Transition Regimes and Security Sector Reforms in Sierra Leone and Liberia

Methodology, Study Design, and Case Selection

This article is based on the qualitative analysis of secondary data from agency reports, newspaper stories, and scholarly articles. It employs a cross-national comparative method to explain the diverging outcomes of efforts at reforming the military in Liberia and Sierra Leone. The choice of the two countries is motivated by the puzzling nature of the difference in outcomes between the two countries given the many relevant similarities in the two cases. Both countries have a settler history. Liberia and Sierra Leone were established as settlements for freed slaves and have since maintained close ties with the United States and Britain, respectively, who ended up leading their SSR programs (Sesay et al. 2009, 19; Loden 2007, 298). There were, thus, historically close ties between the reformers and reformed in both cases, eliminating an area of potential variation that might have explained the divergent outcomes.

The two are also small neighboring countries that suffered from similar economic and political mismanagement before the wars in the 1990s (Sesay et al. 2009, 20–34). Therefore, there was little difference in the prewar institutional base on which they might have built after the wars. Further, in both countries the armed forces ended up playing highly negative roles during the wars that sullied their images and compromised their organizational structure and professional character (Abraham 2004b, 106–17; International Crisis Group [ICG] 2009, 14). There was, then, not that drastic a difference in the level of effort needed to mend the two forces.

The readiness of both the United States and Britain to fund respective programs in Liberia and Sierra Leone also largely removes the availability of funds as a serious explanation for variations in the outcomes. The United States pledged $35 million for the reform of the Liberian armed forces (Ebo 2005, 17). Gbla (2006, 84) cites the expenditure of 21million British pounds by DFID and MOD on the armed forces in Sierra Leone between 2000 and 2002. Why have the results of reform efforts diverged in significant ways despite these similarities?

The article is divided into four sections. The first section provides a brief background of the political evolution in the two countries that ended up creating the need for SSR. The second section explains the variation in the efforts to reform the AFL and RSLAF. The two reform processes are explored in the third section. The conclusion briefly reflects on lessons of this work for international peacemaking and postconflict reconstruction.

The Road to SSR in Liberia and Sierra Leone

The histories of the armies in Sierra Leone and Liberia show a limited respect for human rights and the rule of law and a general trend toward the evolution of institutions of uncertain capacity in both countries. Founded as a settlement for freed slaves from the Americas in 1822, the political economy of Liberia was dominated for two centuries by an Americo-Liberian elite under the banner of the corrupt and nepotistic True Whig Party (TWP), which ruled the country from 1878 to 1980 (Sesay et al. 2009, 19–25). The overthrow of President William Tolbert by Master Sergeant Samuel Doe in 1980 seemed to represent the rebellion of non-Americo-Liberians against TWP dominance. But Doe quickly embraced corrupt and oppressive rule, further personalized the security forces, and employed murderous violence against (perceived) opponents (Nelson-Williams 2010, 124; Sesay et al. 2009, 24–26).

When the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL) led by Charles Taylor invaded Liberia in December 1989 they routed the AFL, and Taylor was eventually elected president in 1997 (Sesay et al. 2009, 38–39). Resistance to NPFL-rule by various factions led to the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA), the departure of Taylor for exile in Nigeria, and the installation of an interim government led by Gyedu Bryant in 2003 (Aboagye and Rupiya 2005, 263–64; Sesay et al. 2009, 35–45).

By the time of his flight, Taylor had sown insecurity in neighboring Sierra Leone as well by aiding the Revolutionary United Front (RUF), led by Foday Sankoh, with the invasion of that country in 1991. Sierra Leone developed out of a colony for freed slaves set up by British abolitionists in 1787 but was soon colonized by Britain, which granted the country independence only in 1961 (Sesay et al. 2009, 19). The All People’s Congress (APC) party led by Siaka Stevens was quickly to become the preeminent political force presiding over a corrupt one-party system that was overthrown by the military in 1992 (Abdullah 2004, 43–48; Sesay et al. 2009, 26–32; Kpundeh 2004, 90–95; Fayemi 2004, 181–82; Gbla 2006, 79; Ebo 2006, 483).

