Pub Handbook of Military Administration Public Adminis
Pub Handbook of Military Administration Public Adminis
Military
Administration
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
EVAN M. BERMAN
Huey McElveen Distinguished Professor
Louisiana State University
Public Administration Institute
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Executive Editor
JACK RABIN
Professor of Public Administration and Public Policy
The Pennsylvania State University—Harrisburg
School of Public Affairs
Middletown, Pennsylvania
Available Electronically
PublicADMINISTRATIONnetBASE
Edited by
Jeffrey A. Weber
East Stroudsburg University
East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, U.S.A.
Johan Eliasson
East Stroudsburg University
East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, U.S.A.
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Weber, Jeffrey A.
Handbook of military administration / Jeffrey A. Weber and Johan Eliasson.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978‑1‑57444‑558‑9 (alk. paper)
1. Military administration‑‑Handbooks, manuals, etc. I. Eliasson, Johan. II.
Title.
UB146.W43 2007
355.6‑‑dc22 2007022402
ix
Preface........................................................................................................ xxiii
Contributors................................................................................................. xxv
Chapter 1
Introduction.................................................................................................1
Jeffrey A. Weber and Johan Eliasson
References.....................................................................................................8
Chapter 2
Professionals, Bureaucrats and Citizen Soldiers: The
Countervailing Patterns of American Military
Administration....................................................................................9
Darrell W. Driver
The Military as a Profession: The Rise and Struggles of Autonomous
Professionalism...........................................................................................11
The Military as a Public Bureaucracy: Rational Structures and
Principle Agents..........................................................................................16
Article I. The Military as a Public Institution: The Long Shadow of
the Citizen-Soldier Ideal.............................................................................20
Conclusion..................................................................................................24
References...................................................................................................26
Chapter 3
Military Administration 1850–1900. ...................................................31
Heidi Amelia-Anne Weber
References.................................................................................................. 42
xi
Chapter 4
Reshaping the Defense Enterprise. ......................................................47
Department of Defense, Quadrennial Defense .
Review 2006
Toward a New Defense Enterprise..............................................................49
Governance Reforms..............................................................................50
Senior Leadership Focus....................................................................50
Aligning Authority and Accountability through Joint
Capability Portfolios..........................................................................52
Managing Joint Task Assignments.....................................................53
Driving Business Transformation......................................................53
Managing Risks and Measuring Performance
Across the Enterprise.........................................................................54
Additional Governance Reforms........................................................54
Management and Work Reforms...........................................................55
Improving Defense Acquisition Performance.....................................55
Managing Supply-Chain Logistics.....................................................56
Transforming the Medical Health System (MHS).............................57
Summary...............................................................................................57
Developing a Twenty-First Century Total Force.........................................58
Reconfiguring the Total Force................................................................59
A Continuum of Service.........................................................................59
Building the Right Skills....................................................................... 60
Joint Training................................................................................... 60
Language and Cultural Skills............................................................61
Training and Educating Personnel to Strengthen Interagency
Operations.........................................................................................61
Designing an Information Age Human Capital Strategy.......................62
National Security Personnel System.......................................................63
Achieving Unity of Effort.......................................................................... 64
Why a New Approach Is Essential........................................................ 64
Strategic and Operational Frameworks...................................................65
Strengthening Interagency Operations...................................................65
Learning from the Field.................................................................... 66
Complex Interagency Operations Abroad......................................... 66
Complex Interagency Operations at Home........................................67
Working with International Allies and Partners.................................68
Transforming Foreign Assistance.......................................................70
Strategic Communication..................................................................72
Summary....................................................................................................72
Chapter 5
Strategic Planning by the Chairmen, Joint Chiefs of Staff,
1990 to 2005.....................................................................................75
Richard Meinhart
Introduction...............................................................................................75
Chairman’s Responsibilities........................................................................76
Strategic Challenges, Culture and Structure...............................................78
Strategic Planning System Changes............................................................79
1989 Status.............................................................................................79
1990 Change......................................................................................... 80
1993 Change......................................................................................... 80
1997 Change..........................................................................................81
1999 Change..........................................................................................81
The 2005 System....................................................................................81
Strategic Planning Products........................................................................82
Assessment.............................................................................................83
Vision.................................................................................................... 84
Strategy..................................................................................................85
Resources...............................................................................................86
Plans......................................................................................................87
Chairman’s Legacy......................................................................................87
General Colin L. Powell (1989–1993)....................................................87
General John M. Shalikashvili (1993–1997)..........................................88
General Henry Hugh Shelton (1997–2001)............................................89
General Richard B. Myers (2001–2005)................................................ 90
Conclusion..................................................................................................91
Notes..........................................................................................................93
Chapter 6
The Leviathan’s Bit: The U.S. Defense Budget..................................99
Jeffrey A. Weber
Introduction...............................................................................................99
Overview of a Public Budget....................................................................100
The U.S. Constitution and the Defense Budget........................................101
The Federal Budget...................................................................................102
The Federal Government Budget Documents......................................102
The Federal Government Budget Process.............................................103
The Defense Budget..................................................................................106
The Defense Budget Process.................................................................107
Historical Overview of PPBES.............................................................107
The PPBES Process...............................................................................112
Planning..........................................................................................113
Programming.................................................................................. 114
Budgeting........................................................................................ 115
Execution......................................................................................... 117
The Defense Budget Network.............................................................. 119
Conclusion................................................................................................120
References.................................................................................................121
Further Readings......................................................................................123
Chapter 7
Human Capital: DoD’s National Security Personnel System
Faces Implementation Challenges.............................................125
Government Accountability Office
Background..............................................................................................125
The Initial NSPS Design Process..............................................................126
Employees Covered by NSPS....................................................................126
DoD’s Employee Unions...........................................................................127
Practices and Implementation Steps for Mergers and Transformations.....127
NSPS Design Process Evolved into a Phased Approach.............................128
Top DoD and OPM Leadership Drives Human
Capital Transformation............................................................................130
Guiding Principles and Key Performance Parameters Steer the
Design Process..........................................................................................132
Team Established to Manage the NSPS Design and
Implementation Process............................................................................133
Ambitious Timeline and Implementation Goals Established....................134
Communication Strategy Not Comprehensive.........................................136
NSPS Design Process Has Involved Employees........................................137
DoD Faces Multiple Challenges in Implementing NSPS..........................139
Early Implementation Challenges........................................................139
Later Implementation Challenges.........................................................140
Conclusions..............................................................................................142
Notes........................................................................................................142
Chapter 8
The History and Role of TRADOC System Manager (TSM)
Abrams..............................................................................................145
John M. Shay, Seth T. Blakeman and Hank Hughes
Setting the Stage for TSM: Formation of TRADOC and M1 Abrams
Tank......................................................................................................... 145
The System Needs a Parent: Formation of TSM.......................................147
Chapter 18
Overview of Latin America’s Military Administrations................373
Bartosz Hieronim Stanisławski
Introduction.............................................................................................373
Context.....................................................................................................375
Mexico......................................................................................................377
Chain of Command.............................................................................377
Structure and Organization of the Mexican Armed Forces..................379
The Mexican Army and Air Force....................................................379
The Mexican Navy..........................................................................380
Related Facts and Developments..........................................................381
Colombia..................................................................................................381
Chain of Command.............................................................................381
Structure and Organization of the Colombian Armed Forces..............381
The Colombian Army......................................................................381
The Colombian Navy......................................................................383
The Colombian Air Force................................................................384
Related Facts and Developments..........................................................384
Venezuela..................................................................................................385
Chain of Command.............................................................................386
Structure and Organization of the Venezuelan Armed Forces..............386
The Venezuelan Army......................................................................386
The Venezuelan Navy......................................................................386
The Venezuelan Air Force................................................................389
The Venezuelan National Guard......................................................389
Related Facts and Developments..........................................................390
Brazil........................................................................................................390
Chain of Command.............................................................................391
Structure and Organization of the Brazilian Armed Forces..................391
The Brazilian Army.........................................................................391
The Brazilian Navy..........................................................................393
The Brazilian Air Force....................................................................394
Related Facts and Developments..........................................................394
Other Selected Latin American States.......................................................396
South America.....................................................................................396
Peru.................................................................................................396
Chile................................................................................................397
Argentina.........................................................................................398
Central America.................................................................................. 400
The Caribbean Basin............................................................................401
Conclusion................................................................................................403
References................................................................................................ 404
Bibliography............................................................................................ 406
Chapter 19
National Defense: People’s Republic of China.............................. 409
Hans Stockton
Introduction............................................................................................ 409
Overview..................................................................................................410
Military Doctrine.....................................................................................413
The People’s Liberation Army...................................................................414
Command and Control............................................................................ 415
Force Structure.....................................................................................416
China’s Defense Spending........................................................................421
Civil–Military Relations and the PLA as a National or Party Army........ 422
Conclusion............................................................................................... 424
References.................................................................................................425
Index............................................................................................................429
The purpose of this handbook is to bring together original chapters and other
material that address and analyze the basic issues and components of the United
States military administration and provide an international comparative perspec-
tive. Although the United States military produces numerous “handbooks” by
highly competent authors, none of the currently available manuals address the
breadth of the subject matter here while simultaneously providing an international
comparison.
Open the first issue of Public Administration Review and you will find multiple
articles addressing the administration of the United States military. Today it has
gone out of favor and is not a subject of study. The military is the largest governmen-
tal bureaucracy in the United States. The administrative changes that have occurred
in the military throughout the nation’s history are responsible for some of the major
changes that have occurred in public administration. Today, the administrative
changes produced by the Defense Transformation Act for the 21st Century are respon-
sible for implementing some of the leading administrative reforms in the areas of
personnel management, public budgeting and financial management, contracting,
and planning. Despite the major public administration changes being brought about
by the Department of Defense, which impact more public employees than any other
changes, the public administration academic community appears to be mute, or at
least not publishing in the main journals or presenting papers at the annual confer-
ences. It is time for public administration to stop ignoring military administration.
Hopefully, this volume is a start in reintroducing this neglected area of study.
Noticeable in this regard is that all across the globe government reforms of the
military have often mimicked reforms attempted in civilian administrative bodies.
The quest for greater efficiency and effectiveness, higher productivity and techno-
logical sophistication in the public sector has frequently found reception among
those charged with reforming the military, even if military personnel, like civilian
bureaucrats, have sometimes fought to preserve set routines and protect ingrained
interests. Governments across the globe have decided to reform their military,
making them technologically more sophisticated, increasingly flexible, leaner and
more efficient. The similarities in goals and responses only strengthen the need
xxiii
Jeffrey A. Weber
Johan Eliasson
Seth Blakeman Major, U.S. Army, TRADOC Systems Management for M1A2
Office, Fort Knox, Kentucky
Richard Meinhart, Ph.D. Strategic Studies Institute, U.S. Army War College,
Carlisle, Pennsylvania
xxv
John Shay Colonel, U.S. Army, TRADOC Systems Manager for M1A2
Abrams, Fort Knox, Kentucky
Heidi Amelia-Anne Weber, Ph.D. Essex County College, Newark, New Jersey
Introduction
Military operations have constantly dominated current events over the past twenty
years. Since 1979, the United States military has deployed with increasing fre-
quency, which significantly increased after the collapse of the Soviet Union. The
operations span the continuum from war to humanitarian relief. The U.S. military
has 450,925 military personnel engaged in global operations in Iraq, Kuwait, the
United Arab Emirates, Somalia, Afghanistan, Kosovo, Bosnia, Germany, Poland,
Philippines, Columbia, South Korea and Japan, just to name a few of the 163
nations with ongoing operations. Additionally, the U.S. military dominates the
oceans and air space globally as it seeks to support the ever-growing number of
operations. This support is provided not only to U.S. forces, but also to United
Nations peacekeepers and the military of other nations.
These global military operations are managed on a day-to-day basis by history’s
largest bureaucracy, the Department of Defense (DoD). There are 1.3 million men
and women on active duty and another 1.1 million serving in the National Guard
or Reserve. The forces are supported by 669,281 civilian personnel. Additionally,
DoD cares for over 2 million retirees and military personnel’s families. All of this
is accomplished with a budget of approximately $500 billion.
Although the conduct of war is the subject of vast literature, administrative
aspects of military operations is often lacking. After all, who can become excited
about human resource management, budgeting and finance, procurement, and
training and development, when one has the lure and challenge of defeat and vic-
tory in combat? Yet, the seemingly mundane and boring administrative tasks are
what makes it possible to field an effective fighting force.
The human resource management systems are what enables the military to
recruit, train and field the personnel who win on the battlefields. The budgeting
and finance systems are what makes it possible to purchase the weapon systems,
food, materials and, most importantly, pay the troops, provide benefits and take
care of them if they are injured or in retirement. Training and development pro-
vides our fighting forces with the knowledge, skills and abilities they need to win
on the battlefield, conduct operations other than war and to take care of each other
and their families. Procurement provides our military with what it needs, when it
needs it.
Furthermore, despite the continual argument by some that nation building is
not the job of the military, the U.S. military has often found itself engaged in
just such efforts throughout its history. The historical frequency with which the
military has engaged in humanitarian or nation-building operations makes it sur-
prising that it does not rise in prominence in military doctrine. Consequently, the
U.S. military often finds itself conducting public administration operations and
relearning lessons from previous operations.
In short, the public administration systems of the DoD are the vital organs and
body of the entire military. The conduct of war and operations other than war are
the actions or activities of that body. For too long, people who have studied the
military have focused on the activities and actions of the body, and have ignored
the body itself. This Handbook of Military Administration is an attempt to capture
the essence of the public administration of the U.S. military and offer a brief com-
parison to other nations’ military administrations.
It is our hope and desire that this volume may serve to generate an interest by
others in military administration, both as an academic field and as a manner of
public service. General George Patton is often quoted as saying that one cannot
administer his way to victory on the battlefield. Although I agree that is true in
the heat of battle, I contend that Patton could not have achieved or won anything
were it not for the public administrators and their organization and systems which
placed Patton on that battlefield and provided him with the tools he needed for
victory. Additionally, it was the vast administrative systems and processes which,
after World War II, enabled the Marshall Plan to become a reality. The intent of
this book is not to promote a bureaucratic mentality over a warrior ethos, but to
show that the administrative systems are critical to enabling that warrior ethos to
flourish and win on the battlefield.
Because of the lack of attention given to military administration, it is essential
to identify this subject matter. Military administration encompasses the functions
of planning, organizing, staffing, financing, training, equipping, maintaining and
caring for the military bureaucracy. Interestingly, military administration is larger
than the actual combat units, typically the ratio is three to one. Overlaid on the
different functions of military administration are the concepts of professionalism,
accountability, efficiency and effectiveness. Because the stakes are so high in terms
of the loss of life and at times the survival of the nation, the military administrative
systems have come under repeated scrutiny. Scandals have focused attention on
specific administrative functions for brief periods, which have spurred reform com-
missions or study groups to recommend reform in whatever is the latest trend of
the period.
The study of administrative systems utilizes a range of decision-making, orga-
nizational and sociological models or frameworks. Decision-making models focus
on the processes used for reaching conclusions, whether sequential or concurrent.
Organizational models are used to examine the structures and systems that operate
to transform inputs into outputs. Finally, sociological models emphasize the influ-
ence of the societal norms, mores and believes regarding professional standards and
ethics, organizational standards and practices, and placement in society.
The DoD has a well-established administrative system. Its historical develop-
ment is incremental, but is punctuated with intermitted periods of dramatic change.
One of these periods is 1850 to 1900, in which the Civil War produced dramatic
administrative changes that would play out over the next few decades. Changes in
the organization of the general staff and the adapting of administrative systems to
support a large national military all were given birth during this period.
The next major period of change occurred as the result of World War II, when
the U.S. military would become global in nature and be involved in large-scale
humanitarian operations. The current administrative systems were born during
that time and are still in the process of maturing. The DoD was established in 1947
and it has been a constant struggle between the civilian leadership and the military
on the meaning of operating as one military system (jointness) and what it means
to actually function as the first global military power.
Over the years, systems have developed, such as the Joint Planning System,
by which the military focuses itself on the national priorities as established by the
civilian leadership; the Planning, Programming, Budgeting and Execution System,
which seeks to integrate the financial management systems with the plans, pro-
grams and operations of DoD; and the National Security Personnel System is the
latest effort to organize the approximately 659,000 civilian personnel. Additionally,
one of the difficult tasks is the timely procurement of weapon systems to ensure
supremacy on the battlefield. Part of this involves military systems managers, who
for a short time in their career manage the development, procurement and mainte-
nance of a specific weapon system.
A unique aspect of U.S. military administration is the business of contracting
out different aspects of security operations, such as security for service contrac-
tors. This has given rise to private military companies. What the relationship of
these private companies is to the military and how they operate under the rules of
engagement are all areas of concern for military administration.
Development of professional training and the imparting of professional values
and ethics is a primary concern of training and development. The military profes-
sion is guided by a sense of what it means to serve. Concepts of duty and honor
permeate the profession, combined with a mission-oriented and “get the mission
about the nature of conflicts, and are now rethinking strategy to meet the new
threat environment. So is the defense industry. The big American firms have con-
solidated into five; European firms have been slower, but British Aerospace (BAe)
and the European Aerospace and Defense Company (EADC), and Italian Finmec-
cia are healthy and valuable European competitors to American companies’ com-
petitive edge in many areas. This new arms industrial map is thus both the result of
new priorities and required weapons, and an influence on allocation of R&D and
procurement funds.
The European Union (EU) is an influential international economic force with
both positive (development aid, loans, free-trade agreements, potential membership)
and negative (embargo, tariffs, withdrawal of aid) means of economic influence;
means that are frequently effective in promoting political goals, such as regional
stability, democracy and human rights. However, it has not always proven sufficient
The inability of EU members to present common positions and deal adequately
with the wider and more diverse set of security threats (humanitarian crises, migra-
tion, ethnic conflicts, civil war and various types of terrorist activities) that have
come to dominate after the cold war—wreaking havoc also on the European conti-
nent—has contributed to the ubiquitous idiom of the EU being “an economic giant
but political pygmy.” This has further contributed to criticisms of the paradoxical
nature of the union: striving for a strategic impact on Europe and elsewhere without
any specific strategy; aspiring to be a powerful international actor without aspiring
to become a supra-state; favoring strong Atlantic links, but also autonomous insti-
tutions and even independence; and aspiring to prevent and manage crises without
acquiring the means to do so (Zielonka, 1998a, 11; 1998b). The development of
military capabilities is meant to strengthen the EU’s political and economic clout,
and as America’s longest and closest ally, Europe’s endeavors are of great interest to
policy makers, as well as military personnel in the United States.
Prior to 1998 the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) consisted
largely of rhetoric of future goals, with few common developments or actions and
no military dimension. A consensus among the EU’s largest states in late 1998 trig-
gered febrile activity and intense focus on developing capabilities to carry out EU-
led military and civilian crisis-management operations. The development of the EU
Security and Defense Policy (ESDP) is intended to strengthen all aspects related to
the security of the EU and enhance its role in international affairs. Notwithstand-
ing some setbacks and remaining problems, this process has come remarkably far
in a very short time, and it continues to deepen and widen. There are now perma-
nent EU military structures, an operational chain of command, and an emerging
Europe-wide military culture; this on a continent where states turned their guns
on each other twice in the last century. The EU has managed to secure a perpetual
peace among its members, and military cooperation will further cement this inte-
gration process.
Enhancing Europe’s military capabilities is thus meant to replace grand rheto-
ric of European aspirations, diminishing discrepancies between declarations and
empirically verifiable assets and skills. The discerning reader will ask why the focus
is on the EU’s military structure, organization and culture rather than individ-
ual member states. After all, Britain, France in particular, but also Spain, Italy,
Poland and Germany all remain respectable military powers, with the first two
capable of carrying out elaborate and extensive military operations around the
world (in addition to possessing nuclear weapons). Furthermore, the EU’s com-
mon decision-making structure that applies to trade, labor and certain areas of
asylum and immigration does not apply to military matters; European countries
remain sovereign on defense and military issues. Most European countries have
large standing armies, some have conscription and several European countries
have large defense industries. However, along with economic and political inte-
gration, common external borders and the dismantling of internal borders, per-
ceived common threats, skyrocketing costs for national defense along with political
resistance to increase defense budgets, and the market-driven consolidation of the
armaments industry, have promoted closer defense cooperation across Europe. The
RMA, which began in the United States in the mid-1990s, has belatedly taken root
throughout Europe, and is furthering the realization that European states cannot
continue undertaking military reforms or operations independently, but need to
cooperate and consolidate resources. This includes everything from R&D to pro-
curement, military training and operations. Based largely on the North Atlantic
Treaty Organisation (NATO) standards (which are based on United States stan-
dards), training procedures are being harmonized, cross-national brigades bearing
the EU flag are in place, and discussions of a future common European army have
gained momentum. As of 2007, there have been several military operations with
pooled multinational resources operating under common EU command.
In Chapter 16, Johan Eliasson looks at the endeavors of the United States’ clos-
est allies and specifically the developing European Union Security and Defense
Policy. The organizational structure, capabilities, operations and nascent European
defense culture are explained, before some of the many remaining challenges in
creating common policies and military standards are highlighted. The European
Security Strategy, a European Security Solidarity Clause, and Military Capability
and Action Plans are signs of real political will to improve military capabilities.
Different military cultures constitute a hurdle in operations. Southern European
military commanders, though skilled in tactics, often assume a laissez-faire attitude
toward strict civilian control over military policy and related protocol, whereas
their Nordic and German peers—due, respectively, to neutrality and constitutional
restrictions on the military up to 1999—have been criticized for displaying the
opposite tendencies, mainly due to their lack of experience with extra-territorial
military operations (Interviews of Military Staff, 2001). The military headquar-
ters in Brussels, Belgium, with its military committees and staff, supported by a
military college, is a significant source of an emerging European security culture,
and European as well as NATO–EU military exercises ensure harmonization of
administrative structures.
and culture of the armed forces in Mexico, Colombia, Venezuela and Brazil, which
are discussed in detail, but there are also informative sections on other select coun-
tries in both Latin and South America. The main countries of interest were chosen
due to their importance to the United States and their military potential. The return
to democracy in the 1990s throughout the region has meant a normalization of the
military. The armed forces are now mostly under civilian control, with structural
and functional divisions between the branches, and, like many other countries’
forces, peacekeeping has become a main part of many Latin and South American
states’ military duties. At the same time, there are problems of transparency, vis-
ible in reluctance among military officers to have public insight into the military.
The latter is largely a combination of the armed forces having historically been the
most stable and autonomous of state organizations, and, during dictatorial rule,
also one of the most unaccountable. These cultural legacies have hindered more
rapid improvements in efficiency and effectiveness. Stanislawski also notes some of
the peculiarities to the region, one being that armed forces in, for example, Chile
own private companies whose income helps finance arms acquisitions; another that
armed forces take part in law enforcement operations (e.g., in Colombia).
The fastest rising power in the East is China, a nuclear-armed state with the
world’s largest standing army. Hans Stockton, in Chapter 19, provides a compre-
hensive introduction to the military structure, goals and culture of this rapidly
rising Asian power. The RMA “with Chinese characteristics” is a twist on reform
that is of interest to outside analysts, as it helps explain the long-term intentions of
Chinese policy makers, and the problem facing the Chinese military.
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Pierson, Paul. 1996. “The Path to European Integration: A Historical Institutionalist Anal-
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Pierson, Paul. 2000. “The Limits of Design: Explaining Institutional Origins and Change,”
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Stone-Sweet, A., N. Fligstein and W. Sandholtz. 2001. The Institutionalization of Europe.
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International.
Professionals, Bureaucrats
and Citizen Soldiers:
The Countervailing
Patterns of American
Military Administration
Darrell W. Driver
institution, highlighting the military’s relationship to the social and political char-
acter of American society (Bachman, Blair, and Segal, 1977; Moskos, 2001). This
chapter critically reviews these three approaches to the study of military organiza-
tions: their differing conceptions of military work, their origins in distinct episodes
of political development and their response to the changing military requirements
of the post-Cold War security environment. In so doing, the following central
arguments are made.
First, each of these models forward differing conceptions of military work, with
diverging interpretations of what constitutes accountability, how best to achieve
effectiveness and on what basis democratic legitimacy might be derived. The pro-
fessional model locates accountability in self-policing internal norms of behavior,
the bureaucratic model in hierarchical principle–agent relationships, and the pub-
lic institutional model in the military’s social and ideological representativeness.
Effectiveness in the professional model is best achieved by granting autonomy
to military professionals to develop means-focused expert knowledge and make
means-based decisions in military operations. Bureaucratic and public institutional
models introduce the subjective and ultimately political nature of measuring effec-
tiveness. In the former, the judgment lies with the principle. In the latter, the judg-
ment is a more complicated process of political contestation and societal validation.
Finally, legitimacy for the military profession is a product of its ability to render
relevant, responsive and effective service to the state client through the application
of expert instrumental knowledge. Bureaucratic renderings find legitimacy more
strictly in the degree of responsiveness of agents to principles down the chain of
command. Expert domains are less important; what matters is the unbroken path
of democratic legitimacy that is achieved by eliminating “shirking” from the prin-
ciple–agent hierarchy. Public institutional models locate the idea of legitimacy in
social representation, the degree of the military’s embeddedness in American soci-
ety, and the military’s fealty to broader national purposes and ideals.
Second, from citizen-soldier traditions of the early republic to neutral profes-
sional and rational organizing impetuses of early twentieth century America, the
present conceptions of military work have their progenitors in important episodes
of American political development and civil–military tradition. Citizen-soldier tra-
ditions underpin public institutional renderings, and the late nineteenth century
These are pure types that have been combined in various ways. For instance, Peter Feaver
acknowledges the utility of the professional model in examining the changing character of the
“military craft” or in understanding the attitudes and beliefs of those who choose the military
vocation. However, for questions of accountability, Feaver contends that principle-agent mod-
els are required (Feaver, 1996). Among professional approaches, Samuel Huntington (1957)
provides a closed systems approach, arguing that military effectiveness requires insulation
from social influences. Conversely, Morris Janowitz (1971, 1973) understands the military as
an open system, whose effectiveness is dependent on its ability to adapt to social changes and
requirements.
was both a model for the development of a more effective military and a theory of
democratic civil–military relations.
There are, perhaps, no claims more central to twentieth century American
civil–military relations and professional officer self-concepts than these. With
Huntington as their most cogent advocate, what he labels the “objective theory”
of civil–military relations was, in essence, an affirmation of the politics–admin-
istration dichotomy emerging from Progressive Era development of the American
administrative state. Indeed, as historians trace the roots of American military pro-
fessionalism to their beginnings, the power of Progressive Era arguments for the
clear division of political and administrative function looms large in the American
military professionalization story. The argument, according to Progressive reform-
ers like Woodrow Wilson, Frank Goodnow and Herbert Croly, was that assigning
administrators “clear cut responsibility […would] insure trustworthiness” (Wilson,
1887), and that rational efficient governance in the new administrative state meant
that democracy would work on Election Day. From the results, the elected repre-
sentatives would determine the will of the state. That will had then to be carried
out in a neutral, efficient and professional manner in order for the democratic loop
to be completed. As Frank Goodnow put it:
Contemporary military reformers, like Army Colonel Emory Upton and Sec-
retary of War Elihu Root, were not isolated from these new arguments (Karsten,
1972; Gates, 1980; Skowronek, 1982). Military reformers of the Upton and Root
ilk—what Peter Karsten called “armed progressives”—sought to carve out a sphere
of professional jurisdiction that would protect military autonomy from political
encroachment (Karsten, 1972). This civil–military dichotomy viewed the political
and military domains as separate spheres of action where elected civilian leaders
could simply prescribe a goal and neutral military experts would decide on the
means to accomplish that goal. As Elihu Root would remark of important 1903
War Department reforms and the question of military responsibility and civilian
control:
It will be perceived that we are providing for civilian control over the
military arm, but for civilian control to be exercised through a single
military expert of high rank, who is provided with an adequate corps of
professional assistants to aid him in the performance of his duties, and
who is bound to use all of his professional skill and knowledge in giv-
ing effect to the purposes and general directions of his civilian superior,
or make way for another expert who will do so. In this way it is hoped
that the problem of reconciling civilian control with military efficiency
with which we have been struggling for so many years will be solved.
(Root, 1903, 258)
Here again, note the similarity between the language employed by the Brownlow Report and
that of Elihu Root in his 1903 efforts to justify the consolidation of army control with the
newly created Army General Staff: The effectiveness of the executive assistant positions “in
assisting the president will, we think, be directly proportional to their ability to discharge
their functions with restraint … They should be men in whom the president has personal con-
fidence and whose character and attitude is such that they would not attempt to exercise power
on their own account. They should be possessed of high competence, great physical vigor, and
a passion for anonymity.” (emphasis added) (Brownlow, Merriam, and Gulick, 1937)
Though the “turf war” model of professions has helped the Army to think about
the ways in which its professional jurisdiction is changing and might change in
the future, it continues to embrace the orthodox lexicon of boundaries and juris-
dictions at a time when such clarity appears increasingly unlikely. Changes have
extended military responsibilities into areas where other organizations are carrying
out similar and overlapping efforts. Internally, the military has been called on to
exhibit greater interservice integration in missions where old service jurisdictions
are increasingly blurred (Thie et al., 2005). Externally, the call for greater inter-
agency and multinational cooperation (Clark, 2001), increased competition from
the private sector (Avant, 2005) and the overlapping efforts of nongovernmental
and governmental organizations have all served to confuse the lines of military
responsibility (Weiss, 1999).
The separate model of military professionalism, thus, forces the military
to decide between stark alternatives when it considers future military roles and
responsibilities. First, it can resist acceptance of missions outside of some clearly
delineated military sphere. This risks rendering the profession irrelevant to the
security needs of the state, which increasingly calls on the military for an expand-
ing list of nontraditional tasks. Or, second, the military can expand the scope of its
jurisdiction to include all of the potential tasks that might be required. The latter
has been the tact of recent army doctrine that calls for embracing “the full range of
military operations across the spectrum of conflict, from sustained land dominance
in wartime to supporting civil authorities during natural disasters and consequence
management” (Department of the Army Headquarters, 2001). The problem with
this approach, as Richard Lacquement worries, is that it provides “limited practical
utility as a doctrine for a profession. It glosses over too much. It lacks boundaries”
(2005, 214). Without clear boundaries, the worry is that specifying even abstract
bodies of knowledge is not possible. The goal, then, has been to try and strike a
balance between overly narrow and overly broad conceptions of military jurisdic-
tion and its attendant expert knowledge. Here, an error too far in either direction
could result in military officers being “seen either as irrelevant to the needs of the
policy-maker, or as having dubious professional credibility” (Nielsen, 2001, 219).
In the end, the military’s continued inability to settle on a defined and manageable
set of boundaries for its professional jurisdiction has posed a central challenge for
the future of the military profession. It is a challenge that may yet untether future
military professional models from the conceptual moorings of strict civil–military
dichotomy assumptions.
For instance, as task differentiation and jurisdictional permeability across
the security continuum have rendered boundary concepts problematic, the army
has begun to resort to doctrinal language that emphasizes expertise as clusters of
abstract knowledge within which there exist certain core competencies (Fields et
al., 2005). It has also begun focusing professional military education on problem-
solving skills, creativity and adaptability, where solutions to problems can take a
variety of forms (McCausland and Martin, 2001; Shelton, 2001). Moreover, because
stability missions generally take place in areas already populated with a dense set of
organizational actors, the need to cultivate professional knowledge on the method
and terms of interchange with other actors has become a concern of increasing
importance. This has precipitated calls to emphasize joint service and interagency
and traditional intraservice career-path experience as equally important compo-
nents of military professional development (Thie et al., 2005).
In sum, as the merging of political, civil and military functions along with
the simultaneous trend toward the outsourcing and subcontracting of traditional
military tasks have confounded concepts of a civil–military dichotomy and juris-
dictional claim staking, the military has struggled to develop an accurate under-
standing of its professional responsibilities and the required scope of its professional
knowledge. In practice—if not in theory—the army in particular has moved farther
from the idea of professional boundary setting toward a more integrative concep-
tion of the management of violence spectrum. To borrow the professional analogy
forwarded by Dingwall and King (1995, 21), military professionals are becoming
less like border guards, concerned with “the rights of an occupation to a piece
of territory defined by division of labor,” and more like customs agents, focused
on “the terms that govern interchanges among occupational groups and between
them.” Though this analogy offers a more accurate reflection of the military’s
evolving role vis-à-vis the management of violence field, it falls short of providing
the clear delegation of responsibility required, if the professional model is to fulfill
the dual role as a theory of democratic civilian control of the military. It is increas-
ingly difficult to describe democratic legitimacy or civilian control of the military
as dependent on “a clear distinction between political and military responsibilities”
(Huntington, 1957, 163). It is a distinction that has always been under some mea-
sure of scrutiny (Feaver, 1995), but, in an era of task differentiation, porous jurisdic-
tions, and “operations across the spectrum of conflict” (Department of the Army
Headquarters, 2001), the hope that professional boundaries alone might define the
civil–military relationship appears particularly misplaced.
Robert Dingwall and Michael King challenge Andrew Abbott’s conception of professions as
vying for jurisdictional control based on the writing of the British sociologist Herbert Spen-
cer. According to Dingwall and King, Spencer’s theory of professional development is a more
accurate reflection of the task differentiation and specialization that characterize industrial
development (Dingwall and King, 1995).
like the larger United States public service, the military is faced with competing
principles at the highest levels of government. When goals are not agreed upon by
executive and legislative principles or when they emerge as overly abstract, how
does one judge the performance of the military agent? In short, principle-agent
theory helps to clarify aspects of top-down accountability in the military as a public
bureaucratic institution without relying on the internal self-policing of the profes-
sional model. However, given the ambiguity surrounding the “military” domain,
the information asymmetry that often exists between military agents and civilian
principles, and the inability to clearly specify and then measure progress toward
agreed upon ends, the principle-agent theory alone falls short of a final, compre-
hensive accounting.
The inability of agency theory’s bureaucratic lens to offer this final account-
ing is similar to the reasons that the professional model at last proves incomplete:
It cannot fully address the enmeshment of the military in the American political
system, a system that variously calls on the military to be both an adaptable profes-
sion and a disciplined bureaucracy. The reasons one conception might emerge as
dominant in any particular episode of political contestation are many. For instance,
siding with the professional model may stem from the fact that information asym-
metry between civilian principles and military agents can be high, particularly in
more ambiguous stability and support operations. This can create high levels of
slack within the principle-agent chain, whereby civilian principles are hindered in
their ability to judge performance. The internal ethical controls of the professional
model can augment strict principle-agent accountability chains where effectiveness
is difficult to monitor. In a, perhaps, more troubling example, political contestation
might lead to the emphasis of autonomous professional renderings over strict prin-
ciple-agent chains when it serves politically expedient goals. Employing rhetoric
that consigns “military” operations to a separate, nonpolitical sphere of professional
jurisdiction can serve the political goal of insulating selected operations from the
full scope of political debate. Conversely, the record is replete with occasions where
political actors directed the smallest details of military operations when profes-
sional advice was either not trusted or determined insufficient to deal with the grav-
ity of the larger geo-strategic situation. The point in these last two instances is that
the basic decision as to which organizational model should be employed can itself
be fundamentally linked to basic incentives in the realm of political contestation,
highlighting the need for professional autonomy in one instance and bureaucratic
discipline in the next. This, of course, further confounds attempts to settle on any
one understanding of military organizations.
Citing Lincoln’s overriding of General George McClellan’s strategic decisions, Franklin Roos-
evelt’s “meddling during World War II,” and John F. Kennedy’s establishment of a direct line
to the commander of the American convoy sent to Berlin upon completion of the Berlin Wall,
Peter Feaver argues that jurisdictional military sovereignty has routinely been ignored, even to
the lowest levels of tactical military operations (Feaver, 1995).
What the professional model and the bureaucratic models each highlight, then,
are aspects of the military’s multifaceted nature. Barbara Romzek and Patricia Wal-
lace Ingraham describe this multicharacter enmeshment as “a complicated web of
overlapping accountability relationships that reflect both internal and external con-
trol strategies” (Romzek and Ingraham, 2000, 7). Attempts at more parsimonious
theories focus on one of these strategies to the detriment of the others. The fact that
military leaders manage “under conditions of multiple accountability systems …
[and] work for multiple masters” (Romzek and Ingraham, 2000, 7), however, means
that neither alone can fully describe the nature of military work or the full range of
accountability systems in which that work is practiced. The discussion to this point
has centered on the tension arising from the competing military administrative pat-
terns emerging from twentieth century trends toward an at once more professional
model of military service and a more linear military bureaucracy. There is, as yet,
an older and still persistent conception of the military as an interdependent public
institution that must be considered before concluding.
and failures of societies can be measured in the face of its military. Indeed, much
of American military administrative history might be understood as a struggle
between these concepts of social-institutional interdependence and emergent efforts
towards a more distinct and separate military system. Though concepts like neu-
tral expertise, means-oriented autonomy and top-down hierarchical accountability
have at various points predominated, there has, nevertheless, remained a persistent
call for lateral military accountability through social representation and ideological
connectedness (Janowitz, 1971; Bachman, Blair, and Segal, 1977; Moskos, 2001).
In short, as a component of accountability, a source of democratic legitimacy, and
a means of fostering a shared national purpose, the citizen-soldier ideal has been a
resilient aspect of the American military system.
It is, perhaps, a gross understatement to say that the scope and scale of repre-
sentation has been a central topic of debate for democratic theory in the age of the
administrative state. The question has stemmed largely from the concept of division
of labor and to what degree (in an industrializing, specializing and professionaliz-
ing society) democratic control can, or ought to, be separated from policy means.
Many early proponents of a politics–administration dichotomy saw the burgeon-
ing confidence in scientific forms of knowledge as building a case for a separate
instrumental knowledge of government administration. In this way, separating the
inefficiencies of democracy from administration was both necessary and, because
of the objective rightness of scientific knowledge, democratically legitimate. The
advent of “military science,” according to James Burk, was part and parcel of this
attempt to locate some aspects of governance in other than politically derived
sources. Accordingly, Burk finds in subsequent attention to science’s “non-rational
social factors”—forwarded by those like Thomas Kuhn (1962)—the seeds of a mili-
tary legitimacy deficit (Burk, 2002a). If, as Robert Dahl (1989, 68) has argued,
the “difficult questions are not about ends [but] means” and the execution of such
means is influenced as much by normative commitments as objective neutrality,
the idea that foreign policy means can be assigned to an unrepresentative expert
military few is rendered troublesome for questions of democratic legitimacy. This
may be of particular concern in a foreign policy era that Stanley Hoffman (2003, 1)
argues gives “military might … pride of place among all the kinds of [state] power.”
Thus, the often-used “postmodern military” moniker reflects more than just a new
era of mission uncertainty and jurisdictional permeability; it implies a criticism of
the very foundation of claims for an objective, instrumental and means-focused
military knowledge (Snider, Nagl, and Pfaff, 1999; Snider, 2000). Although all
professions have had to contend with these trends to various degrees, the public
Here, Burk draws on Thomas Kuhn’s criticism of the linear objective model of scientific evo-
lution. As Kuhn’s argument for a more social view of science began to take hold, the idea
that “military science” could be socially or politically independent became more problematic
(Kuhn, 1962).
nature of military service and the significant implications that accompany military
action have posed particularly pressing questions of legitimacy.
One recurring answer to these trends has been to match the functional merging
of the civilian and military responsibilities with a concomitant imperative of broad
social representation in the military services, to reinvest in a social rather than a
separate “objective” basis for military legitimacy (Moskos, 2001). Looking to the
broader public service, Samuel Krislof states the argument as such: “The public
sector has explicit need for extrinsic validation … no matter how brilliantly con-
ceived, no matter how artfully contrived, government action usually also requires
societal support. And one of the oldest methods of securing such support is to draw
a wide segment of society into the government” (2003, 23). Going further, Morris
Janowitz worries (contra-Huntington) that social isolation in the form of an “officer
and enlisted body markedly unrepresentative of civilian society” could produce an
“inbred force which would hold deep resentment toward the civilian society and
accordingly develop … ‘extremist’ political ideology” (Janowitz, 1971, liii). A recent
upsurge of literature is replete with these kinds of concerns, labeling the perceived
civil–military social and ideological separation as a “great divorce” (Hadley, 1986),
a “civil–military gap” (Feaver and Kohn, 2001), or military members themselves
as strangers “on American soil” (Ricks, 1996). Janowitz, for one, recommended
addressing this predicted separation through a variety of ameliorative measures,
including educating all military academy cadets for one year at a civilian university,
the development of shorter career options for military officers, lateral entry into
mid-level officer ranks, more emphasis on the officer candidate school commission-
ing source and, most importantly, the avoidance of military “intellectual isolation
from the main current of American university life” (Janowitz, 1971, liv). These
types of prescriptions are perhaps predictable. If legitimacy founded on expertise
in a separate field of instrumental knowledge is at least contestable, socially derived
legitimacy becomes more important. This was the basic solution of the citizen-sol-
dier tradition well before concepts of profession and instrumental knowledge in a
separate military sphere arose.
Of course, this approach, too, has not been without criticism, which has gener-
ally focused on the dual concerns of accountability and effectiveness. Samuel Hun-
tington argues that social representation, as a method for the “subjective control” of
the military, is not well defined (1957, 85). Clear accountability, it may be argued,
requires measures of functional responsiveness rather than simple reliance on socio-
logical diversity. Huntington understands the emergence of the military profession,
with its internal ethical controls and clear division of responsibility, as bringing
Peter Feaver and Richard Kohn make similar recommendations in the conclusion to their
2001 survey of social, political and cultural attitudes of civilian elites and military officers,
ultimately determining that “the views of the military officers we surveyed are much more
conservative than those of the civilian elite, but not more so than the general public” (Feaver
and Kohn, 2001, 459).
this clarity. Peter Feaver (2005), ironically, indicts Huntington for many of the
same errors in clarity. Functional separation not being possible, Feaver prefers more
precise statements of institutional hierarchical control as the only means of discov-
ering exogenous criteria for accountability. The basic criticism, as the term “subjec-
tive civilian control” implies, is that social representation fails to define precisely
the accountability relationship between elected representatives and the appointed
leaders of the military. Both the professional and bureaucratic models purport to
address this deficiency.
A second primary criticism of social representation is that the requirement
undermines military effectiveness. Samuel Huntington saw it as destroying the
idea of professional autonomy so important for modern armies. Others have, more
pointedly, questioned the feasibility of broad representation in a smaller, more tech-
nologically reliant and skill-intensive armed forces (Cohen, 2001). To be sure, the
idea that the majority of a population can expect to see military service in a mass
citizen army appears impracticable in the technology-centric contemporary armed
forces.
Nevertheless, proponents of social representation focus on the value of diversity
in military formations where problem solving and the application of increasingly
abstract knowledge have replaced mission certainty, defined task lists, and clear
performance measures. As Mady Wechsler Segal and Chris Bong argue, “With
the increasing variety of missions and tasks within the army, the organization and
units within it are most effective when they are composed of people with different
strengths” (2005, 708). The convergence of civil–military tasks tends to question
rather than confirm the need for isolated military training and education. That is,
as the military’s jurisdiction is increasingly defined by functional permeability, it is
difficult to justify the need for a personnel management system that is not equally
permeable, particularly with respect to areas of shared expertise. Moreover, advo-
cates of maintaining a more representative and socially diverse military point to the
independent benefits of such a force. That is, to have an army that looks like the
general citizenry may hold some independent social and democratic worth separate
from its capacity to function as a stand-alone accountability system or increase
problem-solving effectiveness.
Though the public institutional rendering brings to the foreground different
answers to the persistent arguments over effectiveness, accountability and demo-
cratic legitimacy, its greatest divergence is best seen in its more robust understand-
ing of the role of the military in a democratic society. Understanding the military
as a national public institution requires careful attention to the myriad social rela-
tionships in which it is embedded. As such, military organizations and patterns
of civil–military relations are both a dependent and an independent variable for
societal change. For instance, early citizen-soldier arguments that linked military
service and citizen virtue saw the military as both dependent on and fostering that
virtue. Similarly, later-day proponents like Morris Janowitz argued that the mili-
tary be a component of a broader national service regime that would link individual
Conclusion
Changing patterns of civil–military relations and military administrative forms have
yielded a United States military that is, as Andrew Abbott described, “enmeshed in
many different ‘ecologies’” (2002, 534). In themes, if not in grammar, this develop-
ment and enmeshment are not unlike those experienced by the broader public sec-
tor. Founding state-builders sought a sociological merging of the civil and military,
and early institutional military forms of divided army bureau control mirrored
larger power divisions and checks in the fragmented American government (Skow-
ronek, 1982). Early twentieth century reforms were bent on adjusting both of these
earlier patterns. Sociological merging could be replaced with neutral professionals
and fragmented bureau control with a greater measure of organizational centraliza-
tion. This developmental legacy continues to define conceptions of the military’s
role and identity. As a producing organization whose product is state protection,
the military is variously described and treated as both a profession and a bureau-
cracy. The military’s public institutional nature reveals a much more sociopoliti-
cally embedded organization, one that both reflects and influences the values of the
larger political community. Here the military’s role is not simply state protection,
but the sustainment of democratic values and practices.
Of course, each of these three conceptions describes various aspects of military
work and organization. The professional model has provided the military with a
grammar for a system of ethical controls and service orientation. This decreases the
likelihood of shirking in the principle-agent paradigm and makes possible a system
of intrinsic status and service rewards for its members, improving the military’s
ability to recruit talented leadership. Additionally, the professional model has cre-
ated room for the internal development of professional knowledge and fostered
initiative and experimentation in areas where set procedures are confounded by
new and unique circumstances. Nevertheless, clear lines of authority, established
administrative procedures, definite paths for promotion, and uniform regulations
make the military organizationally possible. These ideal-typical bureaucratic pat-
terns lend unity of effort and synchronization capacity in ways that loose profes-
sional membership alone cannot. They also formalize the military’s mandate to
remain responsive to the national elected leadership. Finally, the citizen-soldier
emphasis on broad social representation continues to be forwarded as a critical
component of military legitimacy in a diverse democratic polity. As functional
demands on the military increasingly puncture Cold War jurisdictional bound-
aries and the distinction between the civil and the military grows more obscure,
legitimacy founded on neutral expertise in a defined area of responsibility appears
less compelling. Future military legitimacy, then, may again rely as much on who
the military is as what it does.
Deciphering post-Cold War changes in military administration, then, requires
a broader eye than those focused exclusively on the military’s internal efforts to
match organization and administration to new emerging technologies and threats.
How these changes are interpreted by the political system has important implica-
tions for whether the military might become more of a public profession, more of
a public bureaucracy, or debated more forthrightly as a socially embedded public
institution. The real concern, however, may not be that these sometimes conflicting
natures will continue to create tensions in the military organization. Perhaps, the real
concern for a democratic military is that the debates will settle on some means for
organizing military work that forecloses the public nature of the debate altogether.
The market as a means for organizing military work is an approach that has not
been discussed much to this point. However, the political advantages of outsourc-
ing military risks and distancing political decisions from the vagaries and potential
burdens of war are great. A privatized military force could well escape enmeshment
in the disparate systems of accountability and means of interpreting effectiveness
discussed to this point. However, as Deborah Avant (2005, 3) queries, “How does
the private security affect the ability to contain the use of force within the political
process and social norms?” And, in the vein of the present discussion, how should
we think about democratic legitimacy for such a force? In addition to reinvigorat-
ing old disputes, the unsettled nature of our current debates over the organization
of military work has opened new—potentially troubling—possibilities.
Finally, it is increasingly popular in critical reviews of this sort to call for a new
theory of civil–military relations (Burk, 2002b), one that could, for the present topic
of concern, reconcile the competing natures of military work and administration.
