop of the globalization of production in an increasingly inter-dependent system of trade, served as the root causes for the end of Stalinism (and thus the end of the Cold War). Subsequently, as the process advanced to the heart of the Muslim world, it precipitated the fundamentalist backlash that occasioned the terrorist attacks on that fateful day in 2001. That, in turn, brought with it another response, in the form of unilateral preemption and the emergence of preventive war as the organizing principle behind the so-called “War on Terror.”
In effect, the “bracketing” events of the end of the Cold War and 9/11 attacks constitute the immediate backdrop to national civil-military relations and the formulation and implementation of military strategy (to include issues of force composition, size, orientation, training and deployment). But they are not the only backdrop, and are embedded in broader historical processes. The end of the Cold War may have prompted a move away from nuclear deterrence and collective security arrangements and towards peacekeeping, nation-building and cooperative security, but it was premised on a universal move (sooner or later) towards democratic capitalism. After 9/11, engagement in the War on Terror and the doctrines of unilateral preemption and preventive war announced by the United States forced all military and security forces to once more reassess their strategic outlooks, including commitment to democratic governance and principles. Among other things, this gave impetus to the expansion of internal security agencies in virtually the entire Western world. It spelled the end of cooperative security as the dominant, if short-lived, strategic paradigm in the West, and shifted emphasis to asymmetric and low intensity conflicts involving non-state actors using unconventional warfare approaches and tactics. These developments are not considered to be salutary from a democratic governance standpoint, especially in regions where the very concept of democratic governance is being challenged. Moreover, the advance of democratic capitalism as a presumed universal good has been slowed by the contradictory dynamics of the so-called “war on terror” and problems of market-driven macroeconomics in general.
Next: More on case selection.
Military politics as a distinct “partial regime.”
Notwithstanding their peripheral status, national defense offers the raison d’être of the combat function, which their relative vulnerability makes apparent, so military forces in small peripheral democracies must be very conscious of events happening in the world around them. At the same time, the constitution and deployment of military forces is a part and product of national political history and domestic considerations. Specifically, the dynamics of having to balance force flexibility, political ideology, popular consent and international security commitments constitute the crucible within which national military politics is forged. It is the vessel in which external strategic necessities give body to specific policy rationales and practices, or what can be called the military politics “partial regime” (Schmitter, 1993).
In turn, this core area of state activity can be disaggregated into its component parts. Military politics involves three analytically distinct fields that, although addressed separately by the literatures on military science, sociology and warfare, are seldom examined together. At one level, lines of division are drawn between those who write as generalists versus those who write as specialists. Generalists focus on comparative civil-military relations, while on the other hand specialists focus on military organization and geopolitical strategy. One side looks at the relationship of the security community (mostly that of its military apparatus) with civilians holding positions in and out of power The other side looks at the logic and organization of the military apparatus itself. Comparative scholars who study civil-military relations operate at the macro level of analysis. Those who study military and geopolitical strategy focus on the meso-analytic level. Those who study military organization and tactics dwell on the micro-level of military politics.
The generalist literature concentrates on issues of control, influence or relationship of the national security apparatus with civilian political society, the institutional features of which make for broad typologies of civil-military relations. The question of how specific civil-military relations impinge on organizational and strategic aspects of military politics is seldom addressed. Here we look at at the interrelated features of all three approaches in a cross-regional section of small peripheral democracies after the Cold War.The approach is novel for several reasons. The field of comparative politics is dominated by regional comparisons based upon linguistic, ethnic, constitutional, cultural, political or geographic proximity. The specialist literature on military affairs is divided into organizational and strategic analyses. In neither sub-field is it common to engage in cross-regional comparisons, much less coupled with an analytic perspective that cuts across the generalist versus specialist dichotomy. This project bridges the sub-disciplinary divide as part of an extended methodological and conceptual introduction to the case studies.
