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Sinews of War: Financing French Resistance

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Objects Linked to the Occupation of France, 1944. Source: Adobe Stock Images, provided by the author under license.

‘If money be the sinews of war, it may be said to be the framework of Resistance and the punctual despatch of the very large sums needed to keep an Underground Movement, or Secret Army, in being was one of the greatest and, in every sense of the word, heaviest, preoccupations of the Sub-Section.’[i]

When thinking about French resistance during the Second World War, sabotage missions, intelligence gathering and the creation of escape lines for downed Allied pilots are likely to be at the forefront of any reflections. However, according to the 1944 official history of Section ‘RF’ of the British Special Operations Executive, the transportation of money was one of the most pressing concerns for those engaged in the underground war against German occupation. Operating under the aegis of the Ministry of Economic Warfare, ‘RF’ were one of the groups tasked with setting France ablaze. Working alongside the Gaullist Bureau Centrale de Renseignement et d’Action, they organised some of the most audacious special operations undertaken during the conflict. However, these missions risked being impossible to undertake were it not for the increasingly regular injections of cash it provided. Yet, historians have largely ignored the financial aspect of this irregular warfare. The importance of international fundraising, the logistical difficulties experienced when transporting money and the successful use of banditry in a martial context should be highlighted.

Importance of International Fundraising

The internationalised nature of French resistance funding is important to underline. Acquiring funds from within France was an exercise fraught with danger.[ii] In the context of the French economy under occupation, it was difficult for the heads of networks to procure the large amounts of cash needed to support those who were eking out their wartime existence on the black market.

Funds came primarily from the British government, but it was not the only source. From the earliest days of General de Gaulle’s Free French movement, private donations found their way to his London headquarters in Carlton Gardens. However, these gifts were sporadic and often in small amounts. Supporters of the Free French would send precious objects to be sold, including diamonds, with the proceeds being put towards the financing of the external resistance movement.[iii]

As the conflict progressed, financial support increased from further afield. Delegations were founded by French émigrés and Francophiles in Allied and non-belligerent nations. The largest of these groups were established in South America, notably in Argentina, Mexico, Uruguay and Chile. They organised dances and conferences designed to foster the movement’s soft power and fundraise on their behalf[iv].

At the end of 1943, a funding drive in the rallied French colonies sought to raise money for the Gaullist movement. This led to the greatest increase in money available to French resistance groups since the beginning of the conflict. Of the 4.3 million francs sent from New Caledonia, in the Pacific, 1.8 million francs were donated by the French expatriate community, companies gifted 1.2 million, fêtes and dances raised nearly 750,000 francs and 325,000 francs came from the indigenous Kanaks and the Asian community.[v] The islands’ inhabitants donated 61 francs per capita to the ‘Subscription to Help the French Resistance’. To put this into context, the New Caledonian contribution was a mere two percent of the total subscription received. The largest donation, of 141 million francs, came from French West Africa, which was raised over only three months.

Logistical Difficulties

However, the problems that arose when delivering the funding into occupied France continued to trouble mission planners outside of France. One of the main obstacles to providing funds was the weather. Inclement forecasts in December 1943 led directly to a halving in sorties attempted by the R.A.F.’s 161 Squadron. As the squadron’s pilots were involved in flying special operations missions, including money deliveries into occupied France, any meteorological impediments inevitably caused funding shortages in France.[vi]

The difficulties were not over when funds finally arrived in the country, whether transported by an incoming agent or within an airdropped container. The risks of holding money were greatly multiplied due to the unavoidable centralisation that clandestine operations required. Daniel Cordier, the secretary of Jean Moulin, who was de Gaulle’s representative in occupied France, nearly lost the entirety of his monthly delivery, as a thief stole his bicycle from outside a black-market café.[vii] To put this loss into perspective, bicycles cost around 7,500 francs or nearly double the monthly expenditure of an average Parisian family[viii]. Fortunately, Cordier had the presence of mind to take the contents of his side-bags with him into the meeting, but the episode highlights the inherent risks involved when keeping large quantities of illicit funding in the hands of one person.

Banditry Works…

With the chaos wrought by the Normandy landings of June 1944, aerial sorties to supply and fund French resistance groups became a vital lifeline for the estimated 300,000 to 500,000 people living in clandestine conditions.[ix] Moreover, banditry also became more common. In southern France, branches of the Banque de France were robbed of 4.4 billion francs by members of resistance groups. The largest of these raids occurred at Neuvic, in Dordogne. On 26th July, a group of resistance members hijacked a train heading towards Bordeaux and made away with 2.28 billion francs.[x] Unsurprisingly, news of the robbery was withheld from the press, and by June 1945, there were no attempts made to locate the lost money. Elsewhere, in Annonay (Ardèche), the local branch of the Banque de France was robbed on six separate occasions, from July to September 1944, losing a total of 44 million francs.[xi] Armed men forced their way into the branch and, after a ‘lively’ discussion and upon receiving the money, handed a receipt over to the manager in return[xii]. When it is considered that the financial cost of supporting a member of the resistance was estimated to be between 1,000 and 1,500 francs[xiii], these Annonay hauls could have funded around 30,000 to 40,000 resistance members for a month.