Though I, too, would offer my hope that such a theory might yet synthesize these
often countervailing patterns into a conceptual whole, of greater interest is the way
in which the political system continues to embrace each of these patterns: empha-
sizing the professional responsibility of the military at some points, highlighting
the need for bureaucratic responsiveness at other points and stressing its public
institutional obligations at yet others. Americans seem, at once, to want their mili-
tary to be all of these things. Though these competing natures have and will con-
tinue to create tensions in military organizations, it is not clear that a democracy
should be altogether willing to give this up.
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Military Administration
1850–1900
As this phase of military history commenced (1850–1900), the army was preoc-
cupied with the safeguarding of the western acquisitions and the protection of the
settlers in these lands from native threats (Report of the Secretary of War, 1850). In
the wake of the defeat of our bordering neighbors in the Mexican–American War,
the administrative efforts of the military shifted focus. With the close of the cen-
tury, America had emerged as a world power with the effective defeat of the Spanish
on the field of battle (Annual Report of the War Department, 1900). Though the
United States remained engaged in the suppression of an insurrection in the Philip-
pines, this new found status would help to usher in yet another phase of adminis-
trative changes. Through the years 1850 to 1900, military administration met with
unique challenges. The United States engaged not only in her solitary experience
of a Civil War and the aftermath of reconstructing the nation into a whole once
again, as well as defeating foreign powers, but also brought to rest an issue that had
plagued White America from her origins—the systematic demise of the American
Indian. The great precedence established by Secretary of War John C. Calhoun
(1817–1825) guided American military administration through the remainder of
the nineteenth century.
As the American military strategy evolved from peacekeeping tasks into deal-
ing with an internal war during the course of the 1850s and 1860s, administrative
policy had to be cultivated to fit the needs as well. Among the first policy issues to
be handled in the 1850s was defining the roles that the commander in chief and his
31
leading men were to take. The newly titled general in chief filled the duties of the
former commanding general, minus the exercise of authority over both the outfit-
ting and equipping as well as administrative issues of the army. These tasks were
assigned to the secretary of war, who rapidly found himself dependent upon the
guidance offered by his departmental leaders (Shrader, 1993).
In the previous era, the U.S. Army had received great internal accolades during
the course of its contest with Mexico; Ulysses S. Grant proclaimed that General
Zachary Taylor maintained his force “… under the best of drill and discipline”
(Grant, 1952, 84). However, general lessons were not learned at the end of the
Mexican War, much like in previous eras. Military administration greatly reduced
the size of the army because the only deemed threat was the Indian problem. As
hostilities escalated in the west against the various Native American tribes, the
president evoked his authority to enlarge the overall size of the army to combat this
enemy (Upton, 1917). Most of the activities of the U.S. Army and its administra-
tion were confined to quelling the western Indians’ stance against the encroaching
White settlers in addition to the Utah War (1857–1858) until the advent of seces-
sion and rebellion (Upton, 1917).
The antebellum era had been rife with struggles that impacted the U.S. mili-
tary and its overall organization and administration. Though the United States
Military Academy at West Point itself was in excellent functional capacity, the feel-
ings among the students did not always coincide with the school’s effective output
(Report of the Secretary, 1850). Cadet emotions ran high along sectional tides,
fostering a hostile and challenging environment for learning. Southern students
clamored for support in their quest for separation, leaving large rifts among the
corps of cadets (Hammond, 1832).
Controversy with the general in chief and the president, as well as with the
secretary of war, was not an unfamiliar event, and would occasionally find a place
during the remaining fifty years of the nineteenth century. General in Chief of
the Army Winfield Scott, who fostered great animosity toward many presidents,
including his former fellow comrade in arms President Zachary Taylor, opted to
keep his office a fair distance from Washington, D.C. Remaining in New York
City until the commencement of the presidency of Millard Fillmore, at which time
the office of the general in chief returned to the nation’s capital, Scott operated
under his own jurisdiction, away from the president’s reach. However, the office
would seemingly yo-yo back and forth between the two cities, returning again to
New York with the next presidencies until the remaining months of his leadership,
where for the last time he returned to Washington, D.C. (Scott, 1864; Sherman,
1990). The precedent established by General Scott, in essence, granted the secretary
of war complete authority over the army. In the future, the issue of the general in
chief keeping office in the nation’s capital was addressed in the Acts and Resolutions,
39 Congress, 2 Session, the so-called Command of the Army Act (1867). Through
one aspect of this legislation, it was mandatory that the general not move his office
outside of Washington, D.C.
With the advent of national crisis, with secession looming on the horizon, the
army was faced with new administrative challenges. Though General in Chief Win-
field Scott had the foresight of moving the military to strategic Southern forts, he
never received approval for such actions. Of the many great “what ifs” of history,
the outcome might have been different in 1860 if these locations had been properly
refortified (Scott, 1864, 615–616). An intricate set of issues arose with secession and
the formation of the Confederate States of America.
The complexities of the challenges that arose with secession manifested them-
selves in dramatic operational changes within the military system. Replacement of
officers who remained with their native states, as well as a substantial call to arms,
presented new challenges to the commander in chief, as well as the secretary of war
and the general in chief.
The newly formed Confederate States of America also needed to create its own
military administration, which was based greatly upon that of the United States.
Jefferson Davis had been selected as the one and only president of the Confed-
eracy, a position that he recognized the great complexities of and truly had not
desired (Davis, 1861, 1862). Davis’ heart was with the military, and he had sought
to command the troops (Glatthaar, 1994). He had a considerable background in
the military and in military administration. A graduate of the United States Mili-
tary Academy at West Point, he served as a young officer in the Black Hawk War,
the Mexican War and later was appointed secretary of war in the 1850s, a position
for which he received great accolades (Dupuy, Johnson, and Bongard, 1995; Jones,
2000). In the formation of the Confederate States of America, the states conferred
upon their president virtually complete control over all military administration
and conduct. Rapidly, the former United States Army officer, senator and secretary
of war pronounced the need for one hundred thousand to join the ranks of service
in defense of their new government (Upton, 1917). Jefferson Davis, however, took
his authority to an extreme, lending a deaf ear to any source of advisement on all
military matters. His desire to be an integral part of the war effort in the context
of battlefield orders frequently caused dissension in the ranks of officers and led to
some inferior acts of judgment. Confederate President Davis reserved most of the
war powers for himself, essentially denying his multiple secretaries of war any true
jurisdiction (Doughty and Gruber, 1996).
Military tradition had long been influential in the South. From the nation’s first
lieutenant-general and commander in chief George Washington, who was a mem-
ber of the Virginia planter class, through Secretary of War Joseph Holt, Southern-
ers long held the highest military posts as well as leadership roles in the American
military and its administration. Starting in 1849 until the early months of 1861,
Southerners exclusively filled the cabinet position of secretary of war, the ranks of
which included the Confederate President Jefferson Davis (Kreidberg and Henry,
1955; Weigley, 1967). In command of the American army was General in Chief
Winfield Scott, who too was a native of the South. His loyalties, however, remained
with his country, not his state (Matloff, 1989).
The War of the Rebellion created a unique phase of military administration, for
new complex issues had arisen in many facets. The overall nature of the war itself
created opportunities for expansion of ideals and greater options then would have
previously been taken under consideration (Cooper, 1986). Of major concern for
administrators of the American military was to keep operations successful. Efforts
were made to keep forces acting in concert and to keep troop and supply move-
ments in a timely fashion, so as to affect a victorious outcome. As the North strug-
gled to find the right commander, President Abraham Lincoln, who recognized the
limitations of his military abilities, conferred great authority upon his secretary of
war, opting to mostly defer to his judgment (Doughty and Gruber, 1996). But as
the late Russell F. Weigley pointed out in his History of The United States Army, “the
institutions of the high command remained as unsatisfactory in the Civil War as
they had been before. President, Secretary of War, and commanding general con-
tinued to play badly defined and overlapping parts” (1967).
The Union army’s administration faced many challenges in their leadership
corps. Command of the Army of the Potomac and command of all Union armies
passed through various hands before President Abraham Lincoln found the type
of fighter he needed to drive the forces to victory. The Army of the Potomac was
led by the slow-acting George Brinton McClellan, who was later named as gen-
eral in chief of the Union armies by the action of General Order No. 94 (Webb,
2002). “Little Mac,” though greatly admired by his men, was not what the military
administrators of the war desired and he found himself temporarily relieved of
command. Although he was reappointed to the Army of the Potomac, the Lin-
coln administration found they could no longer tolerate his actions (Commanger,
2000). McClellan was replaced by Ambrose Burnside, who too soon found himself
at odds with the president, and even advocated to Lincoln that he remove both the
secretary of war and the commanding general to help bring effective and necessary
changes to the military and its overall administration (Burnside, 1863). President
Abraham Lincoln then proceeded to try his luck with a new commander, Joseph
Hooker (Lincoln, 1863; Guerney and Alden, 1866; Commanger, 2000). “Fighting
Joe” Hooker challenged Lincoln’s authority and tested him and the overall military
administration. His greatest contention came with General in Chief Henry Wager
Halleck, which in turn resulted in his dismissal following a direct challenge to
President Lincoln. It was then that the last commander of the Army of the Potomac
was selected. George G. Meade took command on the brink of the battle of Get-
tysburg and continued to hold this post through the remainder of the war (Cullen,
1975).
American military administration was also straddled with the problem of find-
ing the right overall commander of the Union armies so as to exact a complete
victory over the Confederate forces. With General in Chief Winfield Scott’s health
faltering, combined with his natural aging, a replacement was necessary. Scott
did, however, outline his “views” on handling the current situation in 1861, which
included “conquer the seceded States by invading armies” (Scott, 1864, 626–627).
Winfield Scott did not conduct the operations throughout the entire War of the
Rebellion, retiring from service on 31 October 1861 (Scott, 1864, 628–629). Presi-
dent Lincoln sought a young, aggressive officer to take the place of aged Scott and,
with the outgoing general’s commendation, selected George Brinton McClellan
(Webb, 2002). However, the president frequently found himself at odds with his
new commanding general, and truly needed great cooperation and guidance in
order to run the war more smoothly. In July 1862, Lincoln sought a more aggres-
sive soldier, thus relieving McClellan of his duties. Henry Warner Halleck was
named as the new general in chief (Grant, 1952). Halleck sought to restructure the
various armies and placed Ulysses S. Grant second in command (Sherman, 1990,
270–271). Halleck made effective changes in the army while he held this post until
12 March 1864. Working with Grant, combined with the efforts made by Lincoln
and Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton, Halleck executed plans for successfully
taking command of the Mississippi (Matloff, 1989). But still, Lincoln and his war
administration sought leaders who would take bold initiatives. It was from the
western command that these men were found.
Ulysses S. Grant (Hiram Ulysses Grant), although a graduate of the United
States Military Academy at West Point, could be classified as a reluctant soldier. At
times he was remiss about the army, from his longing for the closure of West Point
while he was a student, to his pursuit of a career in business, but he knew how to
fight. Having earned the reputation of “unconditional surrender” at Fort Donelson
in Tennessee, he had proven his abilities to bring an effective end to many battles
by taking great chances (Grant, 1862, 167). Grant, acting in concert with William
Tecumseh Sherman, showed Lincoln the type of fighting by which the war could
be won. With this, Lincoln revived the rank of lieutenant-general and named the
Commanding General of the Armies of the United States, Ulysses S. Grant (Grant,
1952). In Grant, he knew he had finally found the leader he had so long desired.
With Grant at the helm, coupled with Sherman’s actions in the West, their actions
generated the end of the war. All the concerns of military administration were
finally met in the final years of the war. Commander in Chief Lincoln effectively
relinquished some of his powers, though not officially, when he named Grant. As
he expressed in a letter of 30 April 1864 as Grant commenced his great campaign
to end the war, Lincoln stated that “… I wish not to obtrude any constraints or
restraints upon you” (Lincoln, 1864, 266).
Command of the conduct of the Confederate armies as well as the leadership
of the Army of Northern Virginia made three major transitions during the course
of the War of the Rebellion. Joseph Eggleston Johnston held the position first and
found himself constantly at odds with the Commander in Chief Jefferson Davis,
who had wished to command the armies himself. Wounded again at Seven Pines
in Virginia, Johnston was relieved and the somewhat obscure Gustavus Woodson
Smith was named to this position, for roughly twenty-four hours (Law, 2000). It
was then that Davis placed Robert Edward Lee in charge, “to conduct operations”
of the Confederate armies (Lee, 1862, 66). As the war started to draw to a close,
especially due to the recent findings in the Black Hills (Smith to the Secretary of
the Interior, 1874). It was waging war against the Sioux that would capture Ameri-
can attention, particularly that of the military administration. Custer’s Last Stand
helped push military administration into waging a contest of extermination against
the American Indians. In addition to the war of attrition that was being waged,
schools were created for the American troops in the West and greater discipline
was enacted for the men (Utley, 1973). At Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, “A School
of Application for Infantry and Cavalry” was set up in order to provide “practical
instruction” (Kreidberg and Henry, 1955, 147).
General in Chief William Tecumseh Sherman assessed, during the course of
his survey of the lands surrounding the Northern Pacific Railroad in 1877, that “I
now regard the Sioux Indian problem, as a war question, as solved” (Sheridan and
Sherman, 1878). Until Wounded Knee on 29 December 1890, the Sioux remained
a challenge for the American military because it was here that the wars against
the Indians climaxed. The Battle of Wounded Knee (South Dakota) effectively
marked the end of struggles between the American army and the Native Americans
(Weeks, 2001).
The War Department remained plagued with critical issues that had permeated
its overall existence for over fifty years. With the unclear boundary lines on the
powers of the commanding general and the secretary of war, the men who held
these two positions frequently found themselves at odds. The Army Regulations of
1895 provided that the secretary of war handle all financial matters and that both
he and the president issue their commands via the general (Grant, 1866). In essence,
this challenged the Army Regulation of 1847, which placed the financial matters of
the military under the Department of the Treasury, which received orders from the
secretary of war (Grant,1866). This Regulation of 1895, however, really provided no
greater clarity for Congress and the secretary of war, who maintained their superior
stance over the commanding general, thus effectively diminishing his actual pow-
ers through their actions.
As the century drew to a close, the American military system had fallen to the
wayside. Once again, it would take the emergence of hostilities to give the much-
needed boost to the reorganization and restructuring that was needed (Abrhamson,
1981). As antagonisms grew in Cuba, America watched and waited as aggressions
slowly unfolded.
An attempt at revitalizing the somewhat diminished military on the brink of
the Spanish–American War was fostered through the so-called “Fifty Million Bill.”
In this act of legislation, President William McKinley authorized the use of excess
funding of the Treasury for expanding the military, under his auspices, in case the
tumultuous situation in Cuba escalated into war. This bill gave impetus to a legisla-
tive effort at military mobilization.
Military planners assessed the potential situation in Cuba and ascertained
that this was to be the navy’s war; the army would be more of a supplementary
force. Under the influence of Alfred Thayer Mahan and his advocacy of building
a superior navy, planners and administrators had started to undertake the task of
revamping the U.S. Navy (Challener, 1973). The Spanish–American War techni-
cally commenced with actions of the U.S. Navy—the explosion of the USS Maine
as well as Commodore George Dewey’s utterance of “you may fire when you are
ready, Gridley” aboard the USS Olympia to usher in the opening shots of the war (A
Brief History of the Pacific Fleet, n.d.). But the burden of this war would be shared
by both forces.
The specifications of fighting a war in a tropical climate created new chal-
lenges for military administration. Again, concerns were placed on transportation
of troops to Cuba and the Philippines, but supplies and uniforms presented the
greatest of obstacles. The struggles between the army and the War Department
remained, however, firmly in place, leading to many problems in logistics, ord-
nance and planning. Though the war was won, the deficiencies had been revealed
in this contest. In the aftermath of the war, the Dodge Commission revealed the
need for a more effective military administration. Secretary of War Root accepted
the challenge and began the new century ushering in the reforms that the military
administration had long been in need of (Matloff, 1989).
A new era of hope was ushered in for military administration with the appoint-
ment of Elihu Root as secretary of war in 1899. With the opportunity at the helm
to alter the powers and actions of the War Department and its secretary, Root
brought about changes to effect a more efficient system (Hewes, 1975). Using the
reports of the Dodge Commission, he assessed that the rivalry between the secre-
tary of war and the commanding general had fostered the problems faced by the
army. His recommendation was to eliminate the office of the Commanding Gen-
eral and replace it with a General Staff, which would be affected in the next century
(Matloff, 1989).
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Reshaping the
Defense Enterprise
Department of Defense,
Quadrennial Defense Review 2006
To win the long war, the Department of Defense (DoD) must reshape the defense
enterprise in ways that better support the war fighter and are appropriate for the
threat environment. Today, the armed forces are hampered by inefficient business
This chapter was first published in the Department of Defense Quadrennial Defense Review
Report 2006, pages 63–74.
47
practices. The DoD’s current structure and processes are handicaps in the protracted
fight we now face against agile and networked foes. Over the last twenty years,
the DoD has increasingly integrated its war-fighting concepts, organization, train-
ing and operations to create the world’s most formidable joint force. Sustaining
continuous operational change and innovation are a hallmark of U.S. forces. The
DoD’s organizations, processes and enabling authorities urgently require a simi-
lar transformation. The DoD’s approach is to improve significantly organizational
effectiveness, and in so doing, reap the rewards of improved efficiencies.
The 2001 Quadrennial Defense Review (QDR) highlighted the loss of resources,
in terms of people and dollars, caused by inefficiencies in the DoD’s support func-
tions. The department responded with a comprehensive effort to streamline busi-
ness and decision-making processes, with the express goal of better supporting the
joint war fighter. Since 2001, the DoD has moved steadily toward a more integrated
and transparent senior decision-making culture and process for both operational
and investment matters. The DoD has made substantial strides in fostering joint
solutions, including the creation of new organizations and processes that cut across
traditional stovepipes. It has standardized business rules and data structures for
common use. Most importantly, the department has made notable progress toward
an outcome-oriented, capabilities-based planning approach that provides the joint
war fighter with the capabilities needed to address a wider range of asymmetric
challenges. Recent operational experiences have demonstrated the need to bring
further agility, flexibility and horizontal integration to the defense support infra-
structure. The DoD has responded to that need with several innovations in its orga-
nizations and support services. Three examples of such innovations are the Joint
Improvised Explosive Device (IED) Defeat Task Force, the Joint Rapid Acquisition
Cell (JRAC) and improved supply-chain logistics.
In both Iraq and Afghanistan, the terrorist weapon of choice remains the impro-
vised explosive device, normally taking the form of roadside bombs, suicide car
bombs and a variety of remotely initiated devices. To counter the threat posed by
these weapons, the DoD created the Joint IED Defeat Task Force. The Task Force
unified all department efforts to defeat IEDs, combining the best technology solu-
tions with relevant intelligence and innovative operating methods. In fiscal year
2005, the DoD invested more than $1.3 billion in IED Defeat initiatives, includ-
ing counter–radio-controlled IED electronic warfare, IED surveillance, the Joint
IED Defeat Center of Excellence, counter-bomber programs and stand-off IED
detection and neutralization. The Task Force has also provided funds for training
to military units en route to operational theaters as well as expert field teams that
work directly with units in Iraq and Afghanistan. Since the Task Force’s inception,
the department has decreased the IED casualty rate by a factor of two.
The JRAC is another innovation that grew out of U.S. experiences in Iraq and
Afghanistan. The DoD’s standard processes for providing materials and logistics
proved too slow and cumbersome to meet the immediate needs of forces in the field.
Recognizing this deficiency, the Secretary of Defense established a cell dedicated
to finding actionable solutions to urgent war-fighter needs. The JRAC has sup-
ported efforts that provided military personnel key force protection items, such
as the Advanced Combat Helmet, lightweight Global Positioning System receiv-
ers, improved ammunition packs and individual weapon optics. Working with the
military departments and combatant commands, this initiative has accelerated
development and delivery of more than a dozen critical programs, from intelligence
collection and dissemination to enhanced force protection.
Improved support to the war fighter has occurred in the logistics chain as well.
The DoD vested leadership of the complex distribution process in a single owner,
the U.S. Transportation Command (U.S. TRANSCOM). Exercising its new role,
U.S. TRANSCOM established a Deployed Distribution Operations Center in
Kuwait to speed the flow of materials into Iraq and Afghanistan in support of
coalition operations. The center quickly assembled a team of logistics experts and
gave them authority to direct air and seaport operations and cross-country moves
in the theater. Lead times for stocked items dropped by more than 45% since the
peaks recorded in 2003. Better synchronization of transportation assets allowed
the Army to cut costs by $268 million in fiscal year 2004. On-time delivery rates
are now at over 90%. The center’s process innovations improved mission perfor-
mance at less cost to the DoD and the U.S. taxpayer. Department reforms since
2001, including those innovations born of wartime necessity, represent the types of
changes the QDR has sought to accelerate.
First, the department must be responsive to its stakeholders. Not only must the
department’s support functions enhance the U.S. military’s ability to serve
the president and provide a strong voice for the joint war fighter, it must also
provide the best possible value to the U.S. taxpayer. The DoD will work to
improve effectiveness dramatically across civilian and military functions as
the foundation for increased efficiency.
Second, the department must provide information and analysis necessary to
make timely and well-reasoned decisions. The department’s culture, authori-
ties and organizations must be aligned in a manner that facilitates, rather than
hinders, effective decision making and enables responsive mission execution
while maintaining accountability. Improved horizontal integration will be
critical to the department’s success.
Third, the department must undertake reforms to reduce redundancies and
ensure the efficient flow of business processes. As we capitalize on existing
transformational efforts across the enterprise, we will continually evaluate
support systems and processes to optimize their responsiveness.
To achieve this vision and produce strategy-driven outcomes, the DoD’s roles
and responsibilities, and those of each of its component organizations, must be
clearly delineated. Roles and responsibilities within the DoD fall into roughly three
categories. At the senior-most levels, leaders are concerned with governance—set-
ting strategy, prioritizing enterprise efforts, assigning responsibilities and authori-
ties, allocating resources and communicating a shared vision. In order to meet the
strategic objectives set out by the department’s senior leadership, some components
act in a management role, focusing on organizing tasks, people, relationships and
technology. The vast majority of the department’s personnel then work to execute
the strategy and plans established at management level. In the 2006 QDR, the
department looked across these three levels of responsibility—governance, manage-
ment and work—to ensure that organizations, processes and authorities are well
aligned.
Governance Reforms
Senior Leadership Focus
A key measure of success is the extent to which the DoD’s senior leadership is able
to fulfill the following functions:
(i) Strategic direction—Identify the key outputs, not inputs, they expect from
the department’s components and determine the appropriate near-, mid- and
long-term strategies for achieving them. Such outputs will be focused on the
needs of the president as commander in chief and the joint war fighters.
(ii) Identity—Establish an organizational culture that fosters innovation and
excellence. Communicate the department’s strategy, policy and institutional
ethos to the internal workforce and to external audiences.
(iii) Capital acquisition and macro resource allocation—Shape the depart-
ment’s major investments in people, equipment, concepts and organizations
to support the nation’s objectives most effectively.
(iv) Corporate decision making—Implement agile and well-aligned gover-
nance, management and work processes. Ensure the department has the pro-
cesses, tools and transparent analyses to support decisions.
(v) Performance assessment—Monitor performance to ensure strategic align-
ment and make adjustments to strategic direction based on performance.
(vi) Force employment—Determine how U.S. forces are utilized and meet the
day-to-day oversight needs of the joint force. Operational matters are the
responsibility of the joint war fighters. The department’s senior civilian and
military leaders ensure that forces are employed in ways that meet the presi-
dent’s strategic objectives.
The department will work to better align processes, structures and, as
necessary, authorities to improve its senior leaders’ ability to govern in these
core areas. Today, the Office of the Secretary of Defense and the Joint Staff
perform many functions beyond those identified above, including program
management and execution. To ensure that senior leadership can maintain
focus on the key governance issues elaborated above, the Department will
identify management and execution activities currently being conducted at
the governance level and consider them for elimination or realignment.
(vii) Build Capability to Inform Strategic Choice
To better support the joint war fighter, the DoD is launching several initia-
tives to integrate the processes that define needed capabilities, identify solu-
tions and allocate resources to acquire them. The following four interrelated
reforms emphasize the need for improved information sharing and collabo-
ration. First, the department will implement a more transparent, open and
agile decision-making process. To do this, common authoritative informa-
tion sources will be identified, department-level financial databases will be
combined, and common analytic methods will be adopted. For example, the
DoD is testing a number of tools that could provide common capability views
using existing resource and programming databases. One such pilot project
is a transparent integrated air and missile defense database. Experimenting
through such pilots, the department will seek to identify and rapidly develop
preferred capability area solutions that will facilitate open and agile decision
making.
Second, the department will reach investment decisions through collabora-
tion among the joint war fighter, acquisition and resource communities. Joint
war fighters will assess needs in terms of desired effects and the time frame in
which capabilities are required. Assessments of potential solutions should be
informed by the acquisition community’s judgment of technological feasibil-
ity and cost-per-increment of capability improvement, and by the resource
community’s assessment of affordability. These inputs will be provided early
in the decision-making process, before significant resources are committed.
Once an investment decision has been approved, changes will require col-
laboration among all three communities at the appropriate decision level to
ensure strategy-driven, affordable and achievable outcomes.
A recent, much-needed restructuring of the troubled Joint Tactical Radio
System (JTRS) program exemplifies this collaborative approach. Because the
radio system must be interoperable with other systems across the full spec-
trum of the joint force, decisions regarding the future of the JTRS program
had profound effects throughout the DoD. To ensure a solution that will
meet the joint war fighter’s needs and provide best value to the taxpayer, the
war-fighting and acquisition communities worked closely together to develop
the investment strategy and the military departments contributed needed
resources for the restructuring.
Third, the DoD will begin to break out its budget according to joint
capability areas. Using such a joint capability view—in place of a military
The department will build on these initial efforts to integrate tasks, people,
relationships, technologies and associated resources more effectively across its many
activities. By shifting the focus from service-specific programs to joint capabilities,
the DoD should be better positioned to understand the implications of investment
and resource trade-offs among competing priorities. As a first step, the DoD will
manage three capability areas using a capability portfolio concept: Joint Command
and Control, Joint Net Centric Operations and Joint Space Operations. As we learn
from experience and gain confidence in this approach, we plan to expand it to other
capability areas.
from across the enterprise to drive business process change and improve support
to the joint war fighter. The department also developed an Enterprise Transition
Plan and associated Architecture to guide transformation of its business operations.
The DBSMC will govern execution of the Enterprise Transition Plan by ensuring
accountability and increasing senior leadership direction.
To ensure alignment with the business transformation strategy, the DoD has
created Investment Review Boards to evaluate programs of record against the
Enterprise Architecture. Funds cannot be obligated for any business system invest-
ment not certified by the appropriate official and approved by the DBSMC to be in
compliance with the Department’s architecture.
More recently, the Defense Business Transformation Agency (BTA) was created
to integrate and oversee corporate-level business systems and initiatives. The BTA
is the management link responsible for integrating work across the Department in
areas such as human resources, financial management, acquisition and logistics. It
is accountable to the DBSMC governing body for results.
Designating a single lead advocate for the future joint war fighter in order to
improve the department’s long-range, joint perspective on the requirements,
acquisition and resource allocation processes.
Creating new horizontal organizations to better integrate the department’s
activities in key areas, including strategic communication and human capital
strategy.
Migrating toward a shared services model for support functions, such as admin-
istration, management and computer support.
Although reforms cannot occur overnight, the course is clear. The complex
strategic environment demands that our structure and processes be streamlined
and integrated to better support the president and joint war fighter. The DoD is
committed to doing so.
and readiness. Such fact-based insights, coupled with the implementation of con-
tinuous process improvement tools like Lean, Six Sigma and Performance Based
Logistics, will help optimize the productive output of the overall DoD supply
chain.
Summary
Without a doubt, reshaping the defense enterprise is difficult. The structures and
processes developed over the past half-century were forged in the Cold War and
strengthened by success in it. However, the strategic landscape of the twenty-first
century demands excellence across a much broader set of national security chal-
lenges. With change comes turmoil, and achieving a desired vision requires deter-
mination and perseverance within the DoD and, importantly, cooperation with
the Congress. As we emphasize agility, flexibility, responsiveness and effectiveness
in the operational forces, so too must the department’s organizations, processes and
practices embody these characteristics if they are to support the joint war fighter
and our commander in chief.
Finally, the DoD must effectively compete with the civilian sector for high-qual-
ity personnel. The transformation of the Total Force will require updated, appropri-
ate authorities and tools from Congress to shape it and improve its sustainability.
Two key enablers of this transformation will be a new Human Capital Strategy for
the department, and the application of the new National Security Personnel System
to manage the department’s civilian personnel.
A Continuum of Service
The traditional, visible distinction between war and peace is less clear at the start of
the twenty-first century. In a long war, the United States expects to face large and
small contingencies at unpredictable intervals. To fight the long war and conduct
other future contingency operations, joint force commanders need to have more
immediate access to the Total Force. In particular, the reserve component must
be operationalized, so that select reservists and units are more accessible and more
readily deployable than today. During the cold war, the reserve component was
used, appropriately, as a “strategic reserve,” to provide support to active component
forces during major combat operations. In today’s global context, this concept is
less relevant. As a result, the DoD will:
Pursue authorities for increased access to the reserve component—to increase the
period authorized for Presidential Reserve Call-up from 270 to 365 days.
Better focus the use of the reserve components’ competencies for homeland
defense and civil support operations, and seek changes to authorities to
Joint Training
The QDR assessed and compared the joint training capabilities of each of the mili-
tary departments. Although they have established operationally proven processes
and standards, it is clear that further advances in joint training and education are
urgently needed to prepare for complex, multinational and interagency operations
in the future. Toward this end, the DoD will:
Develop a Joint Training Strategy to address new mission areas, gaps and con-
tinuous training transformation.
Revise its Training Transformation Plan to incorporate irregular warfare,
complex stabilization operations, combating weapons of mass destruction
(WMD) and information operations.
Expand the Training Transformation Business Model to consolidate joint train-
ing, prioritize new and emerging missions and exploit virtual and construc-
tive technologies.
Increase funding for the Army’s pilot linguist program to recruit and train
native and heritage speakers to serve as translators in the active and reserve
components.
Require language training for Service Academy and Reserve Officer Train-
ing Corps scholarship students and expand immersion programs, semester
abroad study opportunities and interacademy foreign exchanges.
Increase military special pay for foreign language proficiency.
Increase National Security Education Program (NSEP) grants to U.S. elemen-
tary, secondary and post-secondary education programs to expand non-Euro-
pean language instruction.
Establish a Civilian Linguist Reserve Corps, composed of approximately one
thousand people, as an on-call cadre of high-proficiency, civilian language
professionals to support the DoD’s evolving operational needs.
Modify tactical and operational plans to improve language and regional train-
ing prior to deployments and develop country and language familiarization
packages and operationally-focused language instruction modules for deploy-
ing forces.
by encouraging career patterns that develop the unique skills needed to meet new
missions such as irregular warfare. New career patterns might include seconding
young officers, noncommissioned officers and civil servants to work within allied
and partners’ militaries or ministries of defense or to serve on long-term assign-
ments in key strategic regions of the world rather than assuming the traditional
career path of multiple, short-term assignments. The DoD will provide further
incentives and improve advancement opportunities in key career fields, including
foreign area officers, trainers, advisors and linguists, as well as in other mission
areas that are taking on greater importance, such as unmanned aerial vehicles and
information and space operations. In addition to providing incentives for strong
performance and continued service, the Human Capital Strategy’s shaping tools
must also enable discrete, necessary force reductions as well as selective accessions
when a specific skill is called for and not available within the joint force.
will yield a Total Force that is better able to meet the diverse challenges the United
States will face in coming years.
agency’s role, missions and capabilities. This will complement better understanding
and closer cooperation in Washington, and will extend to execution of complex
operations. To that end, the DoD supports improvements to strategy development
and planning within the department and with its interagency partners. The QDR
recommends the creation of National Security Planning Guidance to direct the
development of both military and nonmilitary plans and institutional capabili-
ties. The planning guidance would set priorities and clarify national security roles
and responsibilities to reduce capability gaps and eliminate redundancies. It would
help federal departments and agencies to better align their strategy, budget and
planning functions with national objectives. Stronger linkages among planners in
the military departments, the combatant commands and the Joint Staff , with the
Office of the Secretary of Defense and with other departments should ensure that
operations better reflect the president’s National Security Strategy and country’s
policy goals.
not chartered or resourced to maintain deployable capabilities. Thus, the DoD has
tended to become the default responder during many contingencies. This is a short-
term necessity, but the Defense Department supports legislation to enable other
agencies to strengthen their capabilities so that balanced interagency operations
become more feasible—recognizing that other agencies’ capabilities and perfor-
mance often play a critical role in allowing the DoD to achieve its mission.
Recognizing that stability, security and transition operations can be critical
to the long war on terrorism, the DoD issued guidance in 2005 to place stability
operations on par with major combat operations within the department. The direc-
tive calls for improving the department’s ability to work with interagency partners,
international organizations, non-governmental organizations and others to increase
capacities to participate in complex operations abroad. When implemented, the
DoD will be able to provide better support to civilian-led missions, or to lead stabi-
lization operations when appropriate.
The QDR supports efforts to expand the expeditionary capacity of agency
partners. In addition, increased coordination between geographic combatant com-
mands and interagency partners in the field will increase overall effectiveness. The
department proposes a number of policy and legislative initiatives to improve unity
of effort for complex interagency operations abroad, providing greater presidential
flexibility in responding to security challenges. The DoD will:
addition of seven new allies, the Partnership for Peace Program, the creation of the
NATO Response Force, the establishment of the new Allied Command Transfor-
mation, the Alliance’s leadership of the International Security Assistance Force in
Afghanistan and the NATO Training Mission in Iraq. In many European allied
states, however, aging and shrinking populations are curbing defense spending on
capabilities they need for conducting operations effectively alongside U.S. forces. In
the Pacific, alliances with Japan, Australia, Korea and others promote bilateral and
multilateral engagement in the region and cooperative actions to address common
security threats. India is also merging as a great power and a key strategic partner.
Close cooperation with these partners in the long war on terrorism, as well as in
efforts to counter WMD proliferation and other nontraditional threats, ensures the
continuing need for these alliances and for improving their capabilities.
The DoD will continue to strengthen traditional allied operations, with
increased emphasis on collective capabilities to plan and conduct stabilization,
security, transition and reconstruction operations. In particular, the DoD supports
efforts to create a NATO stabilization and reconstruction capability and a Euro-
pean constabulary force. The United States will work to strengthen allied capabili-
ties for the long war and countering WMD. The United States, in concert with
allies, will promote the aim of tailoring national military contributions to best
employ the unique capabilities and characteristics of each ally, achieving a unified
effort greater than the sum of its parts.
Consistent with the president’s emphasis on the need to prevent, rather than be
forced to respond to, attacks, the DoD recommends that the United States con-
tinue to work with its allies to develop approaches, consistent with their domestic
laws and applicable international law, to disrupt and defeat transnational threats
before they mature. Concepts and constructs enabling unity of effort with more
than seventy supporting nations under the Proliferation Security Initiative should
be extended to domains other than WMD proliferation, including cyberspace, as
a priority.
To prevent terrorist attacks or disrupt their networks, to deny them sanctuary
anywhere in the world, to separate terrorists from host populations and ultimately
to defeat them, the United States must also work with new international partners in
less familiar areas of the world. This means the DoD must be prepared to develop a
new team of leaders and operators who are comfortable working in remote regions
of the world, dealing with local and tribal communities, adapting to foreign lan-
guages and cultures and working with local networks to further U.S. and partner
interests through personal engagement, persuasion and quiet influence—rather
than through military force alone. To support this effort, new authorities are
needed. During the Cold War the legal authorities for military action, intelligence,
foreign military assistance and cooperation with foreign police and security services
were separately defined and segregated from each other. Today, there is a need for
U.S. forces to transition rapidly between these types of authorities in an agile and
flexible manner, to meet the challenges of the twenty-first century.
Based on operational experiences of the last four years, the QDR recommends
that Congress provide considerably greater flexibility in the U.S. government’s abil-
ity to partner directly with nations in fighting terrorists. For some nations, this
begins with training, equipping and advising their security forces to generate stabil-
ity and security within their own borders. For others, it may entail providing some
assistance with logistics support, equipment, training and transport to allow them
to participate as members of coalitions with the United States or its allies in stabil-
ity, security, transition and reconstruction operations around the globe.
Recent legislative changes remove some of the impediments to helping partners
engaged in their own defense, but greater flexibility is urgently needed. The DoD
will seek to:
The DoD will continue to support initiatives, such as the Global Peace Opera-
tions Initiative, to increase the capacity of international organizations so that they
can contribute more effectively to the improvement of governance and the expan-
sion of civil society in the world. In this regard, the DoD supports the African
Union’s development of a humanitarian crisis intervention capability, which is
a good example of an international organization stepping up to the challenge of
regional stabilization missions. The DoD stands ready to increase its assistance to
the United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations in areas of the depart-
ment’s expertise, such as doctrine, training, strategic planning and management.
the rule of law in order to build partner governments’ legitimacy in the eyes of
their own people and thereby inoculate societies against terrorism, insurgency and
nonstate threats. In partnership with the State Department and others, the DoD
must become as adept at working with foreign constabularies as it is with externally
focused armed forces, and as adept at working with interior ministries as it is with
defense ministries—a substantial shift of emphasis that demands broader and more
flexible legal authorities and cooperative mechanisms.
Bringing all the elements of U.S. power to bear to win the long war requires
overhauling traditional foreign assistance and export control activities and laws.
These include foreign aid, humanitarian assistance, post-conflict stabilization and
reconstruction, foreign police training, international military education and train-
ing (IMET) and, where necessary, providing advanced military technologies to
foreign allies and partners. In particular, winning the long war requires strengthen-
ing the ability of the DoD to train and educate current and future foreign military
leaders at institutions in the United States. Doing so is critical to strengthening
partnerships and building personal relationships. In all cases, they are integral to
successful irregular warfare operations.
For example, quick action to relieve civilian suffering, train security forces to
maintain civil order and restore critical civilian infrastructure denies the enemy
opportunities to capitalize on the disorder immediately following military opera-
tions and sets more favorable conditions for longer-term stabilization, transition and
reconstruction. Full integration of allied and coalition capabilities ensures unity of
effort for rapidly evolving counterinsurgency operations. Similarly, foreign leaders
who receive U.S. education and training help their governments understand U.S.
values and interests, fostering willingness to unite in a common cause.
The QDR found that, with the exception of legislation applicable only to opera-
tions in Afghanistan and Iraq, existing authorities governing planning, financing
and use of these instruments for shaping international partnerships do not accom-
modate the dynamic foreign policy demands of the twenty-first century. Based
on recent operational experience, the DoD seeks a continuum of authorities from
Congress balancing the need to act quickly in the war on terrorism with the need to
integrate military power to meet long-term, enduring foreign policy objectives.
The DoD recommends a number of important legislative changes in the near
term, while also working in close partnership with the Department of State and
the Congress to enable better alignment of the Foreign Assistance Act and the Arms
Export Control Act with today’s security challenges. In addition to expanding coali-
tion management authorities, the DoD seeks to:
Strategic Communication
Victory in the long war ultimately depends on strategic communication by the
United States and its international partners. Effective communication must build
and maintain credibility and trust with friends and foes alike, through an emphasis
on consistency, veracity and transparency both in words and deeds. Such cred-
ibility is essential to building trusted networks that counter ideological support for
terrorism.
Responsibility for strategic communication must be government-wide and the
QDR supports efforts led by the Department of State to improve integration of
this vital element of national power into strategies across the federal government.
The DoD must instill communication assessments and processes into its culture,
developing programs, plans, policy, information and themes to support combatant
commanders that reflect the U.S. government’s overall strategic objectives. To this
end, the DoD will work to integrate communications efforts horizontally across
the enterprise to link information and communication issues with broader policies,
plans and actions.
The QDR identified capability gaps in each of the primary supporting capabili-
ties of Public Affairs, Defense Support to Public Diplomacy, Military Diplomacy
and Information Operations, including Psychological Operations. To close those
gaps, the DoD will focus on properly organizing, training, equipping and resourc-
ing the key communication capabilities. This effort will include developing new
tools and processes for assessing, analyzing and delivering information to key audi-
ences as well as improving linguistic skills and cultural competence. These primary
supporting communication capabilities will be developed with the goal of achiev-
ing a seamless communication across the U.S. government.
Summary
The United States will not win the war on terrorism or achieve other crucial national
security objectives discussed in this chapter by military means alone. Instead, the
application of unified statecraft, at the federal level and in concert with allies and
international partners, is critical. In addition to coalition- and partner-supported
combat and preventive operations, simultaneous effective interaction with civilian
populations will be essential to achieve success. Authorities that permit nimble
and adaptive policies, processes and institutions—domestic and international—are
essential adjuncts to the military capability needed to address the rapidly evolving
security challenges around the globe.
Richard Meinhart
Introduction
Military leaders at many levels have used strategic planning in various ways to
position their organizations to respond to the demands of the current situation,
while simultaneously focusing on future challenges. This chapter examines how
four Chairmen, Joint Chiefs of Staff—Generals Colin L. Powell (1989–1993), John
M. Shalikashvili (1993–1997), Henry Hugh Shelton (1997–2001) and Richard B.
Myers (2001–2005)—used a strategic planning system to enable them to meet their
statutory responsibilities specified in Title 10 U.S. Code and respond to the strategic
environment. As the 1990s progressed, the first three chairmen were faced with
responding to a strategic environment that started with the Gulf War and was fol-
lowed by an increasing number of regional military operations across the spectrum
of conflict, while accommodating slowly declining financial resources and a one-
third decline in force structure. Since 2000, and particularly after September 11,
2001, the last two chairmen were faced with entirely different strategic challenges
This chapter does not reflect the views of the Department of the Army, Department of Defense
or the United States Army War College.
75
dominated by the focus on terrorism and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, while
needing to transform by developing future capabilities to achieve full spectrum
dominance.
In focusing on how these four leaders used a strategic planning system, this
chapter briefly describes the chairman’s responsibilities, as well as the Joint Staff’s
key organizational characteristics. Both the leader’s focus and the organization’s
characteristics will influence how a strategic planning system is used. The author
then examines how the strategic planning system evolved to better meet each chair-
man’s needs. This planning system produced many products related to assessment,
vision, strategy, resources and plans. These products will be described for their
broad impact and influence. Because many of these products are classified, the
assessments will have to be brief. The author then summarizes the more significant
ways each chairman used this strategic planning system, which is part of his lead-
ership legacy. Although this comprehensive assessment of each chairman’s use of
strategic planning has historical relevance, its main value is that today’s leaders can
learn from these four leaders how they used systems and processes differently to
respond to their complex global environment and varied strategic challenges. Dur-
ing this assessment, specific leadership concepts are illustrated throughout, includ-
ing how leaders use vision, how leaders balance flexibility and structure in strategic
planning processes and products, how leaders use strategic planning to respond to
different types of global environment challenges, and how leaders use systems to
influence an organization’s climate and culture. Hence, this chapter concludes by
identifying five key leadership concepts that future leaders can employ when using
strategic planning.
Chairman’s Responsibilities
Congress specified the Chairman Joint Chiefs of Staff’s formal leadership respon-
sibilities in U.S. Code, Title 10, Section 153, under the following descriptive sub-
headings:1 (1) strategic direction; (2) strategic planning; (3) contingency planning
and preparedness; (4) advice on requirements, programs, and budget; (5) doctrine,
training, and education; and (6) Other matters. These increased responsibilities were
a result of the Goldwater–Nichols Department of Defense Reorganization Act of 1986
(GNA), which is considered the most significant piece of defense legislation since
the National Security Defense Act of 1947 established the Defense Department.2 The
GNA was the result of almost four years of contentious dialogue and debate among
Congress, military leaders, the defense intellectual community, and the Reagan
administration on how best to organize the Defense Department fundamentally
to strengthen civilian authority, improve military advice to civilian leaders, pro-
vide for more efficient use of resources, and better execute in the field to respond
to the nation’s security challenges.3 Since the U.S. Code was changed to incorpo-
rate the GNA’s provisions, the major functions and broad wording describing the
chairman’s key responsibilities fundamentally have remained the same, but there
have been a few additions. These additions are associated with reports required by
Congress, which were not envisioned in 1986, to assist members with their over-
sight and resource responsibilities. For example, the chairman must now produce
an annual report on combatant command requirements about the time when the
budget is submitted to Congress. Most significantly, the National Defense Authori-
zation Act of 2004 (NDAA) required that the chairman produce, by February 15 of
every even-numbered year, a detailed report that is a biennial review of the National
Military Strategy to include the strategic and military risks to execute that strategy.4
This 2004 Act cleared up ambiguity that existed as to whether the chairman actu-
ally needed to produce a National Military Strategy and what it should encompass.
This change to existing U.S. Code is an example where the chairman’s responsibili-
ties initially were broad and identified “what” he had to do versus “how” to do it.
But if Congress is not satisfied with execution or information, then the subsequent
Code becomes more specific.
To help with executing his responsibilities, the Joint Staff now directly supports
the chairman, an important distinction emphasized in the GNA. The Joint Staff
has a budget of under $700 million and consists of approximately 700 military
officers, 210 enlisted members and 195 civilians, which is about a 15 percent mili-
tary reduction from 2000.5 Further, there are others, such as those in the Defense
Intelligence Agency or contractors, who work alongside this staff to support their
focused work directly. The chairmen used a well-documented strategic planning
system, which formally changed four different times (1990, 1993, 1997 and 1999),
to help them execute the first four formal responsibilities identified earlier.6 The
importance of this planning system is reflected by the words “primary” and “for-
mal,” which appeared in the beginning of all Joint Staff guidance that described the
desired impact of its products and processes.
The chairman’s strategic planning system creates products to integrate defense
processes and influence others related to assessment, vision, strategy, resources and
plans.7 This planning system integrates the processes and documents of the people
and organizations above the chairman (president and secretary of defense) and the
people and organizations with whom he directly coordinates (services and com-
batant commanders). The chairman has no control over any significant defense
resources (secretary of defense and services control resources) or direct control of
operational military forces (combatant commanders control operational forces);
however, orders to those forces flow through him. The chairman formally influ-
ences his civilian leaders and those with whom he coordinates through this strategic
planning system. In addition to influencing leaders, this system provides specific
direction for many staffs that support these leaders. As such, this planning system
is a key function that integrates the nation’s military strategy, plans and resources
consisting of approximately 2.24 million active, guard, and reserve forces and total
defense outlays of $290 billion in 2000 that increased to $465 billion by 2005.8
1989 Status
Prior to 1990 there was a realization that the strategic planning system, as specified
in the January 24, 1989, Memorandum of Policy No. 84, was not accomplishing its
purpose to enable the chairman to execute fully his increased 1986 GNA respon-
sibilities. This memorandum, the seventeenth revision since 1952, was described
as “unwieldy, complex, and bureaucratic, and produced no less than ten major
documents every two-year planning cycle.”12 Congress criticized the strategic plan-
ning process itself during hearings that led to passing the GNA. Hence, the Joint
Staff’s director of Strategy and Planning was tasked to “… undertake an end-to-end
evaluation of the products which are created by the Joint Strategic Planning System
to seek further opportunities in the cogency and timeliness of the process and prod-
ucts.”13 Such a comprehensive evaluation was the exception and not the norm.