The argument put forth is that military politics is more than the sum of its parts, nor is it just concerned with “military affairs.” Rather than a piecemeal treatment that highlights some features while ignoring others, the intent is to adopt a holistic approach that addresses the distinct aspects of military politics by dividing it into four issue areas instead of the three-fold division mentioned above. The four issue areas are civil-military relations (which examines the relationship of the military with the national political regime); force composition (comprised of organizational hierarchy, budget, personnel, training and equipment); geopolitical perspective (including geo-strategic context, strategic culture, threat perception, net assessment and risk projection); and force deployment (where, why and under what type of operational command and control). Having examined the particulars of each, the four issue areas can be summarized in order to provide an overview of the major features of military politics in each case. In doing so a more comprehensive picture can be drawn of the rationales and impact of the external security approaches adopted by the countries under scrutiny.
As an example of why a more integrated approach to the subject of military politics is necessary, consider briefly some of the issues involved in the study of one of its component parts or issue areas: civil-military relations. Most of the specialist literature on comparative civil-military relations focus on the relationship between military and civilian political elites, or on the relationship of the military as an institution with civilian political institutions. The impact of civil society on these relations is seldom and then only tangentially discussed. But the issue has more depth than conventional wisdom would suggest.
Consider that New Zealand lost the protection of the ANZUS (Australia-New Zealand-United States) military alliance once it declared itself, over the objections of the military high command but riding a broad wave of popular support, a nuclear-free state in 1985. This forced reconfiguration of the New Zealand Defense Forces (NZDF), which now largely relies for military assistance and intelligence on Australia even if its military ties with the US have strengthened since 9/11. Today New Zealand reliance on Australia is expected in the event of external aggression against its national territory as well as seen in the military and logistical assistance for New Zealand troops deployed in regional theaters such as Afghanistan, Iraq, East Timor and the Solomon Islands. Although it is the cause of some professional embarrassment, the NZDF largely configures its forces to operationally mesh with Australian units. Beyond that, New Zealand has banked heavily on its strong commitment of troops to United Nations peacekeeping operations paying mutual defense dividends in the event that it is subject to external aggression. The government sees the Army as a peace keeping and humanitarian assistance force, with the Navy and Air Force largely confined to coastal defense and multilateral support roles (e.g., freedom of navigation exercises). The public remains largely disinterested in military-security affairs, and when it does focus on the subject it tends to be in reaction to civilian partisan disputes over defense policy.
In recent years Islamicist terrorism has dominated the threat perspectives the NZ intelligence community (NZIC) and military planners, leading to support for involvement in the anti-jihadist campaigns in Afghanistan (as part of the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) mission authorised by the UN) and Iraq (as part of the post-Hussein effort to impose political order in Iraq and prevent the establishment of an Islamic caliphate in its territory). This orientation also dominated local security-intelligence perspectives, at least until the March 15, 2019 white supremacist terrorist attacks in Christchurch that killed 51 people and injured over 100 others. At that point the NZIC was forced to take a serious look at itself and the assumptions and methods (and biases) that underpinned their threat assessments until that day.
For its part, Portugal has a long tradition of alliance with the largest maritime power in the Atlantic, first the United Kingdom, then the United States, which influenced the military strategic perspective confronted by three different threat scenarios during the latter part of the twentieth century. These were the Portuguese colonial wars, the Cold War, and the War on Terror. The first scenario ran in parallel to the interests of the maritime patrons during the Cold War, and was prosecuted with their support because the colonial struggles in Lusophone Africa were seen as part of the global conflict between the Western and Soviet blocs (as proxy wars). This made for a relatively tight alliance in which Portugal recognized its role as a subordinate partner to the US and in which the US and other Western nations overlooked its authoritarian political features in exchange for military assistance to the declining empire.