When the RUF invaded Sierra Leone, the army, which had been governed through the same corrupt logic by the APC, was overwhelmed, and an effort to recruit new men led to the incorporation of unprofessional elements, some of whom overthrew the government in 1992 (Gbla 2006, 80). During the war many soldiers resorted to looting and banditry, and the army formally allied itself with the RUF in 1997 when elements of the army led by Johnny Paul Koroma took power (Abraham 2004b, 106–20). The constant combating of rebels and elements of the RSLAF by civil defense militias, the West African regional force named ECOMOG, British forces, and mercenary companies finally led to the restoration of peace in 2000 (Abraham 2004a, 206–14).

By the end of the wars in the early 2000s, both countries needed to reform armed forces that had badly deteriorated during war as well as during extremely problematic prewar politics.

Diverging Reform Outcomes

This article focuses on the reform of the armies in Sierra Leone (RSLAF) and Liberia (AFL), which are part of wider SSRs that have been central to postconflict reconstruction in many African countries. SSR can be defined as programs to improve the structure, operational capacity, and professionalism of security agencies while subordinating them to and increasing their ability to work with democratically elected civilian authorities. SSR, thus, includes reform of the police, prison authorities, intelligence agencies, and judicial structures (Aboagye and Rupiya 2005, 252; Hanggi 2004, 3). It is important to note that this prevailing conception of SSR betrays the ongoing attachment of security discourses to the idea of “security” as “state security,” which has been denounced by advocates of “human security.” The reform of health and agricultural sectors, which can impact human security, is still not viewed as an element of SSR and is instead lumped under “socioeconomic” reforms. ¹

In asserting the success of the reform program in Sierra Leone relative to Liberia, I look at five concrete indicators: (1) the ability to set up a fully operational armed force, (2) the takeover of ultimate authority of this force by nationals, (3) the deployment of this force across the national territory, (4) the assumption of ultimate responsibility for security in the country by the state, and (5) the departure of the international peacekeeping force. On all of these counts the program to reform the RSLAF has achieved far greater success than that targeting the AFL.

Explaining Varying SSR Outcomes: A Transition Regime Approach

Mann (1984) distinguishes between two types of state power: autonomous and infrastructural. While a state’s autonomous power refers to its ability to act in various realms without consultations with society, infrastructural power refers to the ability of the state to manage affairs through routine and sustained bureaucratic interventions in diverse sectors throughout its territory. Reform of the armed forces in democratic settings has to be seen as an exercise in infrastructural power. It has to be seen this way because it goes beyond the mere recruitment, training, and equipment of a small group of people. Key to SSR is the reengineering of relations between the military and civilian authorities across the national territory. The armed forces have to be subordinate to elected civilian authority (Aboagye and Rupiya 2005, 252). While subordination involves inculcating this in the minds of officers and soldiers, it also involves ensuring that civilian authorities know how to relate to the military with whom they have to work and coexist. The reform of the military then has to be understood in a wider sense as reform of governance across the national territory. It requires that the authority undertaking reforms reach into society and spread its authority in a very precise form across a national territory.

Because SSR is often undertaken in postconflict situations, the regime that coincides with the end of fighting is critical. There are two broad types of these regimes. There are those that reflect the relative distribution of power between local forces in a country and those that do not reflect the distribution of power among forces on the ground. Postconflict regimes reflect the balance of forces on the ground when they facilitate access to power by important power brokers in the country. This could come about through the outright victory of a group and domination of a country by that group, as was the case with the Rwandan Patriotic Front in the early 1990s. It could also come about through internationally or locally brokered inclusive negotiations or through democratic electoral systems that do not deliberately seek to limit access to power by some parties in the country. The emphasis here is meant to underscore the point that “democratic regimes” vary in the nature of their practice (voting, campaigning, etc.) and in the foundational institutional arrangements (delimitation of who can contest positions, voter eligibility rules, etc.) that regulate their practice and that these variations can have significant impact on processes of postconflict reconstruction.

