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Feature - Shabiha in Syria and Titushki in Ukraine as Elements of Authoritarian Control

July 15, 2019 by Daria Platonova

by Daria Platonova

15 July 2019

“Titushki” on their way to Mariinskiy Park (Image credit: Unian)

Introduction

Incumbent authoritarian regimes[1] can use a variety of tools to protect the status quo and their hold on power. Among those tools is the deployment of groups of armed civilians to disperse political protest that threatens to dislodge the regime and disrupt that status quo. A comparison can be drawn between the Syrian Shabiha and Titushki in Ukraine as elements of the regimes’ responses to political protest. Shabiha in Syria was a complex phenomenon described in most general terms as numbers of pro-Asad[2] individuals who attacked anti-government protestors from March 2011, at the start of the Syrian uprising, and then became “pro-state … militias, which acted in an auxiliary capacity to government forces”.

Titushki in Ukraine were groups of individuals reportedly hired by state actors, including local elites, to attack Euromaidan protestors[3] in Kyiv and Ukrainian regions from November 2013 to January 2014. In this article, I demonstrate the similarities and differences between the provenance of and the deployment purposes of Shabiha and Titushki. Through this comparison, I argue that the systematic use of these groups is in function of the regime’s strength and the ruler’s expectations about the regime’s viability.

The similarities between the regimes of Yanukovych and al-Asad

The attempts made by Viktor Yanukovych to introduce an authoritarian regime in Ukraine resembles Bashar al-Asad’s consolidation of an already existing authoritarian regime which he inherited from his father, Hafez al-Asad. Both presidents cultivated a patronage system based around a specific minority group. Yanukovych relied on the Donetsk clan, originating from his home region of Donetsk, and the political-economic conglomerate of the Party of Regions, also originating from Donetsk.

Similar processes of over-concentration of patronage took place under Asad, who came to rely on “Alawi familial, tribal and communitarian base” and, specifically, on the Asad-Makhlouf family clan. Like Asad, who increasingly surrounded himself by an increasingly narrow clique of supporters, Yanukovych later in his presidency drew upon the support of his real and metaphorical family.

File photo of Syrian President Bashar Assad, right, with his brother Maher, left (Photo credit: AP)

Both presidents recognised the importance of the security service in maintaining their regimes, with Asad inheriting a vast security apparatus and a strong army from his father. Yanukovych attempted to build a strong security force, appointing his supporters to the key position of the Head of the Security Service of Ukraine and investing heavily in a special police force Berkut.

Bashar al-Asad followed arising challenges to his regime through by imprisoning challengers and severely restricting and repressing civil society. In Ukraine, Yanukovych imprisoned his key rival, Yuliya Tymoshenko, from a competing network of Batkivshchina Party, while exercising increasing control over the Ukrainian media and opposition groups. Viktor Yanukovych’s rule was the ultimate culmination of the domination of eastern Ukrainian forces in Ukrainian politics, which, on the surface, created an expectation that the regime was going to stay. Asad’s strong reliance on the Alawite minority inherited from the three-decade long rule of his father created similar expectations.

We would therefore expect that if in Ukraine the regime was truly authoritarian, as described by many analysts, it would have responded to the challenge of the Euromaidan similarly to how Asad responded to the Syrian uprising, that is: with severe and more or less systematic repression. However, how Shabiha and Titushki were deployed demonstrates that the regime in Ukraine was not truly authoritarian. The major flaw in the regime was that it did not believe in its own durability.

Shabiha in Syria

The Shabiha who came to prominence in March 2011 started as Popular Committees - volunteer vigilante groups originating in Latakia and Homs, who wanted to keep their neighbourhoods free from anti-government protestors. Not unlike Titushki in Ukraine, they consisted of volunteers “who were often unemployed young men” and were initially armed with basic equipment such as sticks. Similarly to Titushki, the motivations to join these Popular Committees and then Shabiha varied widely. Nakkash documented motivations ranging from pragmatic-economic concerns to strong feelings of hostility towards the Sunni community.

However, as Asad’s regime was much more cohesive and held strong expectations about its own durability compared to Yanukovych’s regime, shabiha became one of the key elements of Asad’s strategy to salvage the regime. As Michael Kerr argues, the regime’s “civil war strategy was simply to survive, militarily, at any cost”.

Thus, throughout the province of Homs at least, Shabiha quickly came to be used strategically and systematically by Mukhabarat (security service) to prevent anti-regime mobilisation throughout spring to summer 2011. They were involved in killing protestors from the start, such as on 26 and 27 of March 2011 in Latakia and Baniyas. It was reported that Shabiha were numerous numbering 10,000. Shabiha later morphed into “armed paramilitary group or militia with links to the army, the secret service or the Ba’ath Party”.