The Portuguese military perspective began to shift in the 1970s with the loss of the colonies and subsequent regime transition to democracy in the Portuguese “metropolis.” That was followed by the increased economic integration of Europe, the decline of the Soviet bloc, and the rise of Islamicist armed struggle flowing on the heels of greater economic and human interchange between Portugal and the Arab world. These shifting conditions made for a very different domestic and international context in which Portuguese military politics were formulated. The effects of these changes are ongoing but have, among other things, seen recent emphasis on land-based peace keeping roles that reversed the maritime interdiction priorities that had been the hallmark of the post-colonial Cold War strategic perspective. This led to disagreements between the Portuguese Army, on the one hand, and the Air Force and Navy, on the other, about the proper thrust of Portuguese strategic policy. The government wavers between territorial defense and extra-territorial mission orientation.
In contrast, after a period of post-authoritarian hyper-politicization in the 1970s in which all issues of policy were the subjects of popular debate, the Portuguese public remains largely disinterested in the subject of national defense. The majority sees the proper role of the armed forces as humanitarian and logistical assistance at home and abroad, followed by multinational peace keeping duties.
This raises a noteworthy point. In many democracies, civilians and the military high command responsible for defending them often do not share perceptions of threat. For peripheral democracies, the differences in threat perception can be acute. Portuguese and New Zealand public opinion sees very little in the way of direct external threats, especially if the countries steer clear of foreign entanglements such as the “War on Terror.” There is a strong current of neutralism in both countries in spite of their overwhelming identification with the West, and both have significant isolationist elements among the public at large. Civilian political leaders are more attuned to larger geostrategic and diplomatic realities, but these do not necessarily translate into convergence of perspective with military strategic planners.
As an illustration, the Portuguese Navy wants submarines as a priority for maritime interdiction purposes while the Army wants more troops for multilateral operations, while the New Zealand Air Force similarly wants tactical combat aircraft for air defense and the Navy wants an upgrading of the blue water component of its fleet. The civilian political elite and public in both countries cannot see the reason why. This divergence of views between unformed personnel and civilians makes for a very different set of civil-military relations than in countries where threat perceptions or at least public opinion on the proper role of the armed forces coincide or are relatively proximate.
Such is the case with Chile and, as an extended example, Fiji. In Chile the elected political elite installed after 1990 have insistently pushed for military re-orientation towards international peace keeping operations, whereas the military high command and public opinion continue to view territorial defense as a primary focus of the armed forces. In Fiji the political and military elite tend to agree on the international role but disagree on the domestic responsibilities of the armed forces, something that is reflected in the views of the ethnic groups from which each is in the majority drawn. The larger issue is that civil-military relations is a multi-faceted phenomena that operates both dialectically and synergistically, something that colors the other aspects of the military politics partial regime.
A schematic representation of the military politics partial regime for any given country that covers the way in which the four issue areas (and their component parts) combine can be depicted as follows:
FIGURE 1: The Military Politics Partial Regime
The specific mix of the four issue areas makes for variations in military politics between regime types (authoritarian, democratic) depending on the way in which they are integrated and related. Changes in geopolitical conditions and geostrategic context have an impact on national civil-military relations. The latter are rooted in the specific power relationship between civil society, political society and military society. As a result, different types of civil-military relations respond differently to the external contextual shifts with specific security perspectives and institutional morphologies. This is seen in the organization, strategic doctrine, equipment and physical deployment of their respective militaries over time.
Variance is not just seen at the level of regime types. It also occurs within regime types, and across the sub-types of each (e.g. between parliamentary versus presidential democracies or between bureaucratic-authoritarian and national-populist regimes, to say nothing of post-revolutionary regimes such as Cuba, Iran or Vietnam). Although undoubtedly a worthy subject, here the focus is not on variations in authoritarian military politics. Instead, by examining a small-N cross-regional sample from Australasia, Southern Europe and the Southern Cone, the project seeks to demonstrate how historical and institutional factors at the national level combine with the geostrategic context to make for recent variation in the military politics of small peripheral democratic regimes. The general conclusions may turn out to be intuitive, but the specific process and nature of change makes for difference within the sample, which in turn makes for variance in the specific explanation for each.