When the postconflict regime does not reflect the balance of power on the ground, the system of government severely limits access to power by some influential players during the violent conflict. This is almost always the result of the imposition of solutions by external forces. They intervene and sideline some powerful parties to impose an actor that would otherwise not have been able to impose itself to the exclusion of others. Examples include the postconflict regime in Afghanistan, which is built on the exclusion of the Taliban, and that in Iraq, which was constructed on the exclusion of the Baath Party. ISIS’s (Islamic State in Iraq and Syria) dramatic evisceration of sections of the rebuilt Iraqi security forces in June 2014 hints at the heavy price of transition regimes that do not reflect the local distribution of power.

Reflecting the distribution of power on the ground has two causally relevant consequences. Because transition regimes that reflect the distribution of influence among domestic actors are rooted in local power realities, they have to engage in local negotiations even if within a very limited group to pass reforms. This can sometimes moderate or even water down the nature of the reforms they can pass. However, reforms passed are more in line with what the most powerful local actors desire since they contribute to the fashioning of reforms in the first place. This increases the ability of these regimes to implement reforms like those involving the security sector that require the exercise of infrastructural power. Powerful local actors are less likely to hinder the implementation of reforms that they had been consulted on and that they had contributed to passing because these are more likely to be ones with which they can live.

The nonreflection of the balance of power on the ground by transition regimes has different relevant effects. Existing above the realm of powerful local forces, such governing systems have the ability to design reform programs without consulting local actors. This means that such regimes often have an impressive ability to pass reforms, including those that are vehemently opposed by powerful local actors. However, they often can implement only those reforms that do not require significant wide-scale interventions in society. Areas where reforms require the transformation of social relations at the grassroots level prove extremely difficult for such regimes. This is because local strongmen will present greater roadblocks to the implementation of reforms passed without their consultation and, often, over their protest.

This theory draws insight from work on the politics of economic reform that has noted variation in the difficulty of implementing different types of reforms. Naím (1995), for instance, points out that macroeconomic reforms that require little involvement of and negotiations with wider society and much of the state apparatus are less difficult to undertake. In the 1980s and 1990s the IMF and World Bank sometimes deployed “technocratic change teams” to help countries undertake these first-stage macroeconomic reforms, which included currency devaluation and privatization of state-owned enterprises. So-called second stage institutional reforms such as property rights and rule of law reforms were much more difficult to undertake because they required the involvement of significant sectors of the state and society (World Bank 2002). They, like successful reform of militaries, in effect required the exercise of infrastructural power by the state in calling on it to effect widespread structural and attitudinal changes in society across the national territory.

This work also borrows insight from literature in international relations that examines the issue of compliance by parties to their international obligations. One insight of this literature is that states are more likely to comply with obligations that they had contributed to setting (Chayes and Chayes 1993). In these situations, implementation requires states to live with rules they had contributed to setting in the first place, even if changing interests and perceptions of self can render this complicated. This is unlike the situations where states had little say in setting up the rules with which they are supposed to comply. Local power brokers can, in states where regimes reflect power relations on the ground, have a significant say in the eventual SSR program implemented. This makes them less willing to obstruct the implementation of the program. Reforms with very lofty goals can be set where local forces do not have to be consulted, but in the long run getting actors to go along with a program that they did not contribute to shaping—and that may even harm their core interests—can be difficult, setting back reform implementation.