Families gathered around bodies of victims killed by violence that, according to anti-regime activists, was carried out by government forces in Tremseh, Syria (Photo credit: AP)

In contrast to Titushki, Shabiha came to be strongly identified with the state in Syria. Lund, for example, writes on shabiha formations as being directly sanctioned and legitimised by the state when the protests began in March 2011: “the state encouraged the formation of local gangs, often composed of Alawis or other minority groups that felt threatened by the Sunni-dominated uprising”. Not only that, Shabiha came to be identified with the wealthy business owners in the local communities. Nakkash writes on a proud owner of a real estate business, in charge of about 200 Shabiha, who stated that “they “should be thankful for what I am doing”.

As the protests evolved into an insurgency, Asad’s regime mobilised a vast array of minorities, such as Christians and Shi’a, into Shabiha militias. The sheer diversity of pro-regime militia movement and the advent of the “National Defence Forces” drawing on shabiha demonstrated that, through a systematic and open recruitment and deployment of Shabiha, the regime created strong and durable expectations about itself.

Titushki in Ukraine

The use of Titushki in Ukraine demonstrated a highly unsystematic and reactive nature of Yanukovych’s regime. As mentioned above, Titushki were groups of young men, reportedly hired by the government to disperse Euromaidan protests. They were named after Vadym Titushko, a professional athlete, who was hired to and eventually prosecuted for attacking journalists in Bela Tserkva, near Kyiv, in May 2013.

Titushki were often members of local boxing and fight clubs, and it was reported that coaches and entire clubs participated in the attacks on the Euromaidan, especially in Kyiv. Titushki not only dispersed protestors but also damaged their equipment and vehicles. Like their Syrian counterparts, there were those who held strong Anti-Maidan convictions and considered Euromaidan protestors to be “traitors and hooligans”.

Vadym Titushko in Kyiv, 18 May 2013 (Photo credit: Umoloda)

Here however the similarities between Shabiha and Titushki end and reveal the fatal flaws in Yanukovych’s regime. The major flaw of the regime was the lack of belief in its own durability. Unlike in Syria, where Shabiha came to consist of a broad variety of minorities, Titushki in Ukraine were groups of young unemployed people who were easily coopted due to their lack of employment. Reports claimed that titushki were being paid for attacking Euromaidan protestors because many of them were unemployed. According to these reports, some were paid 100 US dollars per day, with an additional fare for beatings.

In Ukrainian regions, such as Kharkiv region, Titushki were deployed to intimidate protestors rather than kill them, which signified that the regime seriously questioned its repressive capacity. Cataloguing of Euromaidan protests using opposition and pro-government press in Kharkiv and Donetsk cities indicates that the deployment of Titushki was highly unsystematic compared to what was taking place in Syria. In Kharkiv, half of the Euromaidan protests were followed by Titushki attacks; in Donetsk, this number was even less.

If in Syria, the attacks were deadly from the start, in Ukrainian cities, followed a gradually more violent trajectory, which however never became systematically deadly: in Kharkiv, for example, first, Titushki attacked property of the Euromaidan protestors, then the groups of “unknowns” – a label which often described Titushki – attacked individual organisers, and then they began attacking entire groups of protestors using more sophisticated equipment. In Donetsk, most Euromaidan protests were followed by verbal attacks and highly unsystematic violence by Titushki. All this was taking place before the Titushki attacks in Ukrainian regions suddenly tapered off in late February 2014, just before Yanukovych’s flight. Additionally, Titushki were not as well-equipped as their Syrian counterparts.

Finally, as if to demonstrate that the regime was afraid of itself and unsure of its own survival, it is impossible to trace with certainty who hired Titushki at the regional level. In Kharkiv city, there was only indirect evidence implicating the incumbent supporters of Yanukovych, the mayor Hennadiy Kernes and the governor Mykhailo Dobkin. For example, they issued a number of ambiguous statements, endorsing Titushki, but there is no systematic evidence that they hired them. Only after the “Russian Spring” protests were in full swing, the Ministry of the Interior of Ukraine released some evidence that titushki were hired by a local oligarch Serhiy Kurchenko. This was after Kurchenko fled Ukraine.

Conclusion

In this article, I have argued that if an authoritarian regime is truly authoritarian, one of the elements of political protest control, such as the use of armed civilians, should be systematic, violent and clearly linked to the state. Through the comparison between the use of Shabiha in Syria and Titushki in Ukraine, I have demonstrated the true nature of Yanukovych’s rule and questioned whether it was truly authoritarian. More specifically, I have shown that the highly unsystematic deployment of Titushki and their unclear links with the state actors demonstrate that Yanukovych’s regime either did not believe in its own viability or failed to implement the lessons of the Orange Revolution. In this way, one can characterise Ukraine as a highly fluid polity where no regime can truly stabilise itself.