1990 Change
The outcome of this complete system overhaul culminated with Memorandum of
Policy No. 7, dated January 30, 1990.14 This change streamlined the system by
adding front-end leader’s guidance and eliminating or combining many other
documents into more concise products, as ten products were reduced to four. The
front-end guidance was provided through a formal joint strategy review for “…
gathering information, raising issues, and facilitating the integration of strategy,
operational planning, and program assessments,”15 that culminated in publishing
its first product— Chairman’s Guidance. This concise document (six to ten pages)
was structured to provide the principal, initial guidance in support of develop-
ing the planning system’s next three documents: the National Military Strategy
Document, Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan, and the Chairman’s Program Assessment.
This system, although streamlined, still required that a classified National Military
Strategy Document (NMSD) be produced under a rigid two-year cycle with several
parts, one of which was called National Military Strategy. In addition, there were
several separate functional annexes added to this document, such as intelligence
and research and development that totaled hundreds of pages. One annex alone
had eleven chapters, thirteen tables, and fifteen tabs. The part of the NMSD called
the National Military Strategy (also classified) was sent to the secretary of defense
for review, forwarded to the president for approval, and then returned to influ-
ence defense resource guidance. As will be later described, only the Joint Strategic
Capabilities Plan was produced as specified in the memorandum; the other three
documents were changed significantly during execution. These changes enabled the
chairman to respond more nimbly to the strategic environment, then dominated by
the Soviet Union’s demise and the Gulf War’s quick completion.
1993 Change
The next revision to the organization’s planning system culminated with publica-
tion of a change to Memorandum of Policy No. 7 in 1993.16 This change essentially
codified what had been executed in previous years rather than designing a new sys-
tem. Major revisions, which built on these practices, included placing more focus
on long-range planning overall by requiring formal environmental scanning, issu-
ing the National Military Strategy as an unclassified document designed to commu-
nicate with the American people rather than providing internal military direction,
and establishing a Joint Planning Document to sharpen the chairman’s advice to
the secretary of defense on budget issues. The process and product, called the Joint
1997 Change
The next major revision to the strategic planning system occurred in 1997 and again
reflected execution changes the chairman instituted in prior years.17 The chairman
needed to provide better resource advice and long-range direction to enable defense
leaders to make needed mission or weapon system trade-offs required by fiscally
constrained defense budgets. His planning system did not provide him this ability.
To correct this problem, in 1994 General Shalikashvili expanded the charter of the
existing Joint Requirements Oversight Council (JROC).18 This council, chaired
by his vice chairman and including the services’ vice chairmen, was empowered to
assess specific war-fighting areas. This expanded charter created analytical rigor in
an inclusive review process to shape mission or weapon system decisions among the
services. It provided recommendations that later appeared in a new leader-focused
resource document called the Chairman’s Program Recommendation. The older
chairman’s assessment was retained. In 1996, General Shalikashvili published the
first chairman’s vision, Joint Vision 2010, a thirty-four-page document designed
to provide the conceptual template to channel the vitality of people and lever-
age technology to achieve more effective joint war fighting.19 These two new plan-
ning products were added formally to the planning system’s guidance published in
1997 as a Chairman Joint Chiefs of Staff Instruction. Memoranda of Policies were
phased out.
1999 Change
The last formal change to the strategic planning system in 1999 did not change any
major processes or products.20 Instead, it focused on Theater Engagement Plans to
integrate the strategy’s “shape” component and to implement the 1996 Joint Vision,
which was a priority General Shelton identified when he became chairman.21 This
decade’s evolution is illustrated graphically in Figure 5.1.22 These changes incre-
mentally evolved the strategic planning system from a rigid, Cold War focus at the
start of the decade to a more flexible, vision-oriented and resource-focused system
at the decade’s end.
Pre-1989
Cold War 1990 – 1992 1993 1997 & 99
CNASP NMSD
-NMS NMS When Needed
NMS As Needed
-Annexes
IPSP (2 Years)
JPD 2 Years JPD Annual
JSAM
JSCP
JSCP When Needed JSCP Bi-Annual
JSCP (2 Years)
CPA CPA 2 Years
JIEP-SCP CPR Annual
(2 Years)
planning documents have been added, two were deleted, and four retained. The
three new products added from the 1999 revision were: National Military Strategic
Plan for the War on Terrorism, Chairman’s Risk Assessment and the Joint Operations
Concepts (changed to Capstone Concept for Joint Operations in August 2005). The
two strategic planning products deleted were the joint vision (vision is now embed-
ded in the strategy) and the Joint Planning Document (staff resource advice). The
unclassified strategy, two leader-focused resource documents, and the war planning
guidance remained the same. As the 1999 operating instruction is currently under
revision, the next one will be influenced by these practical changes and a recent
study on strategic planning by the Institute for Defense Analysis. These strategic
planning system changes as of June 2005 and integrating relationships are depicted
in Figure 5.2.23
Operations Planning
NMSP-WOT
Assessment
The chairmen’s assessment of the strategic environment, called the Joint Strategy
Review, became a constant strategic planning product beginning in 1993; however,
it was completed in different ways and with different focuses.24 A separate classi-
fied report was issued frequently, but at other times the intellectual output from
the review process was used to update this system’s strategy or vision documents or
prepare the Joint Staff to support the Quadrennial Defense Review. When a separate
report was produced, it often would identify issues that needed more intense study
or areas where existing strategic planning products needed updating. The chairman
directed what the strategy review would entail prior to its start, hence, this review
responded to strategic issues he needed examined. The strategy review process was
not conducted within the Joint Staff alone, but included representatives from the
services, combatant commands, and appropriate defense organizations.
The process was inclusive in design, allowing ideas to be initially introduced
from an organization’s lower levels, which helped ensure this strategy review had a
broad perspective that resonated with those the chairman influenced. Another type
of assessment, now called the Chairman’s Risk Assessment, has been part of the
strategic planning system since 2000. Earlier, the chairman assessed strategic issues
under the overarching construct of a net assessment, which was loosely defined in
his planning instructions and did not always result in a formal product. In addi-
tion, Congress required the chairman to write an assessment of the secretary of
defense’s Quadrennial Defense Review, which appeared at this document’s end. The
Chairman’s Risk Assessment started as an annual assessment with the National
Defense Authorization Act of 2000 (NDAA)25 and was modified to require greater
specificity by the 2004 NDAA.26 The chairman is required to conduct a com-
prehensive examination of the strategic and military risk to execute the National
Military Strategy.27 There are defined areas this report must address, along with a
caveat that it must be routed through the secretary of defense if risk is determined
to be significant.
Vision
The strategic planning system’s first two vision documents, Joint Vision 2010 in
1996 and Joint Vision 2020 in 2000, each consisted of about thirty-five pages.28
They were used to identify joint war-fighting requirements ten to fifteen years out
and directly influence service programs to meet those requirements. In organi-
zational terms, this was a way the chairman was trying to embed a joint climate
within the services’ cultures through resource direction. The first vision was cen-
tered on four operational concepts of dominant maneuver, precision engagement,
focused logistics and full-dimensional protection. It served to focus attention and
leverage technology to achieve better joint interoperability and war fighting. The
second vision directly built upon the first, as it kept the same four operational con-
cepts. But it placed more emphasis on innovation, information, and interagency
coordination to transform the force to be fully joint; now defined as “intellectually,
operationally, organizationally, doctrinally, and technically.”29 Both visions had
broad acceptance as service leaders spoke positively about each vision’s influence
in shaping their decisions or their service visions. These two visions were the most
mentioned strategic planning products in the chairman’s annual posture statements
to Congress during this time frame, which is an indicator of their importance.30
The current joint vision is now embedded in three pages of the 2004 National
Military Strategy. This vision built upon the previous joint vision, as it is focused
on the goal of full spectrum dominance, which is defined as “the ability to control
any situation or defeat any adversary across the range of military operations.”31
Although the chairman’s vision is still specified, its purpose to influence service
resource decisions was replaced by the secretary of defense’s transformation guid-
ance documents in the 2000s, with the services developing transformation plans
to execute this guidance. However, the vision of full spectrum dominance is in
conceptual agreement with the more detailed transformation guidance.
Vision can be focused operationally in addition to being strategic. The chairman’s
Joint Operations Concepts in 2003 and now the Capstone Concept for Joint Operations
in 2005 provided an operational war-fighting focus to develop a capabilities-based
joint force.32 This capabilities focus was described in the 2001 Quadrennial Defense
Review and later in other defense guidance. The focus of the twenty-eight-page
Joint Operations Concepts was to articulate the overarching concept for future joint
military operations. It broadly defined the construct for robust subordinate operat-
ing, functional, and enabling concepts to create joint capabilities. The 2005 Cap-
stone Concept for Joint Operations incorporated lessons learned from operations in
Afghanistan and Iraq, while looking to the future to develop capabilities to fight
tomorrow’s wars. These operationally focused vision documents, and the substan-
tive complex processes and products developed to implement these concepts, are
encouraging military personnel to think and act jointly. The earlier joint visions,
along with these operationally focused concepts, will complete the joint journey
that began with service deconfliction in the early 1990s, to interoperability in the
mid-1990s, to now emerging interdependence. This is a journey to create a joint
military culture.
Strategy
The chairman’s unclassified National Military Strategy, the key strategic planning
system product, was produced in 1992, 1995, 1997 and 2004.33 These four strate-
gies broadly outlined the military’s global challenges, identified the objectives to be
achieved, specified the foundations and principles of military power, and described
the force structure or capabilities to achieve those objectives. This was essentially an
ends, ways, and means paradigm to respond to the ever-changing strategic environ-
ment. In the first three strategies, the service’s force structure was defined broadly
(carrier battle groups, divisions and wings), but with greater specificity as the decade
continued. For example, the 1997 strategy identified the numbers of army regi-
ments and brigades, navy attack submarines, coast guard cutters, and special opera-
tions people. In the 2004 strategy, there was no reference to specific force structure.
Instead, joint force attributes and capabilities were broadly identified, along with a
need to size the force in a 1-4-2-1 construct to accomplish the following: defend the
homeland (1), deter forward in and from four geographic regions (4); conduct two
overlapping swiftly defeat campaigns (2); and win decisively in one campaign (1).34
This latest approach was designed to provide flexibility for force structure changes
in concert with a capability-based versus a threat-based military focus.
When the 1990s began, the strategy was focused on global war, and the enemy
was the Soviet Union. The 1992 strategy changed the focus to the core mission
of fighting regional wars. The 1995 strategy more broadly encompassed global
engagement across the spectrum of conflict from peacekeeping, to peacemaking,
to war. In 1997, the strategy provided a balance between shaping the environment,
responding to the multiple missions and preparing now for the uncertain future.
The words shape, respond and prepare and their concepts appeared in many other
strategic documents, such as the 1997 National Security Strategy and 1997 Qua-
drennial Defense Review. As these strategies changed in the 1990s, the force struc-
ture to accomplish these strategies was reduced by about one-third. In 2004, the
strategy was simply articulated along three “p” words—“protect the United States
against external attacks and aggression, prevent conflict and surprise attack, and
prevail against adversaries.”35 Its success rested on the three priorities of winning
the war on terror, enhancing the ability to fight jointly, and transforming the armed
forces through a combination of technology, intellect and cultural adjustments.
In addition to the unclassified national military strategies, there were two clas-
sified strategies produced that were focused on the war on terrorism. In October
2002, Chairman Myers and the secretary of defense issued a National Military
Strategic Plan for the War on Terrorism to provide guidance to the military ser-
vices and regional commanders to focus their efforts.36 Later, in March 2005, they
issued an update to that plan. This update, which went through many revisions,
was described in a news article as “… a multipronged strategy that targets eight
pressure points and outlines six methods for attacking terrorist networks.”37
Resources
The chairman’s three resource documents (Joint Planning Document, Chairman’s
Program Recommendation and Chairman’s Program Assessment) expanded in the
mid-1990s as strategic planning processes were developed to influence resource
decisions.38 These resource documents, along with the Defense documents they
were intended to influence, were classified. As the decade progressed, these docu-
ments were focused to enable the chairman to provide more resource influence
and specificity, a requirement emphasized by the GNA. The staff-focused resource
document, Joint Planning Document, was produced biennially starting in 1993. It
went from separate chapters developed by Joint Staff directorates or separate agen-
cies to a fully integrated resource document in 1997 that used the chairman’s vision
and war-fighting assessments to produce integrated resource advice. However, by
decade’s end, this document was no longer published, which perhaps was an indica-
tor of its declining influence.
The planning system’s two leader-focused annual resource documents, Chair-
man’s Program Recommendation and Chairman’s Program Assessment, increased in
influence and specificity starting in the middle 1990s. For example, the Chairman’s
Program Assessment went from a few pages in 1992 to an expanded assessment in
1995 that argued for shifting significant funds and pursuing different approaches
for recapitalization that would readjust up to 12 percent of the defense budget.39
These two leader-focused documents, which reflected the chairman’s style and pri-
orities, were considered personal correspondence between the chairman and the sec-
retary of defense. Hence, they had limited external review and were classified. The
program recommendation was designed to influence the secretary’s initial resource
guidance to the services. The program assessment was designed to enable the chair-
man to assess the services’ Program Objective Memorandums (POMs) and influ-
ence budget deliberations that converted the services’ POMs to the defense budget
submitted to Congress. These two documents, which were shaped by the JROC’s
meetings, were vetted with the service chiefs and combatant commanders instead
of being merely coordinated. They were a formal way the chairman, in addition
to other resource advice, directly advocated the combatant commanders’ require-
ments within the defense processes.
Plans
The Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan was the one constant among all the strategic
planning changes during this sixteen-year period. It continued to have the same
purpose, which was to provide strategic guidance to the combatant commanders
and service chiefs to develop executable plans based on resourced military capa-
bilities to execute the military strategy.40 More specifically, it identified the vari-
ous types of plans that combatant commanders must develop, as this document
integrated higher-level guidance from the president and secretary of defense into a
family of executable plans and apportioned forces based on completed budgets. It
identified the agreed assumptions upon which these plans were based and specified
the numerous functional annexes required by specific plans, such as intelligence,
logistics and mobility. The actual contents of the Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan
were classified, but it evolved during this sixteen-year period as the types of plans
it tasked changed in response to the changing threats and the different military
strategies. For example, in 1990 it specified global (Cold War focused) and regional
plans. They were replaced in 1993 with operational plans (OPLANS), concept plans
(CONPLANs) and concept summaries for global and regional contingencies. Later
there was guidance to develop theater engagement plans, which are now called
security cooperation plans. In the 1990s, these products continued to be reviewed
formally for currency within an overall two-year planning cycle, and they were
republished or amended during this cycle. In the 2000s, the intent was to shorten
this planning cycle to one year, and the process by which combatant commanders
develop plans also received additional secretary of defense involvement.
Chairman’s Legacy
General Colin L. Powell (1989–1993)
General Powell greatly simplified strategic planning by reducing the number of
formal planning products from ten to four and increasing the system’s flexibility to
respond to his direction by a concise leader-focused document called Chairman’s
Guidance. He short-circuited the system’s processes, as he did not wait for a com-
pleted environmental assessment specified by his planning system, but issued this
guidance based on a senior commander’s meeting.41 He did not wait for his planning
embed that joint climate more strongly and perhaps establish the beginning of a
joint culture within his staff and the services.
Conclusion
Today’s senior leaders can learn from examining how others used systems or pro-
cesses to better enable their organizations to respond to complex and ambiguous
strategic challenges. Examining how four chairmen of different leadership styles
used an evolving strategic planning system to respond to the complex and ever
changing strategic environment reveals five key leadership concepts today’s lead-
ers should employ. These leadership concepts are organized along the following
five areas: importance of a vision, key characteristics of an effective strategic plan-
ning process, the need to strike a balance between flexibility and structure within
the strategic planning system’s products, understanding the magnitude of change
needed and using systems and processes to create a culture.
The first leadership concept is that leaders need to clearly articulate a vision,
owned by the organization, as part of the strategic planning system to influence
long-term change effectively. Chairman Shalikashvili clearly identified a need for
a joint vision in 1996 and employed an inclusive leader-involved process to cre-
ate that vision, which had wide acceptance among those he coordinated with and
those above him. Chairman Shelton followed this and developed comprehensive
processes to implement that vision before he formally updated the joint vision in
2000 to place more emphasis on innovation, information and interagency. Chair-
man Myers continued with a vision focus through his two concept guidance docu-
ments to transform the military operationally to a higher level of jointness. Much
of the joint war-fighting progress to date can be traced back to the first two visions,
and the current vision to achieve full spectrum dominance is being directed by the
2005 Capstone Concept for Joint Operations.
The second leadership concept is that leaders need to ensure their strategic plan-
ning processes are flexible, inclusive and integrated to improve effectiveness. The flex-
ible aspect rests with the fact that, in execution, each chairman modified to different
degrees the strategic planning system he inherited. This was caused by the leader’s
style and the strategic environment. For example, Chairman Powell’s modification
of the planning system from ten classified, voluminous products into four products
of greater clarity and simplicity that were developed more nimbly was influenced
by the Cold War’s unexpected demise and his personal leadership style. Chairman
Shalikashvili’s addition of leader-focused resource advice and joint vision was influ-
enced by the tight fiscal environment and his process-oriented style. The inclusive
aspect is supported by the diverse composition of the joint boards and councils that
developed strategic planning products, which allowed divergent views to be heard,
understood and incorporated. Interviews with strategic planners revealed that these
inclusive processes educated and created important relationships, and many planners
even considered planning processes more important than products.57 The integrated
nature aspect goes one step farther than inclusiveness in that this system’s planning
processes directly influenced other defense, service and combatant command leaders
and their processes to ensure the end result was integrated.
The third leadership concept centers on the need for leaders to ensure their stra-
tegic planning products have the proper balance between flexibility and structure.
The chairman’s strategic planning products related to strategy and vision had great
flexibility in providing broad direction, which enabled staffs to use their intellec-
tual capacities to develop a wide range of successful responses to complex issues.
The chairman’s strategic planning products related to plans had a much greater
degree of structure to provide the needed disciplined direction to execute those
strategies. This disciplined direction in developing war plans is driven by the sys-
tems integration and overall synchronization that is associated with joint inter-
dependence needed by the supportive and supporting combatant commanders.
Disciplined direction in developing war plans, then, allows the creativity needed
in execution, as disciplined planning considers various options that are vetted prior
to execution.
The fourth leadership concept is that leaders need to understand the relation-
ship between the magnitude and speed of change needed and how a strategic plan-
ning system can be used to influence that change. If change is needed quickly and
is revolutionary in scope, then leaders should not use a strategic planning system
but work outside that formal system. For example, when Chairman Powell created
the 1992 National Military Strategy, a strategy revolutionary in substance when
compared to its predecessors, he did not follow the processes or product character-
istics described in his strategic planning system. Similarly, Chairman Shalikashvili
did not follow directions in his strategic planning system, but used extraordinary
personnel interaction when creating the chairman’s first joint vision, a direction
thought outside the chairman’s domain. However, in implementing both this strat-
egy and vision, which would take a decade or more, the strategic planning system
was used heavily. Hence, a strategic planning system is more valued to make the
needed evolutionary changes over time that can ultimately lead to revolutionary
results.
The last leadership concept is that leaders can use a strategic planning system
to help them create a climate and embed a culture within complex organizations.
Although there have been many other mechanisms that influenced a joint culture,
such as congressional-required joint promotion, assignment and educational crite-
ria, the strategic planning system reinforced these mechanisms. Whereas Chair-
man Powell was just starting to create a joint climate, Chairman Shalikashvili
greatly reinforced that climate with his strategic planning joint vision and inclusive
planning bodies that developed the system’s resource products. Chairman Shelton
reinforced that joint climate and started the beginning of a joint culture through
implementing the joint vision and more inclusive planning bodies. Chairman
Myers focused on embedding a joint culture through his expansive joint operating
concepts and more inclusive functional capabilities boards. It is this author’s belief,
based on working within and studying the effects of strategic planning during this
period, that a culture of jointness, envisioned in the heart and spirit of many of our
nation’s civilian and military leaders, has taken hold within the higher levels of the
Joint Staff and the services. The strategic planning system clearly assisted this joint
cultural evolution.
Leaders of complex organizations who embrace these five concepts just men-
tioned will be able to better use a strategic planning system to respond to their
strategic challenges and provide direction to their organizations to meet the current
demands while positioning for the future. An examination of history has shown
that each chairman’s ever-evolving strategic planning system comprised of inclusive
and flexible processes, along with the right combination of flexibility and struc-
ture in products, was important in enabling him to provide strategic advice and
direction to our nation’s civilian and military leaders during volatile and uncertain
times.
Notes
1. Robert H. Cole et al., The Chairmanship of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (Washington, D.C.:
Joint History Office, 1995), 207–209.
2. Ibid., 30.
3. U.S. Congress, House of Representatives, Goldwater–Nichols Department of Defense
Reorganization Act of 1986, Conference Report, 99th Congress, 2nd session, September
12, 1986 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, Section 3, 99–824);
Richard Meinhart, Chairman Joint Chiefs of Staff’s Leadership Using the Joint Strategic
Planning System in the 1990s: Recommendations for Strategic Leaders (Carlisle Bar-
racks, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 2003), 2–7.
4. House Report 108–354, “National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2004,”
Section 903; “Biennial Review of the National Military Strategy by Chairman Joint
Chiefs of Staff,” available from http://thomas.loc.gov/ (accessed November 11, 2005).
5. The Joint Staff, “Fiscal Year (FY) 2004/FY 2005 Biennial Budget Estimates,” Feb-
ruary 2003, available from http://www.dod.gov/comptroller/defbudget/fy2004/bud-
get_justification/pdfs/operation/Volume_1_-_DW_Justification/TJS_FY04-05_
PB.pdf (accessed November 30, 2005). Personnel reductions reflect 1999 defense
reform initiatives and 2002 Nation Defense Authorization Act guidance.
6. Detailed strategic planning guidance was reflected in Memorandum of Policy (MOP)
7, 1990; MOP 7, 1993; Chairman Joint Chiefs of Staff Instruction (CJCSI) 3100.01,
1997; and CJCSI 3100.01A, 1999.
7. Discussion that follows on relationships and integration of the leader with organiza-
tions above the chairman and those with whom he coordinates is covered in the 2000
edition of The Joint Staff Officers Guide and in the memorandum and instructions that
define the organization’s strategic planning system.
8. Office of the Under Secretary of Defense, Comptroller, “National Defense Budget
Estimates for FY 2006,” April 2005; and “National Defense Budget Estimates for FY
2001,” March 2000, 4, 33, both sources.
9. This discussion of challenges is the author’s assessment from reading the four national
military strategies and attending service chiefs’ lectures while teaching at the Army
War College.
10. Davis, 160; Meinhart, Chairman Joint Chiefs, 11–12. Some chairmen, such as Powell,
had a more developed personal relationship with many leaders in Washington, D.C.,
based on past experiences than General Shelton, who was relatively new to this stra-
tegic arena. In addition, each succeeding chairman used “joint” words with varying
frequency in his annual Congressional Posture statement.
11. Edgar H Schein, Organizational Culture and Leadership (San Francisco: Jossey Bass,
1993), 231.
12. Douglas C. Lovelace, Jr., and Thomas-Durell Young, U.S. Department of Defense
Strategic Planning: The Missing Nexus (Carlisle Barracks, PA: Strategic Studies Insti-
tute, 2003) 10, 35–36.
13. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Memorandum of Policy (hereafter CJCS MOP)
No. 84 (CJCS MOP 84), Joint Strategic Planning System (Washington, D.C.: Joint
Chiefs of Staff, January 30, 1989), 3.
14. CJCS MOP 7, Joint Strategic Planning System (Washington, D.C.: Joint Chiefs of
Staff, January 30, 1990). Discussion reflects materiel in this document.
15. Ibid., 20.
16. CJCS MOP 7, 1st Revision, March 17, 1993. Discussion reflects material in this
document.
17. Chairman Joint Chiefs of Staff Instruction 3100.01 (hereafter CJCSI 3100.01), Joint
Strategic Planning System (Washington, D.C.: Joint Chiefs of Staff, September 1,
1997). Note: Chairman’s instructions replaced memoranda of policies during this
period.
18. Office of the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, JROC Planning in a Revolu-
tionary Era (Washington, D.C.: Institute for Foreign Policy Analysis, 1996), 4–5.
19. John M. Shalikashvili, Joint Vision 2010 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Print-
ing Office, 1996), 1.
20. CJCSI 3100.01A (Washington, D.C.: Joint Chiefs of Staff, September 1, 1999). Dis-
cussion reflects material in this document.
21. The “shape” component was one of the three components of the 1997 National Mili-
tary Strategy. The other two components were titled “respond” and “prepare.” These
components are discussed later in the chapter, in the section on “Strategy.”
22. “Joint Strategic Planning System” briefing slides for Joint Processes and Landpower
Course 3, Lesson AY 05 (Carlisle Barracks, PA: U.S. Army War College, October 28,
2004), slide 5.
23. “National Military Strategy Linkages and the Joint Strategic Planning System,” brief-
ing to Joint Faculty Education Conference (Washington, D.C.: National Defense
University, June 22, 2005), slide 12. In Figure 5.2, IPL stands for Combatant Com-
manders Integrated Priority List, which identifies what combatant commanders
desire that is not funded in service programs. POMs are Program Objective Memo-
randums, the programs the services desire to place in the upcoming budget submitted
to Congress. JOC stands for Joint Operating Concepts described later in the chapter, in
the discussion of vision. CPR is the Chairman’s Program Recommendation, and CPA is
the Chairman’s Program Assessment, explained later in the discussion of resources.
24. The author read many classified strategy reviews and correspondence documenting
the process and, in May 2002, interviewed military planners who worked on the
vision and military strategies during the 1990s.
25. House Report 106-162, “National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2000,”
Section 1034, available from http://www.gpoaccess.gov/uscode/index.html (accessed
December 4, 2005).
26. House Report 108-354, “National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2004,”
Section 903, “Biennial Review of the National Military Strategy by Chairman Joint
Chiefs of Staff,” available from http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin (accessed November 11,
2005).
27. There is a congressional requirement under U.S. Code, Title 10, Section 153 (b) for
the chairman to assess the strategic and military risks associated with executing the
missions called for under the current National Military Strategy. This task is due
no later than January 1 of every odd-numbered year. There is also a congressional
requirement under Section 153 (d) to do a detailed biennial review of the National
Military Strategy, which includes as part of this review an assessment of the military
and strategic risks in executing the missions of the current strategy. This much more
detailed review is due no later than February 15th of every even-numbered year.
28. John M. Shalikashvili, Joint Vision 2010; Henry H. Shelton, Joint Vision 2020 (Wash-
ington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, June 2000). Discussion reflects
material from these documents.
29. Shelton, Joint Vision, 2.
30. Richard M. Meinhart, Strategic Planning Through an Organizational Lens (ProQuest
UMI Dissertation Services, 2004), 104–107. An analysis was performed on key
words in the chairman’s annual Congressional Posture Statements to identify what
was emphasized.
31. Richard B. Myers, National Military Strategy (Washington, D.C.: Joint Chiefs of
Staff, 2004), 20.
32. Donald H. Rumsfeld, Joint Operations Concepts (Washington, D.C.: Joint Chiefs
of Staff, November 2003, available from www.dtic.mil/jointvision/secdef_ approved_
jopsc.doc; accessed December 1, 2005); Richard B. Myers, Capstone Concept for Joint
Operations (Washington, D.C.: Joint Chiefs of Staff August 2005, available from
http://www.dtic.mil/futurejointwarfare/concepts/approved_ccjov2.pdf; accessed Decem-
ber 1, 2005).
33. Discussions that follow reflect material in the following strategies: Colin L. Powell,
National Military Strategy of the United States, January 1992; John M. Shalikashvili,
National Military Strategy of the United States of America, 1995; John M. Shalikash-
vili, National Military Strategy of the United States of America, 1997; and Richard B.
Myers, National Military Strategy of the United States of America, 2004 (all, Washing-
ton, D.C.: Joint Chiefs of Staff).
34. The overlapping “swiftly defeat” campaigns were described as quickly denying an
adversary’s operational or strategic objective in both locations and rapidly reestab-
lishing security conditions favorable to the United States and its partners. A “win
decisively” campaign is much broader in scope than a swiftly defeat campaign. It is
designed to bring about fundamentally favorable and enduring results that may entail
lengthy periods of combat and stability operations, along with significant investments
of the nation’s resources and time.
35. Myers, National Military Strategy, 8.
55. Author’s assessment from reading the many CJCSIs that covered the Joint Require-
ments Oversight, Joint Warfighting Capabilities Assessments, and Functional Capa-
bility Boards since the middle 1990s.
56. Chairman Myers referenced “born joint” in his 2004 and 2004 Posture Statements
to Congress. In addition, he talked about the importance of a cultural change in his
2002 and 2003 Posture Statements to change mindsets. He was the first chairman to
do so.
57. Meinhart, Strategic Planning, 187–188.
Jeffrey A. Weber
The way the Department of Defense runs the budgeting system, the
planning system is broken. It is not serving the department or the coun-
try well. And yet it is inexorable. It just rolls along, like a freight train
coming from San Francisco with the wrong things for New York. There
are plenty of people who look at it and don’t know it’s wrong … and
people say, “Well, that’s the way we do it. This is how it works, and don’t
you understand that the only way to affect that (the freight train) is to
reach back 2½ years and load it properly.” Of course, my answer is,
“Don’t you understand, we don’t have 2½ years to wait to change.”
Introduction
Budgeting is recognized as the primary administrative tool for controlling an orga-
nization. Financial resources are the life blood of any policy or program. In order
99
to Congress by the first Monday in February.2 Basically, the budget contains the
overall budget message of the president, what he hopes to achieve in the coming
fiscal year and this is followed by a section for each of the fifteen executive branch
departments, the Corps of Engineers, Environmental Protection Agency, NASA,
the National Science Foundation, Small Business Administration, and the Social
Security Administration.
The second budget document is the congressional budget resolution, which
provides the revenue and expenditure limits by major areas. This document is not
law and, therefore, does not authorizes any expenditures of funds by the executive
branch. The budget resolution establishes the boundaries for the formulation of the
actual allocation of funds to specific programs within each of the areas.
The third budget document is the set of appropriation bills, which are the statu-
tory authority for executive branch agencies to spend. Each fiscal year, the number
of appropriation bills can vary. Generally, there are thirteen appropriation bills, one
for each major area of expenditures.
Each of the three budget documents occurs at a different point in the federal
budget process during the fiscal year. The president’s budget request is released
by the first Monday in February. The Congressional Resolution is required to be
passed by April 15. Finally, all thirteen appropriation bills are to be passed prior to
the end of the fiscal year, by September 30.
• Adoption of Budget
Formulation Congressional Resolution
Budget Action • Passage of Annual
Appropriations Bills
Execution and
Implementation
Reinterpretation
Audit and
Audit and Review
Evaluation
Oct Nov Dec Jan Feb Mar Apr May June July Aug Sep Oct
‘06 ‘07 ‘07
Oct Nov Dec Jan Feb Mar Apr May June July Aug Sep Oct
‘07 ‘08 ‘08
FY 2007 FY 2008 FY 2009
department and agency. Once estimated budget requirements are determined they
are passed in the proper format to the senior management of the department or
agency.
The senior management of the agency works with the OMB to draft the agen-
cy’s request. The request is submitted to the OMB’s examiners, who review it and
finalize the budget request. The department or agency is notified of the OMB’s
decision.
Next, the OMB assembles all the budget requests into one single document,
which will become the president’s budget request to Congress. The president’s bud-
get is only a request for spending levels in the form of budget authority (BA), which
is the legal authority provided by Congress for the departments and agencies to
obligate funds. The obligation of funds can be in the near to far term. Once funds
are obligated, the Treasury issues payment in the form of a check or electronic
transfer, which then becomes an outlay.
Once Congress receives the president’s budget request, it begins the process of
adopting a budget resolution.4 By February 15, the Congressional Budget Office
(CBO) provides the members of Congress with a report on the economic and
budgetary outlook. Simultaneously, budget hearings are held concerning different
parts of the proposed budget and the various committees submit their reports on
their views and estimates to respective budget committees not later than six weeks
after the president’s budget is presented. By April 1, the Senate Budget Commit-
tee reports a budget resolution, and by April 15 Congress completes action on the
budget resolution.
The budget resolution consists of the following: (1) total expected revenues and
the amount revenues will change due to expected legislative action, (2) total new
budget authority and outlays in each departmental and agency area (functional
category), (3) the expected deficit or surplus, and (4) the expected debt limit.5 The
budget resolution is not the legal authority to spend money; consequently, it is not
signed by the president, but is simply passed by both the House and the Senate. The
budget resolution provides the framework for the development of the appropria-
tion bills by the House and Senate Appropriations Committees. The revenue and
spending levels in the budget resolution may be adjusted during the appropriations
process for the following five reasons: emergency spending, continuing disability
reviews, providing for the International Monetary Fund, providing for Interna-
tional Peacekeepers or multilateral banks, and maintaining the Earned Income Tax
Credit program.6
The House and Senate Appropriations Committees each consist of several
subcommittees, which put together appropriation bills within their areas of juris-
diction. Altogether, there are, since 1997, thirteen appropriation bills. Typically,
appropriation bills originate in the House and then are considered by the Senate.
More recently, there have been several incidences where the rules of House and Sen-
ate have been modified so as to permit simultaneous consideration of appropriation
bills in the House and Senate.
The subcommittees of the Appropriations Committee consider the specific
legislative language for their respective appropriation bill. The chair of the sub-
committee proposes a bill and the members of the subcommittee discuss changes
(amendments) to the bill. This process is know as “marking up” the bill. The
marked-up bill is voted on and sent to the entire Appropriations Committee, which
considers each of the subcommittee’s marked-up bills separately.7 Once the entire
Appropriations Committee has approved the bill, it is sent to the floor.
The House has special rules that govern the consideration of regular appropria-
tions bills, which typically provide for a Committee of the Whole, where all the
representatives are considered members. The bill is debated and amendments are
considered by predetermined rules guiding the length of debate and requirements
for amendments. Once the Committee of the Whole completes debate on the bill,
it reports the bill, with amendments, to the full House for a vote on passage. If the
bill passes the House, it is sent over to the Senate for consideration.
In the Senate, the bill is sent to the Appropriations Committee, which consid-
ers the bill, makes amendments and votes to move the bill out of committee. The
bill is reported out of committee for consideration by the full Senate. Similar to the
House, the Senate has predetermined rules governing the debate and amendment
of appropriation bills. Typically, after the opening statements on the bill, Senators
are allowed to discuss or debate any portion of the bill and offer amendments. Once
the debate is closed, the bill is brought for a vote, typically by unanimous consent,
but on occasion by a motion.
The differences between the House and Senate version of a bill are worked out in
a Conference Committee. The members of Conference Committees are appointed
by the leadership of majority and minority parties in the House and the Senate.
Generally, the members are from the Appropriations Committees, subcommittees
relevant to the bill being considered.8 The members of the Conference Commit-
tee focus on reaching an agreement between the two versions of the bill. Once the
Conference Committee reaches an agreement and passes a conference report, it is
considered by both the House and the Senate. When a Conference report goes to
the House and the Senate, it cannot be amended by either chamber.
All appropriation bills are suppose to be passed by September 30. When Con-
gress does not pass all appropriation bills by September 30 it passes a continu-
ing resolution to continue funding the areas without enacted appropriation bills,
funded at the current level. Once an appropriations bill is passed by Congress it is
sent to the president. The bill must be signed or vetoed in ten days; if no action is
taken, the bill automatically becomes law.
only funds personnel for three years, but with one year appropriations, which are
normally passed by Congress six months or more later.9
Consequently, there is no single individual who fully comprehends all the
complexities of the defense budget. Deceptively the process appears to be straight-
forward when laid out in diagrams and on paper. The process has varied from
administration to administration, as political and military leaders have attempted
to control DoD. Consequently, one can find differing explanations of the defense
budget process depending on the source. The frustrating thing is that all the sources
can be correct because each source has approached the process from a different per-
spective. The following is an attempt at capturing the current process from multiple
sources.
it believed the other services required. Eisenhower took the lowest estimate offered
and was able to come within an additional $5 billion.13
Under Truman, the budget ceiling would steadily decrease even in the midst of
fighting the Korean War. Fiscal Year 1950 DoD budget request and appropriation
was $13.3 billion. After the war started, the FY 1951 budget request and appropria-
tion was $12.2 billion. In the midst of the Korean War, the focus of the Truman
administration was to fight while keeping the budget balanced.14 The remaining
years of the Truman administration focused on Frank Pace, the budget director for
the president, establishing a budget ceiling for defense, and the joint chiefs working
on having a force structure that fit the budget. Little to no consideration was given
to how the joint chiefs believed U.S. military capabilities matched U.S. diplomatic
goals.15
During the Eisenhower administration, budget ceilings were maintained, but
instead of an amount based on projected revenues, the ceilings were a percentage
of the gross national product (GNP). DoD’s budget ceiling was no more than ten
percent of the GNP.16 Similar to the percentage-driven ceiling on DoD as a whole,
the amount divided out to the services also fell into rigid percentages: Army, 24
percent; Navy (which included the Marines), 29 percent; and the Air Force, 47
percent.17 A budget request process was developed by the JCS, which consisted of
using the National Security Council’s Basic National Security Policy as guidance.
This document was translated into the Joint Strategic Objectives Plan and costs
from each of the services were developed to meet those objectives. These requests
were fielded by the secretary of defense who would ensure the budget ceilings
were enforced and settle disputes among the services. Overall though, this process
occurred separate and distinct from the actual budget process, which was top-
driven from the president’s Bureau of the Budget office.18
General Maxwell Taylor would later remark about defense budgeting dur-
ing this time as being unrealistic and creating a mismatch between the emerging
threats in the world and the U.S. military capabilities.
The maintenance of the rigid percentage distribution by service of the budgets
since 1953 is clear proof of the absence of flexibility in our military preparations.
The frozen pattern could only be justified if the world had stood still since 1953 and
I doubt that anyone would say that it has.19
The disconnect between the ever-changing world situation and actual military
capabilities became evident to the new Kennedy administration. While the services
were planning to defend against an attack by the Warsaw Pact along the Rhine
River, the budgetary reality constraints “did not even allow them to maintain a line
of communication in the Mediterranean.”20 Even though President Eisenhower
moved the review of the defense budget from the Bureau of the Budget to the
National Security Council, there was no real integration of foreign policy, defense
strategy and the defense budget.21
After winning the presidency in 1960, president-elect John F. Kennedy sought
to appoint a fresh face to the DoD, specifically looking for a person who could
into the Joint Strategic Planning Document. This in turn was divide into ten inter-
related programs across the services and agencies. Weapons systems, force and cost
projections were compiled for each program into the Five Year Defense Program
(FYDP), which also contained an eight-year force structure projection compiled by
the JCS. The FYPD became the basis for the single defense budget request, which
was worked out between OSD and OMB. Previously, each of the services would
present a budget request to Congress; under PPBS it became a single budget request
presented by the secretary.28
To implement PPBS, McNamara appointed as comptroller of DoD one of the
originators of the process, Charles J. Hitch. In addition to Hitch, he also brought
in a large systems analysis staff, all young Ph.D. civilian analysts with no military
experience. This group, within the OSD, became the focal point for the new PPBS.
Weapons systems were chosen based on systems analysis being conducted from the
OSD, which became one of the more controversial elements of PPBS.
Despite the opposition of service chiefs and some members of Congress to
PPBS, the “McNamara revolution” is still the framework for defense budgeting.
After McNamara left the OSD, the process became increasingly decentralized. The
services adapted to the process and a corresponding increase in the staff of the
JCS occurred, thereby increasing their ability to counter arguments by the system
analysts in the OSD. Each of the combatant commanders’ input became more
formalized.
Consequently, depending on the secretary of defense, the locus of control of
the process would shift between the OSD and the JCS. The Nixon–Ford adminis-
tration saw a resurgence of the JCS as the primary controller of PPBS, while dur-
ing the Carter administration, Secretary Harold Brown exercised a larger degree
of control. There was a return of decentralization under Casper Weinberger, fol-
lowed by a tightening of control during Dick Cheney’s tenure as he sought to cut
defense spending. Les Aspin sought to increase centralization, while at the same
time arguing for more input below the combatant commander level, as the cuts in
defense spending were increased. This was followed by a more balanced approach
under William Perry. The Clinton administration ended with William Cohen, who
decentralized the process almost completely to the JCS and the combatant com-
manders. Overall, during the Clinton administration, due to the succession of three
secretaries of defense, and the increase in the number of operations, the JCS and the
combatant commanders tended to dominate the process.
Calls for reform of the PPBS began almost as soon as it was developed. Aaron
Wildavsky (political scientist/University of California-Berkeley) argued that PPBS
was a rational process overlaid on a political decision-making process. He con-
tended that the political costs were omitted and that it was not possible to quantify
all the political values (national and international) involved in defense. Addition-
ally, he saw the volume of detail as unmanageable; consequently, it was a system
that gave only the illusions of control because in actuality it typically fell into an
incremental adjustment.29 Later, Wildavsky would argue the system unrealistically
would lock the president into major weapons systems expenditures, which would
remain unchanged despite changes in the world situation.30
Similarly, Jacques Gansler (former Under Secretary of Defense—1997 to 2001)
would argue that despite allegations of cost overruns, PPBS did provide an effi-
cient way of purchasing weapons systems and that weapons systems cost overruns
were some of the smallest in federal government and in major corporations.31 The
difficulty was that the system was not responsive to the changing circumstances
of the world. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, DoD remained locked into
weapon systems developed for defeating a threat that no longer existed. The abil-
ity to cancel those weapons systems was limited due to the services vested interest
and the political maneuver by defense industries of spreading the development and
manufacturing of the weapons system over multiple congressional districts to help
ensure its political survival.
In 2000, the Business Executives for National Security (BENS) conducted a
study of PPBS to determine “what the process is intended to do, what it actually
does, and if it should be retained, modified, or replaced.”32 Overall, the BENS
study found that PPBS is more reflective of what had occurred than of what will
occur in the future. They called for turning PPBS into a two-year cycle, with a
consolidation of some of the steps in the process, thereby shortening the process, so
that the Office of the Secretary of Defense and JCS were not constantly involved
in drafting a budget. The process should focus more on objectives, by specifically
tying each of the programs to strategic objectives. Additionally, it called for increas-
ing the focus on objectives and performance of achieving those objective. Each
program should be linked to the accomplishment of an objective. The PPBS system
was more focused on the planning than on the execution; by looking more at the
performance it would bring about an emphasis on the execution. Finally, the report
called for the trimming of the Office of the Secretary of Defense and JCS staff,
arguing that PPBS had created a vast planning bureaucracy. Instead of producing a
useful document, the focus was in the process itself.
On September 23, 1999, then presidential candidate George W. Bush had
argued, in a speech at The Citadel, the Military College of South Carolina, that
the DoD, its organization and processes needed to be restructured to match the
new and emerging threats, and that this may require skipping a whole generation
of weapons systems.
Yet today our military is still organized more for Cold War threats
than for the challenges of a new century—for industrial age operations,
rather than for information age battles. There is almost no relation-
ship between our budget priorities and a strategic vision. The last seven
years have been wasted in inertia and idle talk. Now we must shape the
future with new concepts, new strategies, new resolve. … As president,
I will begin an immediate, comprehensive review of our military—
the structure of its forces, the state of its strategy, the priorities of its
procurement—conducted by a leadership team under the secretary of
defense. I will give the secretary a broad mandate—to challenge the
status quo and envision a new architecture of American defense for
decades to come.33
Six days after Bush was sworn in as president, Donald Rumsfeld, for the second
time in his life, became the secretary of defense. From the start of his tenure, his
focus was going to be on defense transformation. On August 2, 2001, the change in
PPBS began when Secretary Rumsfeld announced a concurrent review process as a
way of simplifying the process. In essence, it started the move to a two-year budget
cycle. In April 2003, the changes were formalized with the passage of the Defense
Transformation Act for the 21st Century. This act authorized the secretary to estab-
lish more flexible rules for the management of funds, and gave the secretary the
authority to shift funds between programs and departments depending on changes
in the security situation. Additionally, it authorized the elimination of regulations
to make it easier to competitively outsource nonmilitary functions that were being
performed by the military. Secretary Rumsfeld was quick to task the Senior Execu-
tive Council in the Department of Defense with studying the decision-making
processes of DoD and recommend improvements. The Executive Council’s study
recommended the process, which was adopted without change, known as Plan-
ning, Programming, Budgeting, and Execution System (PPBES).
National
Security
Council
NSS
NSS
SECDEF
SECDEF
CPR
CPR
NMS
OSD
JPG
JCS JPG
COCOMs Issues
Issues
SPG
SPG & Metrics
& Metrics
JPD
Planning
The planning phase on odd-numbered years begins with the Office of the Presi-
dent, sixteen months prior to the start of the fiscal year under consideration.36
The National Security Council is responsible for developing the National Security
Strategy (NSS), which outlines the strategic goals of the United States, the threats
to those goals and the overall defense strategy to counter those threats. Based on
the NSS, the JCS develops and prepares the National Military Strategy (NMS).
The NMS provides the primary military strategic objectives that correspond to the
NSS, and the force levels and options that are necessary based on fiscal and political
constraints. Based on the NMS, the JCS produces the Joint Planning Document
(JPD), which provides the JCS guidance on the implementation of the NMS.
Using the NMS and the JPD, the unified commanders conduct a review of
their areas to determine the major issues and problems associated with executing it.
The analysis is provided to the Office of the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman
of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (CJCS). Next, the Office of the Secretary of Defense and
the JCS go through the Joint Capabilities Development process, which consists of
three parts: (1) the Strategic Planning Guidance (SPG), (2) the Major Issue Analy-
sis and (3) the Joint Programming Guidance (JPG).37 The SPG provides overall
policy and strategy guidance and direction for force and resource planning to the
unified commanders, and all the major program areas in DoD. The commanders
in each of these areas provide feedback to the JCS on the implications of the SPG.
The second part, the Major Issue Analysis is a combined effort of the Office of the
Secretary of Defense and the JCS to develop measures for monitoring program suc-
cess. The final component, JPG is issued by the Office of the Secretary of Defense
on even-numbered years and represents the combined results of the SPG and the
Major Issue Analysis. Simultaneously, with the execution of the Joint Capabilities
Development process, the CJCS develops the Chairman’s Program Recommenda-
tion (CPR), which is the CJCS personal recommendation and advice given to the
secretary of defense. The CPR also contributes to the JPG. The JPG is the final
document of the planning phase.
Programming
The programming phase is focused on the components of the DoD using the JPG
to develop a Program Objectives Memorandum (POM). The POM is a seven-year
plan that provides analysis of missions, objectives, alternative methods to accom-
plish objectives and the allocation of resources, and categorizes each of these by one
or more of the DoD programs.38 DoD has eleven programs:
1. Strategic Forces
2. General Purpose Forces
3. Intelligence and Communications
4. Airlift and Sealift
5. Guard and Reserve Forces
6. Research and Development
7. Central Supply and Maintenance
8. Training, Medical and General Personnel Activities
9. Administrative and Associated Activities
10. Support of Other Nations
11. Special Operations Forces
The development of the POM takes into consideration the combatant com-
mander’s Integrated Priority Lists (IPLs), which is a fiscally unconstrained list of
the “highest priority requirements, prioritized across service and functional lines,
defining shortfalls in key programs that, in the judgment of the combatant com-
mander, adversely affect the capability of the combatant commander’s forces to
accomplish their assigned mission.”39
POMs are seven-year plans that include the previous fiscal year, the current fis-
cal year, the budget year and the next four fiscal years. Fiscal and human resources
and force structure are considered for the budget year plus the next four fiscal
years. Another part of the POM considers force structure for eleven fiscal years, the
previous fiscal year, the current fiscal year, the budget year and the next seven fis-
cal years. This portion of the POM is known as the Future Years Defense Program
(FYDP).