To conclude, French resistance funding was international and reliant upon the efforts of those outside of France. Both foreseen and unforeseen problems were experienced with the transportation of money and equipment into areas under enemy occupation. Finally, following the chaos generated by the Allied invasion, banditry became a means by which these groups acquired funding for themselves. While financial constraints may not immediately be associated with global conflict, they certainly proved a driving force behind significant French resistance activity during the Second World War.

[i] The National Archives, Kew, HS7 124, Appendix A, p.9

[ii] Henri Frenay, La nuit finira, (Paris, Éditions Robert Laffont, 1973), p.35-36

[iii] Pierre Denis, Souvenirs de la France Libre, (Paris, Éditions Berger-Levraut, 1947), p.35

[iv] Archives nationales (AN), Pierrefitte-sur-Seine, 3 AG 1 305, France Libre de Gaulle – 1 – Comptes 1940-1943

[v] Archives nationales d’Outre-mer, Aix-en-Provence, 1AFF-POL 879, Résultat complet et détaillé de la souscription du 20 septembre 1943 au 11 novembre 1943 pour venir en aide aux Combattants et Patriotes de France, 22/12/1943

[vi] David Foulk, ‘Homeward Bound: Mapping Clandestine Transportation into France during the Second World War’, War in History, November 2021

[vii] Daniel Cordier, Alias Caracalla, (Paris, Gallimard, 2009), p.531

[viii] Jean-Marc Binot, Bernard Boyer, L’Argent de la Résistance, (Paris, Larousse, 2010), p.17-18

[ix] Olivier Wieviorka, L’histoire de la Résistance, (Paris, Perrin, 2013), (Ebook) Chap. 15, Para. 58

[x] Banque de France (BdF), Paris, 1069199410 1 Prélèvements – Généralités

[xi] BdF, 1069199410 2 Prélèvements irréguliers, Prélèvements effectués à nos Caisses par les FFI, 16/10/1944

[xii] BdF, 1069199410 2 Prélèvements irréguliers, Compte rendu annexe à ma lettre du 2 août 1944 relative aux réquisitions à main armée du 1er août 1944, 09/08/1944

[xiii] AN, AG 3 (2) 276 – 171 MI 108 BCRA, Letter from Colonel ‘Vernon’ to Commandant Lejeune, 04/07/1944

Strife Series: Post-Conflict Political Economy & Development – Toward an ‘Entangled State’: The Place of Informal Institutions in Post-Conflict Statebuilding in Northern Ireland and Liberia

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“YIP 2010.319 – Mind the moss-filled gap” by smohundro is licensed under Creative Commons.

Informal institutions are generally understood as destabilising forces and obstacles for international peacebuilding processes. In practice, however, formal and informal institutions complement each other through competition over statebuilding assets, resulting in the emergence of entangled institutions – or an ‘entangled’ state. These entanglements present confusing and unexpected post-war outcomes that can appear to undermine statebuilding processes. Rather than a threat to statebuilding processes, informal institutions contribute to statebuilding by creating informal economies or justice systems and holding legitimacy and coercive power in local communities. A contextual framing of entangled states can advance a broader and more thorough understanding of war-to-peace transitions by moving beyond Western value-judgements of the ‘illegal other’ and inviting informal institutions, as an inherent part of statebuilding processes, into ongoing discussions around war-to-peace transitions.

An exploration into the unruly edges between formal and informal institutions in the cases of Liberia and Northern Ireland allows us to find institutions of entanglement that do away with assumptions of formal, state institutions as ‘good’ and informal, non-state institutions as ‘bad’. In both Liberia and Northern Ireland, informal institutions emerged in several forms, creating non-state pockets where the state was unable to function. These institutions emerged in dialogue with the state, forming complementary entities through competition or conflict with their formal counterparts. In both cases, these processes of competition and complementation form dynamic entanglements of formal and informal institutions, in what might be considered a type of symbiosis (Scott, 2010).

Formal and Informal: Finding Distinctions

Whereas ‘formal’ institutions refer to organised groups operating as part of the state, informal institutions are “socially shared rules, usually unwritten, that are created, communicated, and enforced outside of officially sanctioned channels” (Helmke and Levitsky 2004: 727). Organised crime and terrorist organisations are examples of informal, non-state groups that shape negative associations with informal institutions (de Boar & Bosetti, 2015). Informal institutions encompass not only such ‘extralegal groups,’ but other forms of ‘local’ or ‘traditional’ social organisations (Cheng 2018).