This study then reinforces the insistence on local “ownership” in development and reform programs (Ismail 2008; Ebo 2008, 153–4). ⁵ In addition to its contributions to ensuring proper prioritization and sustainability, such broad-based ownership through consultations is critical even for the initial implementation of programs. This study also hints at the potential quandaries and dilemmas that can arise in this search for ownership. An implication of this work is that for deep reforms that require significant social transformation, opening the process and political system to all is paramount. The problem is that in Liberia, Sierra Leone, and many other similar postconflict countries, this “all” includes various unsavory characters and organizations, such as Charles Taylor and the NPFL, whose exclusion seems not only tempting and befitting but even necessary to prevent further abuses, end impunity, and ensure justice for victims. But the insistence on excluding such powerful forces may have negative impacts on long-term reconstruction prospects. In a sense this trade-off between excluding “unsavory actors” and successful long-term postconflict reconstruction mirrors ongoing debates over international criminal justice that pits protectors of justice at the cost of peace against those that insist on peace even at the cost of justice. ⁶

This study contributes to the literature on postconflict reform by providing one response for why certain regimes tend to be more consultative in decision-making than others, which goes beyond the will and predilections of key decision-makers. I argue that the nature of some transition regimes (their nonreflection of local power dynamics) makes the path of nonconsultation and exclusion much more alluring. Like the technocratic change teams in the political economy of economic reforms literature (Williams 2002, 395), the ability of these regimes to make decisions without consulting significant local actors tends to lead them to, mistakenly, see wisdom in exclusion and nonconsultation. The problem is that such exclusionary decision-making tends to undermine the implementation of certain reforms in the long run. Those regimes that reflect local power dynamics cannot engage in decision-making without consulting significant local political actors. Because of this, the path of nonconsultation and exclusion does not represent a tempting possibility for them. This might slow them down in decision-making but ultimately aids them in policy implementation.

The “Model” Reform Program in Sierra Leone

The war in Sierra Leone ended with a stalemate among the key parties to the conflict. The Kamajor civil defense force, the RUF, and elements of the Sierra Leone Armed Forces that later came to be known as the West Side Boys fought to a standstill against the background of incessant intervention by Nigeria, the ECOWAS peacekeeping force, ECOMOG, private security companies, and, at a much later stage, British troops (Abraham 2004a, 199–218).

International involvement in Sierra Leone had always been strongly tinged by an inclusive orientation that sought to get parties to agree to peace settlements that provided space for all factions, including the RUF, that had committed some of the worst abuses in recent African wars (Abraham 2004a). The inclusion of such groups might have been influenced by the realization that when it came to the warring sides moral dichotomies were hard to justify. While the RUF committed atrocities, it was clear from an early stage that members of the army who were supposed to combat the RUF not only committed similar violations but also actively collaborated with the rebels (Abraham 2004b, 108). Even the Kamajor civil defense militia, which backed the government in the face of malfeasance by the national army, was accused of violating rights. ⁷

Realizing it could not depend on its national army, the democratically elected government of Tejan Kabbah also bent over backward to accommodate the RUF in what commentators came to regard as an effort to secure peace at any cost (Abraham 2004a). The Abidjan Peace Accord of 1996 granted blanket amnesty to the RUF for all abuses and offered it the possibility of transforming itself into a political party and having some of its members integrated into the national army (Abraham 2004a, 206). Despite obstructionism and a reversion to war by the RUF, the 1999 Lome Peace Agreement saw Kabbah extending the same terms to the RUF. This accord went even further in offering the RUF four cabinet positions and naming the RUF leader, Foday Sankoh, as the chairperson of the Commission for the Management of Strategic Resources (Kandeh 2004, 167; Abraham 2004a, 212).

Even the effort to punish those responsible for abuses during the war was a generally inclusive one. When a special hybrid court was eventually set up to try those most responsible for rights abuses in the country, key leaders in the RUF and renegade elements of the military were targeted. But the deputy minister of defense in President Kabbah’s democratically elected government, Chief Hinga Norman, who had headed the Kamajors, was also targeted. The Kamajors had been a civil defense force that was loyal to President Kabbah. It had protected many communities against the atrocities of the RUF and contributed effectively to international efforts to militarily contain the RUF and renegade soldiers (Sesay et al. 2009, 63). Widespread condemnation of the arrest of Norman reflected denunciation of the blanket amnesties extended to the RUF in both the Abidjan and Lome agreements and power-sharing arrangements offered to the RUF in the latter.