Daria is a PhD student at King’s College London. Her research focuses on violence and the unfolding of conflict across several regions in eastern Ukraine, 2013 – 2014. She also leads one of the Causes of War seminars in the War Studies Department. Prior to joining King’s, she worked as a teacher. She graduated with a degree in History from the University of Cambridge in 2011. Her broader interests include European history, war studies, and interdisciplinary methods.


[1] While the authoritarian nature of Bashar al-Asad is not in doubt, we can consider Viktor Yanukovych’s regime as a regime with authoritarian tendencies. Hafez sought to build an authoritarian state – Kerr, intro 10, History of autocratic rule there 174, adaptable autocrats

[2] I used the standardised spelling of Asad, instead of Assad, as found in Kerr, M. and Larkin, C. (eds) The Alawis of Syria: War, Faith and Politics in the Levant (Oxford: Oxford University Press: 2015).

[3] Euromaidan was at first a political protest against Viktor Yanukovych’s refusal to sign the EU Association Agreement. It later evolved into a general protest against Yanukovych’s government demanding its resignation.

 

Filed Under: Blog Article, Feature Tagged With: Authoritarian, control, Enforcers, Regimes, Shabiha, Syria, Titushki, Ukraine

Drones series, Part III. War, peace and the spaces in between: Drones in international law

April 15, 2014 by Strife Staff

By Dr. Jack McDonald:

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‘Use Drones Responsibly’ (cartoon by Randy Bish)

The Legal Regulation of UAVs

Unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs)[1] don’t have to be used as weapons, but military UAVs require the same regulation as any other weapon system. Since the American use of UAVs to conduct targeted killings of people it defines as militants and terrorists, activists in a number of countries, notably Code Pink, have argued that their use should be stopped, and that these systems should face greater regulation.[2] Even though war and armed conflict are activities in which killing is legally sanctioned, the law of armed conflict places restrictions on the use of weapons, as well as deeming certain classes of weaponry to be illegal. The division between the two is neither neat, nor particularly logical without reference to the history of treaty law banning particular methods and means of warfare. Weapons that cannot be used without breaking key principles of the law of armed conflict (military necessity, proportionality and distinction) are illegal in essence. Weapons that are arbitrarily deemed illegal by treaty are also unusable by states adhering to commonly accepted interpretations of the law of armed conflict. The general consensus is that UAVs aren’t inherently illegal, but, like any other weapon, they may be used in an illegal manner.[3] The furore over the regulation of UAVs does, however, raise a number of issues about the role of international law in regulating the use of violence in war and armed conflict.

Processes of Banning Weapons

It appears unlikely that UAVs will be banned by a specific convention, however the calls for greater regulation of their use, particularly by non-state organisations, illustrates a key issue with the regulation of warfare in the contemporary world. The law of armed conflict is state-centric: states agree amongst themselves the precise wording of treaties to which they agree, determine for themselves the national interpretations of those treaties, and act accordingly. As students on War Studies’ International Peace & Security MA will no doubt be aware, international law is therefore constituted by politics, power, belief and practise. Over the past twenty years, however, NGOs have played an increasing role in the formation of international law.

The law regulating the use of weapons places limitations upon lawful means in warfare. Even if states differ in their interpretations of where the boundary between innately unlawful and lawful weapons lie, they all recognise that some means and methods are manifestly illegal. The starkest example of this lies in the arguments that comprise the International Court of Justice’s advisory opinion on nuclear weapons.[4] It is difficult, if not impossible, to discriminate between civilians and permissible military targets when using nuclear weapons (setting aside the point that strategic nuclear weapons were routinely aimed at population centres) and it is hard to conceive of a weapon with such disproportionate effects. Despite this, some states argued that the weapons were not illegal in and of themselves. The primary means of determining the legality of a given weapon is the ‘Article 36 process’. This refers to article 36 of Additional Protocol 1 to the Geneva Conventions (1977) that requires states to consider and examine whether new means and methods of warfare could breach any current provision of international law. States make a point of ascertaining whether the weapons that they use are, in effect, admissible to the legal framework of armed conflict and warfare.

The issue highlighted by the prospect of UAV regulation is that states appear to consider them legal, following article 36 considerations, but activists seek to push states to either regulate them further, or ban them entirely. Specific treaty bans on types of weapon are enough to render them illegal, but these require the acceptance of states. The International Campaign to Ban Landmines, resulted in the widespread adoption of the landmine ban (the Ottawa Treaty), was not supported by notable states such as America, Russia and China. The subsequent effort to push states to ban cluster munitions attracted less support, and, again, lacked the support of significant military powers. Although NGOs have been able to influence a large number of states, without the support of an overwhelming majority of states (and, most importantly, permanent members of the United Nations Security Council) their ultimate influence is limited. The key issue here is the legitimacy of the means warfare, and the role that law plays in legitimising political violence. It is in this regard that international law appears to be somewhat out of step with significant sections of popular opinion. While states do ‘hold the cards’ to the extent that NGOs have no legal authority over their actions, it is clear that NGOs play a role in delegitimising some means of warfare in the eyes of the public. Adhering to legal obligations, such as the Article 36 process, doesn’t necessarily legitimise a weapons system in the eyes of the public, whereas an NGO criticising the use of a weapons system, such as UAVs, doesn’t make that system illegal.