The FYDP is actually a database that catalogs the anticipated force structure
seven years into the future. Also entered in the database are all the decisions made
during programming and budgeting phases.40 This data is essential for establish-
ing production of repair or replacement parts for equipment and facilities. It is
updated after every major process action during PPBES and the congressional bud-
get process.
POMs are developed during even-numbered years. During odd-numbered
years, they are reviewed by the combatant commanders and Program Change Pro-
posals are submitted. The review of POMs is based on the performance measures
or metrics developed during the even-numbered years as a way of measuring success
in accomplishing the program. The focus is on outputs, what is being accomplished
for the money and how cost effective is the program.
Because they are only reviewed during the odd-numbered years, an additional
change made by Secretary Rumsfeld in 2001 was to speed up the process by run-
ning the POM review at the same time as the budgeting phase. Consequently,
POMs have to be assessed in an on-going fashion, and change proposals drafted
beforehand and submitted immediately at the start of the phase if they are going to
impact the budgeting phase.
The combatant commanders submit the POMs or Program Change Proposals to
review teams comprised of personnel from other defense agencies, the JCS, and the
Office of the Secretary of Defense. The result of the review is provided to a Senior
Level Review Group (SLRG), who, based on the review, may propose changes to the
POM. The JCS conducts a concurrent check on all POMs, “focusing on the balance
and capabilities of the proposed force levels.”41
All of the reviews of the POMs are given to the secretary of defense who will use
this input to draft the Program Decision Memorandum (PDM). The PDM is a set
of directives from the secretary and the deputy secretary of defense, based on the
POM review, to each of the DoD components, the CJCS, the JCS, and the OMB.
The PDM provides the approval or adjusts each POM. Based on the approved/
adjusted POMs, each service is now prepared to submit its budget estimations.42
Budgeting
Prior to 2001, the budgeting phase was a separate and distinct phase. In August
2001, Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld merged the programming and budgeting
phases so as to streamline the process and to bring about a better sense of coopera-
tion/collaboration among the programming and budgeting staff. The overlapping
of the POM and the budget estimate submissions process enables the budget staff
within the services, the Office of the Secretary of Defense and OMB to further
adjust the POMs based on budgetary reality.43
Utilizing the approved and adjusted POMs, the services (army, air force, navy,
and marines) develop their budget estimate submissions. Prior to the changes in
Execution
The addition of and emphasis on the execution phase is a significant change intro-
duced by Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld. This phase begins after congressional
approval and the president signs the appropriation bill(s). One should note that
there is a gap in the process between the budget phase and the execution phase,
which covers the entire congressional appropriations process (see the section on
Federal Government Budget Process).
During the congressional appropriations process, hearings are held with officials
from DoD to discuss various aspects of the budget request. These hearings typically
require significant preparation time and, therefore, consume a large amount of time
of the leaders of the DoD components. Additionally, it should be noted that the
appropriation process is lengthy and that the defense appropriation bills are rarely
passed on time. Consequently, Congress often passes supplemental appropriations
or continuing resolutions.
Congressional appropriations are broken down by service across five
categories:
1. Military personnel—Provides for pay, allowances, clothing, subsistence and
official travel or permanent change of station, for one year.
2. Operation and maintenance—Provides operation and maintenance for instal-
lations and units, for equipment, facilities, supplies and civilian pay.
3. Procurement—Provides for the manufacture and reconfiguration of aircraft,
missile, weapons and tracked combat vehicles, ammunition and other items
to include spare and repair parts.
As the DoD components obligate funds, auditors and comptrollers at all levels
of the DoD monitor and control the expenditure to ensure it complies with statu-
tory and regulatory requirements. At the mid-point in the fiscal year, a review is
conducted of all performance measures and funds may be shifted due to changing
priorities. At the end of the fiscal year all obligations and spending are documented
and all accounts are reconciled. Internal and external, fiscal and performance audits
are conducted by the DoD components, DoD inspector general, the OMB, the
General Accounting Office, and independent outside auditors.
Conclusion
The full result of the reforms instituted by Secretary Rumsfeld is unknown. The
early assessment varies depending on the source. Some see this as a major positive
reform that has led to “increased cooperation between programmers and budget-
ers” and “gives services longer to finish the POM while incorporating emergent
budget issues.”52 Others have assessed the change as producing “chaos” and leading
to a “ complete breakdown” of the budgeting system.53
Overall, the changes get the secretary of defense involved in the process earlier
than before. This has increased the power of the Office of the Secretary of Defense
to influence the DoD and effect change. Although this makes the military bureau-
cracy more responsive to civilian leadership, it also can increase the politicization of
the DoD process, by decreasing the authority of the military leadership.
The changes that have been made to the DoD budgeting process had been
argued for over ten years. The most significant change was the shifting from a the-
ater-based approach to a capabilities-based planning process. This helped to focus
the capabilities to counter current and emerging threats. The biannual budget pro-
cess enables DoD to spend more time on actual execution, instead of being locked
into a perpetual planning/analysis stage.
The focus on outcomes of the programs is an important change that helps to
ensure an evaluation of the program in light of changing world situations. This
should enable DoD to become more flexible in facing threats. Also, it enables the
services to alter or change programs faster.
The ability of the secretary to shift funds increases the flexibility of the DoD to
react to unexpected situations that may arise. This authority, though, is being used
for the frequent shifting of funds based on performance measures as indicators of
the success or failure of a program and its established priorities. This frequent use
of the shifting of funds combined with congressional earmarking has increased
the uncertainty of funding on different installations and in different programs.
Consequently, the military is experiencing military installations that are unable
to perform basic, routine maintenance because of a lack of funds. Also, units are
resorting to cannibalizing parts from one piece of equipment to get several other
pieces of equipment operational, due to a lack of funds to purchase repair parts.54
References
1. The Constitution of the United States, Article I, Section 7, Clause 1; Section 8, Clause
1; and Article II, Section 1, Clause 1; and, Section 2, Clause 1.
2. 31 U.S. Code, section 1105(a).
3. Office of Management and Budget.
4. The Congressional Budget Act. 1974. 2 U.S. Code 601–656 (Titles I–IX of Public
Law 93-344 (88 Stat. 297). The Congressional Budget Act of 1974, as amended, out-
lines the process by which Congress considers the budget request of the president and
appropriates funds.
5. Robert Keith, A Brief Introduction to the Federal Budget Process (Washington, D.C.:
The Congressional Research Service, The Library of Congress, 1998), 8.
6. Budget Enforcement Act of 1997 (Title X of Public Law 105-33).
7. Keith, A Brief Introduction, 7.
8. Ibid., 9.
9. Larry Stiller, Planning, Programming, Budgeting, Execution System (Fort Jackson, SC:
U.S. Army Finance School. 2003).
10. Department of Defense, “Histories of the Secretaries of Defense: James V. Forrestal.”
http://www.defenselink.mil/specials/secdef_histories/(accessed March 15, 2007).
11. Ibid.
12. Melvin Leffler, A Preponderance of Power: National Security, the Truman Administra-
tion, and the Cold War (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992), 273.
13. Ibid.
14. Lawrence Korb, “The Budget Process in the Department of Defense, 1947–77: The
Strengths and Weakness of Three Systems,” Public Administration Review, July/
August (1977): 335.
15. Leffler, Preponderance, 276.
16. Korb, “The Budget Process,” 335.
17. Ibid.
18. Amos Jordan, William J. Taylor, Jr., and Lawrence J. Korb, American National Secu-
rity, Policy and Process, 4th ed. (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press,
1993), 193; Maxwell Taylor, The Uncertain Trumpet (New York, Harper Row and
Brothers, 1959), 120–129.
19. Korb. “The Budget Process,” 129.
20. Jordan, Taylor and Korb, American National Security, 193.
21. Ibid., 194.
22. Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., A Thousand Days: John F. Kennedy in the White House
(Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin Press, 1965), 131–133.
23. Ibid., 132.
24. Ibid., 314.
25. Ibid., 315.
26. Ibid., 316.
27. Ibid., 318.
28. Jordan, Taylor and Korb, American National Security, 196–203.
29. Aaron Wildavsky, The New Politics of the Budgetary Process (Boston, MA: Little
Brown, 1964), 147–167.
30. Aaron Wildavsky, “The Political Economy of Efficiency: Cost-Benefit Analysis, Sys-
tems Analysis, and Program Budgeting,” in Public Budgeting and Finance, 4th edi-
tion, ed. Robert Golembiewski and Jack Rabin (New York, Marcel Dekker, 1989),
883.
31. Jacques Gansler, Affording Defense (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989), 4–5.
32. Business Executive for National Security, Report on the U.S. Department of Defense’s
Planning, Programming, and Budgeting System (PPBS). 2 vols. Tail to Tooth Com-
mission, Smith Richardson Foundation, 2000.
33. George W. Bush, “A Period of Consequences.” Speech delivered at The Citadel, Mili-
tary College of South Carolina, September 23, 1999.
34. Comptroller, Department of Defense, “PPBE: The Bridge between Military Plan-
ning and Budgeting.” http://www.defenselink.mil/comptroller/icenter/budget/hist-
context.htm (accessed March 16, 2007).
35. Secretary of Defense, Management Initiative Decision 913, 2003.
36. Stephen Elias, Planning, Programming, Budgeting, and Execution System, (Fort Bel-
voir, VA: Defense Acquisition University, 2006).
37. Comptroller, Department of Defense, “PPBE — Planning.” http://www.defenselink.
mil/comptroller/icenter/budget/planningphase.htm (accessed March 16, 2007).
38. Comptroller, Department of Defense, “PPBE — Programming.” http://www.
defenselink.mil/comptroller/icenter/budget/progphase.htm (accessed March 16,
2007).
39. Department of Defense, Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms. Joint Publica-
tion 1-02. http://www.dtic.mil/doctrine/jel/doddict/index.html (accessed March 16,
2007).
40. Stephen Elias, Planning.
41. Comptroller, “PPBE — Programming.”
42. Jerry L. McCaffery and L.R. Jones, “Reform of Program Budgeting in the Depart-
ment of Defense,” International Public Management Review 6, no. 2 (2005): 152.
43 Ibid., 161
44. Ibid.
45. Comptroller, Department of Defense, “PPBE — Budgeting.” http://www.defenselink.
mil/comptroller/icenter/budget/budgphase.htm (accessed March 16, 2007).
46. Ibid.
47. Ibid.
48. Donald H. Rumsfeld, “Taking Exception: Defense for the 21st Century,” The Wash-
ington Post, May 22, 2003, p. 35.
49. Comptroller, Department of Defense, “PPBE — Budget Execution.” http://www.
defenselink.mil/comptroller/icenter/budget/budgexecution.htm (accessed March 16,
2007).
50. U.S. House. Emergency Wartime Supplemental, FY 2007, also known as the Sup-
porting Our Troops and Veterans Health Care Act of 2007. H.R. 1591. http://frwe-
bgate.access.gpo.gov/cgi-bin/getdoc.cgi?dbname=110_cong_bills&docid=f:h1591eh.
txt.pdf
51. Pat Towell, “Analyzing Earmarks,” Defense News, April 23, 2006.
52. McCaffery and Jones, “Reform,” 161.
53. Gordon Adams, “Time to Rebuild What Rumsfeld Has Broken,” Defense News,
November 6, 2006.
54. These observations are the results of interviews at various military installations con-
ducted July 2006.
Further Readings
Smith, R.W. and T.D. Lynch. 2004. Public Budgeting in America, 5th ed. Upper Saddle
River, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Streeter, S. 2006. The Congressional Appropriations Process: An Introduction. CRS Report
97-684. Washington, D.C.: Congressional Research Service, The Library of Congress.
Tyszkiewicz, M.T. and S. Daggett. 1998. Defense Budget Primer. Washington, DC: Con-
gressional Research Service, The Library of Congress.
Wildavsky, A. and N. Caiden. 2004. The New Politics of the Budgetary Process, 5th ed. New
York: Pearson Education.
Background
The National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 20041 provided the Depart-
ment of Defense (DoD) with authority to establish (1) a pay and performance man-
agement system, (2) an appeals process and (3) a labor relations system—which
together comprise the National Security Personnel System (NSPS). The legislation
permits significant flexibility for designing NSPS, allowing for a new framework of
rules, regulations and processes to govern how defense civilian employees are hired,
compensated, promoted and disciplined. The law granted DoD certain exemptions
from laws governing federal civilian personnel management found in Title 5 of the
U.S. Code.2 The Congress provided these flexibilities in response to DoD’s position
Reprinted from Government Accountability Office Report, GAO-05-730, July 2005, pp.
9–32.
125
that the inflexibility of federal personnel systems was one of the most important
constraints to the department’s ability to attract, retain, reward and develop a civil-
ian workforce to meet the national security mission of the twenty-first century.
to the new system over a period of eighteen months. DoD initiated Spiral One
in early fiscal year 2006. Spiral Two will include the remainder of DoD’s eligible
workforce, including wage-grade employees. Spiral Three will apply to demonstra-
tion laboratory employees no earlier than October 1, 2008, and then only to the
extent the secretary of defense determines that NSPS provides greater personnel
management flexibilities to the laboratories than those currently implemented.
Stage 1
Analysis of Other
System Outreach Human Capital
Requirements Results Approaches
of options for the OIPT in September and October 2004; they did not prioritize
the design options.
In the second stage of the design process, OIPT assessed the design options
and then submitted them to the NSPS senior executive in November 2004. The
senior executive—appointed by the secretary of defense to design and implement
NSPS on his behalf—reviewed and approved the design options and presented
them as proposed enabling regulations to submit to the secretary of defense and
the director of OPM for a decision. Throughout this period, the OIPT, PEO, and
working group members continued to participate, in both drafting and reviewing
the proposed regulations.
In the third stage, the secretary of defense and director of OPM reviewed the
proposals submitted by the NSPS senior executive. After finalizing the proposed
regulations, the secretary and director jointly released them for public comment in
the Federal Register on February 14, 2005.
In the fourth stage, the NSPS proposed regulations were subjected to a statu-
tory thirty-day public comment period, after which DoD held a thirty-day meet
and confer period (which began on April 18, 2005) with employee representatives
to discuss their views; the meetings were facilitated by the Federal Mediation and
Conciliation Service. As allowed by statute, DoD extended the meet and confer
process. Lastly, DoD is to engage in a thirty-day congressional notification period.
As called for in the authorizing legislation, the proposed regulations are subject to
change based on consideration of formal comments received during the thirty-day
public comment period and the results of a thirty-day meet and confer process
with employee representatives. As provided for in the authorizing legislation, DoD
can immediately implement those parts of the regulations upon which they have
reached agreement with employee representatives. DoD can implement those parts
of the proposed regulations not agreed to only after another thirty calendar days
have elapsed after (1) notifying the Congress of the decision to proceed with imple-
mentation and (2) explaining why implementation is appropriate.
DoD’s NSPS design process generally reflects practices of successful trans-
formations, but some key practices are lacking. The design process reflects four
of six key practices we identified that have consistently been found at the center
of successful transformations. First, DoD and OPM have developed a process
to design the new personnel system that is supported by top leadership in both
organizations. Second, from the outset, a set of guiding principles has guided
the NSPS design process. Third, DoD has a dedicated team in place to design
and implement NSPS and manage the transformation process, to include pro-
gram managers from DoD components. Fourth, DoD has established a timeline,
albeit ambitious, and implementation goals for implementing its new personnel
system. The design process, however, does not fully reflect two other key prac-
tices. First, DoD developed and implemented a written communication strategy
document, but it is not comprehensive. Second, although the NSPS design has
involved employees through town hall meetings and other mechanisms, it has not
included employee representatives on the working groups that drafted the design
options for the new system.
provides stability and an identifiable source for employees to rally around during
tumultuous times.8 In addition, we noted that leadership should set the direction,
pace and tone for the transformation. In our prior reports and testimonies, we
observed that top leadership must play a critical role in creating and sustaining
high-performing organizations.9
Senior leaders from DoD and OPM are directly involved in the NSPS design
process. For example, the secretary of defense tasked the secretary of the Navy to
be the NSPS senior executive overseeing the implementation of NSPS. Also, the
under secretary of defense for personnel and readiness and the NSPS senior exec-
utive provided an open letter to all DoD civilian employees stating that DoD is
tasked to design a transformation system for the department’s civilian employees
that supports its national security mission while treating workers fairly and pro-
tecting their rights. In addition, the principal deputy under secretary of defense
for personnel and readiness, the assistant secretaries for Manpower and Reserve
Affairs from each military service and the OPM senior advisor to the director
for the Department of Defense are members of an integrated executive manage-
ment team—the OIPT—that, among other things, provides overall policy and
strategic advice on the implementation of NSPS. Similarly, senior-level executives
from DoD and OPM are members of a group, known as the Senior Advisory
Group, that provides advice on general NSPS conceptual, strategic and imple-
mentation issues. Finally, senior leaders from DoD and the military components
participated in town hall meetings at DoD installations worldwide to discuss the
concept and design elements of NSPS.
Experience shows that successful major change management initiatives in large
private and public sector organizations can often take at least five to seven years.
This length of time and the frequent turnover of political leadership in the federal
government have often made it difficult to obtain the sustained and inspired atten-
tion to make needed changes. The development of the position of deputy secretary
of defense for management, who would act as DoD’s chief management officer, is
essential to elevate, integrate and institutionalize responsibility for the success of
DoD’s overall business transformation efforts, including its new personnel manage-
ment system.
As DoD embarks on a large-scale change initiative, such as its new personnel
management system, ensuring sustained and committed leadership is crucial in
developing a vision, initiating organizational change, maintaining open commu-
nications and creating an environment that is receptive to innovation. Without
the clear and demonstrated commitment of agency top leadership, organizational
cultures will not be transformed and new visions and ways of doing business will
not take root.
Senior DoD and OPM leadership also approved a set of key performance
parameters, which define the minimum requirements or attributes of NSPS. The
key performance parameters are
These principles and key performance parameters can serve as core values for
human capital management at DoD—values that define the attributes that are
intrinsically important to what the organization does and how it will do it. Further-
more, they represent the institutional beliefs and boundaries that are essential to
building a new culture for the organization. Finally, they appropriately identify the
need to support the mission and employees of the department, protect basic civil
service principles, and hold employees accountable for performance.
Senior Executive
Overarching
Integrated
Product Team
Components
Deputy Deputy
Army Program
Management Office
Department of the
Navy Program
Management Officea
Washington
Headquarters Service
Program Management
Officeb Direct Reporting Authority
Indirect Reporting Authority
a
Includes the U.S. Navy and the U.S. Marine Corps.
b
Represents defense agencies, DOD field activities, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Office of the Inspector
General, U.S. Court of Appeals for the Armed Services, and Office of the Secretary of Defense.
plan and implement the deployment of NSPS. Figure 7.2 shows the organization of
the NSPS design and implementation team.
2004
April DoD conducts a strategic reassessment and adjusts its
approach to system design.
April DoD appoints a NSPS Senior Executive and establishes
the NSPS Program Executive Office. NSPS Labor Relations
Working Group and Adverse Actions and Appeals Working
Group begin developing design options.
April NSPS Senior Executive briefs DoD labor unions on the NSPS
Design and Implementation Plan.
June-December DoD officials meet with employee representatives on NSPS
design and implementation.
July DoD officials start holding Town Hall meetings about NSPS.
July NSPS focus groups meet to provide input on elements of NSPS.
July-September All six NSPS working groups meet for an eight-week period to
develop NSPS design options.
September-October NSPS officials brief Overarching Integrate Product Team on
NSPS design options.
December DoD selects components and units for initial roll out of NSPS
performance management system (Spiral One).
2005
February 14 DoD and OPM issue proposed NSPS regulations in the Federal
Register.
February 14 30-day public comment period begins.
April 18 30-day meet and confer period begins between DoD, OPM, and
DoD employee representatives.
To be determined 30-day congressional notification period begins.
To be determined DoD and OPM develop and issue final NSPS regulations.
To be determined DoD develops and issues NSPS implementing regulations and
develops and conducts training for defense civilian employees,
military and civilian supervisors, and managers.
To be determined DoD modifies existing automated human resource information
systems, including personnel and payroll transaction process
systems department-wide.
Late fiscal year Roll out of NSPS labor relations system, including establishment
2005 of the National Security Labor Relations Board.
Early fiscal year Initial roll out of NSPS performance management system
2006 (Spiral One).
confer period with employee representatives. After the meet and confer process is
concluded, the secretary of defense must notify the Congress of DoD’s intent to
implement any portions of the proposal where agreement has not been reached,
but only after thirty calendar days have elapsed after notifying the Congress of
the decision to implement those provisions. In addition, DoD and OPM must
jointly develop and issue the final NSPS regulations, which must go through an
interagency coordination process before they are published in the Federal Register.
Also, DoD must develop and conduct in-depth and varied training for its civilian
employees, military and civilian supervisors, and managers. Moreover, DoD must
modify its existing automated human resource information systems, including per-
sonnel and payroll transaction process systems department-wide, before NSPS can
become operational. Finally, DoD plans to roll out the NSPS labor relations system
and establish the National Security Labor Relations Board before the initial roll out
of the NSPS performance management system in early fiscal year 2006. The board
must be staffed with board members as well as about one hundred professional staff,
which will support the board.
A large-scale organizational change initiative, such as DoD’s new personnel
management system, is a substantial commitment that will take years before it is
completed, and therefore must be carefully and closely managed. As a result, it
is essential to establish and track implementation goals and establish a timeline
to pinpoint performance shortfalls and gaps and suggest midcourse corrections.
Although it is appropriate to develop and integrate personnel management systems
within the department in a quick and seamless manner, moving too quickly or
prematurely can significantly raise the risk of doing it wrong. Having an ambi-
tious timeline is reasonable only insofar as it does not impact the quality of the
human capital management system that is created. In recent hearings on the NSPS
proposed regulations, we testified that DoD’s new personnel management system
will have far-reaching implications for the management of the department and for
civil service reform across the federal government.12 We further testified that NSPS
could, if designed and implemented properly, serve as a model for government-wide
transformation. However, if not properly designed and implemented, NSPS could
impede progress toward a more performance- and results-based system for the fed-
eral government as a whole.
and management, which is central to forming effective partnerships that are vital to
the success of any organization.
Specifically, the strategy does not identify all key internal stakeholders and their
concerns. For example, the strategy acknowledges that employee representatives
play an important role in the design and implementation of NSPS, but it does
not identify them as a key stakeholder. Instead, DoD’s written communication
strategy document characterizes union leadership as a “detractor,” in part due to
their criticism of NSPS. Consequently, DoD identified the following four objec-
tives as its most urgent communications priorities, which are to (1) demonstrate the
rationale for and the benefits of NSPS, (2) express DoD’s commitment to ensur-
ing that NSPS is applied fairly and equitably throughout the organization, (3)
demonstrate openness and transparency in the design and process of converting
to NSPS, and (4) mitigate and counter any potential criticism of NSPS from such
detractors as unions and their support groups. Experience shows that failure to
adequately consider a wide variety of people and cultural issues can lead to unsuc-
cessful transformations.
Furthermore, although the written communication strategy document identi-
fied key messages for those internal and external stakeholders that are identified, it
does not tailor these messages to specific stakeholder groups. For example, the strat-
egy does not tailor key messages to such groups of employees as human resource
personnel, DoD executives and flag officers, supervisors and managers, even though
these employees may have divergent interests and information needs. Tailoring
information helps employees to feel that their concerns are specifically addressed.
We have reported that organizations undergoing a transformation should develop
a comprehensive communications strategy that reaches out to employees, custom-
ers and stakeholders and seeks to genuinely engage them in the transformation
process and facilitate a two-way, honest exchange with and allow for feedback from
employees, customers and stakeholders.13
reasons change is needed and the department’s interests; (2) the results of depart-
ment-wide focus group sessions held with a broad cross-section of DoD employees;
(3) the proposed NSPS implementation schedule; (4) employee communications;
and (5) proposed design options in the areas of labor relations and collective bargain-
ing, adverse actions and appeals, and pay and performance management. According
to DoD officials, these meetings provided the opportunity to discuss the design ele-
ments and proposals under consideration for NSPS, and solicit employee representa-
tive feedback.
According to DoD, the focus group sessions and town hall meetings, as well as
the working groups and union meetings, assured that DoD employees, managers,
supervisors, employee representatives and other stakeholders were involved in and
given ample opportunity to provide input into the design and implementation of
NSPS.
Opportunities for employee involvement were limited between the conclusion
of the town hall meetings and focus groups in July 2004 and the publishing of the
proposed NSPS regulations in February 2005; the primary means for employees to
provide feedback during this time was through the NSPS Web site.
the PEO transition out of existence once NSPS is fully implemented. Accord-
ing to a PEO official, at that time, ongoing implementation responsibility for
NSPS would come under the Civilian Personnel Management Service, which
is part of the Office of the Under Secretary of Defense for Personnel and
Readiness. In recent testimony on the transformation of DoD business oper-
ations, we stated that as DoD embarks on large-scale business transformation
efforts, such as NSPS, the complexity and long-term nature of these efforts
requires the development of an executive position capable of providing strong
and sustained change management leadership across the department—and
over a number of years and various administrations.16 One way to ensure
such leadership would be to create by legislation a full-time executive-level II
position for a chief management official, who would serve as the deputy sec-
retary of Defense for Management. This position would elevate, integrate and
institutionalize the high-level attention essential for ensuring that a strategic
business transformation plan—as well as the business policies, procedures,
systems and processes that are necessary for successfully implementing and
sustaining overall business transformation efforts, like NSPS, within DoD—
are implemented and sustained. In previous testimony on DoD’s business
transformation efforts, we identified the lack of clear and sustained leadership
for overall business transformations as one of the underlying causes that has
impeded prior DoD reform efforts.17
n Evaluating the new personnel management system. Evaluating the impact
of NSPS will be an ongoing challenge for DoD. This is especially important
because NSPS would give managers more authority and responsibility for
managing the new personnel system. High-performing organizations con-
tinually review and revise their human capital management systems based
on data-driven lessons learned and changing needs in the work environment.
Collecting and analyzing data will be the fundamental building block for
measuring the effectiveness of these approaches in support of the mission and
goals of the department.
progress with other efforts; and provide for documenting best practices and lessons
learned with employees, stakeholders, other federal agencies and the public.
Conclusions
DoD’s efforts to design and implement a new personnel management system repre-
sent a huge undertaking. However, if not properly designed and implemented, the
new system could severely impede DoD’s progress toward a more performance- and
results-based system that it is striving to achieve. Although DoD’s process to design
its new personnel management system represents a phased, deliberative process,
it does not fully reflect some key practices of successful transformations. Because
DoD has not fully addressed all of these practices, it does not have a comprehensive
written communication strategy document that effectively addresses employee con-
cerns and their information needs, and facilitates two-way communication between
employees, employee representatives and management. Without a comprehensive
written communication strategy document, DoD may be hampered in achiev-
ing employee buy-in, which could lead to an unsuccessful implementation of the
system.
In addition, evaluating the impact of NSPS will be an ongoing challenge for
DoD. Although DoD has plans to establish procedures to evaluate NSPS, it is
critical that these procedures be adequate to fully measure the effectiveness of the
program. Specifically, adequately designed evaluation procedures include results-
oriented performance measures and reporting requirements that facilitate DoD’s
ability to effectively evaluate and report on NSPS’s results. Without procedures that
include outcome measures and reporting requirements, DoD will lack the visibility
and oversight needed to benchmark progress, make system improvements and pro-
vide the Congress with the assessments needed to determine whether NSPS is truly
the model for government-wide transformation in human capital management.
Notes
1. Public Law No. 108-136, § 1101 (Nov. 24, 2003).
2. The Congress did not exempt DoD from provisions of Title 5, U.S. Code, pertaining
to veterans’ preference, merit systems principles, prohibited personnel practices and
equal employment opportunity.
3. The United Defense Workers Coalition currently represents thirty-six of the forty-
three DoD labor unions. The coalition was formed in February 2004 to more effec-
tively represent the interests of its members during NSPS design meetings with DoD
officials. The remaining unions, for various reasons, decided to remain independent
of the coalition.
This chapter does not reflect the views of the Department of the Army, Department of Defense
or the United States Army War College.
145
important actions taken to ensure the continued ability of U.S. soldiers to secure
battlefield dominance (Swain, 1985, 69). Under the command of General William
E. DePuy, TRADOC assumed the training functions of the Continental Army
Command (CONARC) and merged them with the combat development mission
of the Combat Developments Command (CDC) (Cameron, 1999, 1).
The 1973 Arab–Israeli conflict emphasized the need for continuous evolution of
weapon systems and matériel to ensure superior combat effectiveness on an adapt-
ing battlefield. With a clear task and purpose, the military made determinations on
what systems to develop based on criteria to meet the Soviet threat. In contrast to
the cumbersome CONARC, TRADOC’s operative design of combining doctrine
and development streamlined the modernization process (Romjue et al., 1998, 42).
Now a key player in the requirements and characteristics determination of new
matériel, TRADOC relied upon input compiled by combat developers working
within their respective branches. Even after a system entered the acquisition process,
TRADOC continued to monitor its progress and provided a check on the actions
of the Army Materiel Command (AMC). Through control of the operational test-
ing process, TRADOC measured the effectiveness of a given system against its
initial performance requirements. These tests and TRADOC’s evaluation directly
affected a system’s continued development. In determining the parameters for the
operational tests and in assessing a system’s performance, TRADOC relied upon
the views of the combat developer (Romjue et al., 1998, 42).
Spearheading the military’s transformation was the “big five” concept. To solve
the dilemma of how to fight a numerically superior enemy, the United States relied,
in part, on technologically superior hardware that could defeat an enemy at ratios
higher than one to three (Kelly, 1989, 81). To achieve that end, the army in the
early 1970s began work on the “big five” equipment systems: a new tank, a new
infantry combat vehicle, a new attack helicopter, a new transport helicopter and a
new antiaircraft missile (Swain, 1985, viii).
The Fulda Gap (situated between East and West Germany, near Frankfurt), the
most likely penetration point for Warsaw Pact countries to invade the NATO alli-
ance, determined the most critical improvement—a competitive Main Battle Tank
(MBT). The M1 Abrams tank, the first of the “big five” systems, rose from the fail-
ure of a preceding tank program and benefited from this trial. Prior to the Abrams,
the standard tanks in the army inventory had been various models of the M48 and
M60, both surpassed in some respects by new Soviet equipment. The M60 was
intended as an interim vehicle pending the development and fielding of the MBT
70 (joint U.S. and Federal Republic of Germany program). The Germans backed
out of the program due to immature technology and cost overruns. The XM803 was
the successor to the abortive joint American–German Main Battle Tank-70 project
carried on solely by the Americans, which Congress later cancelled due to cost. The
Army started work on a new MBT in 1973, fielding the first M1s in February 1980.
The M1 was the first U.S. tank since World War II that was qualitatively superior
to Soviet models (Kelly, 1989, 270). American success in Desert Storm (1991) pro-
vided conclusive evidence to justify armored dominance.
Step 1:
Step 4:
Identify Problem
Development
Step 2: Step 5:
Develop Conceptual Detailed Acquisition
Solution
Characteristic
Step 3: • Linear
Generate Requirements
• Threat-based
Statement
• Lockstep Milestones
• 15 Years Concept to FUE
effective operation on the future battlefield. It directly fed budget and program
planning, and it guided AMC efforts to provide technical support. Mission Area
Development plans recommended a course of action to address each deficiency
identified. From these plans were derived the input for specific matériel require-
ments that would guide development and acquisition. Supporting studies reviewed
logistical, personnel and cost issues. Subject to TRADOC and Department of
Army approval, the outcome of these studies then fed the Life Cycle System Man-
agement model. Program initiation and related budgeting authority from the sec-
retary of defense followed. Once a new design entered the acquisition cycle, AMC
bore primary responsibility for research, matériel development, engineering tests
and product validation (TRADOC pamphlet 71-9, 1998).
Although success in the Gulf War illustrated the “big five’s” achievement, the
1990s saw a downturn in military spending. The 1991 Gulf War also highlighted the
innovative use of evolving information technology, triggering a revolution in military
affairs. Digitization, symbolized by the activities of the Experimental Force (EXFOR)
and the Force XXI process, began to transform the army as far out as 2010 to 2020.
The emphasis of combat development therefore shifted back to meeting future battle-
field needs because the modern military’s effectiveness hinged on meeting the next
threshold. A growing concern arose over the length of time to develop matériel from
concept to fielding. The 1980s witnessed major efforts to streamline the development
and acquisition process, but too often these highly visible and politically charged
efforts resulted in more steps to the process, thus lengthening it. Consequently, in the
1990s, several rapid acquisition initiatives were started to speed up delivery of new
matériel to the field. These efforts proved only partially successful and acquisition
reform remains a focus at the Pentagon today (Cameron, 1999).
Mirroring the digitization revolution, the CBRS adapted from a Soviet-based
threat requirements determination, refocusing for use against a multitude of
potential regional threats in an array of environments. The shift in the army’s stance
from forward deployment to power projection necessitated all planned combat
vehicles being easily transportable via air or sea transport. Moreover, army down-
sizing ensured that the number of such systems would be limited, increasing the
importance of effective doctrine and training (TRADOC pamphlet 71-9, 1998).
This CBRS process was a lock-step process well suited to matching or surpassing
the capabilities of a known threat. It did not work as well in a rapidly changing
environment marked by uncertainty as to threat, location of conflict and timing of
a national crisis (Cameron, 1999).
Battle Labs
In 1992, TRADOC created the Battle Lab Program to explore new concepts and
technology and determine their applicability across the doctrine, training, lead-
ership, organization, material, personnel, and force (DTLOMPF). Their princi-
pal analytical tools included modeling, simulation, field trials, and the horizontal
integration of technology. The strong science and technology orientation of the
Battle Labs made them a useful link between the research and development (R&D)
efforts of the military and private industry. TRADOC also relied upon the Battle
Labs to test new approaches to requirements determination, saving time and money
by utilizing technology and bypassing the more costly resources of previous experi-
mentation (Romjue et al.,1998, 48).
The principal role of the Battle Labs became one of testing and experimenta-
tion. Through these activities, the Battle Labs identified promising technology for
accelerated development and acquisition, worked with industry to evaluate ideas or
matériel for potential military applications, tested new concepts and helped define
the need for new systems and their characteristics. Their testing of concepts across
the DTLOMPF suited the holistic approach to requirements determination that
TRADOC sought. The combat developer and the appropriate Battle Lab deter-
mined possible solutions through experimentation. They also determined whether
these solutions should be pursued through DOTLMPF channels. As the most
expensive, time-consuming and complex, matériel solutions were considered the
last option (Cameron, 1996, 4).
Process Overview
commands within the Department of the Army (DA). This authority enabled
TRADOC to standardize the requirements process by providing a single system
applicable to all weapons, equipment, clothing and information technology (Cam-
eron, 1999, 4). TRADOC Pamphlet 525-66: Future Operational Capabilities fur-
ther refined these ideas into specific capabilities to guide research and development
efforts. This document indicated the desired end state of the army in twenty to thirty
years, serving as a focal point for the separate development paths of each branch. It
also helped to guide the independent R&D efforts of the national laboratories and
industry. Through experimentation and operational experience, a means of realiz-
ing each desired capability was sought. The combat developer and the appropriate
Battle Lab determined possible solutions through experimentation. They also deter-
mined whether these solutions should be pursued through DOTLMPF. As the most
expensive, time-consuming and complex, matériel solutions were considered the last
option (TRADOC pamphlet, 71-9, 1998).
feasibility information with goals to cut the acquisition cycle time and costs. The
user, requirements and acquisition communities will have representatives on newly
created integrated concept teams. ICTs will guide the requirements development
process and complement the integrated product team (IPT) methodology already
used by material developers. Establishing ICTs early in concept development
enables the teams to transition to IPTs when a material requirement is approved at a
Milestone I decision. One of the key components of the ICT process is considering
cost as an independent variable (CAIV) to weight capabilities versus cost tradeoffs.
Under Major General Lon E. Maggart, the Armor Center played a central role in
developing the ICT notion. Once accepted and incorporated into the requirements
determination process, the Armor Center established separate ICTs to analyze key
armor issues: tank fleet modernization, ammunition and guns, development of a
replacement for the current tanks’ Future Combat System (FCS), and development
of a dedicated scout vehicle Future Scout Combat System (FSCS) (ACH, 1996,
112).
The integrated approach to requirements determination and combat develop-
ment suited the “system of systems” nature of major end items. Each comprised a
collection of subsystems that possessed their own development tracks and fielding
schedules (see Figure 8.3/M1A2SEP). In addition, some subsystems also required
doctrinal changes, training plans, and organizational modifications. All of these
separate schedules and actions had to be coordinated and balanced. Moreover, sub-
systems often were incorporated into several parent systems with different propo-
nents, whose development and fielding schedules also had to be considered. Such
an intricate web of linked activity, spanning branch and service lines, forced the
complete abandonment of the stovepipe development patterns of the Cold War and
the CBRS (ACH, 1996, 128).
• Embedded Battle
Command • 2nd Generation Forward
Architecture Looking Infrared (FLIR)
( FBCB2) • Mass Memory Unit
W/Built-in Growth • Integrated Thermal
• Global
Positioning Management System
System
• Under Armor
• Enhanced Position Auxiliary Power
Location Unit
Reporting System
(EPLRS) • Eye Safe Laser
Range Finder
• Improved Display
• Expert System
Color
Diagnostics
Terrain Maps
Keyboard
U.S. military establishment sharply drawing down in the wake of the retrenchment
of Soviet power (Chapman, 1998, 25).
The Abrams Tank Modernization Strategy (ATMS) supported the Army’s
transformation vision. The 2000 Mechanized Force Modernization Plan critically
acclaimed the Abrams as a decisive factor in the U.S.’s war-fighting requirements.
The ATMS took a balanced approach that allowed the army to sustain combat
overmatch while improving reliability and reducing operations and support (O&S)
cost on an aging tank fleet. To operate effectively within a “system of systems” envi-
ronment and provide improved force effectiveness to the organization, action must
be taken to improve the Abrams platform (Chapman, 1998, 43).
many outside agencies, such as the Abrams project manager, division and brigade
commanders (user), other TSMs and disseminate their guidance to the other mem-
bers of the TSM Abrams office and manage their progress. The activities of the
twelve-member staff are many and include the following:
Project Management
− Provide oversight on Abrams training aids, devices, simulators, and simu-
lations (TADSS), ensuring they are up to date and reflect the current
capabilities of the systems in the field.
− Coordinate with Training and Doctrine and Combat Development (TDCD)
who write the doctrine and develop new systems for the armor community
and ensure new systems and technology are reflected in doctrine.
− Monitor new capabilities being developed for the Abrams tank and assist
with the integration of these new technologies/capabilities.
− Write documents in the form of requirements documents, information
papers, DA form 2028 change documents, and memoranda updating the
Abrams tank with current and future technology.
− Review other system’s requirements documents for commonality oppor-
tunities and ensure they are able to integrate and are in sync with the
Abrams tank.
− Interact with the user, ensuring his needs are met with DOTLMPF
analysis.
− Coordinate for soldier testing and evaluation on new systems and
equipment.
− Coordinate with program manager (PM) for new equipment plans, field-
ing, budget.
− Coordinate with National Guard Bureau for fielding, budget and
fleet issues.
− Track the number and type of tanks in the fleet and at each installation
to include Fort Knox.
− Track the modifications that are being applied to the Abrams fleet.
− IAW DA and PM offices address modernization needs in relation to
threat, budget projections and Army Campaign Plan.
Ammunition
− On-site monitoring and evaluation of currently fielded tank ammunition.
− Monitor, evaluate, coordinate and participate in testing of developmental
tank ammunition.
− Develop, coordinate and participate in capability requirements of
future ammunition.
− Provide ammunition information to soldiers and marines through on-site
briefings, written responses, as well as through technical, tactical and
professional publications.
By 2003 and 2004 the Army reorganized its combat formations into modular
HBCTs, combining two tank battalions and two mechanized infantry battalions
forming a HBCT. This was done in an effort to move away from a divisional struc-
ture into a more lethal, flexible brigade structure. The Product Manager Combat
Systems followed suit and adopted the name PM HBCT soon after. For consoli-
dation purposes and economy of effort, in 2006 the decision was made for TSM
Abrams to assume management of the M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle, the M104
Wolverine Heavy Assault Bridge and the M88 HERCULES recovery vehicle in
forming the TCM HBCT office. TCM HBCT officially became an organization
with an effective date of January 1, 2007. The former TSM Abrams office has grown
to the largest size and encompasses more heavy combat vehicles than ever before.
The TSM offices managed the systems, whereas the new TCM office now manages
the capability driven by the army requirements.
Summary
Since the 1970s there have been numerous attempts at acquisition reform, most
of which are still applicable today in one form or another. The acquisition process
was a fixed, regimented inflexible path that focused on threat requirements. The
new system today is better in that it represents a major change to how weapon and
support systems are started in the Defense Acquisition System and the detailed
processes and documents required in the different phases of acquisition. The sum-
mation of changes is as follows:
Over three decades of reform has made the acquisition process easier and more
user friendly; however, it still remains a complex and time-consuming venture.
References
Annual Command History (ACH), United States Army Armor Center and Fort Knox,
1996.
Cameron, R.S. 1996. Mounted Maneuver Battlespace Lab, “Experimentation in the
Mounted Battlespace,” Overview briefing, August 23.
Cameron, R.S. 1998. United States Army Armor Center and Fort Knox 1996 An-
nual Command History (ACH). Fort Knox, KY, 122–123.
Cameron, R.S. 1999. The Nature of Armor Combat Development 1973–1999. III: Getting It
Right? Fort Knox, KY.
Chapman, A. 1998. Transforming the Army: TRADOC’s First Thirty Years,1973–2003. Fort
Monroe, VA: TRADOC Military History Office.
Curran, J.M. 2005. Memorandum to Terry L. Tucker and Walter Wojdakowski, regarding
Improvement to and Maintenance of the Abrams and Bradley Fleets, 30 September.
TSM Abrams Historical Files.
Harris, C. 2003. “Re: Mixon meeting—this was cancelled.” E-mail from Futures Center,
HQ TRADOC to TSM Abrams, 12 December.
Harris, C. 2004. “Re: Status of the Termination of TSM Abrams.” E-mail from Futures
Center, HQ TRADOC to Greg Skaff, 30 September.
“JCIDS.” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia. 28 November 2006. http://en.wikipedia.org/
wiki/JCIDS (retrieved January 23, 2007).
Jordan, L.R. 2002. Memorandum to R. Steven Whitcomb, MG, regarding termination of
TSM Abrams, 10 May, TSM Abrams Historical Files.
Kelly, O. 1989. King of the Killing Zone: The Story of the M-1, America’s Super Tank. New
York: Berkley Books.
Kornacki, T.F. 1993. Defense Management Challenge, “Sending the Very Best: An Oral
History Interview with Major General Peter M. McVey.” Warren, MI: U.S. Army
Tank-Automotive Command Historical Office.
Romjue, J.L. et al. 1998. Prepare the Army for War: A Historical Overview of the Army Train-
ing and Doctrine Command, 1973–1998. Fort Monroe, VA: TRADOC Military His-
tory Office.
Scales, R. 1999. How the Army Runs: A Senior Leader Reference Handbook 1999–2000.
Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War College.
Skaff, G.M. 2002. TSM Abrams, “Function of a TSM.” TSM Abrams Historical Files, April.
Swain, R.M. 1985. Selected Papers of General William E. DuPuy. Fort Leavenworth, KS:
Combat Studies Institute U.S. Army Command and General Staff College.
TRADOC Battle Lab Integration Office, Technology and Concepts Directorate, “Force
XXI Process: Changing the Way We Change,” Overview briefing, October 20, 1998;
Mounted Maneuver Battlespace Lab, “Experimentation in the Mounted Battlespace,”
Overview briefing, August 23, 1996.
TRADOC Black Book No. 3, TRADOC PAM 71-XX: Requirements Determination
DRAG. February 25, 1997.
TRADOC Pamphlet 71-9: Force Development Requirements Determination, August 1,
1998, Chapter 1, Paragraph 1-4.
Matthew Armstrong
Introduction
All wars are fought for money.
— Socrates
Mercenaries solve the problem of limited political and economic resources to fight
wars. The recorded history of mercenaries begins with the first recorded battle
thousands of years ago. Today’s mercenaries, in the form of contractors work-
ing for private military companies, provide ostensibly the same benefits as they
did throughout history, but the rules of war have changed bringing into ques-
tion the real value of those benefits today. Whether on the land or the sea, they
are a source of temporary forces that providing new and additional capabilities,
while supposedly extending diplomatic cover and providing deniable accountabil-
ity at both home and abroad. The advantages and disadvantages were not foreign
to Thucydides, Machiavelli, or the Founding Fathers of the United States, but the
accountability, deniable or otherwise, is influenced and directed by news cycles that
prioritize perceptions over fact. Today, the role and the impact of private military
companies, specifically private security companies, have changed as the rules of war
have changed. Understanding how they impact strategic, operational, and tactical
operations is essential.
Military manpower has often been treated like a commodity, with provid-
ers bearing the cost of maintenance, technology adoption, and recruiting while
the hiring party pays cash, including perhaps a booty sharing agreement, while
161
Lastly, we may see firms based in rogue or failed states in the future. These
should not be considered firms at all, but militia, insurgents, terrorists, pirates, or
simply unofficial extensions of the government, if one exists. Rent-a-terrorist Carlos
the Jackal may fit into this category.
This chapter will use “nonstate force” interchangeably with private forces. Simi-
larly, “public military force” is synonymous with the military force of a state, such
as the armed forces of the United States.
History
Machiavelli’s oft-cited warning against the condottieri in fourteenth-century Italy
stemmed from the failure to manage and oversee the condottieri. When both sides
of a conflict were condottieri, it was not unheard of for a meeting to take place to
extend the conflict at the expense of their clients but to the benefit of the merce-
nary. This collusion, however, was far from the norm. Then, as now, private military
companies delivered trained professionals as fighters, sometimes as self-contained,
without intrusive disruption of the economy or politics of the hiring party. By
reducing the political capital necessary by distancing the people from military ser-
vice, the ruler maintained autonomy in decision making (Zarate, 1998).
Before the rise of nationalism, foreign policy, state security, and even economic
expansion depended on the services of mercenaries on land and sea. The value of
the private firms to sovereigns and states was threefold: deniable accountability of
independent actors; acquisition of resources; and refusing resources to the enemy
of the moment. While similar, the course toward marginalization of sea and land
mercenaries took different paths.
On the sea, legitimated privateering expanded as states authorized private men-
of-war financed by growing private capital to operate on behalf of the state to attack
enemy shipping and were motivated by the profit from the sale or ransom of the
captured vessel and cargo under agreed upon terms with the authorizing govern-
ment. In one example, King Louis XIV even encouraged the use of French warships
by private investors for privateering to bolster the treasury (Little, 2005, 16).
Sea rovers, as Benerson Little describes them, were instrumental in both the
acquisition and protection of resources and wealth of empires. A notable example
of how inconsequential the Treaty of Westphalia was on mercenaries, English-hired
boucaniers flushed out Spanish guerrillas on Jamaica and defended a Royal Navy
base were the English launched attacks against the Spanish. The boucaniers, along
with French-hired filibustiers, “were often very much a part of major government
and business interests” in their use against the Spanish until rising legitimate trade,
and the fall of Spain, made these raiders too troublesome and interfering (Little,
2005, 12–14). The development of “legitimate” trade and the fall of a central power
would later conspire against sea rovers and landed mercenaries later.
Private mercantile companies, the first PMCs, were granted sovereign pow-
ers that in effect created mini-states. Granted the authority to raise troops, print
money, and sign treaties on behalf of the state, companies functioned with license
from a state and used violence to benefit the state while shielding the state from
the dirty nature of empire building, resource extraction and the responsibility of
diplomacy away.