Sierra Leone’s SSR program reflected this openness on the part of the transition regime to key power brokers in the country. State leaders and the international community realized early on that the thorough reform of the security sector, including the army, police, judiciary, and prisons system, was necessary for guaranteeing the long-term democratic stability of the country. An extensive process of consultation across the country preceded the design of the armed forces reform program. A very inclusive working group was established that “included ministries, civil society, anticorruption commission, security institutions, technical advisers, the academia, and professional associations” (Ebo 2006, 488). The SSR secretariat organized consultative workshops in the country’s northern, eastern, and southern provinces, bringing together 142 participants. These included “religious groups, the press, serving and retired security personnel, ex-combatants and traditional chiefs” (Ebo 2006, 488–89).

Unsurprisingly, the process resulted in a rather moderate reform program that sought to build a new force with the former army as its core. Goals included creating an army through the retrenchment and retirement of some personnel and intake of others; increasing the professionalism, skills, and living conditions of its members; and ensuring its proper subjugation to democratically elected civilian authorities (Gbla 2006, 82–84; Ebo 2006, 486–87).

The operational work of reform was to be carried out by DFID through IMATT. The first training mission was the Sierra Leone Security Sector Program in 1999, which was followed by the deployment of IMATT in 2000 to pacify elements of the military that posed a threat to the capital. IMATT has handled the reform program, including paring down the existing army, and recruiting new members and training them in combat skills and mission readiness. It also equipped the RSLAF with better weapons, upgraded living conditions through the building of new barracks, and reorganized the Ministry of Defense as one jointly run by civilians and soldiers (Gbla 2006, 82–84; Ebo 2006, 486–87).

By 2004, much of what was conceived as part of the reform of the newly created RSLMF had been accomplished. Ultimate responsibility for the security of the country was handed over to the government by the UN force in 2004. The UN force then undertook a drastic drawdown in late 2005. In 2006 UNAMSIL was brought to an end, and a small UN office was created in its stead (Ebo 2006, 482).

The reform of the RSLMF has not been without criticism. First, there is the rather dominant role played by IMATT and its principals DFID and MOD in the implementation of the program. In addition, DFID paid for the reform program (Gbla 2006, 82). So the widespread consultations did get Sierra Leoneans of various stripes to decide what they wanted their military to look like, but the actual work of bringing this about was carried out by the British. Given the fact that the process of implementation is itself important even after goals have been set, this indeed constitutes a potential handicap in perpetuating Sierra Leone’s neocolonial subordination to Britain. Further, the newly reformed military has continued to exist in a wider political economic milieu that is not always conducive to the existence of a professional, nonpartisan, and capable force that is properly subordinated to elected civilian authorities. The poor economic state of the country means that, like other public sectors workers, soldiers continue to receive poor wages, inadequate equipment, and insufficient supplies, all of which saps morale and capacity (Ebo 2006, 490–97) and encourages members to engage in both legal and illegal fund-generating activities. In early November 2013, it was reported that an officer of the RSLAF had been arrested because he was part of a group that had been transporting marijuana into Liberia. ⁸ Also, the wider problems of multiparty democracy in the country always risk undermining positive developments in the creation of a nonpartisan and professional military.

Despite these challenges, the reform of the RSLMF is seen as a model to be followed (Ebo 2006, 482; Gbla 2006, 85, 89), a compliment that the reform of the AFL in neighboring Liberia has not received.

The Checkered Reform Process in Liberia

The question of SSR in Liberia first came up at the end of what Liberians call the “first war.” In 1997, following a return to tentative peace, Charles Taylor was elected as president of Liberia. While some complained of electoral irregularities, many saw the victory of Taylor as the only means of preventing him from going back to war. A key component of the effort to ensure sustained peace and stability was the reform of the security sector by ECOMOG. Unsurprisingly, Taylor prevented ECOMOG from carrying out the reforms (Aboagye and Rupiya 2005, 263; Sesay et al. 2009, 40). He instead transformed his NPFL into the national army and avoided creating a truly national force (Sesay et al. 2009, 38). Abusive forces fiercely loyal to him, such as the Anti-Terrorism Unit, dominated the security landscape as Taylor continued to pillage the country’s resources (Malan 2008, 9).