After periods of conflict, states and formal institutions are often unable to provide security and civil services that meet societies’ needs. Economies deteriorate, and many find themselves struggling to meet basic survival needs, such as sustenance, shelter, safety, or security — leading to a mistrust of the formal institutions that failed to provide these essential services. In this context, informal institutions become more salient and can mobilise, as formal institutions are either incomplete or cannot be achieved (Helmke & Levitsky, 2004).

Entangled Institutions in Northern Ireland and Liberia

The conflict in Northern Ireland known as ‘The Troubles’ was a period of unrest and violence that began in 1979 and concluded with the Good Friday Agreement (GFA) in 1998.

In the lead-up to the Troubles, inequalities between ‘native’ Republican Catholic and ‘settler’ Unionist Protestant communities sparked several marches, counter-marches, and the resulting violent clashes. Paramilitary groups emerged through divisions of identity in the form of the Irish Republican Army (IRA), representing minority Republican Catholics, and the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF), representing majority Unionist Protestants. The Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) police force, largely made up of Protestants, often sided with Unionists and came to be seen by the Catholic community as an oppressive force (Byrne and Jarman, 2014). During the Troubles, both groups developed informal ‘justice’ systems within their respective communities (Rickard & Bakke, 2021).

As formal security institutions fell away in Catholic areas, the IRA rose to fill the gaps. ‘No-go’ areas formed in Catholic working-class regions like Derry, where police forces would not enter, furthering the erosion of formal state authority (Ó Dochartaigh, 2005).​​ The IRA, along with other Republican groups, took on governance functions in these areas, such as building schools, providing welfare services, replacing public transport services, and creating informal structures of justice and security (Rickard & Bakke, 2021).

These structures survive after war in a self-reinforcing dynamic, as communities who are sceptical of state authorities turn to informal structures, while non-state actors see ongoing maintenance of arms as justified (Rickard and Bakke 2021:30). As a result, paramilitary groups today continue to take on limited governance functions, most palpably in the form of punishment attacks. These groups retain legitimacy, and operate governance functions in areas where there is a continued lack of trust between local communities and formal institutions. Northern Ireland thus can be read as an entangled state, where both informal and formal structures are complementary and competitive agents in the statebuilding process.

Liberia shares a similar history of inequalities across identity cleavages, with ‘native’ Liberians on one side, and ‘settler’ Ameri-Congolese Liberians on the other. Tensions as a result of inequalities across identity divisions came to a head in the Rice Riots in 1979, when peaceful demonstrations received a violent response from the government, solidifying an already deep mistrust of the government from indigenous Liberians. Later, President Tolbert’s assassination and a change in leadership garnered celebrations from indigenous Liberians. However, the expected era of emancipation did not follow, and the legitimacy of the state in the eyes of Liberians disintegrated — along with the state itself. Various rebel groups such as the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL), led by Charles Taylor, and the many rebel groups formed out of the Armed Forces of Liberia, emerged to take charge (Cheng, 2018). Early in the conflict, orders to protect civilians and encourage market activity allowed Taylor to expand his legitimacy as a leader (Lidow, 2010, p16). The increasingly repressive and violent nature of Doe’s government, particularly against the Gio and Manos people, resulted in increasing ethnic tensions (Cheng 2018; Lidow 2010). Charles Taylor built upon these tensions and anger and undermined the state’s monopoly over violence by arming civilians. Two civil wars between 1989 and 2003 culminated in the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA). Following this agreement, increasing conflict between unemployed low-skilled youth led to an emergence of ‘extralegal’ non-state groups as a credible third-party for dispute resolution (Cheng, 2018).

As well as this, the NPFL had set up trade structures — establishing the framework for the post-war extralegal structures of trade (Cheng, 2018). Even after the conflict ended in Liberia, practices linked to these trades — such as rubber tapping and mining extraction — continued. To keep these economies in operation, informal justice structures were formed by extralegal groups to clarify local disputes.

These extralegal groups emerged in parallel to other informal institutions long predating the civil wars, such as the powerful customary authorities known as ‘secret societies’, or ‘Poro’ and ‘Sande’ societies (Blair et al, 2018). During the conflict, many people sought recourse from secret societies, leading to their ‘distinct revival’ after waning influence in the 20th century (Ellis, 2006: 270). These authorities survived relatively unchanged throughout the conflict, retaining their legitimacy in the post-war period, mainly due to widespread distrust of formal justice institutions (Isser et al., 2009: 39). Typical punishments chosen by chiefs tend to take on a goal of social reconciliation. One of the ways this is done is through compensation, or repair of the harm, to the entire community. There is also evidence that in some cases, town chiefs will cooperate with formal justice institutions, particularly if one or more parties are dissatisfied with chief rulings (Isser et al., 2009: 26).