Rising international trade also increased the cost of uncertainty. Merchants,
back an increasingly wealthy that exerted greater influence on their governments,
conspired to reduce the autonomy of states. A dichotomy began to develop with
the increase in domestic pressure on foreign and commercial policy. On the one
hand private military solutions became more appealing as a means to reduce the
impact on and involvement of the domestic constituency, but growing international
trade increased potential penalties as interconnectedness deepened it became “dif-
ficult to determine which acts of nonstate violence were state sanctioned and which
were private, independent, or free-lance” (Thomson, 1994, 19). This was especially
troublesome as private entrepreneurs turned against their masters or colluded with
specific individuals while being paid from the state’s coffers, as Machiavelli had
warned earlier. The benefit of this loose principal–agent relationship was not lost
on the actors of the time. Simply put, plausible deniability was “not a trivial feature
of global politics … between 1600 and 1800” (Thomson, 1994, 21).
As the concept of neutrality took hold and laws of war were developed, proxy
attacks on seaborne trade lost their distance. This and other factors led to the Dec-
laration of Paris, signed in 1856, which made illegal any acts on the high seas
against commercial trade not involved in a war and not accountable to a state
(Stark, 1897, 153; Thomson, 1994, 144).
In time, the first PMCs were competing with the states that licensed them,
becoming interfering and antagonistic. The United East India Company was
authorized “to make war, conclude treaties, acquire territories and build fortresses”
(Thomson, 1994, 11) and aggressively pursued its goal to satisfy shareholders
regardless of the political costs to the home country, including seeking to sell ter-
ritory to the enemies of the United Provinces. A governor general of the Company
noted that “Trade must be driven and maintained under the protection and favour
of your own weapon … Trade can not be maintained without war, nor war without
trade” (Singer, 2003, 19). In the case of the English, their British East India Com-
pany, while controlling military resources of the Crown, demanded land from the
Royal Navy for its own use (Thomson, 1994, 67). With parallels to the eventual
outlawing of privateers in 1856, states dismantled their private mercantile compa-
nies as they interfered more in the foreign policy of their home states.
In Canada and the East Indies, Britain closed down the Hudson’s Bay Com-
pany and the East India Company to assert its sovereignty in European and North
American politics, respectively. The corsairs of North Africa were shut down
through the establishment of French sovereignty, with the pirates of Tripoli and
Tunis deauthorizing nonstate operations from their ports as well (Thomson, 1994,
144).
As frustration with private forces increased and deniable accountability
decreased, practical alternatives started to emerge. The United Provinces used their
wealth from international trade to establish and train a standing professional army
and eliminate their reliance on mercenaries drawn from the outside long before
Napoleon was born (Howard, 2001, 37). Changes in military administration
included conscription, an improved officer corps, and improved technology and
logistics were impacted by societal and political pressures and demands. Global-
ization led to increasing wealth and interstate trade as successful states deepened
their economic capacity through taxation and infrastructure development (Bob-
bitt, 2002, 152–157; Paret, Craig, and Gilbert, 1986, 124–129).
Prior to Napoleon, the French marshaled the resources of the state to support
and fight the war. States, in response, saw their borders ossify as they became more
capable and desirous of extracting domestic resources, through such means as tax-
ation. This increased capacity of the state, along with intensifying international
trade and an increasing reliance on merchants who generated income for the state,
ironically meant rulers were less autonomous internationally. According to Max
Weber (1957), the authority of the state was coterminous with its territorial bound-
aries. As such, “states were held accountable for the trans-border coercive activities
of individuals residing within their borders” (Thomson, 1994, 19). As power was
consolidated inside borders and domestic resources were extracted with increasing
efficiency, states sought to limit diplomatic liability and economic uncertainty as
trade and conflicts over resources increased in a shrinking world.
Building on political and social changes wrought by the new Republic, and
six years before Napoleon took control, France implemented universal conscrip-
tion. This revolutionary source of manpower to fight wars relied on mobilizing the
people through nationalism and patriotism on a massive scale.
It was not just the sheer size of national armies that shoved mercenaries to the
margins, but also the amount of state control over these forces, which in turn was
supported by professionalism of the officer corps, better fighting technology, as well
as time for drill. Nationalism, new weapons technology, tactics, and strengthened
command and control meant the common soldier could now be the citizen-sol-
dier with little military experience. Universal conscription meant the bulk of the
army was deprofessionalized in relation to the military cadres and mercenary bands
that came before. Professionalization of the officer corps had other benefits besides
increasing command and control of the military; it also promulgated the hierarchy
of state authority over the military. Developing professionalism of the officer corps
as servants of the state, with constant employment, also furthered the development
of a distinct culture separating civilian from military (Howard, 2001, 54).
Technological advances, including more mobile and accurate artillery, acceler-
ated changes on the battlefield. The advances of Gustavus Adolphus were improved
upon by the Frenchman Jen-Baptiste de Gribeauval to create highly effective fire
near and in support of friendly troops whose ranks swelled under levée en masse
(Howard, 2001, 61–63; Huntington, 1957, 32). Strategic and tactical changes by
Napoleon are often noted as well. Napoleon disparaged fighting in “little packets”,
or small unit warfare, which is generally all that mercenaries could do (Paret et al.,
1986, footnote #127). Larger units of emotionally motivated soldiers were all ral-
lied by nationalism (as was the supporting public back home), supported by mobile
and powerful artillery, permitted and even required fighting in columns, or l’ordre
profund instead of the traditional lines, or l’ordre mince (Bobbitt, 2002, 152; How-
ard, 2001, 79).
Through the nineteenth century, the international trend brought on by increas-
ing interconnectedness held states accountable for the actions of their citizens. The
growing international structure made it difficult for states to claim their citizens
were independently accountable. States began enacting laws to prevent their citi-
zens from entering conflicts against allies of the state, such as the British Foreign
Enlistment Act of 1819, revised in 1870 when many of its citizens went to war on the
side of the Prussians against the British ally, France.
Further, the maturation interstate politics and increasing state autonomy placed
raison d’ état over other considerations. Personal, or individual, enmity was replaced
by the interests of the state and the state became a tool of the nation. Princes no
longer went to war for sport at relatively low political and financial costs. Out of
necessity in the changing nature of conflict, now the resources of the entire state
were brought to bear, requiring greater mobilization. This change was reflected in
international negotiations on trade that were increasingly codified. This created an
ideal type of a soldier that laid down his arms being nearly equal to a person who
never took up arms: both should be spared since neither was a combatant (Stark,
1897, 13–19). Accordingly, war was no longer “a ritual or instrument to redress
petty grievances, but rather an activity to serve the interests of the state” (Handel,
2001, 66). Politics and trade between and within states increased the accountability
of regimes to one another.
Different than earlier efforts to reduce or eliminate reliance on mercenaries,
now there was a viable alternative that, in Europe for example, was required to
match the threat of Napoleon. The result was the beginning of the end for merce-
nary armies as they were replaced with larger, cheaper, and better controlled armies
of the state (Howard, 1976, 54; Huntington, 1957, 32–33).
By the time of the time of the Franco–Prussian War of 1870, it was a given that
for a state to enter a large conflict, its people must be mobilized and armies of its
own people put into action. Debating the use of mercenaries to fight for England
in the Crimea in 1856, members of Parliament argued that if England could not
mobilize its own people to fight, then it was should not consider itself a Great
Power. By the end of the nineteenth century, no longer did “small armies of profes-
sional soldiers [go] to war to conquer a city … Wars of the present day call whole
nations to arms … entire financial resources of the State are appropriated to the
purpose” (Moltke, 1892, 1).
generated from raiding English and other European commercial vessels during and
after the American Revolution. The impact on English commerce was not only the
quantity of lost goods, but shipping insurance rose significantly, and thus so did
the cost of doing business, for English shipping going in and out of English ports
(Stark, 1897, 123).
Despite their nominal independence, privateers still represented their principal,
or the one who hired them. Then, as is the case now, a wrong move by a contractor
could have severe repercussions and the veil of deniable accountability thinned or
disappeared with increased trade and communications. A single American priva-
teer, for example, created in Spain “considerable anti-American feeling” because of
an expensive capture on the seas. Fortunately, American public and private diplo-
macy was such that this and similar incidents were not associated with the U.S.
government and its policy goals (Stark, 1897, 125).
As in the millennia before, insufficient political and economic capital to main-
tain a military to satisfy the foreign policy and national security aspirations contin-
ued to make mercenaries attractive. This was certainly the case in 1812 when the
United States and Britain went to war. With a navy outnumbered by almost ten to
one, Congress gave the President the authority to “issue to private armed vessels of
the United States commissions or letters of marquee and general reprisal, in such
form as he shall think proper, and under the seal of the United States” (Stark, 1897,
127). Congress, in granting the president this authority, gave specific instructions
on compensation and, more importantly, instructions on monitoring the privateers,
as Congress was keenly aware of their impact on public diplomacy and foreign
policy.
The rules of war and politics changed and leaders needed to mobilize the citi-
zenry to go to war. Once the domestic campaign is in motion, however, democracies
can be hard to stop. Using private forces means the level of domestic mobilization
can be substantially lower. The people do not need to participate either directly or
even viscerally in the conduct of war.
American wars through the end of World War II included various private and
pseudo-public ventures. From Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders that was in some
respects a privately organized combat team to the mercenarial Flying Tigers, pri-
vate military forces never completely left the American way of war.
From an economic capability to make war, liberal economic considerations
pushed for greater integration with the private sector. One notable private–public
partnership can be traced to the end of World War I when the government accepted
that it did not and could not sufficient ability to manufacture all of the ammuni-
tion and other provisions required to fight future wars based on the troubles of
World War I. This partnership expanded and deepened over the decades, rising to
a level that was both helpful and troublesome, as President Eisenhower famously
remarked in his farewell address to the nation.
Even as he warned of the military-industrial-Congressional complex, Eisen-
hower’s commitment to have the U.S. government increasingly “rely on commercial
sources” started the outsourcing ball rolling, possibly faster than he intended. It
took a few years, but in 1966, with Office of Management and Budget Circular
A-76, the ball President Eisenhower started rolling really took off and the private
sector was preferred over the public sector if it could provide the service or product
more economically (Congressional Research Service, 2005).
In the decades since A-76, outsourcing by the U.S. government increased. In
the post-Cold War era, the pace quickened without a comparable growth in moni-
toring and oversight. In the 1980s, overpriced hammers and toilet seats created a
public and Congressional furor. Just twenty years later, with more outsourcing and
higher prices, barely an eyebrow was in Congress as questionable services and prices
were bought with taxpayer money.
By the time of the Iraq War in 2003, the Government Accountability Office
(GAO) was issuing frequent warnings on the failure to provide adequate oversight
over contractor expenses and actions (Government Accountability Office, 2006).
This lack of oversight in the unpredictable environment of a war zone has resulted
in several high-profile problems in Iraq, ranging from use of force and rules of
engagement to equipment and transport availability. From the private sector per-
spective, the uncertainty of war demands a cost-plus contract to cover unknown
expenses. A cost-plus contract is when a vendor is able to bill the cost of a truck, for
example, and mark it up with a previously agreed on percentage, for payment.
However, when contracting officers are unavailable, as is the case in Iraq, com-
munication failures may occur and oversight disappears. There is little incentive for
the contractor to pressure its supplier for better prices, but on the contracting state,
it is useful because the contractor is not burdened with carrying and writing off
inventory (Government Accountability Office, 2004).
An additional cost is lack of accountability through the military command
structure, military legal system, or in-country legal system of the private military
force. Hidden costs associated with the lack of accountability include the impact on
morale of public troops, potential lack of steadfastness in time of need, and perhaps
more importantly in the modern media environment and nonstate warfare, public
diplomacy and image problems resulting from conduct (Kohn, 2002; Michaels,
2004).
These “private sector efficiencies” have actually increased costs in terms of hard
dollars, institutional knowledge, and military-to-military connections and a failure
to integrate private resources into missions increasingly focused on the struggle for
minds and wills. The focus on the short-term ignores the real costs and real benefits
associated with the outsourced services and skills.
Dollar-for-dollar comparisons, while frequently used, are misleading. At the
macro level, there is the impact on the economy, including reduced investment in
pensions and healthcare. At a lower level, These dollar-for-dollar comparisons over-
simplify long-term costs of private markets that fail to be truly competitive while
hiding substantial transaction costs that include higher finance costs of the private
sector compared to the government’s ability to borrow money at lower rates, vendor
incentives to skimp on quality or adhere to the letter of the contract not the spirit,
future public costs to return outsourced skills in-house, and transactional costs of
writing, enforcing, and monitoring contracts. In the aftermath of the expensive
toilet seats and hammers in the Reagan Administration, the Federal Acquisitions
Regulations (FAR) were strengthened in an effort to make sure the government
received a fair product at a fair price. However, in the fast-paced post-9/11 environ-
ment FAR was frequently bypassed. The end result is questionable cost effectiveness
of the practice of outsourcing security services (Fredland, 2004; Hartley, 2004).
Another feature of privatization found in historical use and assumed today is
deniable accountability. Privatization allows for an upsizing of the force, or at least
the project of the force if not well integrated into at the operational or strategic
levels, without engaging popular support. Private military companies allow the
government to ignore the Abrams Doctrine that led to the current force struc-
ture. As Thomas Friedman wrote, “You all just go about your business of being
Americans, pursuing happiness, spending your tax cuts, enjoying the Super Bowl
halftime show, buying a new Hummer, and leave this war to our volunteer Army”
(Friedman, 2004).
This brings up the interesting evolution in the U.S. where the citizen-soldier
is increasingly a myth as soldiers, and their families, turn inward and focus on
their own support networks. Fewer Americans know somebody who is presently
serving or even directly impacted by the post-9/11 wars. The modern all volunteer
force (AVF) is far removed from the modern political and social spheres of power
in the United States, leading to suggestions that nonveteran civilians may be more
“interventionist” and simultaneously placing more constraints on the use of mili-
tary force (Feaver and Gelpi, 2004; Stevenson, 2006). The result is the redevelop-
ment of a professional warrior class in the United States proficient in the conduct of
war, with a continuous and deep involvement in military affairs that harkens back
to professional mercenary soldiers. In fact, because private military contractors are
drawn from all walks of life, it might be that more Americans know a contractor
than know a serviceman or servicewoman.
This disconnect as well as the marginal view of private military companies means
outsourcing shortens the decision-making horizon into immediate “commercial
concerns and lobbying rather than real gains to the nation and citizens” that
encourage the use of companies that “lack verification and mandatory evaluation
safeguards to deliver promised results” (Markusen, 2003). But the potential prob-
lems of the decision of a private military force to withdraw from a combat zone
because of rising interest rates, leverage for contract negotiations, including replace-
ment time and costs, may seriously damage and reduce military capacity without
much recourse. This is both a boon and a bane of the industry. Without effective
oversight, problems will arise, yet this is part of their allure and a value to their
clients.
As diplomatic proxies, private forces provide a questionable return on invest-
ment. In hindsight, net gains from their use may be less than if military exchanges
were used instead of contracting for private services, such as in the Balkans in the
1990s and in Nigeria in 2006. The potential for differences between enterprises
driven by professionalism and those by the market may limit the depth of insti-
tutional relations, cultural understanding, and even future intelligence operations.
The Balkans in the mid-1990s is one example of bypassing proven Interna-
tional Military Education and Training (IMET) programs in favor of private mili-
tary training that, while expanding foreign policy options of the United States,
prevented institutional connections that have proven invaluable in the past. This
foreign policy by proxy in Croatia allowed intervention when political sensitivities
prevented overt participation. Three factors contributed to the Clinton Adminis-
tration intentionally avoiding congressional, and democratic, oversight and inter-
national law. First was the UN embargo in the region that prevented direct U.S.
government assistance. Second and third was the need to respond to Russian assis-
tance to the Serbs against the Croatians and necessary support of Croatia as a
moderating force. The United States also wanted Croatia in NATO’s Partnership
for Peace (PfP) program as a counterbalance to Russian-supported Serbia. U.S.-
based military services firm MPRI, Inc., a firm that once bragged of having more
generals per square meter in their office than could be found in the Pentagon,
was positioned to help Croatia improve in required operational areas. After a few
months of training from MPRI, the Croats were able to execute two sophisticated
and successful military operations that brought the Serbs to the negotiating table.
It is likely the engagement of MPRI, in addition to the training provided, was a
clear signal to the Croats of American backing of the Croat government (Avant,
2005, 101–109; Singer, 2003, 124–127).
The choice between private forces, an international coalition, or American
troops comes down to political capital and the ability or desire to use it. Private
military forces afford a path of least, or less, resistance through bypassing Congress
and the media.
Oversight and monitoring of contracting is negligible compared to deployed
public military forces, and the deaths and injuries of contractors are not included
in news tallies and are usually reported as lesser deaths than uniformed personnel.
Using contractors decreases “casualty sensitivity” in the media, public debate, and
at senior levels in government. The “Dover Test,” the public response to Americans
returning in flag-draped coffins (Lacquement, 2004), is arguably less relevant with
today’s senior decision makers because of their lack of attachment (versus detach-
ment) to the realities and consequences of military action (Feaver and Gelpi, 2004,
13).
Democratic control over the military in the U.S. is based on oversight by Con-
gress as well as control by the President. The military knowingly operates within this
political system and, at times, plays one master against the other. It may even inter-
ject a kind of “veto” into discussions on the use of military force in the interest of
both itself and its oath to uphold the Constitution (Stevenson, 2006, 196–204).
How do these private forces fall under the combatant or noncombatant classifi-
cation scheme of modern warfare, for which rules were drawn up as nonstate forces
were delegitimized? This is more than an exercise in theory; these are questions that
go to perception and control of America’s military.
The present arrangement ignores the balance of power in the U.S. system and
assumes a system of hand-offs instead of the system of checks and balances the
Founders created. First, the Senate gets to “advise and consent” to nominations
of military (as well as civilian) officers of the government. Second, the House was
given the power of the purse. Although the House has only once cut off funding, it
has, to its right, managed to make changes over the years (Stevenson, 2006, 5–6).
The Founding Fathers, after fighting an irregular war against colonial masters
and aware of history, were concerned about a military whose power was superior
to the civilian authority. Military service and war was something most of the del-
egates to the Constitutional Convention knew well. Threats to the early United
States were such that of congressional powers the U.S. Constitution enumerates,
eleven of the eighteen pertain to security. Over half served in uniform during the
Revolutionary War and at least half of those saw serious action. Concern was deep
that an unchecked military would become an agent of one of the separate branches
of government. The Congress, therefore, was empowered to “raise and support
Armies,” to “provide and maintain a Navy,” and given the power “To declare War.”
The executive branch was given the power to conduct the war (Stevenson, 2006).
The potential for an unchecked military becoming an agent of one of the separate
branches of government led to this deliberate separation of powers and the need for
accountability and oversight.
PMCs allow control over armed force to be outside congressional oversight and
in a way that “may increase functional control [of military force]” while changing
“political control in ways that some view as distasteful” (Avant, 2005, 44). Exam-
ples include congressional authority to select and approve public military officers, a
feature absent in the use of private military companies. As of this writing, Congress
has yet to exercise its ability to hold hearings into the use and appropriations of
financial resources to pay for private security companies and to look into the con-
duct of individuals employed by private military companies through its oversight
committees. Congressional power over the military is more than holding the purse
strings, and with private military companies, their power is at best closing the purse
strings but even paying for hired guns by the United States may be hidden, com-
plex, or even disallowed by contracts, but without apparent recourse. This last point
emphasizes the likelihood of a political aversion to do anything when considering
the years of GAO warnings, media coverage, and even congressional testimony.
A major deviation of the normally discrete operation of contractors – at least
from the perspective of the American public – was the famous slaughter of four
security contractors in Fallujah in 2004. These contractors were employed by a
large U.S. private security firm which was in turn contracted by a Kuwaiti-based
company, which was subcontracted by a German food service company, which
was subcontracted by a U.S. company that was providing logistical services under
LOGCAP and paid by the U.S. army (Pelton, 2006, 119–120). However, an under-
secretary of the army testified to Congress that the army never authorized “Hal-
liburton or its subcontractors to carry weapons or guard convoys” (Neff and Price,
2006).
Missions performed in the name of the state may not be short-staffed because
of field limitations, but because of contractual limits and profit motives. The four
contractors, employed by Blackwater, killed in Fallujah in March 2004 allegedly
died in part because their employer did not provide the armored vehicles and failed
to properly fill the team with rear gunners (Bicanic, 2006; Pelton, 2006). Further,
as a result of the contractors acting outside of military command authority, they
were unaware of changing conditions in the city (Ricks, 2006, 331).
Private military companies redemocratize war. Soldiers and nonsoldiers now
have the ability to participate in a conflict they otherwise could not, an opportunity
made illegal in the nineteenth century. The British Foreign Enlistment Act, was
just one of many laws enacted to limit state liability from the actions of its citizens
(Thomson, 1994, 79–84). The capabilities of the Western contractors, typically
older and more experienced to provide a better looking portfolio for the client, is
conforming more to the citizen-soldier of nationalist armies than the AVF regu-
lar army. However, this is not the only profile of the contractor. Increasingly, as
demand outstrips supply, third-country nationals are used.
The recruiting pool that is the U.S. armed forces can only feed the private
industry for so long, which is one reason why private security companies are actively
recruiting and acquiring facilities outside of the U.S. These facilities, along with
their faculty, are increasingly providing training not only to the company’s own
personnel, but to security personnel of other private companies, to government
soldiers, and paramilitaries.
As the private security field expands and acquires new capabilities, including
air power components, heavy equipment, and more, what will be the pressure to
use these assets? Military equipment and training has little value and limited mar-
ketability outside conflict or recovery operations. Companies must seek revenue
streams to make a profit. Ultimately the diplomatic costs of this new private abil-
ity could be unexpectedly high in the long run, especially if American military
firms begin providing assistance to unsavory foreign clients as Israeli PMCs do with
Colombian and Mexican drug cartels.
To whom do the private companies grant their loyalty and how do they use that
power is a question that can be answered indirectly through the guiding hand of
clear monitoring and oversight.
It is noteworthy that some of the pressures that led to marginalizing mercenar-
ies in the nineteenth century are eroding today. For example, the rise and increased
manipulation of nationalism led to accountability crises, whereas twenty-first cen-
tury “imagined communities” based on geography, heritage, ethnicity, religion,
and even sport affinities creates new bonds and permits groups to draw on global
audiences for financial, social, and physical support. This has altered the stigma
and the ability to hold states accountable for the activities of its citizens. Globaliza-
tion has largely, but not completely, especially in the case of South Africa discussed
below, nullified laws banning citizens from participating in foreign conflicts, nota-
bly those against allies, such as the first British Foreign Enlistment Act of 1819 men-
tioned earlier.
Increasingly heterogeneous, states must satisfy an increasingly diverse constitu-
ency while managing international media and markets. Citizens can now get infor-
mation the state would prefer was unavailable. The state can do its best to co-opt the
media and encourage certain views to percolate through the press to write its own
version of history, but the rise of the blogosphere, camera phones, commercial pres-
sures on the media, and a global news cycle complicates the efficacy of communica-
tion strategies. The need to effectively manage international communications and
image is seen in the rising power of nonstate actors, from Hezbollah to the United
Nations to the World Trade Organization at the expense of state autonomy.
Through public law and investigative powers, Congress could restrict the use
of PMCs. This was done before in the interest of the neutrality of state and to
protect the national execution of U.S. foreign policy. As war is a continuation of
politics and military force is central to this, it is understandable that PMCs are an
increasingly important solution tool in the toolbox of U.S. foreign policy in an era
of accountability. However, unlike the past, oversight is absent and the agent may
represent the principal in distasteful ways without repercussion.
Legal Frameworks
The U.S. legal mechanisms to regulate trade in military skills and weapons are eas-
ily skirted by both contracting and contracted parties, if permitted as they often
are. In 2002, the House of Commons’ Green Paper found the United States had the
most substantial legal solutions for monitoring and regulating military industries
(House of Commons, 2002). However, the two primary regulatory tools overseeing
the export of security from the U.S., the International Traffic in Arms Regulations
(ITAR) of 1986 and the Arms Export Control Act (AECA) are both managed by the
State Department and but lack any means to review contractual revisions.
In the case of ITAR, congressional review is not required unless the contract
exceeds $50 million and AECA may be avoided entirely if the contracting party is
either the U.S. government or a contractor working directly for the United States.
The threshold of additional scrutiny under ITAR is easily avoided by breaking
up the contract into smaller segments, a frequently employed tactic. There are no
review mechanisms once a contract is approved.
Bilateral agreements like Status of Forces agreements (SOFA) are, virtually by
definition in the context of this discussion, meaningless since deployment is in
failed states where the government has largely disappeared. In the case of Iraq with
its nominal state governance, the Coalition Provisional Authority’s Memorandum 17
granted immunity from local regulation and prosecution to foreign military con-
tractors operating in Iraq. The only law providing any real monitoring is the Defense
Base Act of 1941 that requires private U.S. insurance coverage for workers in combat
zones hired under U.S. contracts.
Contractors in modern conflict raise questions about their identity and legal
authority. Is the contractor a combatant or not? Frequently the discussion over
their legal status holds them as noncombatants—but the inherent nature of the
security contractor is at odds with this determination. The Uniform Code of Mili-
tary Justice (UCMJ) provides a comprehensive scheme of “procedural rules and
proscriptive laws to cover transgressions by members of the military,” but it does
not cover the private military forces working for the government in the same the-
ater of operations.
In early 2007, a subtle change was made to the section of the UCMJ defining
personnel covered. The change, replaced “war” with “war or contingency opera-
tion,” and arguably means civilian contractors are now subject to UCMJ. Even
if the UCMJ were to be found applicable to the civilian contractors, it is unclear
how UCMJ proceedings and even punishments could be adapted to nonmilitary
personnel.
The U.S. Military Extraterritorial Jurisdiction Act (MEJA) of 2000 extends the
UCMJ to cover civilians employed by or accompanying the armed forces outside
the United States or who are members of the armed forces. MEJA jurisdictional
coverage is limited to civilian support personnel “hired to provide services that will
free a ‘trigger-puller’ to fight, or … provide technical expertise to the force, thereby
assisting the force in waging war or enforcing peace” (Perlak, 2001).
The applicability of MEJA is questionable, when the U.S. armed forces do not
directly hire the private security forces and they do not work alongside one another.
Contractors not covered by MEJA include those under contract with the CIA,
USAID, former CPA, for the Iraqi government, or being paid with “Iraqi funds”
(Elsea and Serafino, 2004).
More important than the questionable applicability of MEJA to individu-
als outside of the service, and thus insensitive to reductions in rank or letters of
Freedom of Information Act requests were denied because the Pentagon maintained
the investigation was the property of Aegis, which in turn claimed the document
to be proprietary corporate information and, thus, not to be made available to the
public.
International Accountability
At the core of the debate on how contractors conform to LOAC is whether they are
considered a combatant or not. To say the contractor is a combatant under interna-
tional law is, in part, to admit he is an agent of the state and that he operates in con-
junction with the armed forces of a signer of the Geneva Conventions. Barred from
wearing the uniform of the U.S. military, private security contractors in Iraq, for
example, generally operate outside of the structure of the U.S. military and under
informal and ad hoc relationships with military units and commanders. The doc-
trine, where it exists, assumes private military resources as working alongside public
military units and quite often this is not the case. Recognizing the role of contrac-
tors in shaping public opinion and thus participating in the public diplomacy of
the U.S. is essential to manage for successful and long-lasting counterinsurgency,
and yet this awareness has been absent until the September 16, 2007, incident with
Blackwater mentioned above. Instead, contractors are considered by U.S. politi-
cal and military practice as independent agents with little reflection of the United
States and are kept distanced from tactical, operational, and strategic planning.
In writing the Counterinsurgency Manual, FM 3-24, the manual’s authors felt the
issue of contractors in the battlespace for the minds and will was a “too hard” of a
problem to deal with (Nagl, 2006).
The implications for contractors of existing international legal precedence, such
as the Geneva Conventions dealing with prisoners of war and civilians on the battle-
field, are questionable. The Geneva Conventions are structured and designed to deal
primarily with conflicts between states, a feature not lost on nonstate actors, as men-
tioned above in the case of the United Nations. But in the case of contractors who are
employed by a state but intentionally kept at arms length through a lack of integration
with command and control and by not wearing distinguishing insignia indicating
membership in the armed forces, questions abound on where they fit in.
Noncombatants are protected under Common Article 3 of the Conventions. Per-
sons protected by Article 3 are entitled, at a minimum, to humane treatment if they
fall into enemy hands. However, noncombatants lose their status if they “take up
arms” and must be properly identified. Contractors do carry an identity card in a
format established by the convention that identifies them as a civilian authorized to
accompany the force and confirms their noncombatant status. U.S. policy regard-
ing these identity cards is found in Department of Defense Instruction 1000.1,
“Issuance of Identity Cards Required by the Geneva Conventions.” If captured, an
authorized civilian accompanying an armed force is entitled to prisoner-of-war status.
But remember, this status applies only to contractors “accompanying the force.” The
majority of deployed security contractors do not, as was the case in the three examples
of Colombia, Aegis, and Blackwater cited above.
The reality is that under LOAC, the activities of private security contractors make
them illegal combatants and, thus, subject to criminal prosecution. Taken to the
extreme, the statement by the undersecretary of the army discussed above made the
contractors in Iraq not working directly with the U.S. government illegal combat-
ants. If captured, they are not entitled to prisoner-of-war status, an arguably moot
point considering the enemy presently engaged in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Failure to enforce appropriate conduct through existing available means is a fail-
ure of the client and not necessarily the company in a world of political account-
ability, strict licensing and purchasing business driven regulations, and the need to
satisfy the client. The dilemma of accountability is not unique to government use of
private military companies; it is also an issue for intergovernmental forces, such as
those wearing the Blue Helmet for United Nations’ Peacekeeping Operations (PKO).
By comparison, the independent nature of the contracting state, with liability and
punishment resting solely within the state, is similar to the operation of a private mili-
tary company in the employ of a state. Particularly in the United States, enough legal
mechanisms exist for both, and simultaneous carrots and sticks to compel appropri-
ate behavior. Looking at the United Nations’ peacekeeping operations, an area U.S.
private military companies are eager to expand into, shows how accountability rests
with the state and its delegated authority and not the agent.
Beyond legislative and legal arrangements, private security companies can be kept
in line with two tools absent from the international peacekeeper toolbox. Private
companies rely on governmental contracts and authorization and tend to shy away
from negative publicity if incentivized properly. These levers are absent in the interna-
tional peacekeeping arena with its dearth of contributing states.
The Security Council (SC) engages states to provide peacekeeping forces (PKF) in
the stead of the SC members who collectively contribute less than 5 percent of forces
themselves. The failure to create a permanent UN military force called for in Article
43 of the UN Charter results in ad hoc combinations of military and police resources
almost exclusively drawn from outside of the permanent members of the UN Secu-
rity Council. The SC makes a decision, often without direct input from the Gen-
eral Assembly, and then hires military manpower at a substantial mark-up over cost.
There is a usual top five that contribute nearly fifty percent of all peacekeeping forces.
The Security Council relies on these “subcontractor” states — Bangladesh, Pakistan,
India, Jordan, and Nepal — because of political constraints on the SC members that
prohibit committing troops to regions when domestic interest is weak. In the post-
Cold War environment, this pressure increased as Western military downsizing fur-
ther eroded their ability to participate in peacemaking or peacekeeping operations,
resulting in an increased reliance on forces for hire.
While PMCs are potentially held accountability by contract wording and options
against the hiring principal, like the U.S. government, for its part, the UN does not
see itself as a member of the regimes of international humanitarian law (IHL) and
Law of Armed Conflict (LOAC), but does attempt to apply the “principles and spirit”
of the law, primarily so the other actors it faces will operate at least at the same level
(Bialke, 2001). In terms of legal liability, the actions of Blue Helmets are not the
actions of a state, but of a collection of states, which removes them from constraints
of signed international treaties. The international community in general, or the Secu-
rity Council specifically, may be clear in the desire to intervene, granting authority
from international law and collective will, but mission specifics are often murky and
unclear and subject to further politicking and lobbying. This is compounded by inde-
terminate accountability of the PKF under international humanitarian law (Wills,
2004). The United Nations’ declared commitment to IHL and LOAC comes with
the understanding that because a UN PKO is operating on behalf of the international
community, they “cannot be considered a ‘party’ to the conflict, nor a ‘Power’ within
the meaning of the Geneva Conventions” (Murphy, 2003). To accept this respon-
sibility would imply they were no longer impartial (Murphy, 2003). To this, the
U.N. secretary-general reaffirmed in 1999 that in cases “of violations of international
humanitarian law, members of the military personnel of a United Nations force are
subject to prosecution in their national courts” (United Nations, 1999). The UN
reminded the world it is not a signatory to nor bound by the Geneva Conventions
or the Additional Protocols, specifically stating the standards set forth in IHL are
“observed at the national level,” obliging states and not nongovernmental organiza-
tions (NGOs) to guarantee the principles and spirit of the laws of war while explicitly
and implicitly excluding peacekeepers as not combatants. A subsequent bulletin by
the UN in 1999 attempted to address this, but major gaps remain (Wills, 2004). As
recently as early 2007, the UN is still attempting, without success, to grapple with
peacekeepers that violate international laws.
Administration
In 2002, the dean of the Army War College said, “the U.S. cannot go to war
without contractors” (Avant, 2005, 115). In Iraq, at the time of maximum contri-
bution of forces by the “Coalition of the Willing,” the force contribution by the
United Kingdom was less than half the number of private security contractors,
the armed subset of private military companies, in Iraq. This led some to suggest a
more appropriate label: the “Coalition of the Billing.”
Although this book is on military administration, it is admittedly odd that this
chapter is anemic on the topic. The fact is, there is little evidence of integrated oper-
ations between the private and public sectors and the history of hired force indicates
this is intentional. Reconstruction efforts, largely reliant on private enterprise, are
critical to defeating insurgencies, such as in Iraq and Afghanistan. The role of the
military is limited by its political masters through both action and inaction. In the
laissez faire environment of privatization and outsourcing, it is considered to be the
responsibility of the individual contractors. The four reasons given through history
that support the use of private contractors contribute to keeping the contractors
beyond the reach of military administration.
One paper looking at PMCs and the U.S. military noted similarities in Iraq
and Afghanistan with the 1990 motion picture Dances with Wolves. Lt. John Dun-
bar (Kevin Costner) was accompanied to his post on the mid-nineteenth century
American frontier by a civilian wagon driver. The wagon contained the weapons,
ammunition, subsistence, and other supplies necessary to maintain a deployed
military force. On the return trip the civilian driver was killed by Indians, the
wagon abandoned, and the horses confiscated. This example raises important ques-
tions that are equally appropriate today as then. Were troops available to escort the
wagon? Was the civilian driver considered from the outset a disposable resource, as
was possibly Lt. Dunbar himself, that did not require an armed escort of military or
private personnel? Did the driver receive premium pay or some special compensa-
tion for undertaking hazardous duty? Who paid for the lost wagon and horses? Did
the Indians target the driver because of his association with the military or was his
mere presence on their land sufficient cause to attack him? Did it make good sense
to use a civilian driver under the circumstances? (National Defense University,
2006)
Two major milestones in using contractors occurred after President Bush’s
famous “mission accomplished” speech. Soon after his speech, the number of pri-
vate security contractors in Iraq was close to twenty thousand (Singer, 2003). Soon
after that, media coverage of contractors in Iraq usually began with a reference
to the four contractors ambushed in Fallujah in 2004 and strung up on a bridge
over the Euphrates River. Now numbering thirty to fifty thousand, the number of
Westerners in this force actually dropped as contractors are drawn from cheaper
countries like Iraq (known as host country nationals, or HCN) and South America
(known as third country nationals, or TCN). While ostensibly the second largest
“contributor” in Iraq at either twenty thousand in 2003 or fifty thousand in 2007,
they are not unified or a coherent military unit while still derisively referred to as
the Coalition of the Billing. For business reasons, including reducing per unit costs
as well as multicultural sensitivity but not awareness, the real number of U.S. and
U.K. contractors decreased as cheaper labor from other countries, including HCNs
and TCNs, are increasingly hired to lessen expenses but also provide culturally
sensitive staffing. Certain companies have admitted to avoiding hiring American
security personnel in favor of Latin American because of skin color but also to avoid
the “ugly American.”
A real and potential problem of PMCs is the lack of training and indoctri-
nation. U.S. military personnel swear an oath to uphold the Constitution of the
United States. Private military contractors are under no such obligation, even the
company.
An increasing problem is deconfliction between contractors and troops when
neither side has an effective identification system and sometimes incomplete
More telling is the absence of the sizable contractor force in virtually all of the
discussions and plans from the White House, Pentagon, or even Congress. Also
in December 2006, Central Command (CENTCOM) issued a preliminary find-
ing on the number of private security contractors currently operating in Iraq and
put the number at the seemingly too round of a figure of one hundred thousand.
One month later, General David Petraeus in his Senate Armed Services Committee
confirmation hearing made the first official acknowledgement that private security
companies and U.S. military forces would be working together on the then forth-
coming “surge” in Iraq.
Without regulation or oversight, and regulation itself is an empty can in the
absence of monitoring, there is no guarantee that such firms will act in the United
States’ national interest. Regulatory regimes already exist to monitor the expert of
arms and services, what is necessary are the understanding that each private entity
is an agent of the United States’ mission in current and future wars.
Problems can usually be traced back to inadequate oversight rather than to
any intrinsic problem with contract support. Relying on the private sector requires
good commercial acumen, supported by quality legal advice, when writing, sign-
ing, and, most importantly, monitoring contracts. It is this last detail that is the
most problematic.
How contractors fit into military administration is further complicated by fail-
ures to enforce requirements to process through the CONUS Replacement Center
(CRC). Limited to contractors working directly for the U.S. government, this is
an opportunity for active military, who must also process through CRC, to meet
contractors. However, besides excluding the majority of contractors working in
Iraq and Afghanistan by definition, requirements to go through have become more
lax.
Although private security companies are generally responsible for training their
own employees, one of the benefits of outsourcing, the government has certain
responsibilities for training contractor employees. Resistance to CRC processing by
PSCs has included complaints that requirement to process through the CRC did
not always fit with deployment schedules required by contracts due to the time-
line imposed or the inadequacy of the CRC to meet the throughput requirement,
and training did not always stay current with the evolving threat environment or
theater commander directives (National Defense University, 2006; personal cor-
respondence with security contractors, 2007).
Conclusion
Availability, deployment, and co-location of public military forces with private
military contractors impacts U.S. foreign policy and U.S. national security. It is
essential that the soldier, as a member of the public military ultimately hiring or
otherwise allowing the PMC to operate, be aware of this as the United States owns
the battlefield and not the PMC. The goal of this chapter is to create a frame of ref-
erence for the U.S. military officer to consider the PMC, should it be located in his
or her area of operation, as the resource that it can be. That said, the PMC may not
always operate in a symbiotic manner, as the second scenario, a real-life example
from Iraq, demonstrates.
Ultimately, perceived deniable accountability and the perception of reality
often vary considerably. Failure to understand this, to see how the populations
you are trying to win over or at least prevent from helping the enemy, is all too
frequent. By contracting these forces, the state licenses these firms to operate on the
behalf of the state. In Iraq, for example, the population views these firms as having
direct authority from the United States, the arms-length deniability theorized or
fantasized by U.S. policy makers simply does not exist except in the U.S. media
and political environment. In the big scheme of things, domestic politics does not
make the country safer.
The twentieth century brought increasing institutionalization as a response to
increasing growth in cross-border commerce and new technology. The rise of trans-
national corporations and increasing power of nongovernmental organizations cre-
ated networks of interconnection at the cost of state agency. Voluntary or not,
states were surrendering sovereign authority to suprastate organizations in areas
of social, political, military, and economic policy areas. While borders drawn on
maps ossified, functional boundaries between states became more permeable or
disappeared altogether. The history of mercenaries, especially their disarming two
hundred years ago and their resurgence today, seems to have an inverse relationship
to nationalism and state autonomy.
Globalization places create new options while removing or discounting other
options available to states. Global trade, instant news, and communication force
states to reconstruct and reframe their goals to address a broader audience. While
Pre- and post-Westphalian leaders relied on private, non-state armed forces for want
of capital to maintain their own armies, modern leaders find themselves with simi-
lar capital shortfalls, mostly in the area of political capital that extends beyond their
border, a similar problem of spending capital, but new is the power of international
opinion that holds states accountable to people and not other states. Debates sur-
rounding the bombing of the Marines’ barracks in Lebanon in 1983 and in the
aftermath of the “Blackhawk Down” incident in Somalia ten years later represent
societal and political restrictions felt in all military missions, humanitarian or oth-
erwise. State agency in economics and foreign policy, the first to fall to globaliza-
tion, are now followed by a lessened inviolability of domestic issues as concepts of
preemption, prevention, dissuasion, and projection become part of state security
policies.
Machiavelli’s oft-quoted description of mercenaries as “useless and dangerous …
and without discipline” is misleading (Machiavelli, 1950, 45). As is frequently the
case, the context of his quote is ignored, but not necessarily obsolete. Machiavelli’s
condottieri have a lot in common with modern private military companies today
in that they existed and operated with explicit, or sometimes implicit, permission
of the “administrative unit” hiring them, at least at the outset. When waging war,
the condottieri concentrated on taking prisoners, as their preoccupation was with
raising ransom money. Generally, because they were ideologically and politically
detached from their battles, the hired soldiers were not interested in killing per se;
instead, they conducted themselves within the accepted professional strictures of
warfare (Zarate, 1998).
Private military forces complicate traditional norms of military command and
control, challenging the basic norms of accountability designed to govern the use of
violence. With greater distance between decision and policy maker comes increased
deniability in the eyes of the policy maker. Publics, especially foreign publics, do
not see nor appreciate this insularity and detachment. Public diplomacy is victim-
ized when the forces under indirect control are perceived as extensions or members
of the U.S. armed forces.
There are two levels of accountability: domestic and foreign. The first is account-
ability of policy making to the domestic audience, including Congress. Private
military force is managed directly by the Department of State or the civilian lead-
ership of the Department of Defense. Demands on accountability in international
politics are as old as nationalized militaries. This is an important point because the
purpose of holding armies and navies accountable was their impact on relations
between states, not on relations between persons. State borders are more permeable
as states lose autonomy, but ultimately they still exist and the international system
and international publics see and hear the results of foreign policy decisions and
public diplomacy programs. Dodging criminal prosecution is not restricted to cor-
porate warriors but indirect and unintended extensions of state policies and images
of the state and its people must be first on the list when discussing private military
force. It is not a stretch to say that peacekeeping forces composed of contractor
states is “foreign policy by proxy,” performing tasks the “government [or collective
governments], for … political sensitivities, cannot [or will not] carry out” (Silver-
stein, 2000, 145). Applying this argument to the private security industry today is
where the discussion of their applicability must begin.
The net effect is deeper reliance on the state to enforce legal restraints than
may be widely realized. Private security companies have more pressure points
than state militaries. When analyzing the pros and cons of private military force,
it is important to understand the whole argument. The ability to control private
security companies is greater than a multinational force with its varying rules of
engagement negotiated by each contributor nation, various weapons and ammuni-
tion requirements, and personnel selection policies. The PSC, on the other hand,
seeks to satisfy the requirements or spirit of the contract. Preventing, catching, and
punishing PSC abuses or contract failures are the responsibility of the state through
proper selection, vetting; inability to control the PSC is the failure of the state, not
the failure of the system. PSC motivation aligns closely with satisfying the implicit
and explicit requirements of the client. This is a far different motivation than that
of contractor state soldiers.
Contemporary warfare has changed the structure and role of the military.
Returning to requiring a high degree of specialization and volunteerism it is much
more like the preconscription armies. The deepening divide between military and
nonmilitary culture has led to a continuing disengagement between the two. Mobi-
lization of military force does not require mobilization of the masses. Looking at
the United States, as it is the leader in private security utilization, we see the politi-
cal elites disengaged from the military process: few have family in the armed forces
and none serve in battle. They send the military overseas to conduct the war and
control it remotely, as if they were there due to technology.
From Iraq to Afghanistan, and even into Pakistan and elsewhere in Asia, Africa
and South America, the United States increasingly uses and relies on private mili-
tary force for a variety of reasons. Although their value as deniable, expendable, and
available resources—especially in discussions of “surge” capacity—continues to be
reinforced as contractor missions and even deaths garner little attention from the
media, their fit into the structured civil–military relationship central to American
democracy and fundamental in the decision to use force is questionable.
In the aftermath of the vicious attacks of September 11, 2001, the national
trajectory of outsourcing military capabilities was broadened and accelerated. The
trend toward outsourcing combat soldiers was in place before 9/11 and the seed was
already germinating before planes hit the Towers and the Pentagon.
It is too early to tell if private military companies are a temporary aberration or
the signal of a long-term reversion to the ways of earlier times. Complicating our
understanding is the conduct of the administration of President George W. Bush
on the world stage. Far from an actual coalition builder, national security strategies
and speeches over the years of his tenure have reinforced a unilateralism on the
international stage and in domestic politics and a clear disregard for international
norms that combined to eliminate pressures to keep a lid on nonstate forces.
Private military companies can be effective tools of foreign policy, if they are
intelligently and thoughtfully used. It is still too soon to tell if for the last century
and a half the by and large absence of nonstate military forces hired by states and
sovereigns is an anomaly, a fashionable trend, or something else. Their use in the
foreign policy of the United States today is more indicative of the short-sighted
foreign policy and endemic failure of the U.S. leadership to appreciate the value of
foreign perceptions, notably the civilians with whom our soldiers and private secu-
rity forces are interacting, in the fight against terror. The U.S. legal environment
provides adequate tools to control and manage PMC actions as agents of the United
States; however, the use of these mechanisms is intentionally not exercised, to the
detriment of all concerned.
Both the conduct and rules of war has changed and the range of services that
private military companies provide and what the US requires of them is significant.
Unlike technology stewardship issues that prevent aircraft carriers from putting
to sea without civilians (for the last four decades), security contractors are on the
front lines, directly and independently engaging foreign publics. These “guns with
legs” are point persons in American foreign policy and public diplomacy and are
perceived as representatives of the United States. Their role isn’t a given nor is it
required, but we seem to have accepted it. We cannot afford to make these assump-
tions today or in the future.
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Charles R. Miller
Introduction
Constitutionally the U.S. Army’s purpose derives from the simple phrase in the
preamble to ‘‘provide for the common defense.’’ Yet the U.S. Army, twelve years older
than the Constitution itself, has lived through many iterations of guidance as to
what providing for the common defense actually entails. Just as the rest of the fed-
eral government has burgeoned over time in response to external and internal needs
not covered by that rather sparse document, so has the organization charged with
maintaining the nation’s land forces.
Even though the ashes of Marxism-Leninism have cooled considerably, the
Army still holds fast to its comfortable Cold War purpose and its ensuing doctrine.
It was during that time, rather anomalous considered against the entire history of
the United States, that decision makers found it easiest to develop a grand strategy
and its subsequent defense policy and supporting doctrine. Is it only in the post-
Cold War world, however, that the Army has done the less than battle-focused
tasks such as peacekeeping? A longer study of the Army’s history outside the Cold
War would suggest that the Army’s primary purpose during the entire nineteenth
Reprinted from Public Administration and Management 10, no. 2 (2005). With permission
from the publisher. This chapter does not reflect the views of the Department of the Army,
Department of Defense, or the United States Southern Command.