It was his lack of reform and continued support for RUF’s abusive activities in Sierra Leone that by the late 1990s transformed him, in the minds of many, into the main stumbling block to peace in Liberia and Sierra Leone. His presence and political influence in Liberia came to be seen as a guarantee of persisting insecurity in the two countries, and his physical removal and curtailment of his political influence was seen as necessary for ending the violence (Sesay et al. 2009, 44).

The international community had adopted a stance toward Taylor that was in contrast to its exaggerated effort to include Sankoh in the peaceful governance of Sierra Leone. The imposition of international sanctions on Taylor and some of his henchmen via UN Security Council Resolution 1343 in 2001 for their support of the RUF in Sierra Leone marked the beginning of the end of Taylor’s regime (Sesay et al. 2009, 42). When Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy (LURD), flush with support from Guinea’s President Lansana Conte (ICG 2003, 17–19), laid siege to Monrovia demanding Taylor vacate his position, international mediation led to the signing of the CPA by the government of Liberia (NPFL) and other actors in Accra, Ghana, in 2003.

The CPA firmly undercut the NPFL’s influence in Liberia. It put an end to NPFL rule and introduced an interim government led by Gyedu Bryant, who was not allied to any of the warring parties. It granted multiple portfolios and leadership of state agencies to various armed groups as well as civil society, which previously had no role in government (Fayemi 2004, 186–87). The accord took power from the NPFL and distributed it to others in the country.

The international community also sought the physical removal of Taylor from the country. While peace negotiations were going on in Accra in 2003, the Special Court for Sierra Leone indicted Taylor for war crimes and crimes against humanity committed by his agents in Sierra Leone. Taylor finally agreed to exile in Nigeria in exchange for a commitment from the Nigerian government not to hand him over to the Special Court for Sierra Leone (Sesay et al. 2009, 44–45). Even his physical removal did not prevent the head of UNMIL from continuing to cast him as a threat to peace in Liberia (O’Connell 2004, 233).

Peacemaking and postconflict reconstruction in Liberia had come to be defined as the washing away of the NPFL’s and Taylor’s influence in the country even though the NPFL had for long periods been the country’s most powerful force. Indeed, even the security of the interim government and the elected government of Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf that replaced it in 2005 were guaranteed not by local power bases superior to the NPFL, but by the UN peacekeeping mission in the country. Thus, the peculiar thing about Liberia is not that “there was no clear winner of the war,” as claimed by the ICG (2009, 22). It is that the eventual “winning” regime has no firm local roots but is instead guaranteed by an impressive international force.

Against this background, it is unsurprising that the reform of the AFL was designed to insulate both the process and end product from the influence of the NPFL and other warring factions. The greatest threat to the reform of the armed forces in Liberia was always seen as the potential infiltration and utilization of the new force by former warring factions against the newly constituted democratic order.

On account of this, unlike in Sierra Leone, there was almost no consultation of social actors in the design and implementation of the SSR program in Liberia (ICG 2009, 9). Civil society was not consulted (Loden 2007, 300–1). As Ebo (2008, 161) notes, the national legislature was severely marginalized in the process to protect the program from many of its leading members who were seen as having “questionable records” in connection with the war. This has prevented the legislature from holding the executive branch accountable on the issue of SSR (Ebo 2008, 161). Even the Liberian Ministry of Defense, which was supposedly going to take over the AFL, complained about its exclusion from the process (Loden 2007, 300). ⁹ The reform of the AFL became the pet project of the U.S. State Department, which was mandated by the CPA to carry out this process. It exercised this mandate in a highly exclusionary fashion, which led to complaints even from some of its international partners in Liberia (Loden 2007, 300).