NEXT: The “double shocks” in international security affairs.
Internal versus external security.
Regardless of who rules, large countries can afford to separate external and internal security functions (even if internal control functions predominate under authoritarian regimes). In fact, given the logic of power concentration and institutional centralization of coercive control that defines them, authoritarian regimes do not completely separate internal police and external military roles. Instead they prefer to overlap (if not fuse) the two (especially when confronted by mobilized internal dissent). In some cases the overlap or fusing is accompanied by an expansion of intelligence services with paramilitary capabilities, most of which are directed against domestic dissent. Conversely, small countries often find that the best way to achieve economies of scale in military matters is to combine some internal and security functions, such as through a national gendarmarie that merges police and paramilitary functions (border control, organized crime interdiction, counter-terrorism, etc.). However, a political problem makes the issue a bit more problematic for small democracies. That is because the combination of internal and external security roles may suit the political needs and threat perceptions of small country authoritarian regimes, but is at odds with the liberal democratic tradition with regards to the management of organized violence by the state.To wit: democratic regimes of all sizes prefer to administratively and legally separate internal police from external military security functions as part of the decentralization of economic, political and normative power that defines them as a system of rule.
This has traditionally extended into the field of intelligence, although some small democracies such as New Zealand have historically centralized their intelligence gathering services as a matter of economy given their abject reliance on foreign patrons for external intelligence provision. More recently, some liberal democracies, led by the United States, have adopted more integrated approaches towards intelligence gathering in the wake of the September 11, 2001 attacks and subsequent acts of rightwing/white extremist terrorism. For post-authoritarian regimes such as those of Chile and Portugal, the tension between the urge to centralize internal and external military and intelligence functions versus the normative preference for democratic decentralization became one of the major issues of civil-military relations after the restoration of electoral rule.
Regardless of size, the external/internal division of the combat function versus police duties has been the source of debate with regard to its impact on the ability to fight and win external wars. Some analysts believe that the ability to achieve victory in external wars is not a function of regime type, which means that the external versus internal security dichotomy only matters with regard to domestic control issues. What is most important for victory in conventional war is the relative size of the adversaries, specifically large size (see Desch, 1999). For other authors military preoccupation with domestic security, especially those such as the counter-insurgency operations that was the focus of Latin American national security doctrines in the 1960s-1980s, adversely impact of their ability to carry out external military missions. Here the diversion of resources towards internal warfare, especially when carried out by military authoritarian regimes with political agendas that involve the military as an institution remaining in power for extended periods of time, is a certain recipe for external combat weakness. The Greek invasion of Cyprus in 1973 and 1982 Argentine invasion of the Falkland Islands, done for diversionary reasons by military regimes confronting rising socioeconomic unrest after extended periods of internal repression, are considered emblematic in that regard.
It should be noted that the argument in favor of internal mission orientation being a drain on the external combat function is based upon the modern experience of recent military authoritarian, not democratic regimes. Even then, those who see no significance to the internal/external combat distinction point to other authoritarian regimes—the Soviet Union, China, Cuba, Vietnam, as well as Nazi Germany and Japan prior to 1942—to argue that the issue is problematic only when the military as an institution occupies the highest political decision-making roles in the regime. Military colonization of the state apparatus outside of its areas of professional expertise, coupled with the politicization of the officer corps that inevitably entails, is widely considered to be deleterious to military professionalism, particularly with regard to the external combat function. If for no other reason than this, many authoritarian regimes as well as all democratic regimes hold axiomatic that the armed forces as an institution, regardless of strategic focus, will subordinate to civilian political authority. The Peoples Republic of China, Cuba, Iran and contemporary Russia conform to this norm.