Comparing the cases of Northern Ireland and Liberia, it is evident that post-conflict statebuilding processes invoke a number of transgressions against state/non-state, formal/informal and complementary/competitive dichotomies. Northern Irish paramilitary groups and Liberian secret societies and extralegal groups have each competed with the state over governance processes. Although it is generally agreed that the state socialises people into being governed (see Lake, 2010), in post-war statebuilding projects, the reality is that civil society is never a blank slate. In these cases, the ability for informal institutions to socialise their own communities and normalise informal structures of governance grants civil society with viable alternatives to state processes. By historicising informal institutions, we better understand how secret societies and extralegal groups in Liberia and Northern Irish paramilitary groups act as one of the many statebuilding processes linking the ‘state of the past’ with the ‘state of the future’ (Cheng, 2018). For both, diminished local trust in the state due to ongoing discrimination by state forces presented distinct opportunities for informal groups to consolidate their influence upon local communities.

The influence of these informal groups persists, in part due to the normalisation of such institutions (Rickard & Bakke, 2021; Cheng, 2018). In Northern Ireland, paramilitary authorities coerce through ‘punishment’ attacks, earn capital through protection money and drug profits, and win legitimacy through service provisions. In Liberia, coercion is achieved by extralegal groups by force, and by customary authorities through social pressures. In the competition between these informal institutions and their formal counterparts, a coexistence emerges between them. Extralegal groups facilitate commerce to gain capital, and customary authorities facilitate community development capital. Legitimacy is won in part because of the service provisions that these informal institutions provide. In this way, informal institutions can constitute a legitimate and viable alternative to formal institutions — but they are not necessarily severed from them. Informal groups also negotiate, bribe, and communicate with local officials and representatives of the state to achieve their goals (Cheng, 2018; Rickard & Bakke, 2021; Isser et al., 2009). Thus, in the aftermath of war, an exploration into these entanglements presents an opportunity for peacebuilding institutions to move toward a view of informal institutions as an inherent part of the state- and peacebuilding process, rather than one which is intrinsically counterproductive to statebuilding.

Bibliography

Blair, R. A. et al. (2019) Establishing the Rule of Law in Weak and War-torn States: Evidence from a Field Experiment with the Liberian National Police. American Political Science Review. [Online] 113 (3), 641–657.

Byrne, J. & Jarman, N. (2011) Ten Years After Patten: Young People and policing in Northern Ireland. Youth and Society. 43 (2), 433–452.

Cheng, C. (2018) Extralegal groups in post-conflict Liberia: how trade makes the state. Oxford University Press.

Ellis, S. (2006) The Mask of Anarchy: The Destruction of Liberia and the Religious Dimension of an African Civil War. New Ed edition. Washington Square, NY: New York University Press.

Helmke, G. & Levitsky, S. (2004) Informal Institutions and Comparative Politics: A Research Agenda. Perspectives on Politics. [Online] 2 (4), 725–740.

Isser, D. H. et al. (2009) Looking for Justice: Liberian Experiences with and Perceptions of Local Justice Options [online]. Available from: https://www.usip.org/publications/2009/11/looking-justice-liberian-experiences-and-perceptions-local-justice-options (Accessed 2 December 2021).

Lake, D. A. (2010) Building Legitimate States after Civil Wars,” in Strengthening Peace in Post–Civil War States: Transforming Spoilers into Stakeholders. Matthew Hoddie & Caroline A. Hartzell (eds.). Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Lidow, N. (2010) Rebel Governance and Civilian Abuse: Comparing Liberia’s Rebels Using Satellite Data. [online]. Available from: https://papers.ssrn.com/abstract=1643030 (Accessed 7 December 2021).

Ó Dochartaigh, N. (2004) From Civil Rights to Armalites: Derry and the Birth of the Irish Troubles. Springer.

Rickard, K. & Bakke, K. M. (2021) Legacies of Wartime Order: Punishment Attacks and Social Control in Northern Ireland. Security Studies. [Online] 0 (0), 1–34.

Scott, J. C. (2009) The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia. Yale University Press.

Strife Series: Post-Conflict Political Economy & Development – Introduction

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People arrive at dawn to Awerial settlement fleeing the conflict in Bor, South Sudan (2014). Photo Credit: Oxfam, Licensed under Creative Commons

Since the mid-twentieth century, the distinctions between “wartime” and “peacetime” have been increasingly blurred. Beyond the battlefield, the outbreak of violence impacts institutions both seen and unseen, with implications that often outlast active conflict. War-to-peace transitions have been widely studied through a range of analytical frames. Yet, rarely are such transitions linear from a state of violence to a state of peace. To address such conceptual grey areas, scholars have approached these intersections through lenses such as “positive” and “negative” peace, or “violent peace,” which capture nuance in classification but do not always address subtleties within and across various contexts.