There are some important concrete areas in which this nonconsultative method is evident. The U.S. State Department on its own decided to completely demobilize the existing AFL and create an entirely new force into which former members of the AFL were not necessarily going to be integrated (Loden 2007, 300). Instead each potential recruit was to undergo an extremely rigorous screening process. The U.S. State Department decided on the size and structure of the new force without consulting or taking into account the recommendations of the government of Liberia’s Defense Advisory Committee and the thoughts of other forces in society (Ebo 2005, 17–18). Further, it unilaterally decided to engage U.S. private security contractors DynCorp and PAE to carry out the reforms without consulting even the Liberian Ministry of Defense (Loden 2007, 300; Malan 2008, 28–29). The Liberian Ministry of Defense was to complain that it could not even access the contract through which DynCorp was reforming the army or talk directly to the staff of DynCorp without first going through officials at the U.S. Embassy; this limited its ability to evaluate and monitor work done by the company (Ebo 2008, 159–60). ¹⁰

The complete demobilization of the AFL and imposition of a stringent vetting regime for new recruits was meant to further minimize the influence of “suspicious” local actors in the new force by sifting out former fighters and people loyal to former warring factions (Ebo 2008, 156; Malan 2008, 30–33). ¹¹ The complete exclusion of local powerbrokers such as the NPFL and former AFL elements in the design of the program, which enabled the U.S. State Department to put in place this radical reform effort, severely undermined the implementation of the program in two ways. First, it compromised the creation of a complete hierarchical structure with sufficient numbers at all levels to constitute a well-coordinated fighting force. Excluding local power brokers including former AFL officers severely shrunk the pool of eligible senior officers and led the reform process into many difficulties and dilemmas. It is not surprising then that the AFL continued to be led by foreign officers until 2014 (Ebo 2008, 156–57). While the force could boast two thousand well-trained recruits at the lower levels, it has a severe deficiency in the officer ranks at all levels (Malan 2008, 37–38; ICG 2009, 13).

The second and most damaging impact of a transition regime that does not reflect local power realities along with its consequent nonconsultation of local power brokers in the SSR program has been on civil-military relations. The process is built on a laboratory approach to SSR that is best compared to earlier approaches to what came to be called “first-stage macroeconomic reforms.” As noted above, these reforms, which included the devaluation of currencies, retrenchment of workers, and privatization of parastatals, were seen as not requiring the participation of significant sectors of the state machinery or society. They were thought to be achievable through the work of small, insulated, and sometimes even foreign, teams of technocrats.

The problem is that SSR in countries like Liberia with long histories of authoritarianism, nonprofessional militaries, and military involvement in politics are more comparable to what are called “second-stage reforms,” like rule of law and property rights reforms. They require deep fundamental social transformation in how a wide swathe of civil and military authorities perceive and work with each other. SSR in countries like Liberia require going beyond building capable and well-equipped fighting forces to creating political systems characterized by the subordination of forces to elected civilian authorities and the smooth collaboration of civilian authorities and military forces across national territories. They require social transformation that cannot be achieved without negotiations with and the involvement of significant segments of the state machineries and civilian authorities at the national and local levels.

Any SSR process that does not lead to the development of a military that is duly subordinated to elected civilian authorities and that can collaborate with these authorities in a professional manner across the national territory in which it is deployed cannot be recorded as a success in a democratic country (Fayemi 2004, 184; Ebo 2005, 3). This is particularly true in Liberia and Sierra Leone, and countries like them, which have suffered from a history of military coups and friction between civilian and military authorities.

The U.S. State Department, UNMIL, and Liberian authorities are realizing that peace built on the exclusion of powerful forces like the NPFL and other local factions, no matter how negative their earlier activities had been, will be hard to sustain. Indeed, democratic politics had already forced President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf to cut deals and form alliances with many individuals with “insalubrious” backgrounds including Lewis Brown who was once Taylor’s minister of foreign affairs. ¹² Now they are learning that true SSR similarly cannot be achieved if the new armed forces do not get out of the training laboratories and become part of a new Liberian society, which cannot but include diverse actors from the civil war. The government and its partners will eventually have to overcome the fear of a hijacking of the new army by former warlords and try to teach the AFL and civilian authorities to collaborate with each other.

A Difference in Style?