191
century, regardless of self-concept and other than the very infrequent episodes of
actual battle, was exactly the now familiar role of constable and peacekeeper, a
force somewhat removed from the pressures of international relations and sizably
tiny. The twentieth century marked not only the modernization of war and the
U.S. Army, but also the first time in its history when the international environment
drove its existence, transformation and employment. Just as the external threat was
not a driving factor during the nineteenth century, and the Army had real missions
to accomplish, though with greatly scaled back forces on the frontier, the initial
half of the twenty-first century portends a similar lack of external drivers, with the
globe substituting nicely for the American West (Jervis, 1999). There are still rov-
ing bands of terrorists and suspect regimes to fight, but since the diminution of the
Soviets, the Army has struggled to reconcile its concept of purpose with systemic
dictates, partially by transforming itself to a lighter, more versatile force. A lighter,
more lethal force of itself is good for the common defense; using that force because
it will be even easier to deploy to places even further removed from any tangible
national interest is not.
Basic Argument
This chapter examines the twentieth century U.S. Army by exploring its responses
to external and internal pressures through the vehicle of doctrinal change and its
integration with strategy. A balance of power approach provides one useful tool
for understanding doctrinal change given that the United States was a great power
throughout the period studied and therefore increases in the offensive capabili-
ties of putative adversaries should have triggered conceptual leaps in doctrine that
would also be well integrated with the state’s grand strategy and defense policy.
Two other approaches that look inside the organization provide alternatives to this
balance of power baseline. An organization theory approach suggests that the orga-
nization’s need to reduce uncertainty primarily by maximizing autonomy, but also
prestige and budget, acts as the primary driver of organizational behavior regardless
of integration with strategy. Alternatively, an organizational culture approach sug-
gests that the social and institutional self-concept of the organization derived from
historical preferences and successes will affect the doctrine that its leaders design in
response to civilian guidance so that it also might not mesh perfectly with strategy,
though peculiarities of the U.S. Army dampen some of the more virulent tenden-
cies of both organizational approaches. The general finding from the case studies
is that exogenous, material pressures found under the balance of power approach
explain a great deal of doctrinal change and integration, particularly through the
first half of the Cold War, but that these pressures alone were not enough to prevent
typical organizational autonomy characteristics from surfacing towards the end
of the Cold War due to an inability of the organization to respond to an enlarge-
ment in its scope of responsibilities. Thus, although Army decision makers were
cognizant of systemic cues when they modified their doctrine, eventually they used
doctrinal change as a means of insulating the Army from the uncertainties found
in fluctuating defense policies.
one, even with a substantial threat of international terrorism, still does not look
likely, absent another great power (Jervis, 1998; Posen and Ross, 1997).
The grand strategy across the cases, deliberately not developed to a greater extent,
can be covered by essentially three categories. First, in the absence of enemies, the
grand strategy is typically most sensitive to classic economic considerations found
under U.S. liberalism, so that this is characterized as economically driven, a situation
found generally in the post-war periods in the study. The Second World War stands
alone with an obvious grand strategy of defeating the original Axis powers. The Cold
War, once it was firmly established under NSC-68, can be fairly characterized as
having a grand strategy of containment that drove the varying defense policies.
Although there are notable limitations to developing a coherent grand strategy,
or even a defense policy, as part of the democratic system of the United States, the
U.S. Army is constitutionally bound to follow the guidance that comes from its
duly elected civilian leaders, even if it causes the organization considerable pain.
Thus, although receiving conflicting and oft-changing guidance is problematic, the
Army normatively should attempt to make its war-fighting doctrine support the
immediate defense policy and therefore the grand strategy. The cases under consid-
eration will give us several examples across varying periods of threat to the United
States, either with minimal threat as in the interwar and post-Cold War period,
or with considerable threat throughout the Second World War and the Cold War.
Thus, as U.S. grand strategy and its derivative defense policy changed, so should
Army doctrine. The integration of the Army’s doctrine with those higher levels of
guidance is the question to be studied, by using a survey of the Army’s conception
of doctrine and testing it with three approaches.
What Is Doctrine?
Doctrine is the conceptual framework that ties together theoretically and practi-
cally what the Army teaches, how it trains its forces and how it fights in battle.
These areas all work together synergistically, generate feedback and eventually
modify doctrine, though it is most sensitive to the capabilities of the forces in other
states. Therefore, to assess change in doctrine I will look at three areas:
1. Purpose—All armies obviously want to win, but they have different concep-
tions of how to do so. How well is its doctrine integrated with the national
strategy? In the absence of national strategy, what does doctrine provide? Does
it react to enemy capabilities or does it serve the interest of the organization?
2. Concept—How does the Army’s leadership think about applying force? Is the
doctrine oriented offensively or defensively? How does it envision winning on
the battlefield, by destroying the enemy’s forces or its ability to fight, by deter-
ring, by meeting every threat on every range of the spectrum? Does it favor
maneuver or firepower? How does it view the role of the arms, branches and
services? Does technology play a role? What scale of operations and spectrum
of conflict do leaders envision?
3. Structure—How are forces organized to support the first two factors? What
is procured to support those? What is taught in the schools and how are they
organized? What structures or command relationships exist to link training,
operations, and doctrine?
This approach to doctrine differs somewhat but not drastically from the concep-
tualizations of other authors. Mostly, this method of studying the Army’s doctrine
is one level below that of the state that other scholars consider. This approach gets
more to the organization’s self-concept by looking from the bottom up to its link-
age to political guidance given in the way of defense policy. Changes in the U.S.
Army’s doctrine are most obvious in a single measure, the capstone written state-
ment found in the Field Manual 100-5 series. This manual is the blueprint for Army
doctrine and provides the broad overall guidance required for commanders at all
levels (Farrell, 1996). Because of its distribution and the time needed to implement
its guidance, it is not changed on a whim, but only when there is significant pres-
sure dictating the change, generally seen as well in the overarching defense policy.1
Necessary Distinctions
While noting these distinctions from the formulations of other authors the residual
approach here is still characterized as testing a balance of power explanation against
one in which an organization seeks self-generated ends to explain doctrinal change
Atomic
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Nucl
Combined Arms
Intensity of Conflict
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Low- ur Low Intensity
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Intensity nc Conflict
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and integration with higher political and strategic goals. The most noted example
for studying military doctrine remains Barry Posen’s work. His balance of power
and organization theory approaches explain doctrine in terms of three causal forces:
purpose, people and environment. Posen focuses mostly on how the organization
attempts to reduce uncertainty, to the extent that it prefers an elaborate offensive
doctrine and will only innovate with civilian intervention (Posen, 1984, 41–59;
Zisk, 1993).
Another school of thought typified by Jack Snyder is that militaries want to
reduce uncertainty and will therefore seek elaborate offensive doctrines that civil-
ians cannot understand, the implication being if they do not understand it then they
will not meddle (Snyder, 1984, 24–25). Scott Sagan suggests that militaries prefer
offensive doctrines because it allows them to deny the enemy its preferred offensive
doctrine and place the battle at a time and place of their choosing. Sagan also argues
that army officers will be perennial pessimists, who, while seeking to maximize
the advantage their organization may have at any given point in time, may overly
prescribe preemptive strikes and thus lead to more frequent wars (Sagan and Waltz,
1995, 55–57). All of these scholars demonstrate a military bias for the offensive that
also seems to coincide with some less flattering aspects of organizational behavior.
Both Posen and Snyder share a realist outlook and some common underpinnings:
1. Civilian intervention is a good thing because it shapes the military towards
the objective strategic interest of the state.
2. Military organizations inherently prefer offensive doctrines and can pursue
their own parochial interests rather than the national good if unchecked.
3. That systemic conditions shape doctrine.
Their arguments imply that a military that seeks its own interest serves its state
badly because it will break the link with grand strategy. Of course this begs the
question noted earlier as to whether or not the state can actually develop a coherent
grand strategy. Neither do these authors account for an endogenous, cultural argu-
ment that the defense is simply not the way a warrior class does business. The U.S.
Army poses a different question, because, as previously noted, homeland defense
has been nowhere on its task list until very recently. Finally, my argument assumes
a gentler view of the aspects of military professionals, largely due to American char-
acteristics as typified by Carl Builder (Builder, 1989; Betts, 1991).
As Elizabeth Kier develops her argument, military culture becomes an inter-
vening variable between civilian decision makers and doctrine (Kier, 1997; Porch,
2000). Unlike Posen and Snyder, she suggests:
1. Systemic conditions do not directly shape doctrine.
2. Domestic implications of military policy often shape civilian decisions.
3. Military organizational culture intervenes between civilian leaders’ interpre-
tation of systemic conditions and the output of doctrine.
Kier examines the same period in the British and French armies. She contends
that functional logic does not hold, as both offensive and defensive doctrines can
serve to increase a military’s autonomy, budget and prestige. Interests do not come
directly from either the functional needs of the organization or the systemic envi-
ronment; instead, Kier claims that military power is about the allocation of power
within society as much as it is about state survival. She rightly posits that military
culture intervenes between civilian decision makers and doctrine; her argument
further suggests that the military culture responds to the external environment of
the organization, which can be primarily the domestic political environment. It
revolves around the question ‘‘who within the state has the support and control of
the armed services?’’ (Kier, 1997, 20). Although this argument is persuasive in the
case of the interwar French, where the Right wanted a professional army to guard
against the Left, and the Left a conscript army to guard against the Right, it fails
to apply to the United States. This might be due to Hartz’s liberal tradition with no
feudal past in America, a factor that imputes a solid liberal core with only minor
deviations to each side of the political spectrum.
It could also be that the United States has no contiguous enemies. Before the
Cold War, the Army was reduced after every conflagration to skeletal levels and
played a minimal role in domestic politics. The United States, until the Cold War,
possessed neither internal nor external enemies nor a large standing army. By the
time the Cold War arrived, the strict civilian control of the military had become
inculcated, only to be reinforced by bipartisan Soviet fear. Both Democrats and
Republicans shared not surprisingly similar views and beliefs as to the military’s
role. Like the realist versions, Kier’s construct fails to speak directly to American
exceptionalism. Although her view of culture as an intervening variable is one that
I share, I share it more in a realist sense. The Army has a culture that reinforces
both functional and material needs. It seeks autonomy but has strong normative
constraints and takes its role in providing the public good of defense seriously, even
if to the detriment of integrating professional doctrine with political supervision.
For an overview of the implications of these three approaches, some broad fac-
tors can be compared. Consider Table 10.1.
Hypotheses
Balance of power can best be characterized as the approach in which ‘‘states respond
to potentially dangerous increases in power of their putative adversaries’’ (Posen,
1984, 21). The change in the offensive military capabilities of another state will be
tested with three measures: new offensive doctrine, technological innovation or an
increase in cumulative resources (Van Evera, 1999, 7–11). This approach generates
two major hypotheses. First, if another state increases its offensive capabilities, then
defense policy and doctrine will be integrated in response. This hypothesis would
also suggest that both defense policy makers and the U.S. Army respond well to
changing capabilities that threaten U.S. interests, and also that minimal civilian
intervention is required for doctrinal change. Conversely, when the offensive capa-
bilities of a potential enemy decrease, defense policy and doctrine may drift apart
in the absence of a unifying threat. Due to this trend, the Army is not particularly
innovative without systemic pressure. When the system is indeterminate, internal
features can surface.
The organizational approaches suggest that doctrinal change serves the organi-
zation regardless of threat situation by reducing uncertainty through autonomy or
by serving the social and institutional self-concept derived from historical prefer-
ences and successes. Both of these carry negative consequences for doctrinal inte-
gration with strategy. The approaches will be tested using two major hypotheses,
one from organization theory and one from organizational culture. First, under
organization theory, the Army will pick a doctrine regardless of threat situation,
normally offensive, with which to maximize autonomy and insulation rather than
integration with defense policy. It will use ambiguous and traumatic events to pur-
sue a self-defined agenda. It will also likely fail to change doctrine except when
prodded by civilians (Posen, 1984, 47–49). Second, under the cultural view, if ‘‘the
set of basic assumptions, values, norms, beliefs, and formal knowledge that shape
collective understandings’’ does not resonate with systemic cues, doctrinal change
will not be integrated with defense policy (Kier, 1997, 28). In the U.S. case, how-
ever, those cultural effects are tempered by an Army self-concept of skill, military
art, fire superiority and people rather than machines, systems and platforms, with a
nearly sentimental focus on the people element (Builder, 1989, 33–34).
Given Builder’s observations, it is possible that the nastier version of organiza-
tion theory found in the third hypothesis does not apply as well to the U.S. Army
as to European armies or to the Air Force and Navy. There are certainly many
episodes that reflect a healthy dose of self-interest, however, and part of the task is
to illuminate those tendencies that organization theory suggests should be present,
particularly across the period studied given that as a great power the U.S. Army’s
doctrine should be sensitive mostly to systemic cues. Another point of interest is
the offensive bias in U.S. doctrine, which seems to predate reasonable organization
theory explanations and is a constant, even in Active Defense, ever since 1892’s
pre-doctrine and 1905’s manual, existing at a time when the Army’s role was not
primarily that of war fighter. This would indicate that bias is a cultural one, though
it differs from Kier’s conception, since U.S. offensive doctrine was designed to be
used with citizen-soldiers long before the large standing army came about, and not
as a tool for the military to pick domestic political sides.
Because the United States was a great power throughout the time frame stud-
ied, this baseline will provide an adequate testing of those hypotheses. It is to be
expected in cases lacking significant external pressure that organizational explana-
tions might offer more causal value. The survey of each doctrinal iteration will test
these baseline predictions and determine the usefulness of the balance of power and
organizational approaches across a varied period of eighty years. A great power’s
doctrine should be integrated with its defense policy and subsequent military strat-
egy, in times of threat certainly, but also in times of relative peace, even despite the
already mentioned problems with developing grand strategy during peacetime. If
doctrine and strategy are not integrated, then organizational tendencies have taken
hold that could endanger the well being of the state.
Findings
This study looked at the decision making of senior Army officials over the course
of eighty years as they changed the Army’s capstone doctrine. Doctrine was not
fixed or immutable, but instead a living conceptual document that reflected the
principal essence of the organization. The Army was not as stagnant as might be
thought, and looking at these twelve iterations over a considerable swath of time
shows the organization changing under a variety of pressures. Consequently, the
Field Manual 100-5 series is a valuable tool for studying pressures on the Army as
an organization, both external and internal, international and domestic. The basic
concept in doctrine that this study sought to capture, however, was its theory of
warfare, that is, how the Army’s leaders thought the Army should be employed on
the battlefield and whether or not that concept was integrated with or divorced
from defense policy.
In this regard, the Army’s core doctrine was fairly well attuned to systemic con-
ditions based on the Army leadership’s projections as to the level and nature of threat
and the offensive capabilities of putative adversaries. When other armies that threat-
ened U.S. interests were innovating and developing new doctrine, weapons and
cumulative resources, Army leaders responded generally with alacrity. Yet despite
this sensitivity to systemic factors, some of the features of organization theory and
cultural approaches played a significant causal role in hampering doctrinal integra-
tion with civilian guidance. These organizational approaches generally surface most
readily in the absence of systemic drivers, though surprisingly, also during the last
few iterations of doctrine in the face of the threat from the Soviet Union.
During that critical period beginning after Vietnam, the Army, unable to cope
with fluctuating defense guidance, specifically developed a doctrine that insulated
it from defense policy and focused its efforts nearly squarely on operational excel-
lence on a conventional battlefield. The Army’s theory of fighting wars became its
self-concept to the exclusion of what it saw as excessively variable strategic guidance.
This runs counter to what a baseline balance of power analysis would suggest, given
the Army’s success on various battlefields that should indicate a close integration
with defense policy and the grand strategy of a great power. The Army was sensi-
tive to balance of power considerations, and those drove its increase in war-fighting
proficiency. But it was only through insulating itself that the Army could in the lat-
ter period of the study increase its war-fighting proficiency by shielding itself from
unpredictable domestic guidance. Consequently, a danger to the state, though not
excessive, may exist when its primary armed force has divorced its concept of war
fighting from the state’s strategic concerns.
To survey the relevance of this chapter, first I will provide an overview of the
tested cases by comparing actual and predicted outcomes of integrating doctrine
with defense policy under a balance of power baseline. In analyzing those cases,
I will consolidate evidence from the case studies to demonstrate how the exter-
nal growing pressures on the organization to widen its scope and simultaneously
respond to uneven guidance eventually forced it to seek relative independence,
though still sensitive to threats from other states. Next, I will assess those themes in
light of the September 11 attacks on the United States and suggest likely implica-
tions. Finally, I will address several relevant policy issues based on the causal and
historical trends found in this study and draw a general conclusion as to the danger
of divorcing doctrine from strategy.
of relying on the man with the rifle, and even the horse cavalry, to the exclusion
of most other factors. This internal cultural reliance would not likely have been
integrated with defense policy, had there been one, and rather had to rely still on
mass mobilization in time of need, though the military’s call to train many men
in the United States to stand more ready than they would be under then-current
mobilization plans went largely unheeded.
The doctrine published in 1939 likewise falls prey to a similar lack of both
grand strategy and defense policy. The Army had barely survived the Great Depres-
sion, partially by hiring out its officers to the Civilian Conservation Corps, and as
such, no outside powers pressed for significant U.S. development in doctrine. Army
leaders were aware, however, of the capabilities of other states, as seen particularly
in the planning against the British and Japanese in the late 1920s and early 1930s.
Still, with a defense policy that can only be characterized as isolationist, the Army’s
lack of doctrinal developments and eventual minor effort in 1939 still indicate
cultural effects at work as the major explanation, particularly those proclivities that
retained a romantic notion of horse cavalry and individual soldiers fighting bravely
on against equally stoic foes.
The versions of 1941 and 1944 are easy cases for a balance of power approach
and show strikingly how well doctrine responded to changes in adversaries’ capabil-
ities, even well short of war. Whereas 1939’s doctrine only hinted at mechanization
and combined arms warfare, 1941’s doctrine made an enormous conceptual leap
integrated with defense policy given its movement towards the European nuclear
battlefield, even if many Army leaders saw from the beginning that this strategy
lacked flexibility.
The doctrine of 1962 marks a sharp departure in defense policy from the Eisen-
hower administration’s guidance. Under President Kennedy’s Flexible Response,
military policy was to counter Soviet influence across the spectrum and not just
on European soil. This expansion of scope, to include focus on the lower end of
the spectrum, was a welcome addition to the Army’s repertoire in many regards,
given that it gave the Army a tangible and achievable mission on conventional and
low intensity, unconventional battlefields. The 1962 edition of doctrine welcomed
the expansion in scope and incorporated detailed chapters in counterinsurgency in
addition to the high-intensity and atomic battlefields. As such, it was well integrated
with defense policy at the time. Still, there is also a healthy amount of organiza-
tion theory in Flexible Response as well. The Army was beginning to understand
better the inter-service competition inherent in the new Department of Defense
system and also welcomed increased roles and missions that expanding the scope of
responsibility would give the organization in terms of specialization.
The doctrine of 1968 does not add significantly to scope of doctrinal responsi-
bility. The grand strategy remained the same, with a Soviet-centric focus, though
the war in Vietnam took up a sizeable share of defense policy as well, such that a
focus on destroying the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong on the ground in South
Vietnam was the driving strategic goal. The Army was largely successful in accom-
plishing this mission, partially at the counterinsurgency level, but mostly at the
conventional tactical level, by maximizing attrition of enemy forces but failing to
break their admirable will. The war indicates a sizeable amount of organizational
influence, both from the cultural view, that valued learning from the wartime expe-
rience and direct ground combat, and from an organization autonomy view that
suggested the Amy could continue to gain prestige and influence by executing the
assigned strategy, if only with greater numbers of troops. Yet, this case also reflects a
fair amount of integration with defense policy, perhaps to the Army’s detriment, as
the goal in Vietnam was never realized despite reliance on sheer attrition. As such,
it also reflects a concern with balance of power factors, given the offensive doctrine
found in Vietnam.
In all, 1968’s version of doctrine reflects almost in equal parts the influences
of each approach, though all of these did in fact push toward integration with
defense policy instead of pulling in the expected opposite directions. In summary,
the middle four cases studied show one case of nonintegration with strategy in the
immediate aftermath of World War II given the lack of relative drivers at that time.
The other three cases show a relative integration with defense policy and strategy,
though in the last two iterations not solely for balance of power reasons. A creep-
ing concern with maximizing the autonomy of the organization was growing and
would continue throughout the next period.
1976’s version of doctrine still fell under the grand strategy of containment
but saw the post-Nixon administration refocused on realistic deterrence in Europe
and elsewhere, with much less of a concern for lesser conflicts. 1976’s doctrine was
also, more than any other iteration studied, the work of one man, General William
DePuy. While partially insulated from defense policy through the creation of the
new Training and Doctrine Command, DePuy was nonetheless very attuned to
the capabilities of other states in the system, and he learned greatly from the Arab-
Israeli War of 1973. From this benchmark, DePuy pushed his doctrine known as
Active Defense toward first battle dominance through firepower. The belief under-
lying first battle dominance was that if the first battle could be won decisively, then
the conditions for either later victories or negotiation could be set. Active Defense
also had a nearly European focus to the exclusion of other theaters, something of a
cultural after-effect of Vietnam. DePuy’s doctrine reserved a large role for nuclear
weapons, though it also laid the groundwork for conventional dominance that was
to follow. As such, DePuy’s doctrine is fairly well integrated with defense policy at
the time, though as much by accident as by intentional flow from a grand strategy
through defense policy to doctrine. This version marks the first true break from
what balance of power would predict, as the Army’s doctrinal efforts at the time
came largely from a specialization function found under organization theory and a
learning approach designed to preclude another Vietnam by maximizing the scale
of the first victory in the next war such that it would not be a protracted affair.
1982’s edition of doctrine marks the last conceptual leap in this study and would
only be improved on in a minor fashion by its two successors. Moving beyond the
first battle firepower focus of Active Defense, 1982’s Airland Battle shifted the
focus to maneuver and to the operational depth of the battlefield. It was designed to
defeat not only the first echelon of Soviet forces but also their second, and possibly
third echelons, and thereby disrupt their war-fighting ability without necessarily
attritioning every troop. As such, Airland Battle changed doctrine in three major
ways: by shifting from firepower to maneuver, from the first echelon to the second
and beyond, and from attrition to maneuver. The shifts in emphasis were designed
specifically based on the capabilities of the Soviets, indicating a keen sensitivity to
the capabilities of aggressor states. Yet the doctrine was developed largely free of
interference from defense policy.
Similar to General DePuy’s Active Defense, Airland Battle was the product of
relatively few minds working fairly autonomously. As such, Airland Battle cannot
fairly be characterized as being integrated truly with the defense policy of conven-
tional retaliation, and in fact, the development of the capabilities found in Airland
Battle shaped defense policy to a much larger extent than the converse, such that
doctrine began to reverse the posited chain of influence. This indicated a fair dose
of autonomy through specialization, as well as cultural preferences for conventional
combat and leadership of men, even if the doctrinal writers were well attuned to
systemic conditions. Likewise, 1986’s Airland Battle continued this trend, with
another expansion in the scope of responsibility to respond to the lower level
Atomic
field
attle
ear B
Nucl
High
Combined Arms
Conventional Conventional Warfare
Co
Medium un
ter
-in
Low- sur
ge
Intensity nc Low Intensity
y Conflict
Pea
cek
eep
ing
OOTW
23 39 41 44 49 54 62 68 76 82 86 93
somewhat dramatically at key junctures, particularly during the Cold War. Ini-
tially, lacking interest in foreign affairs, defense policy was concerned mostly with
protecting regional corporate interests or coastal defenses, while the Army main-
tained something of a war-fighting focus. The Second World War saw a necessary
fusion of all levels of war in the face of a determined and capable set of enemies. The
post-war saw an increasing reliance on nuclear weapons that the Army tried to fol-
low but could not fully, also partially inducing some instances of organization the-
ory expectations, particularly under the Eisenhower administration. The Kennedy
administration brought a radical change to defense policy with Flexible Response
and moved away from massive retaliation, followed by later focus on Vietnam that
was nearly equal to the focus on the Soviets. Defense policy returned to the Soviets
exclusively after Vietnam, but by then, the organization, which had attempted to
adjust to two previous extensive changes, had sought insulation through doctrine
in order to reduce uncertainty. Although the 1976, 1982 and 1986 versions seem
to match neatly with defense policy, they were developed largely absent of civilian
guidance and in the 1980s cases actually provide some amount of reverse causation.
Likewise, the final doctrine continues the insulation path, despite a radical change
in defense policy.
This chart helps highlight the initial sensitivity to balance of power concerns
as perceived by the Army through its civilian-generated defense policy. Eventually,
though, the organization followed what organization theory would predict and
sought autonomy. This relative even keel in doctrine as depicted can also indicate
some of the cultural ethos of the organization, as its always felt most comfortable
fighting the mid- to high-intensity battle against conventional foes.
American Exceptionalism?
In this study, doctrine was found to have developed eventually with minor regard for
defense policy although grand strategy served as a cognitive device through which
Army leaders still focused on putative enemies if not their own civilian bosses.
Douglas Porch’s incisive critique of Elizabeth Kier’s work noted that Kier conflated
doctrine with strategy, or grand strategy. More so than in the French case, U.S.
Army doctrine is definitely not strategy. Doctrine as the U.S. Army defines it and as
outlined in the course of the study, essentially stops at the operational level of war,
with a minor nod to strategy in the varying prefaces. For the U.S. Army, doctrine
is largely a playbook for how to think, train and fight battles and campaigns; con-
sequently, the Army is largely agnostic on strategy. Regardless of the strategic guid-
ance for either defensive or offensive operations, the Army will generally find an
operationally offensive way to accomplish the mission. The Army seems to remain
satisfied with operational excellence and eager to leave the discontinuities found in
not fully integrating all of the elements of national power to someone else.
Part of this inability to fuse the Army’s doctrine with more strategic linkage
comes directly from the U.S. system of government. The Army is a loyal organiza-
tion that follows its orders, yet it can receive a variety of conflicting guidance from
the various components of government. Executive guidance may conflict with leg-
islative budget priorities. Bases might be closed, and broad strategic guidance could
conceivably change radically every four years. Partially to insulate itself from these
potentially wavering strategic priorities, the Army essentially develops its own view
of what the threat is, what the threat will be, and what it needs to do to meet it.
Because the U.S. system is wonderfully transparent, civilian decision makers are
mostly kept informed of the Army’s priorities and views of how to fight a war and
provide tacit or explicit approval beforehand. In any case, as demonstrated, the
Army rarely makes drastic, radical changes, and in the United States, there are
several systems of oversight involved at least in terms of all of the material support
systems of the Army, if not its doctrine.
Operationalization of Strategy
In many ways, the separation of the Army’s doctrine from strategic concerns can
be characterized as the operationalization of strategy.2 This is acutely problematic
because when ‘‘strategy is not consciously formulated, it emerges by default. Instead
of being the driving force in war, strategy becomes a mere by-product or after-
thought. In prolonged wars, this is a recipe for disaster, since even extraordinary
tactical and operational successes may not add up to a winning strategy’’ (Handel,
2001, 354). In the U.S. case, Vietnam fits this description closely. The outcome of
that conflict was one of the factors that inadvertently reinforced more separation of
operational doctrine and strategy given that strategy had failed miserably. Similar
examples are the Germans in both the First and Second World Wars. Always the
superior force man for man, even the stunning victories found under blitzkrieg
could not sustain a strategy that essentially challenged the entire world, despite
considerable success in conquering virtually all of mainland Europe.
The greatest danger in divorcing doctrine from strategy is not surprisingly
found in Von Clausewitz as he argues that ‘‘No one starts a war—or rather, no one
in his senses ought to do so—without first being clear in his mind what he intends
to achieve by that war and how he intends to conduct it’’ (Von Clausewitz, 1976,
579). This statement summarizes the primacy of politics over the lower functions
of war. War without political aim and will is simply random killing that can only
be classified as immoral. Derivatively, doctrine developed in the absence of politi-
cal aims, no matter how efficient and artful on the battlefield, also lacks the same
moral considerations, regardless if applied under either a realist or liberal schema.
As noted in this study, the Army remains largely agnostic on strategy and pre-
fers to insulate itself with an operational focus, particularly in the absence of clear
or wavering strategic guidance. Although it is still highly debatable whether or not
strategy can even be accurately described let alone formulated, the gap between
doctrine and defense policy was not so troubling during the development of the
seminal doctrines of 1976, 1982 and 1986. This was due mostly to the nature of
bipolarity and the very obvious nature of who exactly constituted the enemy against
which to plan. This trick of fate allowed the danger of divorcing doctrine and strat-
egy to pass relatively mildly for that time period, yet the full implications of the
danger became readily visible in the absence of the predictable, comfortable Soviet
presence. As indicated before, doctrine continued at a steady state of maintaining
operational conventional war-fighting excellence while the external international
system dictated otherwise. Although the danger of political aims of a state not driv-
ing the concerns of its warriors is the primary danger from divorcing doctrine and
strategy, there are at least four other major negative implications.
Threatening Signals
First, an army not attached firmly to the political goals of its state is likely to develop
an aggressive, offensive doctrine. In the U.S. case, this was a cultural relic at least
from the nineteenth century and not directly a factor of an organizational quest
for autonomy.3 Yet this very type of doctrine can send rather clear and dangerous
signals internationally that a state does not want to send. This case was typified in
Airland Battle, viewed by the Europeans as overly aggressive and likely to provoke
the Soviets. As seen particularly in the case of 1939’s and 1941’s doctrine, a state
does not even have to be under direct threat to see clearly what the offensive doc-
trines of other states can do, and thus provoke responses (Miller and Lynn-Jones,
1989; Mearsheimer, 1983). Although conventional deterrence did seem to work, it
was not until after a shaky initial period and could have gone horribly wrong. This
anomalous Cold War example was one in which the Army’s leaders understood the
grand strategy intent of containment, yet through their own means moved aggres-
sively past that with the operational shock of Airland Battle. These signals cannot
but help other states to focus on their own shortcomings and consequently seek
remedies more readily than they otherwise would.
Additionally, a strikingly offensive doctrine, if nearly the sole focus of an Army,
can exacerbate a security dilemma. If an Army builds its entire essence around an
offensive mode of war fighting, and then demonstrates those capabilities across
a variety of scenarios, it cannot fail to be noticed by other states. Consequently,
although Airland Battle and its derivatives led the Army to apparently easy victories
in Panama and both Persian Gulf Wars, this demonstration seemed to indicate,
that at least for the United States, the offense was easier than it had been before,
even in places where the United States had to deploy troops over great distances
(Jervis, 1978). Although one should not read an invasion by 20,000 troops of a
Caribbean country near the United States or the weakness of Saddam Hussein’s
military as validation that the offense is easy, those situational factors only partially
mitigate the fundamental concern. Conveniently, at the time, there was no state
actor left with which to engage in a serious security dilemma, though those actions
would have exacerbated underlying tensions had such been the case. As such, the
Army provided its portion of the possibly destabilizing policy with its distinguish-
able offensive doctrine that it developed internally. Civilian leaders then had the
opportunity to advertise the Army’s capabilities widely on the world stage. Without
the precursor of offensive doctrine, civilian leaders could not have done the same.
Foot Dragging
The second danger of divorcing doctrine and strategy comes from foot dragging,
or the resistance that can be found when the military is given missions that do not
fit its self-identity. On a larger scale, the positive aspects of the U.S. Army’s culture,
namely the norms and institutions of the political systems and the Army’s own
culture and heritage of continuous, unchallenged, constitutional civilian control,
make its threat to democracy a rather moot question. The U.S. Army also lacks
Kier’s concern with the domestic arrangements of which party is in power and the
subsequent relationship with the people. Although there are some fears of growing
Republicanization of the officer corps and of recently retired generals speaking on
behalf of presidential candidates, the Army generally considers itself a profession
and more reflects the humble servant notion found in Builder (Snider and Watkins,
2002). Yet, there are still areas of concern under civil–military relations. As was seen
in the cases, civilian intervention was not necessary to provoke doctrinal change.
Indeed, there was only scant evidence that any civilian leaders paid any attention
to how the Army designed doctrine. In the U.S. system it appears that civilian
leadership will engage with the military and each other in contentious debates as to
base closures, force end strength, the number of divisions, weapon systems, social
policies and military pay, among others, but rarely does it ever seek to tell the Army
‘‘how to fight.’’ Perhaps this is a true sign of Army professionalism or officials’ trust
in it, given that its core competency is left to its own design, something analogous
to not telling a medical doctor how to perform an operation. This trait, however,
also reinforces the divide between the Army’s operational excellence and overall
lack of strategic integration.
On the grander scale then, foot dragging is not a sign of an imminent coup. On
a smaller scale, however, it can hamper an administration’s short-term policy. The
drawback found in foot dragging was perhaps most perceptible in the short war
over the Balkan province of Kosovo inside of sovereign Serbia. As was indicated, an
Army with a war-fighting culture had not adapted well to a strategy of engagement
and enlargement under the Clinton administration. Advice from the Joint Chiefs of
Staff ruled out ground troops for the ‘‘war’’ before taking action, thus reducing stra-
tegic options. Once troops were actually needed to move to Kosovo, most notably
in Task Force Hawk, the Apache helicopter detachment, there also appeared to be a
considerable amount of foot dragging (Halberstam, 2001, 463–467). Additionally,
the Supreme Allied Commander, Europe, was not allowed to talk to the president
directly, was ordered to not discuss ground options on television, and found himself
very much at odds with the Army and the Army Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff as he attempted to reconcile conflicting guidance from a variety of sources
(Clark, 2001, 273–283). Leading into the Balkan crises, a variety of Army lead-
ers released reports as to the combat readiness of their units, with the implication
being that the peacekeeping task had degraded the wartime mission readiness of
their units such that a lengthy retraining period would be needed once the unit
returned from the seemingly unending occupation of southern Europe. Although
the wisdom of the United States being involved at all in a place that Chancellor Bis-
marck found worthless is certainly questionable, this resistance to strategic options
and mission orders runs counter to the U.S. constitutional arrangement and liberal
imprint of the Army and could portend a future similar set of problems, even under
Republican budgetary munificence.
the organization by the Cold War remains and results in dissonance with the new
roles and missions. Following Builder’s argument, the Army wants to see itself in
the last year of World War II, or defending the Fulda gap, or invading Panama, or
winning either Gulf War with dramatic armored advances and helicopter assaults
across the desert. It does not want to see itself propping up an illegitimate democ-
racy in Haiti, dividing a variety of belligerent ethnicities in the ruins of the Otto-
man Empire, or handing out meals in any country on the African continent. This
war-fighting focus is necessary and maximizes operational effectiveness regardless
of strategic consequences, yet again, might not support the broader strategic goals
of an administration. The Army and most of its Special Operations Forces have
performed exactly those envisioned missions by conducting combat operations in
the Middle East and Afghanistan. The resonance with cultural values is certainly
partially to credit for the amount of success thus seen.
In many ways, this Cold War culture, derivative of so many years of a con-
stant threat, has cut into the ‘‘obedient handymen’’ concept and built in a cultural
resistance to lesser missions. The danger here lies in over-socialization of the officer
corps to threats. Most evidence does not suggest a war-mongering class of officers,
however, but instead points to a general reticence to war combined with a desire
to fight well if needed. This set of war-fighting skills, however, perhaps does not
cover all of the skills needed to support national policy and therefore causes the
organization to lack flexibility. Particularly in the latter cases from Active Defense
on, Army doctrine shaped young officers through their schooling and training, and
as they advanced in rank found it hard to think outside of the Airland Battle frame-
work. This apparent self-limitation of the Army’s repertoire is partly a function of
our U.S. system of vacillating defense guidance that led to the Army’s operational
focus. Generations of officers have grown up thinking operationally, and perhaps
find it hard to make the switch to advising on strategy and grand strategy once they
reach the higher levels of service, relying still on a notion of how to fight a brigade
or a division or a corps across the depth of the battlefield in a certain scenario but
with a less certain vision as to how to reach the desired overall outcome of the use
of force.
throughout history, yet they do not generate the self-concept of the active force.
This development reinforces distance between a professional Army and its guarded
citizenry. The actual strengths of the Army, adjusted as a percentage of the U.S.
population, are closer today to the strength levels of 1938 than any other year in
the past century. A basic grasp of history obviously suggests that this percentage is
rather low, and it is highly likely that of 286 million Americans, most of them will
not know one of 480,000 soldiers. Forced to abandon the expansible Army in the
aftermath of Vietnam and under Cold War pressures, the Army also lost touch with
the U.S. people since the introduction of the all volunteer force, which not coinci-
dentally mirrors the era of operationalization of strategy. This evolution begins to
cast some amount of doubt on Builder’s earlier observation as to the Army’s own
history of being closest to the people, expanding and contracting with the threat.5
It may have taken the all volunteer force instead of conscripts to make the com-
plexities of Airland Battle work; this example, however is one in which the Army
took its raw materials and incorporated them into doctrine, not one in which the
Army fought for a certain doctrine and then sought to shape conscription policy,
essentially the opposite of Kier’s French case.
Positive Connotations
While the negative implications of divorcing doctrine and strategy are serious, there
are at least three positive implications. The first stems from the two doctrinal leaps
in war-fighting effectiveness seen across this entire study. The first leap, the transi-
tion from the arms to combined arms, was driven almost purely by the Germans
and the reaction that their blitzkrieg provoked. This conceptual leap is most readily
explained under a balance of power approach, given that the Germans represented
the most capable state in the system at the time. The second conceptual leap took
place largely without civilian guidance through the intellectual renaissance sparked
by Active Defense and realized in Airland Battle. This instance was an equivalent
jump in war-fighting effectiveness as it transitioned from raw attrition to a more
artful maneuver-based disruption of enemy systems through operational shock.
This leap, however, was internal to the Army, and although spurred by concern with
the Soviets, was also based partially on factors inside the organization as indicated
previously. Perhaps this second increase in war-fighting ability shortened the suffer-
ing of victors and losers alike, though it has also caused considerable consternation
for Allies unable to keep up and enemies who must resort to asymmetric means.
Nevertheless, this doctrinal good, the increase in the core competency, came out
of the Cold War and out of insulation, particularly the method of thinking about
how to design doctrine and then how to fuse it with military education, training
and feedback.
The second positive implication that comes from the operationalization of
strategy lies in the nature of decision making in a liberal democracy. As part of
Conclusion
Regardless of selected policies, and despite its external and internal struggles, the
Army will continue to serve the American people in its constitutional role. The
Army has performed exceptionally well on the battlefield at the operational level;
whether or not a coherent, overarching strategy emerges remains to be seen. Over
time the Army has been required to serve and reconcile multiple sets of two mas-
ters. It had to serve pressures from the international system and from the domestic
politics realm, a face-off between Hobbes and Locke. It had to serve defense policy
and its own quest for excellence through doctrine. Within the organization, it had
to reconcile tendencies towards organizational autonomy with its own culture of
being obedient handymen. Finally, it had to reconcile American tradition that held
the expansible, citizen-soldier Army as the model with the modern need for a ready,
professional standing force. Christ’s parable suggested that no man could serve two
masters without neglecting one for the other. Indeed, the Army was not able to
serve all of these masters equally well, and chose doctrinal insulation as the favored
one. Given the available options, this was perhaps the best choice.
Notes
1. Farrell suggests that published doctrine is not a good measure of what the organiza-
tion is actually doing on the ground. This is a valid point that I will address in the
chapter, but still I would suggest that written doctrine flows from what a signifi-
cant number of units experiment with before doctrine is published. Of course, once
published, doctrine arguably should then be disseminated and followed Army-wide.
Across the cases I study, published doctrine takes on the role of generator of what
units are doing in the ground primarily from the 1976 edition forward, though the
prior editions do capture the ground truth ex post facto.
2. Handel called this phenomenon ‘‘tacticization of strategy’’ from which I developed
‘‘operationalization’’ to describe the U.S. Army’s view of it more accurately.
3. The doctrinal affinity for the offensive in the U.S. Army seems to predate any valid
application of autonomy seeking expected under organization theory. It was pres-
ent when the Army was tiny with no budget and no enemy before World War I.
It was also present during the interwar, the Second World War, the cold war, and
remains today. Aspects of organization theory come and go in the U.S. Army, but the
offensive bias remains. Along cultural lines as well, the bias for the offensive is pres-
ent with or without citizen armies; it was thought that American men possessed the
requisite qualities to attack whether they were draftees or regulars. If anything, the
constant predisposition with the offensive probably indicates a cultural explanation
tied around the construction of military identity, a topic beyond the scope of this
project.
4. The National Guard and the Reserves certainly count as citizen soldiers and perform
many vital support functions in case of call up to active service. This was partly as a
function of the post-Vietnam reforms such that important go-to-war functions were
placed in the reserves, forcing public attention to the war effort immediately. The
notion of entire maneuver divisions of National Guard going into combat after a short
train-up has been largely abandoned though. Still, the Army has managed to incor-
porate the National Guard into some of its less desired missions such as peacekeeping
in the Balkans and on the Sinai peninsula. From all accounts, the National Guard
performed those missions with aplomb.
5. One of the more disturbing features of being separated from the people is found in
the nature of volunteers. Potential volunteers who have a plethora of options in life
are not likely to join a branch of military service, particularly given the generational
impact of the all volunteer force coupled with fewer veterans from the larger wars in
history. In particular this trend leads to a near complete absence of society’s elites in
the Army and other services, given that they can completely opt out of the system,
especially since most of the elite universities in the United States have banned ROTC
from their campuses. The Army, as a service, loses potentially bright candidates and
simple recognition in the elite sector, perhaps leading to further civil–military gaps in
the future as elites rise to positions of prominence. The Army’s war-fighting excellence
is not hampered by the absence of elites, but its long-term health may be.
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Military and
Homeland Security
Risa A. Brooks
Introduction
Since September 11, 2001 the United States has undertaken a variety of military
actions, notably in Afghanistan and Iraq, with the stated goal of anticipating and
preventing future terrorist threats against Americans. Although the rationale
offered for these military actions is largely new, in other respects, these wars and
interventions represent familiar territory for Americans. The tradition of using the
military abroad to protect U.S. security is, after all, what the armed forces have
been trained and equipped for. Historically, the military has been a tool to protect
Americans from threats emanating from outside their borders.
In the post-September 11 era, however, U.S. politicians are increasingly employ-
ing and contemplating a new role for the military: as a participant in safeguard-
ing U.S. domestic security—a force that not only secures Americans from threats
originating from abroad, but protects us from each other and would-be terrorists
here at home. For many, the imperatives of homeland security make expanding the
military’s role in countering terrorism an appealing option. Yet Americans should
carefully consider the implications before supporting such initiatives. Expanding
the U.S. military’s role in homeland security could, over time, alter the purpose
and culture of the military establishment and its relationship to American society
Reprinted from Public Administration and Management 10, no. 2 (2005). With permission.
221
in ways that undermine the legal and social fabric of civil–military relations in this
country.
Although little noticed by the public at large, some important changes have,
in fact, already occurred in the military’s roles in homeland security. Members of
the Air National Guard have flown over 42,000 air patrol missions over U.S. cities
since September 11. Army National Guard Units have been guarding major infra-
structure sites, including dams, bridges and power plants. Since 9-11 the Guard has
also provided 1,100 troops to assist the Immigration and Naturalization Service at
the country’s borders. In fact, as of July 2003, over 28,000 active duty, Reserve and
Guard troops were involved in homeland security.1 These activities have led to talk
of relocating the National Guard in the Department of Homeland Security, with
some prominent politicians and think tanks, conservative and liberal, advocating
assigning homeland security to the National Guard as a primary mission.2
In addition to the Guard’s activities, the Department of Defense (DoD) has
undertaken a major reorganization, creating a new unified combatant command,
Northern Command (NORCOM), which is charged with protecting the security
of the territorial United States (an innovation DoD managed to avoid through-
out the Cold War). Justice and Defense Department lawyers have been review-
ing legislation that limits the military’s role in domestic law enforcement-related
activities, while the Department of Homeland Security is reviewing how best to
employ for the military in supporting its domestic security mandate. Although
prior initiatives, such as ‘‘Total Information Awareness,’’ which would have allowed
the Pentagon to monitor financial and other data on civilians, have been defeated,
new efforts to enhance those prerogatives are under consideration. Recently, for
example, Congress has proposed granting the Pentagon the prerogative to demand
direct access to individuals’ personal and financial records in order to monitor the
activities of civilians residing in the United States.3 In sum, in a variety of ways the
United States has begun slowly to enhance the domestic security roles of the U.S.
military.
As striking as these changes have been, they represent the proverbial tip of the
iceberg in terms of altering the military’s role in homeland security. Public officials
continue to warn that the United States remains at risk of serious terrorist attacks
on its own soil. These risks may in fact grow as the U.S. military expands its train-
ing activities and other operations overseas, maintains a presence in Iraq in com-
ing years, and as al-Qaeda continues to regroup, expands its mobilization activity
and replaces leaders that the U.S. apprehends.4 Skeptics continue to voice concerns
about whether civilian agencies can handle the nature of the threats facing Ameri-
can citizens in an era of growing terrorist activity.5 And if civilian agencies do prove
incapable, political leaders and analysts may be inclined increasingly to call on the
United States’ most well-trained, professional organization to assist in rooting out
these threats: the military establishment.
Alarmingly, these potential and manifest changes in the military’s role in
antiterror activities are occurring in a relative vacuum of public debate about the
appropriate role of the armed forces in homeland security. These issues are too
important to leave to lawyers, or even to the president and Congress to decide.
Americans must decide for themselves what, if any, role the country’s armed forces
should play in protecting their cities and neighborhoods from terrorist threats.
There are some good reasons to consider creating a substantial role for the armed
forces in homeland security. Without question, our powerful military is a major
resource that could be marshaled in support of the war on terror here in the United
States. But the arguments against allowing it such a role are stronger. Although the
National Guard has helped ensure stability during episodic crises in this country’s
history, granting the military a major, on-going domestic role in ensuring internal
security is not part of American civil–military tradition. It also conflicts with the
fundamental philosophical traditions upon which our society rests, which privilege
a free and open society reflexively opposed to militarist values. More concretely,
policing citizens and fighting wars are largely incompatible tasks. They require dif-
ferent mindsets, training and involve a different sensibility toward the use of force.
For these and other reasons Americans should resist the impulse to institutionalize
a major military role in homeland security.
The Scenario
Assume, for a moment, that officials obtain reliable intelligence that the coun-
try could face a September 11-scale attack within the next year. A mobile, highly
compartmentalized and skilled terrorist cell is suspected of planning operations in
several major metropolitan areas. To confront the threat, public officials develop
a plan to expand security and intelligence operations within the country’s major
cities. They seek to establish a surveillance regime, employing sophisticated and
expensive equipment, to monitor civilian groups who live within select urban areas
and are suspected of having ties to the network. Offices within each city will over-
see the search, apprehension and interrogation of suspects. These activities are to be
coordinated by integrated command and control centers.
The considerable demands of implementing the plan overwhelm state and fed-
eral civilian law enforcement and intelligence agencies. They lack essential resources,
infrastructure and experience. Under the strain, they look to Washington to supply
military resources to staff, equip and coordinate the operation. Washington would
likely be tempted to commit them. Protecting the lives of U.S. citizens would weigh
heavily on the president and his advisors. Given the stakes involved, they could call
on the Pentagon to act—perhaps at first to run the command centers, and later
to actually participate in the monitoring and apprehension of suspected civilian
suspects.
Of all the changes wrought by September 11, using the military in this way
would represent the largest and most significant departure from our political and
legal traditions. Historically the U.S. military has not played a central role in
domestic security. Rather, the military and civilian establishments have tradition-
ally conformed to a division of labor in protecting the country from domestic and
international threats. The military protects the country’s borders and sovereignty
from external challengers. Civilian entities, such as the Federal Bureau of Inves-
tigation, other federal agencies, and state and local officials enforce our laws and
protect us at home.