The “survival of the war economy” series aims to provoke questions surrounding political economies of violence in such settings. The implications of using “peacetime” institutions as weapons in conflict, and the transformation of “wartime” institutions and practices into peacetime pose key challenges for academics and policymakers alike in grappling with the implications of violence and its aftermath.

The two pieces approach this theme from contrasting perspectives. While “Sinews of War” disentangles the lifeline that wartime funding mechanisms provided to the French resistance during World War II. “The Entangled State” points to the muddling of boundaries between (non)state institutions and actors, examining Northern Ireland and Liberia as case studies. Both pieces, nevertheless, highlight the importance of nuanced approaches to conflict and peacebuilding and the ways in which “illicit,” “extra-legal,” or “non-state” spaces may provide opportunities for resilience and adaptation.

From these articles, key debates surrounding agency and collaboration emerge, wherein civilian actors and institutions are bound by contexts that are neither straightforward nor simple. These two pieces offer a glimpse into these spaces and the insight they offer for academics and practitioners alike.

Strife Series: Colonial Legacies – Afghanistan – Haunted by its Colonial Borders

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British Foreign Secretary Dominic Raab visits the Afghanistan-Pakistan border, September 2021. Photo credit: Number 10, used under Creative Commons

Afghanistan’s border with Pakistan is a powder keg. Last year, Taliban fighters were recorded shouting ‘Death to Pakistan’ and warning ‘if you come a step further, I will fight you’. Actual confrontations have become commonplace in recent weeks: the Taliban has attempted to destroy sections of fencing, and skirmishes have caused several deaths on both sides. To better understand this current crisis, we must look at Afghanistan’s history.

At first glance, Afghanistan stands out as an anomaly. Unlike most states in South Asia, it was never directly colonised by Europeans, and its reputation as the ‘graveyard of empires’ highlights the difficulties it has posed to numerous invaders. Yet, Afghanistan itself was a colonial conception. How can we explain this paradox, and how do the legacies of colonialism continue to afflict Afghanistan?

The British Empire was never able to conquer Afghanistan, despite repeated attempts. In one instance, the Afghans utterly humiliated a supposedly ‘superior’ force, slaughtering thousands of soldiers and civilians in 1842.[i] But such defeats were tactical, not strategic. In fact, Britain’s primary goal was always to protect India—the Empire’s ‘jewel in the crown’—from Russian expansion. In this imperial rivalry (known as the ‘Great Game’), complete control over Afghanistan was only one way of turning it into a buffer state. A ‘semi-colonial’ arrangement suited the British just fine; it was easier, in fact equally effective, to influence Afghanistan’s politics from afar.[ii]

This ‘semi-colonialism’ enabled the British to define the borders—and thus the fundamental meaning—of ‘Afghanistan’ as a nation-state. Before British meddling, Afghanistan did not exist as the clearly defined territorial entity that it is today. That was until 1893 when Mortimer Durand set out to demarcate Afghanistan’s frontier with British India. The resulting Durand Line carved the Pashtun people, a significant ethnic group, in two. Like most artificially designed colonial boundaries, the line ignored existing demarcations and cut through villages and even individual homes. Paying little heed to such consequences, the British mapped the border along with topographical features that would block mountain pathways into their sphere of influence. The Western Pashtuns were incorporated first into British India, and then Pakistan following the partition in 1947.[iii]

Much of Afghanistan and Pakistan’s present difficulties stem from this traumatic separation. The Afghan government has never accepted the Durand Line, which President Karzai called ‘a line of hatred that raised a wall between… two brothers’. Afghanistan’s repeated demands for an independent ‘Pashtunistan’ have heightened tensions surrounding the border. Pakistan, though, does recognise the Durand Line, seeing it as fundamental to preserving its territorial integrity. Like Afghanistan, Pakistan is an artificial construct, and it has struggled to hold itself together. In 1971, East Pakistan fought a war of independence against West Pakistan and became Bangladesh. Subsequently, Pakistan has clung to the Durand Line, fearing that its extensive Pashtun population would seek independence too, and the country would collapse.[iv]

It is this border dispute, and the history of British colonialism, that help to explain the Taliban’s rise. Ever since its imperial subjugation, Afghanistan’s rulers have been made dependent on external resources. [v] Emir Abdur Rahman, for example, relied on cash subsidies from British India and therefore had to accept the Durand Line.[vi] The Afghan mujahidin were also hampered by dependency. They had defeated the Soviet invaders but were unable to fill the power vacuum that emerged. They possessed little unifying ideology and splintered into competing factions, a reflection of wider Afghan society, whose tribal divisions became deeply entrenched due to British rule. What’s more, the United States and Saudi Arabia no longer wished to fund Afghanistan after the Soviet Union collapsed and the Cold War ended.