The emphasis on transitional regimes in this article discounts an alternative argument that would focus on differences between the approaches that the U.S. State Department and UK’s DFID and MOD embraced during the process of reform. An overly aggressive and domineering U.S. attitude compared to a more cautious British approach might be responsible for the difference.

This is not a particularly satisfactory explanation, because the reconstruction process in Liberia as a whole, including segments not spear-headed by the U.S. State Department, have been marked by the same nonconsultativeness. In overseeing much of that process, the head of the UN mission in Liberia, UN Special Representative of the Secretary General Jacques Klein, displayed the same nonconsultative bent that one sees in the U.S. State Department’s approach. His tendency to run roughshod over Liberian constituencies and authorities in policymaking and implementation earned him the titles of “viceroy” and “governor general” among concerned Liberians and foreign workers. He poured scorn on local (as well as international) insistence that an army be recreated, by calling for the abolition of the AFL because “armies sit around playing cards and plotting coups” ¹³ (Ebo 2005, 16; 27–28). The reform of the Liberia National Police was marked by the same nonconsultative approach that characterized AFL reform, despite that it was carried out by the civil police section of UNMIL. UNMIL’s decision to build the new police around the core of the old one and the U.S. State Department’s decision to start a completely new AFL were reached through the same nonconsultative method.

Tellingly, analysts have tended to speak of SSR as a whole instead of distinguishing between AFL and LNP reform when decrying the extremely nonconsultative approach to reconstruction in the country. Loden (2007) points out that “the reform and restructuring of . . . security institutions have been led by internationals with little reference to national preferences or consultation” (p. 300). The ICG (2009, 11) similarly calls for the domestic ownership of SSR, and Ebo (2005) recommends an increase in “local ownership” of, greater civil society involvement in, and more “parliamentary oversight” over SSR (pp. ii–iii).

The takeaway from the nonconsultative SSR program in Liberia, regardless of the actors spearheading the reform of specific agencies, is that the reconstruction program as a whole was influenced by a transitional logic that was exclusionary. This contrasts to the much more inclusionary logic that pervaded the transitional regime in Sierra Leone. Ebo (2006, 488) lauds the consultative nature of the entire SSR program in Sierra Leone.

Conclusion

Cleansing Liberian society of Taylor and the NPFL might have been key to bringing about an end to fighting, giving the victims of his abuses a measure of justice, and demonstrating that abuses will not always go unpunished, but it has stunted the broader process of postconflict reconstruction. It has led to the exclusion of parties that for better or worse have constituted significant power bases in Liberia, whose input and collaboration would have significantly boosted the long-term search for stability and development in the country.

Beyond the need to be inclusive, basing peacemaking on local power realities is important. It is always best when external interventions such as UN missions are deployed in ways that are cognizant of local power realities and try to reorient local actors toward peace. The temptation to deploy international forces to redraw local cartographies of power by sidelining the powerful and building up new power centers is a dangerous one. It tends to require long-term and high-level international commitment that many donor countries are unwilling to undertake. It also tends to create reforms that are impressive on paper but that can only thrive in the lab (or barracks, as is the case with the squeaky clean new AFL in Liberia).

An argument that focuses on how postwar governing systems map onto local power realities goes against arguments that focus on the prewar state of the two countries and their armed forces, the length of the wars and their impact on the different armed forces, the difficulty to reform, and the existence of significant and sustained financial backing for the reforms. As I point out in the preceding sections, because these countries and their wars were so similar and interlinked in many ways, we are able to hold constant many variables.

The level of involvement of international actors in the SSR programs in the two countries is one such potential explanatory factor that we can hold constant. The argument here, then, is not about whether there is international involvement in postconflict reconstruction in a country. It is not a call for exclusive local involvement in and leadership of such reforms. Given the weakened nature of states emerging from conflicts, it is inevitable that their escape from violence and instability will be aided by outside actors. The argument here is about the nature of this external involvement. Involvement that seeks to bring about postconflict regimes that do not reflect local power realities tends to undermine the long-term prospects of reconstruction in these countries.