Whatever the truth of the matter with regard to the internal/external combat orientation and conventional warfare fighting ability, separation of external combat and internal security functions under democratic regimes is a normative preference rather than a practical requirement, even when logistical support infrastructures overlap to a significant degree. It is by no means an immutable norm, since the distinction between combat and police functions can be (and has been) blurred by democratic regimes in the event of major internal unrest or conflict. In fact, concern with internal threats can and are often a focus of major attention by democratic regimes, as evidenced by Portuguese military concern well into the 1980s with so-called “indirect threats” (Marxist third columns) after the abortive Communist government take-over of 1975. As a result, analysis of threat perception herein will not be confined to externally focused assessments, and will include internal threat assessment as well. But by and large, the combat function of militaries in democracies is an externally focused enterprise. After all, policing is about law enforcement and disciplining those who would violate universal standards of mores, norms and acceptable codes of social conduct; military combat is about killing foreign enemies of the state. Rather than maintaining domestic law and order, it is in carrying out the latter task where small democracies are at a disadvantage.
Because of the benefits conferred by size, the combat role of the armed forces in small democracies (demographically defined as those with populations under 20 million) is generally limited to being the junior partners of multi- or bi-national external military alliances, rather than the ultimate guarantors of national self-defense. Armed forces in small democracies most often serve as territorial and border patrols, be it at sea in the case of maritime nations such as Chile, Portugal and New Zealand, or on land as in the case of Chile and Portugal, or as an internal reserve should civil disorder assume mass proportions unmanageable by the police (as in New Zealand). For most small democracies, contributions to larger security alliances pay dividends in the form of national defense being guaranteed by collective security reciprocities within those alliances. Some may choose to enhance value per soldier in the form of combat specialization, to include special operations (such as the New Zealand Special Air Services, or SAS, which often are attached to British or Australian SAS units when deployed overseas). Others may prefer to deploy troops for humanitarian and police operations such as nation building and peacekeeping under multinational aegis (where New Zealand has extensive experience with “blue helmet” deployments). In such missions the skills utilized are more akin to civil defense and disaster relief infrastructure. In any event, the nature of these commitments and missions differ, which brings up the question of political justification, mission definition, operational control–and of mission creep.
There is a two-fold external orientation among the militaries of small democratic regimes. The armed forces of small democracies tied to formal military alliance structures like NATO or ASEAN tend to specialize in defined combat roles (such as long range patrol and tracking) as part of joint force integration with their larger partners. In doing so they respond to the political justifications for the use of force offered by their larger allies, and seldom have their specific national interests at stake or used as a primary rationale for the deployment of troops abroad. This is sold to domestic constituencies as the necessity of burden sharing, where the protection afforded by larger allies is the return on the investment of troops in the larger conflicts those allies may be involved in.
On the other hand, the armed forces of small democracies with independence of mind and a non-aligned posture often seek refuge under the multilateral umbrella of United Nations mandates. Participation in “blue helmet” exercises such as peacekeeping and nation-building gives reason for keeping troops on the payroll, thereby offering a bureaucratic rationale of self-preservation for the military as an institution. Here the political justification for the external deployment of troops responds to the broader concerns of the international community as expressed through the United Nations or regional security agencies. It has a basis in self-interest because it reaffirms notions of mutual self-defense that smaller states embrace as a deterrent against the unilateral depredations of larger states. It also reaffirms the role of the armed forces in providing for the well being of others as well as being the last line of national defense. It is seen to encourage military professionalism via collaborative exposure to and interaction with other military forces.
The international role of the armed forces in such cases is mostly directed towards engineering, medical and police support, often in concert with civilian non-governmental or multinational organizations. These not only can be deployed internally in the case of an emergency, but also serve as human resource training for skilled labor inputs to the domestic market (the two sides of its internal support role). The combat function, although trained for, is clearly subordinate to the humanitarian and other non-lethal functions of the military apparatus.
Next: The Military Politics “Partial Regime.”