Beyond this practical division of labor, our current laws prevent the military
from playing an active role in law enforcement. The Posse Comitatus Act (PCA) of
1878 prohibits such a role. The PCA was passed during the Reconstruction-era
South when the military was being used to enforce federal law. Disturbed by the
politicization of the military, Congress prohibited the use of the army and navy (it
applies to the marines and air force by DoD regulation) as a posse comitatus, which
literally means ‘‘force of the county,’’ in order to enforce laws. As it now stands,
with the exception of the National Guard when under state control, military per-
sonnel cannot participate in activities associated with searching citizens, seizing
their property for evidence or arresting them. In practical terms, this means that
the military cannot now legally participate in criminal-style investigations of civil-
ians residing in the United States in order to enforce federal laws.
Expanding the military’s place in homeland security to more actively moni-
tor, investigate and pursue suspected terrorists would require relaxing these limits
on the military’s law enforcement-related activities, and altering the longstanding
division of labor between the military and civilian establishments. In short, under-
taking these activities would represent an unprecedented change in the role of the
military in the United States.
restore order in Los Angeles in the aftermath of the 1992 Rodney King verdict.
Since the early 1980s the military has also played a role in counter-drug opera-
tions. Military personnel assigned these responsibilities are tasked with patrolling
borders, and providing intelligence and other support to civilian law enforcement
officials. Moreover, the U.S. military plays a role in humanitarian operations,
especially in the aftermath of national disasters. In the 1990s Congress assigned
the U.S. military a role in training and coordinating a response to a chemical,
biological or nuclear attack within the United States. Today the National Guard
maintains twenty-seven civil support teams whose main responsibilities involve
supporting civilian emergency operations and clean-up in the event of a weapon of
mass destruction (WMD) attack.
Finally, although the PCA prohibits the active duty military and reserves from
participating in civilian law enforcement, it does not apply to the National Guard
when under state control, or to the Coast Guard. Hence these services now could
be assigned substantial roles in intelligence, gathering evidence and even in the
interrogation and detainment of civilians without legal restrictions. In addition, the
courts and Congress already allow all the armed forces to provide passive support
to civilian authorities. Only active participation is illegal (e.g., search, seizure and
arrest).6 The military can share equipment and facilities, train civilian personnel in
the use of the equipment, and provide technical assistance and operate surveillance
and communications equipment on their behalf.
In short, since part of the military is already exempt from the PCA, and support
activities are permissible for all the armed forces, amending the law to allow the
regular, active duty forces, the Reserves or the Federalized National Guard to par-
ticipate in law enforcement-related activities may seem a logical next step. In short,
advocates of change may argue that there already is a legal and practical basis for a
military role in law enforcement to combat terrorism on U.S. soil. Much is already
allowed and acceptable.
communicate to their units, and not necessarily with outsiders. They are not trained
in basic citizen protections.8
The culture clash is illustrated by a potentially devastating incident during the
1992 Los Angeles riots when federal troops were brought in to help restore order in
the aftermath of the Rodney King verdict. One night during the riots, officers from
the Los Angeles Police Department, accompanied by U.S. Marines, were asked to
respond to a domestic dispute. When they arrived at the doorstep of the house,
shotgun birdshot rounds were fired through the door, hitting the police officers.
One reportedly yelled “cover me” to the Marines. With that command, the police
officer was directing the Marines to point their weapons and be prepared to shoot
if necessary. The Marines, however, responded as they had been trained to react to
that phrase: over two hundred bullets were fired into the house. No one was hurt in
the incident, but the couple’s children were in the house at the time.9
The current occupation of Iraq also highlights some of these dilemmas. The
particular mix of an unstable security environment and need for political and eco-
nomic reconstruction has required soldiers deployed in Iraq to reconcile the train-
ing, tactics and mindset essential to countering guerilla-style operations with the
skills necessary for dealing effectively with civilian populations, at times with con-
siderable difficulty. Although arguably less acute than would be the dilemma of the
U.S. military policing civilians within the country’s borders, the problems in Iraq
highlight the conflict between police work and combat operations. For example,
reports of soldiers searching homes and treating Iraqi civilians disrespectfully in an
effort to apprehend criminals and opposition forces speak directly to the differences
in the mindsets involved in combat operations and stability operations.10
Some might argue that these problems are less acute for the National Guard,
and therefore while keeping the active duty force out of internal security is impor-
tant, the obstacles are less for the Guard. As citizen soldiers, many members of the
Guard work in civilian jobs and serve in locally based units that have strong roots
in their communities; as a result, organizationally and culturally the Guard is prob-
ably best prepared to interface with civilians and their institutions in the United
States and therefore to play a role in internal security. Yet, the Guard too must
maintain readiness to operate in a conventional military environment to fulfill its
present mandate—its members may be best prepared to bridge the gap between
the skills essential to stability operations and combat operations, but that does not
mean it is easy to do so. To train and equip the National Guard to participate more
actively in antiterrorism activities here in the United States—especially in those
activities that could potentially fuse with criminal-style investigations involving
the monitoring and apprehension of civilians—would require an important shift in
doctrine, training and military education in order to establish civil protections and
restraint in the use of force. Such efforts to prepare the Guard as an institution and
its members to play an enhanced role in internal security would potentially entail
changes in the current mandate of the Guard and a shift away from its combat
roles. However, politicians do not seem inclined to take on such ambitious and
example, warns against engaging military authorities in activities that ‘‘shut out’’
civilian actors and prevent them from ‘‘developing the critical skills and expanding
their activities’’ (Goodman, 1996, 39; also see Desch, 1996, 14).
Equally important are the effects on the politicization of the officer corps and
military service organizations of growing involvement in domestic security. Once
again, Goodman suggests decision makers think carefully about expanding activi-
ties of this nature. He warns that they could result in the ‘‘armed forces gain[ing]
added privilege and becom[ing] a special-interest group promoting their own
institutional interests at the expense of private and public entities’’ (Goodman,
1996, 39). Specifically, the risk is that in the process of institutionalizing a role in
domestic security, military leaders and their organizations become vested in inter-
nal debates about the allocation of resources and methods in countering terrorist
activity in the United States—they develop their own institutional interests in how
domestic security is managed and funded. This would also likely enhance pres-
sures to become participants in partisan debates about these issues, as politicians
court military support in trying to sell alternative conceptions of how homeland
security resources are structured and allocated (a phenomenon, for example, that
is increasingly observed in the area of foreign and external security, as politicians
have sought and received endorsements about their credentials and platforms from
retired military personnel in recent elections) (for details see Brooks, 2002).
One of the underlying normative principles upon which U.S. civil–military
relations rests is that officers are professionalized—a term that is, in part, conven-
tionally understood to mean that officers withhold public participation in politics
and do not align with particular parties or interest groups; explicit partisanship and
politicking stop at the barracks doors. This value has already been tested in service
branches’ organizational battles over the defense budget and procurement (Scroggs,
2000), and even in foreign policy,13 but for the most part military leaders and their
organizations in the contemporary United States do not participate in debates and
lobbying on domestic policy. This could be tested, however, if the military services
or their subcomponents become organizationally committed to a mission of inter-
nal security. In sum, one of the consequences of expanding the military’s organiza-
tional roles in internal security is that it subverts this normative ethos and alters the
existing basis of professional conduct for U.S. military personnel.
Of course, to some, this may seem far-fetched for the U.S. military. But the
reality of U.S. civil–military relations in the twenty-first century suggests it is pos-
sible. There are indications that the U.S. military is already increasingly politi-
cized.14 Its officers are more partisan than they were thirty years ago. Most now
profess allegiance to a political party (primarily the Republican Party) while in the
early 1970s a majority preferred to be identified as independents. Today officers are
better educated than civilians with similar levels of professional achievement. Their
services run elaborate and sophisticated lobbying campaigns on Capitol Hill. At
the same time, nearly two-thirds of the country’s military officers surveyed in the
1990s said they believed politicians were either somewhat ignorant or very ignorant
about military activity. Large numbers of those officers replied that they should
insist (not just advise or advocate) when it comes to civilian policy decisions related
to the conditions under which force is used. This may embolden them to speak
out on domestic security issues, especially if their organizations and personnel are
directly involved. And U.S. citizens may be prone to listen. The military enjoys
more esteem than any other public or private institution in the country, including
religious institutions.15
To be clear, the danger of politicization is not that its leaders will engage in
an overt intervention in politics (such as through a coup d’ etat). The risk is more
subtle, if equally worrisome. Military leaders may be drawn into domestic political
debate, and be forced or compelled to adopt positions on sensitive issues essential to
domestic security. The commander of NORCOM alone, for example, could become
a prominent voice on domestic security. Concerned that an administration is mis-
managing domestic security, and in his capacity as chief of the unified combatant
command for the continental United States, it would not be difficult to imagine
that he could give statements that question or challenge an administration’s policy.
A president with strong credentials might be able to counter effectively these state-
ments. But not all presidents will have that luck. It is one thing for the military to
advise civilians behind closed doors. Much more worrisome is a military leadership
that publicly advances its own agenda on domestic security. Such actions threaten
to undermine the spirit, if not the letter, of civilian supremacy.
Moreover, even if military leaders do not deliberately seek out opportunities to
speak out, they could easily get drawn into debate inadvertently. Had the marines
shot someone during the Los Angeles riots or were they to in some future antiter-
rorist operation they would inevitably become embroiled in social controversy. His-
tory shows that institutions’ reputations emerge bruised and bloodied from such
episodes. This would be bad for the U.S. military, and for the society that it pro-
tects. Moreover, in such an event, the military brass may find it has no choice but
to speak out in defense of its own, inviting its politicization. For all these reasons,
extreme caution is in order before we enhance the military’s domestic roles.
Compromising Values
Last, involving the military in homeland security would be bad for society. This
country was born with a basic apprehension about a domestically powerful mili-
tary. The founders were convinced a powerful military establishment ran counter
to the principles of democracy and liberty enshrined in the Declaration of Indepen-
dence. In fact, it was not until the Constitution was written that the exigencies of
protecting the young republic prevailed over the reflexive fear of a standing army,
and a federal force was established. Involving the military in homeland security
would run counter to our tradition of maintaining a military carefully divorced
from civilian society.
Of course, tradition may be a luxury we can no longer afford. The reality is that
the country is facing a threat to the well-being of its citizens of a kind unforeseen
in the past two hundred years. The nature of the adversary—a nonstate actor that
operates within the boundaries of the country’s borders and targets its citizens inter-
nationally—differs from the traditional, state-based adversaries the United States
has faced throughout much of its history. Although some dimension of confronting
terrorist activity arguably involves conventional military operations and other com-
bat-related activity, the nature of terrorist movements also entails the redirection of
existing resources and capabilities—both civilian and military resources. In short,
from this perspective, confronting global, ideological terrorism may demand new
ways of thinking about the uses and functions of the U.S. military (as well as the
country’s other public institutions and ways of life). It may require a revisitation of
the country’s historical, philosophical and legal traditions: maintaining tradition
may be an indulgence U.S. citizens can no longer afford.
The problem with this argument is that the traditions at stake are not mere
luxuries. Thinking critically about both the benefits and costs of reorienting secu-
rity structures and redefining the activities of public institutions is essential. Yet
transforming the role of the U.S. military in internal security represents more than
a natural evolution of values and practices to suit the contemporary era. Rather,
doing so would challenge some premises of core societal and cultural values. Ameri-
cans live in a society based on the philosophy of Liberalism (that is Liberalism
in the philosophical sense, not in the sense of contemporary politics). They value
individual rights, and set up institutions to facilitate commerce. They retain a basic
mistrust of an imposing state that might hinder individual rights. They are funda-
mentally antimilitarist.
A large domestic security role for the military goes against this cultural grain.
Cultural change happens slowly and usually with little notice. We have already
begun to alter some of our traditions by relaxing protections on rights of privacy
and other civil liberties with the passage of the USA PATRIOT Act, related legisla-
tion and regulation that grants civilian entities greater prerogatives to monitor the
activities of the U.S. population.16 Although these actions are controversial, they
are mild compared with the cultural implications of allowing the military a vis-
ible, institutionalized role in monitoring and policing our schools, work places,
churches and communities. Such activities smack of the role of militaries in auto-
cratic regimes and in pseudo democracies—regimes and societies the United States
has traditionally reviled for failing to divorce their militaries from civilian society.
In short, by acquiescing in an expansion of the military’s role in domestic society,
we may inadvertently promote distortions in the basic principles of civil liberty,
individual rights and freedom upon which our society rests.
What Is To Be Done?
Certainly there is room for a sensible compromise. Some role for the military in
homeland security is arguably appropriate and desirable. But a number of actions
must be taken in order to define that role.
First, we need clarification of Posse Comitatus based on a comprehensive assess-
ment of the principles of civil–military relations in United States. Traditionally,
Congress has offered ad hoc amendments to the PCA. They did so in the early
1980s to facilitate the military’s expanded role in drug interdiction, and more
recently with a series of legislative initiatives in the 1990s (Taylor, 1998). But ad
hoc amendments are no substitute for a coherent concept of how to use the military
domestically. We need a clear, principled view on which to base law and regula-
tion. Specifically, we should clearly delineate what activities are permissible and
appropriate in supporting homeland security. Any new legislation should provide
comprehensive guidelines for how and when the military should and can partici-
pate in protecting the U.S. population against terrorist activity. This would create a
legislative fire wall against the slow erosion of limits on the military’s role in home-
land security. Note, moreover, that such a clarification would be helpful not only
to civilian authorities, but to military officials who must now try and interpret the
act’s and related legislation’s relevance on a case-by-case basis. Military authorities,
as well as their civilian counterparts, would have a clearer understanding of what
was and was not allowable.
Second, these newly clarified principles should be based on the premise that the
active duty military and reserves are, in all cases, tools of last resort. We should not
institutionalize any regular roles for these forces in homeland security, which are the
country’s mainline combat forces. Instead, we should plan to use them primarily
when no one else can do the job, as an emergency force, not a daily protector—in,
for example, the event of a catastrophic WMD attack (a role Congress has already
provided for in legislation in the 1990s). Regardless of the circumstance, when
these forces’ personnel are called upon to act, it must be done with clear plans for
integrating their units and entities into a civilian-led command structure. Research
is essential on doctrine for how best military agencies can assist and support civilian
law enforcement agencies in emergencies, and on the dangers and pitfalls of such
activities. Clear lines of authority and spheres of responsibility must be delineated
and maintained. Otherwise, during crises military authority and activity will tend
to fuse or coexist awkwardly with civilian law enforcement functions.
Third, although some roles for the National Guard in homeland security may
be appropriate, these should be sharply limited. It may be appropriate, for example,
to maintain Guard participation in civilian infrastructure protection and in air
patrols over urban areas, as long as these activities remain distinct from any law
enforcement-related roles. Of the country’s armed forces, the Guard is arguably
best equipped for tasks that require interface with civilian populations and com-
munities. It is under the peacetime command and answers to state officials (state
governors). Members of the Guard often have ties to local communities and may
even work for civilian law enforcement and emergency services. Hence, using the
Guard as a supplemental protection force at dams, nuclear facilities and the like
may make sense. However, prohibitions against directly involving it in surveillance
or law enforcement-related activities should be maintained. The Guard is still the
military, and its members are not trained in civilian protections and civil liberties.
And, as noted above, National Guard units play a central, external role in stabil-
ity operations abroad. In particular, they will likely play a pivotal role in Iraq for
the foreseeable future. In short, the Guard, like the active duty force and reserves,
should never act as a supplementary law enforcement entity, in charge of monitor-
ing or investigating civilians.
Fourth, we must invest in civilian law enforcement itself. It is meaningless to
intend to use the military as a tool of last resort, if we have not actually prepared
civilian entities to handle all but the worst jobs. This means anticipating the types
of terrorism crises the United States may face, and providing the necessary resources
and infrastructure far ahead of time. Specifically, we should continue to explore
reform of our processes and structures for immigration and border control; this
includes examining the Coast Guard’s functions in these areas and clarifying its
appropriate roles in safeguarding our territorial waters and ports (important work
that has begun, but must continue). We also need to better fund and administer
not just the FBI, but organizations such as the Department of the Interior’s police
forces.17 Public pressure on civilian intelligence agencies must be maintained, so
they operate by the highest standards. High-technology equipment useful for sur-
veillance and other activities, now only in the hands of military services, should be
supplied to civilian agencies with clear prescriptions about how and when it can be
used. Innovative training programs for this equipment also must be institutional-
ized, so that civilian officials will not always have to call upon the military to fly
airplanes and operate computers.
Last, and most importantly, we should establish a better dialogue about civil–
military relations in the United States. The military is more important to U.S. citi-
zens than ever before. The military, politicians and the society that the former serves
need to be in constant conversation about how and when to use the military in the
war on terrorism. Civilians have a duty to educate themselves about the issues. And
our politicians and military professionals have a responsibility to consider carefully
the short- and long-term ramifications before altering our traditions.
Notes
1. Eric Rosenberg, ‘‘Global Crises Push Army to the Limit,’’ The State, July 27, 2003.
2. See Bill Miller, ‘‘National Guard Awaits Niche in Homeland Security Plan: White
House’s Caution Chafes against those Urging Action,’’ The Washington Post, August
11, 2002. Also, the Hart–Rudman report (authored before September 11), ‘‘Road
Map for National Security: Imperative for Change,’’ U.S. Commission on National
Security/21st Century, January 31, 2001, 10. Joseph Lieberman, a potential presiden-
tial candidate, has, for example, on multiple occasions advocated creating a host of
new National Guard units trained and assigned exclusively domestic roles (Sydney
Freedberg, Jr. ‘‘Changing of the Guard,’’ The National Journal, August 20, 2002).
3. Eric Lichtblau and James Risen, ‘‘Broad Domestic Role Asked for CIA and the Pen-
tagon,’’ The New York Times, May 2, 2003.
4. For example, the Iraq war has apparently fueled the mobilization effort (Don Van
Natta Jr. and Desmond Butler, ‘‘Anger on Iraq Seen as New Qaeda Recruiting Tool,’’
The New York Times, March 16, 2003).
5. See, for example, the report by the Council on Foreign Relations independent task
force, chaired by Gary Hart and Warren B. Rudman, America—Still Unprepared,
Still in Danger (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 2002).
6. As long as the military refrains from active support (search and seizure), courts have
declared it in compliance with the PCA. Legislation passed in the 1980s and 1990s
codifies the military’s passive support rules. For a review of these changes, see Steven
L. Miller, The Military, Domestic Law Enforcement, and Posse Comitatus: A Time for
Change (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air Command and Staff College, Air Univer-
sity, , April 2000), 5–9.
7. Eric Rosenberg, ‘‘Global Crises Push Army to the Limit,’’ The State, July 27, 2003. In
November 2003, twenty brigades from the active duty component were deployed. See
www.Globalsecurity.org/military/ops/global-deployments. tm (accessed November 1,
2003).
8. For discussion of this point, and other concerns about military readiness see Mathew
Hammond, ‘‘The Posse Comitatus Act: A Principle in Need of Renewal,’’ Washington
University Law Quarterly 75, no. 2 (Summer 1997), 953–984.
9. James D. Delk, Fires and Furies: the LA Riots (Palm Springs, CA: ETC Publications,
1995), 221–222. Cited in Christopher M. Schnaubelt, ‘‘Lessons in Command and
Control from the Los Angeles Riots,’’ Parameters (summer 1997), 88–109.
10. On some of these challenges, see Sarah Kershaw, “The Struggle for Iraq,’’ The New
York Times, September 15, 2003.
11. In an effort to lessen the need for lengthy and frequent mobilization of reserves for
duty in Iraq, the Pentagon is seeking to move more conventional combat-oriented
tasks into the Guard and shift some responsibilities largely located in the Guard
(e.g., civil affairs) to the active duty force. See Thom Shanker, ‘‘Pentagon Grapples
with Troop Shortage,’’ The International Herald Tribune, July 21, 2003; Bryan Mitch-
ell, ‘‘Weekend Warriors in No One’s Shadow,’’ Knoxville News Sentinel, October 12,
2003.
12. There is enormous literature on militaries’ roles in internal politics in these coun-
tries and their implications for democratization, society and the organizations them-
selves. For a sample, see Alfred Stepan, Re-Thinking Military Politics (Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press, 1988); Samuel Huntington, The Third Wave (Norman:
University of Oklahoma Press, 1991); Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991); Guillermo O’Donnell and Phillippe
Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain
Democracies (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986).
13. See for example, debates about Colin Powell’s influence over decisions to intervene
in Bosnia in the early 1990s. See the overview in Don Snider and Miranda Carlton-
Carew, eds., U.S. Civil–military Relations: in Crisis or Transition (Washington, D.C.:
Center for Strategic and International Studies, 1995).
14. For the figures cited below, and further evidence of these trends, see the compre-
hensive and detailed studies by the Triangle Institute for Security Studies (TISS)
compiled in Peter D. Feaver and Richard H. Kohn, Soldiers and Civilians: The Civil–
military Gap and American National Security (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001).
15. Gallup surveys show that Americans consistently rate the military on surveys, which
measure confidence in public and private institutions; see http://www.gallup.com/
poll/specialReports/pollSummaries/aoa_index.asp. Also see figures cited in Paul
Gronke and Peter D. Feaver, ‘‘Uncertain Confidence: Civilian and Military Attitudes
about Civil Military Relations,’’ in Peter D. Feaver and Richard H. Kohn, Soldiers
and Civilians: The Civil–military Gap and American National Security (Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press, 2001), 134.
16. Among them, the USA PATRIOT Act relaxes restrictions on CIA capacity to engage
in domestic surveillance and grants police agencies greater prerogatives in telephone
and Internet surveillance. The Justice Department has also enhanced the powers of
the FBI to track individuals suspected of potential terrorist activities without prior
evidence of affiliation with terrorist groups. For more discussion of the civilian angle
of homeland security and the debate about ‘‘security versus liberty,’’ see Thomas F.
Powers, ‘‘Can We Be Secure and Free?’’ The Public Interest (Spring 2003, 3–25).
17. For a discussion of the Interior Department’s problems, in particular, see Joel Brin-
kley, ‘‘Interior Department Struggles to Upgrade its Police Forces,’’ The New York
Times, November 3, 2002.
References
Brooks, R.A. 2002. Political strategies of the military in democracies. Paper presented at
the annual meetings of International Studies Association. New Orleans, LA, March
23–27.
Cohen, E. 2002. Supreme Command. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Desch, M. 1996. Threat environments and military missions. In Civil–military Relations
and Democracy, ed. L. Diamond and M. Plattner. Baltimore:, MD Johns Hopkins
University Press, 12–29.
Goodman, L.W. 1996. Military roles past and present. In Civil–military Relations and
Democracy, ed. L. Diamond and M. Plattner. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Uni-
versity Press, 30–46.
Huntington, S. 1957. The Soldier and the State. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Scroggs, S. 2000. Army Relations with Congress. Westport, CT: Praeger.
Taylor, S. 1998. Analysis of the Military Role in America’s Domestic Counterdrug Effort. Car-
lisle Barracks, PA: Army War College.
Civil–Military Relations
Theory and Military
Effectiveness
Suzanne C. Nielsen
Introduction
The state of civil–military relations in the United States resurfaced as a notable focus
of concern in the 1990s. In the early years of the decade, many saw a potential crisis
brewing in civilian control (see Kohn, 1994; Weigley, 1993; and Bacevich, 1998).
Some observers attributed this to the fact that President Bill Clinton’s administra-
tion, which suffered from a lack of credibility in military affairs, came into office
at the same time that the Joint Chiefs had a popular and activist chairman in the
person of General Colin Powell (Cohen, 1995). Another factor that some saw at
work was the new authority of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff under
the Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986 (Luttwak, 1994). However, consensus about the
scale of the problem was never reached, with some arguing that claims of a crisis
were exaggerated (see Kohn, 1994, 29; Avant, 1998; and Burk, 1998). Even during
the Clinton administration, at least one observer saw the balance being restored
during the tenures of successive chairmen of the Joint Staff (see Goldstein, 2000).
Alongside the popular debate described above, there have been new and more
explicitly theoretical attempts to examine post-Cold War civil–military relations in
Reprinted from Public Administration and Management 10, no. 2 (2005). With permission.
237
the United States. In fact, Peter Feaver characterizes the renewed attention to this
problem in the 1990s as an ‘‘American Renaissance’’ (Feaver, 1999, 230–233). At
least three approaches, those by Michael Desch, Deborah Avant, and Peter Feaver,
are particularly valuable in that their theoretical perspectives are (or could be)
applied to civil–military relationships in comparative perspective as well as to the
American case. In Civilian Control of the Military (1999), Desch formulates a struc-
tural theory of civil–military relations that makes predictions about the strength
of civilian control based on the degree of internal and external threat faced by a
given society (Desch, 1999). Taking a different approach, Deborah Avant and Peter
Feaver have applied adaptations of the principal-agent framework to explain the
state of civilian control and military responsiveness in the United States (see Avant,
1996/1997; and Feaver, 2003). Although these analyses differ in their focus and in
their findings, they have in common an emphasis on civilian control as the central
concern.
This focus on civilian control has two noteworthy aspects. First, it is a bit sur-
prising given that those writing about civil–military relations in the United States
generally are not concerned about overt disobedience of orders—let alone a mili-
tary coup. For example, in the book cited above, Desch points out that even in
what he sees as the post-Cold War environment of lessening civilian control, ‘‘there
is little danger that the U.S. military will launch a coup d’état and seize power.
Nor is it likely to become openly insubordinate and disobey direct orders’’ (1999,
30). The same basic presumptions underlie the work of Avant and Feaver. In fact,
Feaver’s use of the principal-agent framework implicitly assumes ‘‘that the military
conceives of itself as a servant of the government.’’ He goes on to point out that,
‘‘The model works best in democracies which, by definition, identify the govern-
ment as the rightful principal with the authority to delegate (and not to delegate)
responsibility’’ (1998, 421). This presumption of lack of direct military insubordi-
nation does not make the question of quality of civilian control in the United States
unimportant or uninteresting. However, because extreme problems of loss of con-
trol are ruled out it does leave room for analyzing other aspects of the civil–military
relationship. This leads to the second noteworthy aspect of the focus on civilian
control, which is that this concern has tended to overshadow the exploration of
other important outcomes.
The purpose of this chapter is to explore the issues associated with examin-
ing one of the other potentially significant ramifications of civil–military relation-
ships, their impact on military effectiveness. My underlying premise is that military
effectiveness rivals civilian control as a legitimate central concern in the study of
civil–military relations. Though I will not provide evidence for this claim here, I
will attempt to put it into perspective and raise some of the issues associated with
doing research along these lines. The discussion below is therefore organized into
three sections. In the first, I will review existing civil–military relations literature as
it relates to the problem of military effectiveness.
In the second, I will mention some of the concerns that scholars working in this
area will have to address. Finally, in the third section I will provide some conclud-
ing thoughts.
The Classics
It is important to start by acknowledging that the two classic works of American
civil–military relations, Samuel Huntington’s The Soldier and the State (1957) and
Morris Janowitz’s The Professional Soldier (1960), address both military effectiveness
and civilian control. Huntington discusses civil–military relations as an explanatory
variable, and argues that their nature has an important impact on military effec-
tiveness. However, the manner in which he formulates this relationship is problem-
atic. Janowitz also discusses military effectiveness but it is not clear in his discussion
that civil–military relations serves as an explanatory variable for his assessment of
what would constitute an effective military. Instead, he bases his argument for a
constabulary force on his assessment of the military needs of the United States in
the Cold War, and then argues that acceptance of such a role by the military would
also have a beneficial impact on the character of civil–military relations and civilian
control. I will address each of these works in turn.
In The Soldier and the State, one of Huntington’s basic methodological assump-
tions is that it is possible to define an equilibrium called ‘‘objective civilian control’’
that ensures civilian control and maximizes security at the same time (Huntington,
1957, viii) He argues that, ‘‘In practice, officership is strongest and most effec-
tive when it most closely approaches the professional ideal; it is weakest and most
defective when it falls short of that ideal’’ (11). An officer corps is professional to
the extent it exhibits the qualities of expertise, responsibility, and corporateness.
In addition to enhancing effectiveness, these traits also enhance civilian control
because a professional military seeks to distance itself from politics (84).1 In the
U.S. context, however, military professionalism is difficult to maintain because
liberalism is inherently hostile to the military function and military institutions.
The classic liberal approaches to military affairs are extirpation (reduce the military
to the lowest possible level) or transmutation (to civilianize it) (Huntington, 1957,
155). Huntington later lists a third option: ‘‘The prevailing societal values can shift
away from traditional liberalism in the direction of conservatism, society thereby
adopting a policy of toleration with respect to the military’’ (1977, 7). This seems to
be the option Huntington advocates in The Soldier and the State.
If obtaining a shift in the values of an entire society is not possible, the only way
to maintain military professionalism in a liberal context is to ensure that the mili-
tary has minimal political power. Therefore, Huntington argues that the achieve-
ment of objective civilian control in the United States requires allowing military
professionals autonomy within their own realm, while ‘‘rendering them politically
sterile and neutral’’ (1957, 84). Firm civilian control and military security are com-
plementary and mutually supporting goals.
As mentioned above, though civilian control is a central concern, Huntington
also sought a pattern of civil–military relations that would promote military pro-
fessionalism and hence military effectiveness. As he later acknowledged, he was
concerned at the time of the book’s writing that the United States, given its lib-
eral ideology, would be disadvantaged in a prolonged competition with the Soviet
Union in the Cold War (Powell et. al., 1994, 29). However, ‘‘professionalism’’ as
Huntington defines it is problematic as an adequate indicator of effectiveness. This
comes through clearly in Huntington’s interpretation of military theorist Carl
von Clausewitz. Huntington argues that, ‘‘The fact that war has its own grammar
requires that the military professionals be permitted to develop their expertise at
this grammar without extraneous influence … The inherent quality of a military
body can only be evaluated in terms of independent military standards’’ (Hunting-
ton, 1957, 57). This extension of von Clausewitz’s thought is problematic because
it implies that there exists a set of ‘‘independent military standards’’ that is valid
across time and place. This is unlikely, because the characteristics of effective armed
forces will vary with factors such as the resources they have, the missions they
must accomplish, and other aspects of their environments. In addition, reliance on
‘‘independent military standards’’ is also problematic given that the effectiveness
of military means can only be evaluated in relation to the political ends that these
means are to serve.
To say this is not to deny one of the major contributions that Huntington
makes in The Soldier and the State when he argues that military organizations are
shaped by both functional and societal imperatives. Functional imperatives are spe-
cial characteristics of military organizations driven by their need to be capable of
defending the state against external threats, and societal imperatives arise from
‘‘the social forces, ideologies, and institutions dominant within society’’ (1957, 2).
When attempting to understand the characteristics of a given country’s military
institutions, thinking about how they may be affected by these two imperatives is
helpful. To the extent that a country’s military does not share the attributes of the
society as a whole, a useful starting proposition is that these differences are due
to what the military believes to be required for success in war.2 However, it is not
true that there is a set of universally valid functional imperatives and that societal
imperatives merely weaken military organizations (or have a neutral impact). This is
clearly what Huntington is implying when he argues that, ‘‘The peculiar skill of the
military officer is universal in the sense that its essence is not affected by changes in
time or location’’ (1957, 13).
In making this claim Huntington runs counter to von Clausewitz, a thinker
with whom he claims to be in agreement. These authors’ differing assessments of
reserve forces provides a useful example of this divergence. Huntington has a nega-
tive view of reservists because they are not fully professional, whereas von Clause-
witz has positive words to say about people’s war (war by nonprofessional forces)
and reserve forces under certain circumstances (Huntington, 1957, 13; von Clause-
witz, 1976, 187–189 and 479–483). What is required for military forces to be effec-
tive is context dependent.
This context dependence is relevant not just to thinking about valuable char-
acteristics of individual soldiers and officers, but also to thinking about organiza-
tional structures, equipment, technology, training techniques, and a whole host of
other factors. There is nothing to guarantee that evaluation by ‘‘independent mili-
tary standards’’ will alone ensure integration of all these in a way that maximizes
the effectiveness of the military organization in a dynamic societal and interna-
tional context. In fact, Barry Posen argues that military organizations will stag-
nate without civilian involvement and will be ill-suited to meet the requirements
of their political leaders’ grand strategy (Posen, 1984, 80). Without accepting the
power of this prediction from organization theory that organizations never adapt
on their own—indeed it has been convincingly argued against—Posen is correct in
emphasizing the point that military organizations may need to change over time to
remain relevant and effective (see Rosen, 1991, 1–8; Posen, 1984, 24–29).
In sum, although Huntington does discuss military effectiveness as a product
of civil–military relations, the manner in which he does so is problematic. His basic
formulation seems to be that the pattern of civil–military relations that produces
the most effective militaries is that which impinges least on their ability to operate
according to a constant and universal functional imperative. The difficulty is that
the superiority of this ‘‘professional military’’ ideal type regardless of context is
doubtful. There is not one type of military organization that is most effective across
time and space, regardless of adversary or strategic context. A second point arising
from the above discussion is that the maintenance of military effectiveness may
require change over time—a point that Huntington does not address.
The focus of Janowitz’s Professional Soldier overlaps significantly with the con-
cerns of Soldier and the State. Janowitz is similarly concerned with both civilian
control and the military’s ability to fulfill its responsibilities in meeting the secu-
rity needs of the state (Janowitz, 1964, lviii). However, in contrast to Hunting-
ton, Janowitz argues that relying on the creation of an apolitical military in order
to ensure civilian control is an unrealistic approach. ‘‘In the United States, where
political leadership is diffuse, civilian politicians have come to assume that the
military will be an active ingredient in decision-making about national security’’
(Janowitz, 1964, 342). Janowitz argues that it is inevitable that the military will
come to resemble a political pressure group, and this is not necessarily a problem
as long as its activities remain ‘‘responsible, circumscribed, and responsive to civil-
ian authority’’ (343). One strong guarantee of the maintenance of civilian control
is the military’s ‘‘meaningful integration with civilian values’’ (420). Janowitz also
advocates other measures for enhancing civilian control, such as increasing legisla-
tive oversight, extending civilian control into lower levels of military organizations,
and increasing civilian involvement in officer professional education (439). Yet, as
Feaver points out, in the end Janowitz is similar to Huntington in relying on the
professional military ethic as the fundamental means for ensuring control (Feaver,
1996b, 166).
On the question of effectiveness, however, Janowitz and Huntington differ.
Janowitz argues for the constabulary concept:
societal trends would manifest themselves in the military, and how the military
would respond (7–16). Some of these trends had implications for military effective-
ness, but these implications were not the central focus of Janowitz’s analysis.
likelihood is not the only significant issue—or even a significant issue—in some
civil–military relationships.
A second possible dependent variable is military influence. The foremost work
in the American context on this subject is Richard Betts’ Soldiers, Statesmen, and
Cold War Crises (1991). This book is an examination of the record of civil–military
interactions in the context of use-of-force decision making during the early phase of
the Cold War. In a summary of his findings, Betts concludes, ‘‘The diversity of mil-
itary recommendations and the extent of consonance with civilian opinion indicate
that military professionals rarely have dominated decisions on the use of force,’’
though influence was greatest when military leaders argued against its use (Betts,
1991, 5). Betts updates these findings in the preface to a 1991 edition, though his
core conclusions remain remarkably consistent with his earlier work. Overall, he
paints a mixed picture of military influence. Military leaders did not control use-of-
force decision making, but their input had especially significant weight when they
opposed the use of force (Betts, 1991, x; see also Petraeus, 1989).
The dependent variable of military influence has its own difficulties. As Betts
points out, judging whether military influence on decision making has been “good”
or “bad” is problematic, and even one’s views on its appropriate level are likely to
vary with political identifications (Betts, 1991, xv). Nevertheless, it should be pos-
sible to trace change over time. In addition, though measurement may be more
difficult than in the case of military coups, this variable captures dynamics more
relevant to the U.S. case.
A third possible dependent variable is civil–military friction. This dependent
variable has the advantage of being easily observable and measurable if defined
as ‘‘the degree to which the military is willing to display public opposition to
announced civilian policy’’ (Feaver, 1999, 220). One analysis that focuses here is
Peter Feaver’s article, ‘‘Crisis as Shirking: An Agency Theory Explanation of the
Souring of American Civil–military Relations” (1998).6 He argues that friction is
predictable based on the relationship between the incentives that the civilian has to
intrusively monitor military work, and the incentives that the military has to avoid
perfect compliance (‘‘shirk’’). For Feaver, shirking occurs when the military either
fails to diligently and skillfully do what the civilian asks, or does what the civilian
asks in a manner that undercuts the civilian’s position of greater authority. In other
words, shirking occurs when military leaders fail to respect either the functional or
the relational goals of their civilian leaders (Feaver, 1998, 409).
As Deborah Avant points out, one difficulty with this approach is that a focus
on friction can obscure the matter of civilian control. There may be a lack of fric-
tion because civilian leaders are securely in charge, or because they are following
the military’s lead (Avant, 1998, 382–383). It is also not clear that all civil–military
friction is bad, either in a normative or in a policy sense.
A fourth dependent variable is military compliance. An advantage of the term
‘‘military compliance’’ is that it makes clear that even in a context in which coups
are unlikely (i.e., total civilian loss of control is unlikely), subtler issues of control
may still be an issue. Recent work has continued to highlight military compli-
ance as a key concern in the U.S. civil–military relationship (Kohn, 2002). Some
of this may have been motivated by the debate—discussed in the introduction to
this article—over the existence of a “crisis” in civilian control in the early 1990s.
One example of a scholar who has contributed in this area is Christopher Gibson.
Gibson argues that the key to ensuring continued civilian supremacy in the U.S.
civil–military relationship is the enhancement of the national security education
and credentials of senior civilian officials (Gibson, 1998).
As mentioned in the introduction, two authors who have recently applied the
principal-agent framework to this concern are Deborah Avant and Peter Feaver.
Avant uses the principal-agent framework to gain insight into military reluctance to
get involved in small-scale contingency operations. Her post-Cold War cases bear
out the prediction that, in the face of a divided principal that disagrees over goals
and strategy (in this case the president and Congress), the agent is likely to pursue
cautious policies (Avant, 1996/1997). Her answer as to whether the ‘‘reluctant war-
riors’’ are out of control is ‘‘not quite.’’ She argues that their behavior is an expected
outcome due to prior lack of agreement among civilians across divided institutions
(Avant, 1996/1997, 52).
Although Feaver also uses the principal-agent framework, he focuses on the
forms of delegation and monitoring civilian leaders are likely to embrace rather
than on the issue of a divided principal. Above it was mentioned that Feaver devel-
oped a game theoretic model and used it to explain the 1990s ‘‘crisis’’ through its
predictions about friction. That same model also makes predictions about military
compliance, which is in fact the focus Feaver himself ascribes to the article (Feaver,
1999, 221). He further develops, in later work, his argument about the importance
of delegation and monitoring mechanisms, and the understanding they provide
about the state of U.S. civil–military relations and civilian control (Feaver, 2003).
As the title makes clear, the issue of military compliance is also central to
Michael Desch’s Civilian Control of the Military (1999). He argues that, ‘‘The best
indicator of the state of civilian control is who prevails when civilian and military
preferences diverge. If the military does, there is a problem; if the civilians do, there
is not’’ (1999, 4–5). The central argument of his structural theory of civil–military
relations is that the particular combination of internal and external threats faced by
a state (independent variables) determines the quality of civilian control (the depen-
dent variable). Civilian control should be best in times of high external threat and
low internal threat, worst in times of low external threat and high internal threat,
and indeterminate in the other two cases. Finding support for his hypothesis when
applying it to the United States, Desch finds relatively firm civilian control dur-
ing the Cold War (high external and low internal threat), and mixed in the post-
Cold War period (low external and low internal threats). His conclusion about
the United States in this period is that, ‘‘Clearly, the less challenging international
threat environment of the post-Cold War period has weakened civilian control of
the U.S. military’’ (1999, 36).
The central role that civilian control has played in [U.S.] civil–military
relations is understandable. But in its raw form it is a trivial problem
because under nearly any conceivable set of arrangements civilian con-
trol is assured. To overconcentrate on it when it is inappropriate to do
so will only elevate a host of ordinary misunderstandings and differ-
ences into a high political arena where they do not belong. Moreover, it
will distract attention from other important dimensions that character-
ize the relationship of the military to the state. (Bracken, 1995, 163)
One way of interpreting Bracken’s comments would be to argue that ‘‘civilian con-
trol’’ is still an important concern, but needs to be reconceptualized to have greater
significance in the U.S. case. For example, can U.S. political leaders responsible for
national security policy control the military in the sense of shaping it to meet the
country’s security needs? A second interesting question is whether this can be done at
a reasonable cost in terms of other values being pursued.7
Before moving on to discuss the dependent variable of effectiveness, an addi-
tional literature that should be mentioned is the extensive amount of work done
in the last decade on the existence of a ‘‘gap’’ between civilians and members of
the military in the United States. Although there is a wide variance within the
literature on a gap, it is mentioned in this section on military compliance because
a common strong concern seems to be the implications of a gap for civilian control
(Feaver and Kohn, 2000, 36; Cohen, 2000, 46). Some authors focus on a growing
cultural divide, and others find a growing divide in ideological identifications and
policy preferences (Ricks, 1996; Holsti, 1998–1999). A multiyear project by the
Triangle Institute of Security Studies, involving approximately two dozen scholars,
was recently devoted to determining the sources of the civil–military gap, more
specifically defining its nature, and determining its possible implications (Feaver
and Kohn, 2000, 1).
Many of the project’s findings have been published in Soldiers and Civilians:
The Civil–military Gap and American National Security (Feaver and Kohn, 2001).
This book is a rich contribution to the civil–military relations literature, and
constructively enters a long-standing debate. At the heart of the debate, as key par-
ticipants in the study have acknowledged, are differing assessments as to whether
a civil–military gap is even problematic. Differences of opinion on this have their
roots in the founding works of Huntington and Janowitz (Feaver and Kohn, 2000,
30–31). These disagreements apply to the ramifications of a gap for civilian control,
as well as its ramifications for military effectiveness. As discussed above, Hunting-
ton saw a degree of separateness as enhancing both civilian control and effective-
ness. Some authors writing more recently have implicitly agreed by pointing out
the differences between some core U.S. values, such as the priority placed on indi-
vidualism, and the functional needs of the military (Snider, 1999, 14–19). On the
other hand, Janowitz argued for greater military integration with civilian values
and believed that this would not necessarily harm military effectiveness. Soldiers
and Civilians is a contribution to the debate that argues that the gap matters, and
explores its implications for both military compliance and military effectiveness.
Military Effectiveness
This discussion leads to the final dependent variable mentioned above, effective-
ness. Some authors working in civil–military relations avoid highlighting this
issue. Desch, for example, dismisses this focus mainly by labeling it inadequate
(Desch, 1999, 4). However, although effectiveness does not tell us everything we
want to know about a civil–military relationship, neither does degree of civilian
control—especially in the U.S. context. Feaver takes a slightly different approach,
arguing that this outcome is deserving of further research (Feaver, 1999, 234). In
his discussion he focuses primarily on use-of-force issues and recommends testing
propositions such as whether civilian involvement at the operational and tactical
levels does or does not lead to better outcomes.8
In any event, the literature that uses civil–military relations as an explana-
tory variable for military effectiveness is sparse. One important exception is Ste-
phen Biddle and Robert Zirkle’s work on civil–military relations and technology
assimilation in Iraq and Vietnam (Biddle and Zirkle, 1996). Using the degree to
which civil–military relations are marked by conflict as the explanatory variable,
they explain the two states’ differing abilities to take advantage of the complex
air defense technology they possessed. Biddle and Zirkle argue that Iraq’s radi-
cally conflictual civil–military relations help to explain its inability to exploit its
advanced air defense technology in the Persian Gulf War. They compare this with
the Vietnam War, and argue that North Vietnam’s harmonious civil–military rela-
tions help to explain its significant success in using its technology to good effect
against the United States in that conflict.
Other authors who examine the nexus between civil–military relations and
military effectiveness turn their attention to characteristics of the societies from
which armed forces stem or the nature of their governments. One example is
Stephen Rosen’s work on societal structures. Rosen’s independent variables are the
dominant social structures of a country and the degree to which military organiza-
tions divorce themselves from society, and he argues that these affect the national
military strength a country can obtain from a given amount of material resources
(Rosen, 1995, 1996). Dan Reiter and Allan Stam, with a slightly different focus,
seek to establish a relationship between regime type and battlefield effectiveness. In
their statistical work, they find support for the idea that ‘‘soldiers emerging from
democratic societies enjoy better leadership and fight with more initiative’’ (Reiter
and Stam, 1998, 260). A third example of work along these lines is Risa Brooks’
look at the negative impact that the political control mechanisms chosen by Arab
regimes have on their armies’ military effectiveness (Brooks, 1998, 45–53). She
finds that highly centralized and rigid command structures, the squelching of ini-
tiative at lower levels, and tinkering with chains of command for political reasons
significantly inhibit the effectiveness of Arab armies (46).
In addition, some of the work on military doctrine speaks to the relationship
between civil–military relations and military effectiveness, if only indirectly.9 For
example, Jack Snyder argues that in the period before 1914, ‘‘military doctrine
and war planning were left almost entirely in the hands of military professionals,
who usually incline toward the offensive but rarely have so free a rein to indulge
their inclination’’ (Snyder, 1984, 199). A clear implication of this analysis is that a
civil–military relationship characterized by greater involvement of rational civilians
(not captured by military organizational bias favoring the offense) could have led to
an avoidance of some of the disasters of 1914. Deborah Avant makes a similar argu-
ment that the involvement of civilians is important to the military’s adoption of an
effective doctrine, but relies on the characteristics of domestic institutions and their
historical development to explain both the relative necessity of this involvement
and its likely success (Avant, 1994). Posen’s argument that military organizations,
left to their own devices, will tend to stagnate and become disintegrated with a
country’s grand strategy has similar implications (Posen, 1984, 80).
A fourth example is Elizabeth Kier’s work on the role of culture in shaping mili-
tary doctrine. In what could be characterized as different civil–military dynam-
ics, Kier argues that the extent to which civilian policy makers agree about the
domestic role of the military will shape whether or not international considerations
will drive their military policy (Kier, 1997, 27). She also argues that ‘‘the greater
the hostility in the organization’s external environment, the greater the potential
for organizational dogmatism’’ (32). This is clearly another proposition about the
impact of civil–military relations that has ramifications for military effectiveness.
Although Kier argues that the formulation of military doctrine is primarily the
purview of military leaders, civilian leaders create constraints that shape the choices
that these military leaders make (Kier, 1997, 12–14).
It is interesting that despite the different approaches of the authors above, these
works have several points of agreement. First, the authors seem to generally agree
that conflict-laden relations between political and military leaders will harm a
country’s national security. These authors find that relatively cooperative relation-
ships between senior military and political leaders, on the other hand, facilitate a
number of desirable developments: the integration of advanced technologies into
military capabilities (Biddle and Zirkle, 1996); the capable employment of force
(Brooks, 1998); the development of a military doctrine that is supportive of politi-
cal ends (Avant, 1994; Snyder, 1984; Posen, 1984); and the retention of flexibility
in military organizations (Kier, 1997). A second point of agreement is that soci-
etal characteristics may be reflected in the ability of a country to create military
power (Rosen, 1995, 1996), or in battlefield effectiveness (Reiter and Stam, 1998).
A challenge on this latter point is that military organizations often have very strong
socialization processes, and therefore may not entirely reflect the societies from
which they stem. At a minimum, this socialization is a consideration that must be
taken into account.10
The authors listed above have begun to shape a research agenda for those inter-
ested in attempting to evaluate the impact of civil–military relations on military
effectiveness. However, there are characteristics of the problem that make it a tough
one to tackle. The next section discusses some of the reasons why this is the case.