Pakistan, however, kept a close eye on its neighbour, seeking to establish a sympathetic regime that would be dominated by Pashtuns. It found its answer in the Taliban, a deeply fundamentalist Islamist group, which by 1998 controlled almost all areas of Afghanistan. During the Soviet-Afghan war, Pakistan had become a rear base of operations for some mujahidin factions and the Pakistani-Taliban relationship had been formalised. While the security the Taliban provided was popular, its oppressive religious doctrine was not, and it led to the Taliban’s isolation from the international community. Thus, it increasingly sought the backing of Pakistan and Osama bin Laden’s al-Qaeda.[vii] Despite officially changing its policy after 9/11 and declaring that it would join the ‘war against terrorism’, sympathies toward the Taliban persist in Pakistan.[viii]

The contested nature of the Afghanistan-Pakistan border has had significant implications for the War on Terror. On a map, the Durand Line appears clear, but on the ground, neither Afghanistan nor Pakistan possesses true sovereignty.[ix] Though they were quickly routed following the invasion of Afghanistan, Taliban and al-Qaeda members were able to escape across Pakistan’s porous border, where the social code (Pashtunwali) compelled Pashtuns to provide hospitality.[x] Many prominent al-Qaeda leaders—including Osama bin Laden—remained undetected there for years. Had US special forces teams been able to trap them within Afghanistan, the war would not have dragged on for so long.

Yet, thanks to its permeability, the Durand Line became a hotbed of the insurgency in Afghanistan, characterised by brutal violence. In 2008, CIA director Michael Hayden warned that the border ‘presents a clear and present danger’. The Taliban taking refuge there targeted Pakistani soldiers and police with suicide attacks and IEDs.[xi] US drone strikes, which have killed more than 9,000, including 1,000-2,000 civilians, have further violated the border’s sovereignty. Recently, the Taliban’s return to power has created an extensive refugee crisis, with many attempting to cross into Pakistan. Citing national security concerns, Pakistan has closed its border with Afghanistan and is attempting to complete the many miles of fencing being constructed across the Durand Line.[xii]

Afghanistan’s colonial borders also account for the failure of state-building there. Unable to subsume it into their empire, the British viewed Afghanistan as a ‘savage frontier’ that needed to be isolated from ‘civilization’. The Durand Line symbolised this marginalisation. Thus, Afghanistan was subjected to external control without any of the ‘benefits’ brought by outright colonisation; when the British left India, new elites could use pre-existing institutions to build a postcolonial state that imitated European ideals of behaviour. This was not possible in Afghanistan, yet the country is still expected to act as a Weberian state.[xiii]

During their occupation of Afghanistan, the US and the international community attempted to impose state institutions from the top down. They poured billions of dollars into the country for little gain, with one official claiming they were ‘given money, told to spend it and did, without reason’.  Vast sums found their way into the hands of corrupt officials and warlords, many of whom had committed or profited from human rights abuses. Several of these same actors quickly sided with the Taliban when the opportunity arose.[xiv]

When these policies failed, the US blamed Afghanistan and its culture for failing to meet its expectations of statehood. Alternative social formations, such as the jirga process (an assembly of tribal leaders aiming to solve disputes through consensus), were condemned for undermining the state-building process. However, due partly to Britain’s colonial policies, Afghan society is based on customs and norms, and the state does not possess any universal monopoly or legitimacy, being only one of several competing forces.[xv]

Nor did President Biden take sufficient responsibility for the US’ disastrous withdrawal from Afghanistan, which left thousands stranded, including those who had fought hard for incremental increases in their liberties. Instead, he blamed the Afghans, remarking that ‘we gave’ them ‘every chance to determine their own future. What we could not provide them was the will to fight for it’. The United States was shocked by the pace at which the Taliban was able to destroy the systems they had constructed over the course of two decades. But, given Afghanistan’s history of colonialism, should this be so surprising?