Non-Obvious Warfare and International Law

The key challenge of UAVs is that they enable the conduct of hostilities in a manner that was previously unthinkable. The idea that a state could use violence by ‘remote control’ is nothing new, as Michael Ignatieff’s reflections on the Kosovo conflict made clear prior to the rise of UAVs.[5] However, the degree of precision in remote warfare was previously low – Tomahawk missiles might be able to strike a target, but they could not do so in the manner that UAV operators are able to alter predicted blast patterns in near-real time.

Evolving technology, and novel uses of technology, enable armed conflicts to be conducted in a manner far beyond the imagination of those who laid the foundations of the law of armed conflict. One way of thinking about this is the relationship between the visibility of an armed conflict, and the law that regulates it. The law of armed conflict is founded in visible or ‘obvious’ warfare. As Martin Libicki outlined in a 2012 Strategic Studies Quarterly article, novel technologies permit war to be fought with entirely non-visible, or ambiguous means. The use of UAVs exacerbates this (Libicki referred to it as ‘drone warfare’).[6] Where, for example, is the ‘battlefield’ in UAV use?[7] What use is the concept of ‘combat’ where one participant is half a world away, in an air-conditioned environment? These issues pre-date UAVs, but the maturation of this technology enables violence to occur in situations far removed from those commonly associated with armed conflict. Whether this is a positive or negative development is a matter of opinion at this stage, but it also exposes key aspects of warfare which were previously taken for granted.

The protection of non-combatants is a key purpose of the law of armed conflict. A significant issue with the use of UAVs is that their lack of visibility deprives third parties to a given armed conflict of the ability to separate themselves from it. Even if we take as a given that an armed conflict exists between America and al-Qaeda (which is by no means certain, or accepted by critics) then one conducted by UAV strikes and other sporadic bursts of violence make it extremely difficult to determine the places in which people are at risk of being killed by error or accepted consequence. Even if the American use of UAVs is (as claimed) more precise than any previous era of warfare, this method of warfare also deprives those affected by it of simple means of protecting themselves. By this, I mean that civilians who are no part of the purported conflict have no method of disassociating themselves from it. In any ‘normal’ armed conflict, a civilian who wishes to preserve their life (above their livelihood and normal way of life) usually has the option of becoming a refugee when they perceive the approach of military forces. The lot of a refugee is far from safe, nor should it be considered as a ‘good’ outcome in the normal sense of the word. However, as the current Syrian civil war demonstrates, civilians are able to separate themselves from violence that would otherwise kill them, even if it results in an often harsh existence. Where states choose to wage war by non-obvious means, civilians have no way of ascertaining their immediate danger. An armed conflict might pass them by without ever entering earshot, or it might result in their death for standing too close to people that a state, halfway around the world, has determined are lawful military targets. None of this is explicitly illegal, but the continued use of UAVs by state militaries is likely to lead to further pressure from NGOs and the public as a result of these issues. I doubt these will lead to a ban, but states will have to argue their case for the continued use of UAVs beyond their ‘simple’ legality.

____________________

Dr Jack McDonald is a research associate and teaching fellow at the Department of War Studies, King’s College London.

NOTES

[1] Or ‘drone’, ‘unmanned combat aerial vehicle’, ‘remote piloted air system’, depending on the writer.
[2] See, for example, http://droneswatch.org/ a coalition founded by Code Pink
[3] The end use of UAVs for targeted killings presents a host of legal issues. The best single volume introduction to the subject is Finkelstein, Ohlin and Altman Eds.’ Targeted Killings: Law and Morality in an Asymmetrical World (Oxford University Press, 2012)
[4] Commonly referred to as the Nuclear Weapons case. It is worth reading the full opinion, as well as the various decisions on pages 42 onwards http://www.icj-cij.org/docket/files/95/7495.pdf
[5] See Michael Ignatieff’s Virtual War (Vintage: 2001)
[6] http://www.au.af.mil/au/ssq/2012/fall/libicki.pdf
[7] This is a key criticism of the American use of UAVs, as well as a wider theoretical point. See, for example, Mary Ellen O’Connell Unlawful Killing with Combat Drones: A Case Study of Pakistan, 2004-2009 (SSRN: 2009) http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract-id=1501144

Filed Under: Blog Article Tagged With: control, drones, international law, regulation, UAV

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