[i] Christian Tripodi, ‘Grand Strategy and the Graveyard of Assumptions: Britain and Afghanistan, 1839–1919’, The Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol. 33, No. 5 (2010), p. 713

[ii] Ibid., pp. 710-711

[iii] Nick Cullather, ‘Damning Afghanistan: Modernization in a Buffer State’, The Journal of American History, Vol. 89, No. 2 (2002), pp. 512-537, and Thomas Johnson and Chris Mason, ‘No Sign until the Burst of Fire: Understanding the Pakistan-Afghanistan Frontier’, International Security, Vol. 32, No. 4 (2008), pp. 67-68

[iv] Elisabeth Leake and Daniel Haines, ‘Lines of (In)Convenience: Sovereignty and Border-Making in Postcolonial South Asia, 1947–1965’, The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 76, No. 4 (2017), pp. 973-974, and Johnson and Mason, ‘No Sign Until the Burst of Fire’, pp. 67-68

[v] Thomas Barfield, ‘Problems in establishing legitimacy in Afghanistan, Iranian Studies, Vol. 37, No. 2 (2004), p. 285

[vi] Nivi Manchanda, Imagining Afghanistan: The History and Politics of Imperial Knowledge (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2020), p. 81

[vii] Barfield, ‘legitimacy’, p. 288

[viii] Ijaz Ahmad Khan, ‘Understanding Pakistan’s Pro-Taliban Afghan Policy’, Pakistan Horizon, Vol. 60, No. 2 (2007), p. 141

[ix] Leake and Haines ‘Lines of (In)Convenience’, pp. 963-985

[x] Johnson and Mason, ‘No Sign Until the Burst of Fire’, p. 63

[xi] Ibid., p. 65

[xii] https://thewire.in/south-asia/pakistan-afghanistan-ties-come-under-strain-after-taliban-opposes-border-fencing

[xiii] B.D. Hopkins, The Making of Modern Afghanistan (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), pp. 168-173, and Manchanda, Imagining Afghanistan, p. 86

[xiv] Kimberly Marten, ‘The Danger of Tribal Militias in Afghanistan: Learning from the British Empire’, Journal of International Affairs, Vol. 63, No. 1 (2009), p. 163

[xv] Hopkins, Modern Afghanistan, p. 172

Strife Series: Colonial Legacies – How has the colonial past of Myanmar influenced the attitude of the ruling elites today with regard to the coup and ongoing genocide?

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Protest in Myanmar against Military Coup 14-Feb-2021. Source: Wikipedia Commons, licensed under Creative Commons.

The targeting of the Rohingya communities in Myanmar today is nothing short of a ‘textbook example of ethnic cleansing’ [1]. To this day, 900,000 Rohingya refugees have sought shelter in the neighbouring state of Bangladesh [2], driven out by military-led attacks in the Northern Rakhine State. This is a surprising fact considering the supposed ‘democratic’ nature of Aung Sung Suu Kyi’s government. Furthermore, given the country’s announcement of its intention to transition from an authoritarian state (controlled by the military, the Tatmadaw) to a democratic one in 2011, how can we understand this obvious abuse of power?

At present, there are two key narratives which can explain why the Rohingya have been targets of targeted ethnic violence. Firstly, during the military regime (1962-2011) the Rohingya came to be identified as ‘illegal immigrants’ by the passing of new exclusionary legislation and secondly, that they posed a security threat because of their ‘expansionist’ agenda. The origins of both of these narratives can be traced back to colonial times. However, whilst they didn’t actively discriminate against the Rohingya, colonial policies shaped the Rohingya into a vulnerable target to be scapegoated both by the military and majority Burmese and extremist Buddhist groups later on.

So, what has been the response of the civilian government to this humanitarian crisis and how has the military justified its blatant ethnic violence? In 2019, the then Prime Minister and Nobel Peace prize winner, Ms. Suu Kyi testified in front of the International Court of Justice, defending the military against allegations of ethnic cleansing. Ms. Suu Kyi’s response was vague, referring only to the possibility that a disproportionate use of force had been applied [3]. This highlights the fragility of the civilian government in Myanmar and that its continued existence is dependent on good relations with the military elites. Myoe (2011) argued that so long as democratisation occurred within the confines of the 2008 military Constitution, the democratic rule would be tolerated [4]. For example, given Ms. Suu Kyi’s party, the National League for Democracy’s (NLD) increased majority after the 2020 elections [5], it is unsurprising that the Tatmadaw initiated a military coup. Even with their fixed 25% of parliamentary seats, the military would have been unable to oppose the NLD’s popular agenda to pass constitutional reforms. Ultimately these reforms would have prevented the military from blocking liberalising reforms in parliament, resulting in the limitation of their political power.

Against this backdrop, how has colonialism contributed to this current state of affairs? On the most basic level, the colonial period in Myanmar saw the re-configuration of ethnic identity, which can be argued to set the foundations for the Rohingya to be resented by the majority groups and later actively discriminated against during the military regime. The use of ‘divide-and-rule’ is a common strategy of colonial powers, involving the separating and re-organisation of sub-national groups in society and is used to assert colonial power more efficiently [6]. This strategy re-configured how society viewed ethnic identity [7] and ultimately resulted in a ‘highly polarised multi-ethnic society, where ethnic consciousness was significantly enhanced’ (Cornish, 2021, 14). This shift was important because it occurred over a long period, meaning that as different ethnic groups were consolidated within themselves at different times, different groups ended up having different experiences of British colonialism. Therefore, the British period increased the salience of ethnic identity, which is often argued to be the source of conflict in multi-ethnic states.

This leads to my second point, one that emphasises the origins of the Rohingya community in Myanmar, which is arguably one of the key root causes of the current conflict and has been used to legitimise anti-Rohingya violence. Britain’s occupation of Myanmar was achieved in three stages, starting with the colonisation of Arakan and Tannaserrim states in the South [8]. During this first stage of colonization, the British encouraged the flow of migrant workers from British occupied Chittagong, India into the Rakhine state [9]. This is incredibly important because the military regime used this to denounce the Rohingya as ‘illegal immigrants’ and being of Indian rather than Burmese descent. For example, the 1982 Citizenship Act revoked citizenship for approximately 600,000 Rohingya on the basis that they were not an indigenous group. Not only did this strip over half a million previous citizens of political rights, but it denied their existence as one of the 135 recognised ethnic groups by the state, further stripping them of the ability to acquire jobs or healthcare. This was the first time that belonging to one of the ‘national races’ had become a prerequisite for citizenship. So, whilst the politicisation of ethnic identity occurred after the end of British rule, it is unlikely that such a policy would have been passed without Britain’s re-organisation of ethnicity into separate identities, and labour migrant policies during the first stage of occupation.

Now with regard to the second narrative mentioned earlier; that the Rohingya are perceived to be a threat to the Buddhist majority, we can again trace the origins of this narrative to colonial times. Prior to the Second World War, the Rohingya were already resented by other ethnic groups because of favouritism from the British [10]. This was exacerbated during the War when the British promised the Rohingya their own homeland in return for their support; a stark contrast to the Burmese majority supporting the Japanese. Bearing this in mind, the perception of the Rohingya as a separatist ethnic minority can be better understood. In a sermon delivered by a leading radical Buddhist monk and leader of the anti-Rohingya ‘969 Movement’, U Wirathu claimed the Rohingya would seek to prioritise the survival of their own ethnic group above that of the nation. In other words, he claimed the Rohingya associated with their ethnic identity, over their national identity. This insight into the attitude of a leading extremist Buddhist figure reinforces the notion that developments during and since the Second World War have consolidated the Rohingya’s reputation as a group that threatens the unity of Myanmar.

To sum this all up, the instigators of violence towards the Rohingya were not rooted in colonial times, but the conditions which made the Rohingya susceptible to scapegoating and vulnerability were created by the British regime. Today the Rohingya’s portrayal as a secessionist seeking, outsider group with no formal ties to being a national race or indigenous ethnic group within Myanmar can explain the current policies that seek to remove them from Myanmar’s history.

References

[1] OHCHR. “Mission report of OHCHR rapid response mission to Cox’s Bazar.” (2017).

[2] UN News. ‘Security Operations by Myanmar Show “Established Pattern” of Domination over Ethnic Groups – UN Expert’, 1 February 2018. https://news.un.org/en/story/2018/02/1001741.

[3] UN News. ‘Aung San Suu Kyi Defends Myanmar from Accusations of Genocide, at Top UN Court’, 11 December 2019. https://news.un.org/en/story/2019/12/1053221.

[4] Myoe, Maung Aung. “The soldier and the state: the Tatmadaw and political liberalization in Myanmar since 2011.” South East Asia Research 22, no. 2 (2014): 233-249.

[5] BBC News. ‘Myanmar: Aung San Suu Kyi’s Party Wins Majority in Election’, 13 November 2020, sec. Asia. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-54899170.

[6] Ansar, Anas. “The Unfolding of Belonging, Exclusion and Exile: A Reflection on the History of Rohingya Refugee Crisis in Southeast Asia.” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 40, no. 3 (2020): 441-456.

[7] Cornish, Grace. 2021. ‘The Rohingya Conflict: Origins of Violence and The Buddhist Narrative’. Undergraduate Dissertation, University of York, 2021.

[8] Ganesan, Narayanan. “Democratization and its implications for the resolution of ethnic conflict in Myanmar.” Asian Journal of Peacebuilding 5 (2017).

[9] Rahman, K.A., 2015. Ethno-political conflict: The Rohingya vulnerability in Myanmar. International Journal of Humanities and Social Science Studies, 2(1), pp.288-95.

[10] Schonthal, Benjamin. “Making the Muslim other in Myanmar and Sri Lanka.” Islam and the state in Myanmar: Muslim-Buddhist relations and the politics of belonging (2016): 234-257.

[11] Tech Truth. “The Holy Buddhist Monk Ashin Wirathu Addressing His People”. YouTube video, 00:21.4 April, 2021. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epZ1bboWSdw.