Challenges
Scholars who seek to evaluate the impact of civil–military relations on military
effectiveness face several major challenges. Here I will address three of these: defin-
ing effectiveness; defining civil–military relations; and attempting to characterize
the independent impact of civil–military relations as compared to other factors that
may shape military effectiveness. I will briefly discuss each of these below.
Addressing the first challenge—defining and operationalizing military effec-
tiveness—would seem at first to be a simple matter. Effective militaries are those
that achieve the objectives assigned to them or are victorious in war (Korb, 1984,
42). However, as Allan Millett, Williamson Murray, and Kenneth Watman point
out, ‘‘Victory is not a characteristic of an organization but rather a result of organi-
zational activity. Judgments of effectiveness should thus retain some sense of pro-
portional cost and organizational process’’ (Millett, Murray, and Watman, 1987,
3). One example that they give is that although Soviet forces defeated the Finns
during the ‘‘Winter War’’ of 1939–1940, a detailed look at the manner in which
the conflict was fought makes it implausible to argue that the Soviets had the more
‘‘effective’’ military.
In addressing this challenge, it may be useful to keep in mind Millett, Murray,
and Watman’s argument that a comprehensive framework for measuring military
effectiveness is required. Military activity occurs at multiple levels: political, stra-
tegic, operational, and tactical (Millett, Murray, and Watman, 1987, 3). Because
effectiveness implies different characteristics at each of these levels, multiple mea-
sures of effectiveness are needed. Some projects may benefit by narrowing their
claims in such a way that they are addressing effectiveness at only one or two of
these levels. In any event, it is important to acknowledge different aspects of mili-
tary effectiveness and be clear about the claims being made.
The second challenge mentioned above is that of carefully defining the term
‘‘civil–military relations.” As Paul Bracken has suggested, in order to assess the full
impact of civil–military relations it might be helpful to move down a level of analy-
sis and disaggregate civil–military relations into its various dimensions (Bracken,
1995). Although most work in U.S. civil–military relations focuses on the interac-
tions between senior members of the executive branch and military leaders, the
military also interacts with Congress, the industrial base, and society (see Bracken,
1995, 155–162). Each of these relationships, as well as their combined effects, can
impact on military effectiveness. Looking at the problem in this way may be espe-
cially helpful to investigations that examine institutional questions concerning the
development and shaping of military capabilities, but could also be helpful when
the concern is the use of force.
A third major challenge is that the effectiveness of a military organization, at
whatever level being discussed, is likely to stem from a number of factors. How
much do civil–military relationships matter? In many cases, there will be internal
organizational factors that impact on effectiveness as well as changes in the secu-
rity challenges a particular country faces (see Goldman, 1997, 43). As the relative
importance of internal organizational developments and civil–military dynamics
will vary depending on the particular research problem being investigated, this will
remain an issue for empirical research in each case.
Conclusion
As developed by Peter Feaver, the civil–military “problematique’’ is the challenge of
reconciling ‘‘a military strong enough to do anything the civilians ask them to do
with a military subordinate enough to do only what civilians authorize them to do’’
(Feaver, 1996b, 149). It is worthwhile to note that this formulation seems to imply
a tension between the two concerns—control and effectiveness—that at least theo-
retically does not have to exist. A nation’s armed forces could become more effective
without any loss of civilian control. In fact, when thinking about trying to develop
a coherent relationship between military means and political ends, civilian control
becomes essential to military effectiveness.
However, like the founding works of Huntington and Janowitz, Feaver’s formu-
lation helpfully puts both effectiveness and control at the center of the civil–mili-
tary relations research agenda. To this point, the problem of civilian control has
drawn more attention. The impact of civil–military relations on military effective-
ness deserves a closer look.
Notes
1. Not all analysts have agreed with Huntington that professional militaries are by their
very nature apolitical (see Finer, 1962).
2. The functional imperatives associated with accomplishment of military missions may
often require these institutions to have characteristics that distinguish them from the
society from which they stem (see Boëne, 1990).
3. In a 1999 review, Peter Feaver focuses on the political science works in the literature
on civil–military relations, but the sociological dimension of the field is also briefly
discussed (see Feaver, 1999).
4. This list adopts Feaver’s labels for these dependent variables (Feaver, 1999).
5. Feaver argues that ‘‘modern American civil–military relations are about the conflict
that remains after the basic principle of civilian control is accepted’’ (Feaver, 1996a,
159).
6. Rebecca L. Schiff, in a different article, also focuses on level of consensus (lack of fric-
tion) between the military, political elites and citizenry on key issues as a significant
concern. However, the presence or absence of friction serves more as an explanatory
variable than as a dependent variable in her work. Her dependent variable is military
intervention into politics (Schiff, 1995).
7. As Amy Zegart argues in Flawed By Design (1999), factors impinging on the effective-
ness of national security institutions can be based in the nature of political institu-
tions as well as in the relationships between the leaders of these institutions and the
federal bureaucracy. She makes this argument in her explanation of why the develop-
ment and functioning of the Central Intelligence Agency, Joint Chiefs of Staff, and
National Security Council have been suboptimal from a national perspective (Zegart,
1999).
8. Eliot Cohen has recently written a book that addresses this concern (see Cohen, 2002).
9. I wish to thank Dr. Stephen Biddle for pointing out to me this implication of the
military doctrine literature.
10. In his analysis, Rosen takes this into account by analyzing the degree to which a
military has divorced itself from society.
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Application of the
Military for Countering
Nonstate Terrorist and
Guerilla Networks
Matthew R. McNabb
Much debate persists as to what kinds of activity constitute terrorism, existing along
a sliding scale of varying instruments for low-intensity conflict. As a result, any
effort to define with precision the nature of those operations aimed at countering
such techniques are thus equally confused. But, if experience teaches one anything,
it is that defeating terrorists requires a nation to do far more than merely “send
either cops or soldiers to capture the evildoers” (Bohn, 2004, xiv). Within the con-
text of military applications, traditional models of identify, target, and kill lack the
requisite sophistication alone necessary to route out the disease with its symptoms.
As such, the military’s responsibilities in counterterrorism involve a wide spectrum
of both kinetic and nonkinetic activity.
Terrorism, whatever the precise characteristics of its definition, is ultimately a
tactic, not descriptive of organizational dynamics, an ideology, or modus vivendi.
Indeed, terrorism at its core, whether directed against pedestrian or official tar-
gets, implicates the use or threatened use of violence in an effort to incite fear
for political ends. Nonstate international terrorists, whether backed by recognized
governments or operating independently, are comprised of any number of varying
255
formations. In some cases, the threat posed may involve isolated cells of friends and
family inspired to act by the pull of their revolutionist ideology or of ecumenical
rite. This may be called the self-starter model. Other times the threat posed may
be slightly more conventional in nature, through the use of state-sponsored gue-
rilla formations. Under this revolutionary war model, an organized and disciplined
leadership comprises the effectual “general staff of the revolution” replete with its
own tailored “popular ideology that is used to explain the past, present, and future”
(Jordan, Taylor, and Mazarr, 1999, 240). The nature of military involvement vis-à-
vis counterterrorism is largely dependent upon which variation of these models is
adopted by the adversary, though military involvement is rarely static, fluctuating
from waves of widespread counterinsurgency approaches to targeted strikes, a fact
echoed in the genealogy of U.S. military counterterrorism. But directing military
assets through kinetic, forceful options, without due appreciation for the narrow
circumstances surrounding their respective support networks, can be dangerous.
In conventional military engagement, the principal focus is given to bat-
tlespace—the geo-political boundaries within which conflict is concentrated. Ter-
rorism, in its nonstate form, however, is often far more complicated, eschewing
the binds of geography, or even of traditional studies in political relations, in favor
of highly asymmetric, often ideological, bands of dissident political actors. These
bands in turn depend upon extensive networks for support, both material and ideo-
logical, well beyond the scope of the traditional battlespace. As one author notes,
vers. As one author has said of Greene’s most famous guerilla commander Col.
Francis “Swamp Fox” Marion, “He seemed ubiquitous, lurking everywhere: hid-
ing in an unknown rendezvous, creeping stealthily along on a raid, or leading a
midnight attack” (Taillon, 2001, 60). Even in the times of formalized etiquette for
the gentlemanly conduct of conventional war, U.S. strategists employed creative
low-intensity solutions to the asymmetries presented by unconventional guerilla
and terrorist activities.
A few years later, the low-intensity instrument of counterterrorism was trans-
posed in favor of conventional application of force. The violent nuisance of Barbary
pirates faced in the early days of the American Republic haunted the successive
administrations of Presidents Washington, Adams, and Jefferson alike. In October
of 1784, an adept Moroccan corsair interdicted an American merchant ship, the
Betsey, as it sailed off the coast of Cadiz, Spain. Nine months later, Algerian corsairs
seized two additional American merchant ships, the Dauphin and the Maria, along
with their twenty-one crew members and passengers, seeking to incite sufficient
fear in the hearts of merchantmen that the young Republic would be compelled
to comply with the Barbary racket’s demand for financial tribute in return for safe
passage across the high seas. For the pirates acting on behalf of their nominal states,
terrorism was both a matter of nationalistic policy and a jihadist agenda operating
under the banner of an oft abused Islamic Surah: “When the hallowed months have
slipped away, then slay the idolaters wherever you may find them, and take them
captive, and besiege them, and waylay them at every outpost. But if they repent
and establish worship and pay their fair due, then leave them free” (Holy Qu’aran,
Surah 9:5). It was, in truth, the first American encounter with jihadi terrorism and
the response was robust (Wheelan, 2003). As the seizures increased, particularly
following an 1801 formal declaration of war by the Barbary states’ apparent leader-
ship in Tripoli, American policy makers became progressively more displeased with
the ongoing maritime racket. By the time President Jefferson was in office, however,
the administration was preparing for war. With the development of a small fleet of
battle-bound frigates, the military was able to team with its transatlantic European
neighbors to defeat the Barbary racket. Conventional forces were employed success-
fully in a full-scale operation to face a weak, idiosyncratic adversary.
Applications of conventional force are not always so successful, as the mili-
tary quickly learned years later in facing successive insurgencies throughout the
so-called Banana Wars of the Philippines, Central America, and the Caribbean.
In Nicaragua, the lesson was especially harsh. Fighting the rebel forces of Augusto
Sandino, U.S. Marines were compelled to dig in and fight a protracted war to
destabilize the early Sandinista movement and return control to the democratically
elected pro-American government. Though prepared for difficult and extensive
combat, the marines quickly learned that their failure to attain a sufficient cultural
sensitivity left them unable to undercut the movement’s popular support. As one
scholar has noted,
This process underlined a sense of urgency otherwise unknown to the Greek mili-
tary, but recognizing the problem they faced, the GNA acceded. What was once
a counterterrorist and anticommunist strategy hinging on traditional foreign aid
quickly transformed to indirect military and nation-building assistance, which in
turn ripened to direct military involvement.
JUSMAPG employed a two-edged approach in facing the ELAS threat. The
principal tactic employed was the use of heavy, overwhelming force, summoning
the strength of significant tactical air support, artillery, and U.S.-supplied auto-
matic weapons. By 1948, although the utilization of heavy airpower and artillery
proved reasonably successful in disrupting the larger elements of ELAS, it quickly
became clear that large-scale conventional operations were insufficient in tackling
the lighter, guerilla aspects of ELAS operations. As a result, JUSMAPG expanded
and extensively utilized elite, light, rapid-reaction Greek commandos (LOK) to
infiltrate the organization’s urban strongholds. The move to special forces was
highly successful, so much so that regional commanders, seeing success rates by
LOK commandos, moved to replicate those achievements, to the severe detriment
of the special forces. In an effort to belay very high casualty rates endured by the
abuse of the special forces, the U.S.-dominated JUSMAPG took control, reinstitut-
ing its conventional approach, an approach that at the time, in spite of tremendous
LOK successes, was credited with the ultimate success of the Greek military over
the ELAS threat.
Meanwhile guerilla tactics and terrorist acts were also occupying the U.S. mili-
tary within the Korean peninsula. Although, of course, most of the Korean conflict
was predominated by conventional warfare, unconventional guerilla and terrorist
formations emerging as early as 1948 deep within Republic of Korea (ROK) ter-
ritory became an important concern both for ROK military defenses and later for
U.S. forces on the ground. Even before the initiation of conventional hostilities,
the North Korean People’s Army (NKPA) initiated sporadic, idiosyncratic attacks
against civilians and military personnel alike, forcing ROK forces to deploy three
entire divisions from what would soon become the front lines of the Korean War.
As NKPA and ROK forces engaged, the NKPA’s guerilla forces were well situated
for harassing civilian populations, interdicting military supply lines, and collecting
valuable intelligence for North Korea commanders. But, more importantly, NKPA
guerillas were not alone in their efforts. Headed by the young South Korea Labour
Party Leader Kim Il Sung, communist dissidents, inspired by the NKPA guerillas
and the introduction of Chinese forces into hostilities, coagulated into a Partisan
Guidance Bureau, serving as a native guerilla and terrorist force aimed at assisting
North Korean and Chinese interests. Kim Il Sung’s bureau became known for
its impressive sabotage techniques and extensive use of violence to incite fear in
noncompliant locals, military and civilian alike. The threat was very real. While
the United Nations command located in the South was forced to dedicate much-
needed resources to countering the guerilla and terrorist threat, U.S. and ROK
troops conducted ad hoc operations with conventional patrols. But conventional
Fears of terrorism also surrounded Soviet domestic sabotage or the small-scale use of chemical
weapons against targeted persons or locations, but these concerns were considered second-
ary threats and received little or no attention as an issue beyond planning stages for military
application.
President’s Task Force on Combating Terrorism, between the years 1976 and 1986
international terrorists “attacked U.S. officials or installations abroad approximately
once every seventeen days” (Public Report of the Vice President’s Task Force on
Combating Terrorism, 1997, 1). It was within the midst of this uptick in terrorist
activity that there was a radical shift in acceptability of the use of extreme measures
to neutralize the threat. With terrorism beginning to come on the radar of national
security specialists and out of the exclusive hands of criminologists, the paradigm
for countering it began to shift.
On May 12, 1975, only two weeks after the United States’ protracted involve-
ment in Southeast Asia had been ended by its final evacuations from Cambodia
and Vietnam, a deliberate act of sea piracy by Cambodian rebels reactivated mili-
tary attention to the region. A U.S.-flagged merchant ship, the S.S. Mayaguez, en
route to Sattahip, Thailand from Hong Kong was traveling some fifty miles off the
coastal shores of Cambodia in the Gulf of Siam, when a U.S.-made gunboat flying
a deep red flag intercepted the ship. Cambodian Khmer Rouge operatives, wear-
ing their customary black ninja pajamas and carrying Chinese made AK-47s and
rocket launchers, fired a rapid burst of .50 caliber machinegun fire and a couple of
small rockets across the ship’s bow, before boarding and taking the Americans hos-
tage. In response, President Gerald Ford declared the interception an overt act of
piracy, holding the Cambodian government fully responsible for the act, just before
initiating air strikes against it and introducing an elite contingent of marine ground
forces directed to rescue the seamen. But the operation quickly shifted from defen-
sive to retaliatory. Even after the crewmen were eventually retrieved, a 150,000-
pound conventional explosive—the largest nonnuclear weapon in America’s arsenal
at the time—was detonated on a small Cambodian island measuring only a few
square miles (Fisher, 2004). In the post-Vietnam world, President Ford wanted to
make clear that the United States would not hesitate to respond with overwhelming
force against any act of aggression, by any state or any group. The military would be
a key instrument to neutralize any such threat.
Unfortunately though, the operation itself was rife with errors. Successive intel-
ligence failures plagued both defensive and offensive actions, to a degree that for-
mer crewmen rescued by the military sued the government for its gross negligence
(Rappenecker v. United States, 1980). Forty-one soldiers lost their lives in an effort to
save thirty-nine crew members, and of the forty-one who died, an estimated eigh-
teen were killed—as a result of poor intelligence acquisition—raiding the wrong
locations (Bennett, 1976, 15-16). The botched operation proved the importance
of timely and accurate intelligence acquisition as a constituent to successful low-
intensity conflict.
By the late 1970s, international terrorism had reached new heights. On Sunday,
November 4, 1979, a motley cadre of militant Iranian students overran the U.S.
Embassy in Teheran, holding hostage some fifty-two civilian and military inhabit-
ants. The move was openly supported by the Grand Ayatollah Khomeini, among
other Iranian clerics, as officially condoned conduct. Under the command of the
entrepreneurial Colonel Charles Beckwith, the newly established Delta Force was
tasked to rescue the hostages. Operation Eagle Claw, as it was known, exemplified
a second embarrassing failure in military counterterrorism. Due to unfavorable
weather conditions and a mechanical failure, leading to the crashing of one helicop-
ter before the operation had even commenced, Eagle Claw was scrapped entirely,
underscoring the importance of a more professional, well-equipped special forces
division, a call the military would heed as it found itself engaged in over a dozen
hotspots around the world in the following decade.
Where an increase in international terrorist incidents between the 1970s and
1980s introduced the military into the counterterrorism equation, a marked escala-
tion in their boldness has reintroduced deficiencies in the prosecutorial approach.
In 1983, the military again faced the specter of international terrorism, this time in
the Middle East. U.S. forces stationed in Lebanon at the time were not directed for
a counterterrorist mission. Theirs was a peacemaking operation, aimed at regaining
stability in the midst of Israeli, Syrian, and conflict throughout the Lebanese terri-
tory. But, for many Muslim communities across the country, the U.S. presence was
viewed as a proxy for Israeli aggression. In their eyes, the United States had taken
sides with their Jewish adversary, uninterested in playing the role of neutral arbiter.
This perception fueled the fire of radical Islamist discontent, only serving to inten-
sify the conflict. On October 23, the powder keg of that discontent exploded. As
over three hundred marine and navy officers slept in their secured Beirut barracks,
a yellow five-ton Mercedes truck entered the parking lot south of the building,
quickly accelerating and barraging through a barbed wire and concrete barricade
before detonating over twelve thousand pounds of TNT. The Hizbullah-sponsored
martyrdom operation, the first of its kind, instantly became a legend and a point for
replication among violent jihadists worldwide. Two hundred and forty-one Ameri-
cans were killed, the largest number of marines killed in a single day since Iwo Jima
(Huchthausen, 2003).
In the wake of the bombing, serious consideration was given to conducting
extensive strikes against Hizbullah training facilities in the Baalbek region of the
Bekaa Valley, perhaps even reaching into Syrian territory, but nothing was done.
Meanwhile, French and Israeli forces continued their offensive counterterrorism
operations throughout Lebanon. On March 31, 1984, shortly following evacua-
tions by Italian and French forces, the Americans assessed their losses, some 266
soldiers killed and 151 injured in just over 530 days, and decided to retreat. Those
Americans who remained, some eighty soldiers tasked to guard the Embassy, were
again hit the following September when an annex to the Embassy was hit by yet
another suicide truck, killing twenty-three people and wounding eight marines. A
rebel cadre of Islamist militants and a handful of shaheeds had forced the U.S. mil-
itary out of Lebanon, and the counterterrorism response was scarcely detectable.
In the wake of the withdrawal from Lebanon, President Ronald Reagan approved
NSDD 138, a comprehensive strategy to “shift policy focus from passive to active
defense measures,” tasking the Department of Defense (DoD) to “maintain and
further develop capabilities to deal with the spectrum of threat options.” The policy
served as a subtle indication to the military that it was to serve an important role
in the future of counterterrorism. Upset with Libyan-sponsored terrorism, par-
ticularly one foiled plot involving the use of a suicide bomber to attack the U.S.
Embassy in Cairo, the National Security Council (NSC) developed two plans of
response: Operation Tulip, an effort to provide training and support to Algerian
and Egyptian paramilitary actions deep inside Libya, and Operation Rose, a plan
for a joint U.S.-Egyptian war against Libya (Naftali, 2005). In a move chalked
as the first official attempt to seek regime change for a state sponsor of terrorism,
President Reagan signed a Presidential Finding initiating Operation Tulip. In the
words of one NSC staffer pushing for radical preemption, the United States sought
to “get the sponsors of terrorism before the terrorists get you” (Naftali, 2005, 169).
And although the Tulip operation was scrapped after a key NSC leak to The Wash-
ington Post investigative journalist Bob Woodward, it was the beginning of U.S.
involvement in Libya, followed by retaliatory airstrikes a year later in response to a
Libyan-sponsored bombing of a nightclub in Germany (Naftali, 2005). U.S. mili-
tary assets, vis-à-vis counterterrorism policy with Libya, were viewed as both pre-
emptive and reactive instruments.
October 7, 1985 marked an important period in the history of U.S. counterter-
rorism. On that day, just months after Lebanese gunmen hijacked a TWA flight
in transit from Athens to Rome, four discontented Palestinian terrorists hijacked a
631-foot long Italian cruise ship as it traversed the high sees. The Achille Lauro, as
the ship was named, quickly became an international incident, after they killed and
threw overboard a disabled American as he lay helplessly in his wheelchair. Denied
entry by the governments of Cyprus, Lebanon, and Syria, the hijackers were com-
pelled to return to Port Said, Egypt. After several days of intensive negotiations,
the hijackers gave in, and U.S. Navy SEAL teams prepared to board the ship in a
rescue effort. In exchange for leaving the ship and its 750 passengers, the hijackers
were given safe passage by the Egyptian government onboard an Egyptian airliner
to Tunisia, along with their PLO negotiator, Abu Abbas—who it was later learned
had been involved in planning the operation from the start. Unable to electronically
pinpoint the precise location of EgyptAir flight 2843, Air Force Tomcats were dis-
patched to fly their 63,000-pound fighters close enough to civilian airlines to see the
tail number with a flashlight (Bohn, 2004). Eventually, the flight was successfully
forced to land at the nearby Italian Naval Air Station and NATO airbase at Sigo-
nella, Italy. Once grounded, U.S. forces surrounded the plane, ending the standoff
through negotiations with Italian forces. The incident proved an important water-
mark in the use of the military for the purposes of counterterrorist interdiction.
Presidents George H. W. Bush and Bill Clinton would go on to use military
force to supplement foreign law enforcement activities through counternarcotics
enhancements in Colombia against Pablo Escobar and his infamous Cali cartel,
and against Panamanian President Manuel Noriega, support irregular renditions
of terrorists like Fawaz Yunis and Ramzi Yousef, and exact retaliatory strikes
On September 18, seven days following the 9/11 attacks, Congress promptly passed an Autho-
rization to Use Military Force (AUMF) granting the president authority to “use all necessary
and appropriate force against those nations, organizations, or persons he determines planned,
authorized, committed, or aided the terrorist attacks that occurred on September 11, 2001,
or harbored such organizations or person, in order to prevent any future acts of international
terrorism against the United States by such nations, organization, or persons.” Authorization
for the Use of Military Force (AUMF), 107th Congress, Public Law 107-40 [S. J. RES. 23],
September 18, 2001. This AUMF has been construed to define by congressional assent the
scope of the GWOT as applying solely to those associated with the al-Qa’eda network, at least
in so far as military applications of force may be concerned.
galvanize greater public support for the terrorist or guerilla movement and, where
such operatives hide among civilian populations, may cause such unnecessary dis-
ruption to civil infrastructure, or the displacement of populations thereof, as to
violate the customs of international humanitarian law. The level of response is best
when tailored narrowly to the level of threat.
Targeted Strikes
When commando teams of special operators conducting LIC may prove either too
cumbersome and slow, or too small and inefficient, targeted strikes remain a pos-
sibility. Given the asymmetric nature of terrorism, in many instances force may be
applied by way of a technique known as targeted killing, the narrowly tailored use
of force against particular individuals, typically leadership personnel of a terrorist
or guerilla organization. As a matter of theory, by decapitating the principals, a ter-
rorist or guerilla group may be sufficiently disrupted so as to cause it to collapse—
or at minimum weaken its core. Of course, in other instances, a targeted strike
directed against leadership may blowback—causing popular support in the wake of
the leader’s death to swell well beyond a manageable point. Targeted killings, once
applied, rely upon the state’s authority to act preemptively to disengage a serious
threat to national security, although its application is both politically volatile, and
where such an operation is conducted outside the geographic theater of a general
war, raises serious legal questions of legitimacy.
Where targeted killings provide a scalpel approach to threat neutralization,
selective retaliatory strikes provide the war fighter a slightly broader instrument. By
firing, for instance, cruise missiles or air-launched rockets at facilities used by a ter-
rorist organization, it may be possible both to temporarily disrupt a terrorist organi-
zation’s physical capabilities (weapons armaments, training camps, etc.) and deter
them from future actions. In some instances, though typically when sponsored by
rational states, terrorist organizations can be deterred, although misapplication of
the deterrence principle can leave forces appearing impotent and willy-nilly, swat-
ting flies in the face of an ever real threat (Trager and Zagorcheva, 2005/2006).
In March of 1986, National Security Agency (NSA) operators intercepted an
important message. Libyan President Muammar Qaddafi, once described by Presi-
dent Ronald Reagan as the “mad clown of the Middle East,” had ordered twelve
sabotage teams throughout Western Europe and Turkey to execute attacks against
U.S. interests and facilities (Naftali, 2005, 185). Acting on this intelligence, shared
by Washington, French and Turkish authorities were able to subvert plots in their
respective countries (Naftali, 2005). On April 5, a Libyan team detonated a bomb
in the popular La Belle discothèque in West Berlin, trendy among locally stationed
U.S. troops. One hundred people were injured, one U.S. soldier killed. At mid-
night, Tripoli time, nine days later, a team of F-111 bombers, Navy EA-6B elec-
tronic jammers, EA-3 intelligence aircraft, EA-2C radar-control aircraft, A-7 and
F-18 antiradar missile attack vehicles, and Navy F-14s were sent screaming across
the Libyan sky, striking deep in the heart of Tripoli, including Qaddafi’s compound
(Huchthausen, 2003). It was the first military overt retaliatory strike in response
to terrorist activity, but scarcely the last. Military retaliation has long since been
viewed as a legitimate instrument of military antiterrorism. President Bill Clin-
ton would go on to send cruise missiles into the headquarters of Iraqi intelligence
following the acquisition of information on President Saddam Hussein’s apparent
involvement in a 1993 assassination attempt against former President George H. W.
Bush. Retaliation was part of the counterterrorism instrument.
Ultimately though, retaliation alone is rarely sufficient to neutralize the threat
posed by international terrorism. Retaliation, largely utilized as a cathartic means to
condemn acts of aggression, an effort to neutralize or disrupt the threat posed by a
particular adversary, or an after-the-fact measure to reassert or reaffirm deterrence,
is an instrument traditionally reserved for state-to-state conflict. It is, after all, some-
thing less than complete threat neutralization. When addressing nonstate actors,
like international terrorists, simple retaliation may serve only to further inflame
their base of support while failing to render ineffective their capacity to attack.
Nonkinetic Considerations
Though military administration is traditionally viewed through the scope of the
“management of violence,” its function is rarely limited to the exacting of harm
through an array of carefully crafted kinetic options (Huntington, 1957, 11). Non-
kinetic elements of the military are also present, and are of particular importance
in the field of antiterrorism.
although they may return upon the construction of appropriate legislative assent
(Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, 2006).
Intelligence
As the predominant player within the intelligence community, the DoD is in part
also responsible for collection, analysis, and dissemination of intelligence. Signals
intelligence (SIGINT), that form of intelligence that is derived through the inter-
ception of electronic or electromagnetic signals, and measurement and signaling
intelligence (MASINT) are controlled principally by the NSA, an arm of DoD-
based intelligence. Though not precisely “military” in nature as such, NSA SIGINT
operations play an instrumental role in eavesdropping on the telecommunications
of foreign terrorist operatives.
The Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), functioning in its current form since
July of 1961, is responsible for the organizational and management aspects of all
DoD intelligence assets (Richelson, 1999). As a result, DIA acquires from its con-
stituents detailed, all-source, raw, defense-related information for the production
of intelligence, in turn disseminated among policy makers, operators, and liaisons
throughout the government. Since 1992, information acquired by DIA arrives in
not only SIGINT and MASINT, but human intelligence (HUMINT) as well
(Centralized Management of DoD Human Intelligence Operations, 1992). While
NSA and DIA operations, in conjunction with other quasi-military and civilian
intelligence entities (e.g., CIA, National Reconnaissance Office [NRO], National
Geospatial-Intelligence Agency [NGA], Bureau of Intelligence and Research
[INR], etc.), remain the mainstay of strategic intelligence within the intelligence
community, day-to-day operations within the military context are principally
driven through the use of tactical, or operational, intelligence. For U.S. military
personnel, with respect to the application of the military for antiterrorist activities,
this frontline for operational intelligence collection remains in the hands of service
branches and unified combatant commands.
Army intelligence, the principal responsibility of the deputy chief of the Army
for Intelligence (DCSI), is centralized within the service’s Intelligence and Security
Command (INSCOM). Although varying assistant chiefs of staff (ACSs) focus on
veritable concentrations ranging from logistics to force modernization, it is under
the guise of the ACS for Operations and INSCOM’s Support Battalion where
actionable, day-to-day intelligence information is acquired and processed for the
war fighter, often run through the National Ground Intelligence Center (NGIC)
based in Charlottesville, Virginia, which provides a holistic picture for ground
It is interesting to note that the United Kingdom and Canada both replaced military intel-
ligence in favor of unified entities for defense information, and that Australia and France
restrict their military service intelligence operations to tactical information alone. For more
see Richelson (1999, 74).
forces. Given the idiosyncratic nature of the enemy, INSCOM and NGIC opera-
tions are pivotal in the success of army counterterrorism activities.
Naval intelligence is divided into two components, the Office of Naval Intel-
ligence (ONI) and the Naval Security Group Command (NS). GCONI, the more
central of the two offices, is tasked to provide overall collections, coordination,
and dissemination of that information acquired by or relevant to naval operations,
in close coordination with combatant commands. NSGC, on the other hand, is
geared directly at SIGINT, MASINT, and providing security for naval communi-
cations systems. Naval intelligence of this sort is a crucial asset to detecting terrorist
activities in coastal states, particularly in Southeast Asia, and in detecting piratical
activities on the high seas.
Though vested within the Naval Department, the Marine Corps also maintains
an independent Intelligence Division under the ACS for Command, Control, Com-
munications, Computers, and Intelligence (C4I). C4I coordinates overall marine
intelligence by way of four specialized compartments, though analysis is provided
to the war fighter principally by way of the Support Division located within the
Marine Corps Intelligence Activity (MCIA).
Finally, working under the air force’s deputy chief of staff for Air and Space
Operations, the Directorate of Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance
(DISR) is tasked, in addition to operational responsibilities, with collecting and
analyzing air and space intelligence provided by the Air Intelligence Agency (AIA)
and the Air Force Technical Applications Center (AFTAC). The air force is the
sole service where intelligence and operations are found in the same directorate
(Richelson, 1999).
But intelligence on operational grounds is even more the product of combatant
command activity than specific service branches. Each combatant command main-
tains its own capabilities. The war fighter, whether operating within the context of
the GWOT, or within any other counterterrorism context, is served tremendously
through the timely acquisition and application of relevant intelligence.
“fence sitters”—the impressions of the U.S. public, and to the broader court of
world opinion. Though the impressions made upon a determined and zealous
enemy rarely matter, as is typically the case with hardened international terror-
ists, others who may be willing to assist those terrorists by providing logistical or
material support, or safe haven, are often open to persuasion. Paradoxically, as the
North Vietnamese soldier’s remarks suggest, operational success does not always
translate to an improvement in the opinions of others. This divide is a crucial wedge
in counterterrorism.
American public opinion also matters. In keeping with its tradition of demo-
cratic liberalism, the United States is both a nation of laws as well as general moral-
ity. Though a given operation may prove efficient to neutralize a threat, if the means
employed subvert legal principle, or are otherwise ethically suspect, public support
for those efforts quickly corrodes. Indiscriminate bombing, particularly cruel or
unusual interrogation techniques, or threats to kill, torture, or detain innocent
family members as a means to deterrence would not only fuel the fire of the terrorist
movement, but would severely undermine necessary public support.
World opinion also matters. No doubt, U.S. security must not be subject to the
whims or will of other states, but the scope of permissible conduct in the view of
others plays an important role in the credibility of U.S. foreign policy. Antiterrorism
measures deemed illegitimate or unlawful provide a basis for further complaint to
those states with which the United States does not have particularly good relations
and, more importantly, may wear away the bonds of support provided by allies.
Military administrators and policy makers alike face common problems in
attempting to gauge something as ethereal as opinion. Metrics often vary, between
the use of international legal obligations like the Geneva Conventions and Conven-
tion Against Torture, domestic legal considerations ranging from Constitutional
war power discussions to appropriations, and, in limited instances, the cautious use
of reliable polling data. In this sense, particularly in an age of the twenty-four-hour
news cycle, military operations are themselves also political actions of sorts, and
therefore demand some measure of attention to the impressions given to others,
whatever the operational intent. But the military’s relationship with public opinion
is not always so passive.
As a class, terrorism relies heavily upon the general support of a key popula-
tion. Identifying that population and successfully employing measures to win its
support can be effective in undermining a terrorist or guerilla web. Humanitarian
assistance programs in Pakistan in the wake of a catastrophic 2005 earthquake
killing upwards of an estimated seventy-three thousand people, was instrumental
in softening the pull of anti-U.S. sentiment in the affected areas. Assistance a year
before in southeast Asia, in response to a devastating tsunami, achieved much the
same end. Although such assistance was principally humanitarian in nature, rather
than for counterterrorism purposes, U.S. goodwill in the face of tragedy proved an
important testing ground for the theory that assistance matters.
the application of highly mobile, networked forces, the Pentagon has slowly moved
through the process of transformation toward a new revolution in the structure of
the military, in time replacing traditional hierarchical models and platforms with
lean, agile, and interoperable forces. Under the banner of light-footed, rapid-reac-
tion special operations forces, the military has since been applied in Operation
Enduring Freedom’s anti-Taliban and al-Qa’eda operations in Afghanistan, Opera-
tion Iraqi Freedom’s activities directed against insurgents and foreign fighters,
and through varying assistance programs in the Philippines and Africa (Feickert,
2005).
In congruence with the National Security Strategy, toward comprehend-
ing threats in different ways, in February of 2006, the DoD issued a first-ever
National Military Strategic Plan for the War on Terrorism, outlining the mis-
sion objectives in the GWOT and the ways in which the military contributes
toward the achievement of those objectives. According to the plan, objectives in
the GWOT include:
Colombia
The nature of counterterrorism in Colombia is uniquely framed within the context
of its long history in dealing with Marxist rebels and complex narcoterrorist regimes.
The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), National Liberation Army
(ELN), and the United Self Defense Forces of Colombia (AUC), have long since
threatened the lives of any person, civilian or otherwise, who dared interfere with
their narcotics trade and respective political agendas. Employing the use of light
explosives, assassination, and kidnappings, among other measures, Colombian gue-
rilla forces are among the most lethal terrorist organizations in the world. But in
light of their considerable political and economic force, the Colombian government
has long been compelled in part to deal with these groups on the plane of recognized
political interaction, dispensing with most tradition distinctly counterterrorism leg-
islation. Instead, the government relies principally upon their ill-defined Constitu-
tional powers and executive order, or apply broad-based criminal legislation, like
article 187 of its penal code criminalizing actions against public order. Under the
purview of its broad authority, the military has, on occasion, applied force against
rebel factions, but in so doing has largely treated them as internal rebels rather than
as terrorists. In this fashion, the application of force has often centered around
conventional military operations. Although the Colombian approach has largely
envisioned the conventional use of force, it appears to be moving more in the direc-
tion of law enforcement and LIC through the use of special operations.
In the past few years, however, the Colombian military has bolstered its efforts
through the creation of several bodies specifically aimed at countering the terror-
ist threat. One army battalion, for instance, is designed to bolster national police
efforts in countering narcoterrorism. A joint intelligence center has also been estab-
lished to provide coherent collection, analysis, and dissemination of relevant intelli-
gence. The army has formed a rapid deployment force based north of Bogotá in the
state of Cundinamarca, though many fear it will be suited more for counternarcotic
operations than for the narrow task of countering terrorism. For Colombians, a tra-
dition of conventional applications of force through the back-and-forth assessment
of terrorist groups as recognized political actors and rebel forces has left a difficult
legacy that has long served as an impediment toward the surgical operations of
threat neutralization, a trend that with time has slowly corroded.
Israel
Like Colombia, Israel too has a long and somewhat checkered history of mili-
tary counterterrorism. Employing every level of violence—both conventional and
irregular—the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) have applied force not only defensively,
but also on a rather frequent occasion preventively and offensively. Ultimately, the
lawfulness and effectiveness of some Israeli offensive activities remain in dispute.
to the Lind camp, a fourth generation of warfare has now emerged, where gue-
rilla tactics seek to defeat an adversary politically, rather than merely by way of
traditional force, through years of low-intensity operations. In essence, a dialectic
shift in strategic warfare has moved from the utilization of massive manpower,
to impressive firepower, to crafty maneuver, and now into politico-military cam-
paigns. For the fourth generation warfare (4GW) strategist, insurgency-styled ter-
rorism in Iraq and Afghanistan, coupled with broader al-Qa’eda-sponsored agendas
in Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, Chechnya, Central Asia, Somalia, and elsewhere, serve
to underscore this thesis.
Under the 4GW doctrine, irregularities of counterterrorism will themselves
become the norm, requiring the military to prepare for drawn-out conflict and
engage in considerable efforts to provide much-needed assistance for the sustain-
ability of critical infrastructure and the rule of law. In this vision, terrorism and
guerilla fighting is the future of warfare, not its archaic past.
A second school of thought is born from the fascinating developments
bequeathed by the technological and globalizing age. For these theorists, com-
bat is centered principally around the platforms, or principal machines, of war,
be they tanks, ships, aircraft, or the like. Through an enhanced mechanization of
the war-fighting process, these platforms over time have transformed into nodes
within the context of a broad network. Each node in the network, the techno-
logical progeny of war’s machines in days past, maintains the capacity to enter the
adversary’s decision loop with profound speed and accuracy. That is to say, the war
fighter can “make two or more decisions for every one [his] opponent can man-
age—our silicon-based computers trumping their carbon-based brain every time”
(Barnett, 2005, 12). In essence, by harnessing the benefits of just-in-time logis-
tic support and the high technology of modern transportation and sensors, these
network-centric warfare (NCW) strategists subscribe to the belief that the key to
simultaneous operations across a wide swath of geographic dimensions is found
through the networked approach. Counterterrorism then, will be tackled through
the acquisition and heavy employment of technologies, such as sensors, unmanned
aerial vehicles (UAVs), and GPS to achieve full-spectrum dominance with pinpoint
precision. Where 4GW theorists would envision extensive, “boots on the ground”
counterinsurgencies, NCW strategists comprehend warfare through the specter of
high technology bolstering light, rapid-reaction forces intended for lightning-fast
actions against particularized targets.
Between the 4GW and NCW approaches to warfare, something of an amal-
gam of these theories has emerged in recent years. In a book entitled Blueprint for
Action: A Future Worth Creating, military strategist Thomas P. M. Barnett (2005)
has proposed a third way. Military forces in modern times, Barnett contends, may
be divided between what he calls leviathan forces—large, conventional military
capabilities—and system administrators (SysAdmin). “While the core security
and logistical capabilities are derived from uniformed military components, the
SysAdmin force is fundamentally envisioned as standing capacity for interagency
(i.e., among various U.S. federal agencies) and international collaboration in nation
building” (xix). Ultimately, “the better the leviathan, the bigger the SysAdmin must
be” (35). To effectuate this model, Barnett recommends enhanced international
cooperation, wherein the United States would be the hub and its allies the spokes
(36). With its application to counterterrorism, the United States would maintain
the capacity to wage leviathan-centric warfare, in addition to LIC capabilities, but
would share its responsibilities for extensive counterinsurgency and stabilization
capabilities with allied forces. Where 4GW strategists call for large forces prepared
for protracted engagement and NCW theorists insist upon the careful application
of rapid-technology-based light forces, Barnett envisions a future for them both,
divided between partners under a presumable banner of mutual interest in counter-
ing international terrorism.
In December of 2006, the army and marine corps each released its official Field
Manual for Counterinsurgency (FM 3-24; MCWP 3-33.5) integrating many of the
predicates once reserved by 4GW strategists, emphasizing the importance of flex-
ibility, rapid institutional learning, grass-roots intelligence, and unity of command.
But, even with these changes, the future of military applications to counterterror-
ism remains uncertain; almost certain to ride the waves between conventional and
unconventional manifestations witnessed in its past. Though such a future form
remains unclear, as transnational criminal enterprise continues to destabilize law-
less corners of the world, conveniently marrying their interests with the violence of
terrorist and guerilla activities, the military can be expected to take on an increas-
ingly pivotal role in countering nonstate terrorist and guerilla networks.
References
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1938. 8th ed. New York: Penguin Books.
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Group.
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Bennett, C.F. 1976. The Mayaguez re-examined: Misperception in an information short-
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rorism. Dulles, VA: Potomac Books.
Centralized Management of DoD Human Intelligence (HUMINT) Operations. 1992,
December. DoD Directive 5200.37. Washington, D.C.: Department of Defense.
Feickert, A. 2005, August 26. U.S. Military Operations in the Global War on Terrorism:
Afghanistan, Africa, the Philippines, and Colombia. Washington, D.C.: Congressional
Research Service.
Fisher, L. 2005. Military Tribunals and Presidential Power: American Revolution to the War on
Terrorism.
Fisher, L. 2004. Presidential War Power. Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas.
Ganor, B. 2005. The Counter-Terrorism Puzzle: A Guide for Decision Makers. Herzliya,
Israel: The Interdisciplinary Center for Herzliya Projects.
Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, 126 S.Ct. 2749, 2006.
Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, 124 S.Ct. 2633, 2004.
Holy Qu’aran, Surah 9:5
Huchthausen, P. 2003. America’s Splendid Little Wars: A Short History of U.S. Military
Engagements 1975–2000. Mount Pleasant, SC: Nautical and Aviation Publishing
Company of America.
Huntington, S.P. 1957. The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Politics of Civil–Military
Relations. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.
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1934. Lexington, KY: University of Kentucky Press.
Naftali, T. 2005. Blind Spot: The Secret History of American Counterterrorism. New York:
Basic Books.
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D.C.: Government Printing Office.
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Reeve, S. 1999. The New Jackals: Ramzi Yousef, Osama bin Laden, and the Future of Terror-
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Military Leadership
and Culture
283
In the fear and chaos that characterize combat, what keeps soldiers fighting? Why
would Chontosh’s platoon obey an order to charge directly into machine gun fire?
Viewed from the comfort of home, such obedience comes across as insane. Yet, it
is essential if the military is to fulfill its function—the controlled application of
violence to achieve some political objectives.
Keegan (1976) maintains that soldiers fight for survival, but do so believing that
their individual survival depends on the unit. The link between the individual and
the unit then is at the heart of military effectiveness. This link, referred to as cohe-
sion, is forged through shared experiences and is crucial to combat effectiveness
(Shils and Janowitz, 1975; Moskos, 1970; Department of the Navy, 2002; Depart-
ment of the Army, 1999).
Cohesion depends on two critical components: military leadership and culture.
Leadership fosters the environment of trust that is the essential precondition for
cohesion. But leadership does not exist in a vacuum. Rather, it exists within the
context of an organizational culture (Fairholm, 1994; Masi, 2000). Leadership and
culture therefore are inextricably intertwined.
The first section of this chapter (entitled Leadership) opens with a discussion
of how leadership may be defined. Afterwards, a brief recapitulation of the major
leadership models and theories is provided before the crucial question of whether
individuals can be taught to lead is addressed. Because each of the military services
has a slightly different leadership model it holds up as ideal, all four models are
described, compared and contrasted. The section ends with a discussion of the con-
nections between leadership, power and ethics.
The second section addresses the question of culture. After broadly defining what the
term “military culture” means, differences between the cultures of the separate military
services are explored. The chapter concludes with a discussion of the challenges to mili-
tary culture in today’s society and the use of the military as a “social lab.”
Leadership
What Is Leadership?
Defining leadership has always been a challenge, for it does not lend itself to mea-
surement. Nor is it easy to articulate just what we mean when we use the term.
Primarily, this is because leadership is not a property of a person. Rather, leader-
ship is a relationship between the characteristics of the leader, the attitudes and
needs of the followers, the organization and its characteristics, and the environment
(McGregor, 1960).
Leadership “refers to interpersonal processes in social groups, through which
some individuals assist or direct the group toward the completion of group goals”
(Segal, 1981, 45). Thus, it has two major features: (1) leadership is interpersonal,
and (2) its major purpose is to integrate individual needs and organizational goals
“Transactional” models are also often referred to as “economic” or “exchange” models of lead-
ership. The term “transactional” is used here because it is the term used in the army’s leader-
ship manual (FM 22-100) and in Bass’ research on transformational leadership (1996).
improved (Department of the Air Force, 2004; Department of the Army, 1999;
Department of the Navy, 2002, 2004). The air force’s doctrinal statement is typi-
cal: “The abilities of a leader, which are derived from innate capabilities and built
from experience, education, and training, can be improved upon through deliber-
ate development” (Department of the Air Force, 2004, 2).
As a result, all the services devote considerable resources to leadership train-
ing, at all levels. An example of this high degree of effort is provided in Table 14.1,
which shows a breakdown of contact hours devoted to leadership in various air
force professional military education courses.
The content of leadership training differs by service and by rank. For lower-rank-
ing personnel, the services place more emphasis on tactical skills and interpersonal
relationships. For higher-ranking personnel, the emphasis shifts towards planning,
influencing and creating organizational culture and climate, and strategic thinking
(Department of the Air Force, 2004; Department of the Army, 1999).
Despite this level of effort, the services have not succeeded in creating a sys-
tem that consistently identifies, promotes and develops their best leaders (Ulmer,
Collins, and Jacobs, 2000). Although many leadership “traits” are behaviors that
people can and do learn, these traits are largely behaviors that we learn as children
(social judgment, conscientiousness, and the ethical behavior that leads to trust-
worthiness). It is in our families where we learn to be honest, trustworthy, hard
working and responsible. Is it possible to teach these behaviors to adults?
In short, can adults be taught to lead? Unfortunately, research has not provided
a generally accepted answer to this question. Robert and Janet Denhardt (2006)
suggest that although many people do seem to be born with leadership skills, these
skills can be practiced and learned by anyone. Hedlund and his associates (2003)
that all these approaches are valuable tools. Specifically, leaders are encouraged to
“be themselves,” but be flexible and adapt to subordinate needs. Transformational
leadership is specifically recommended for units requiring change or facing a crisis.
Transactional leadership is cited as being effective under more normal conditions
(Department of the Army, 1999).
The navy’s leadership competency model provides guidance for what is expected
of navy leaders. The navy defines a competency as a “behavior or set of behaviors
that describes excellent performance in a particular work context” (Department of
the navy, 2004, 1). Three of the five competencies (leading people, working with
people and accomplishing the mission) are consistent with guidance provided by
the other services. By including “resource stewardship” as a required competency,
the Navy is implicitly acknowledging that management skills are essential for suc-
cessful leadership. A special feature of the navy’s model is the inclusion of “leading
change” as a necessary competency. Subcompetencies listed in this area include
creativity and innovation, vision, strategic thinking, external awareness, flexibility
and service motivation. The navy is the only service to accord change, and the
necessity of leading people through change, such a prominent place (Department
of the Navy, 2004).
The marine corps’ major leadership document, Leading Marines, is unique in
that it is the only leadership manual that is not prescriptive in nature. The marines
subscribe to the idea that leadership is an art. Hence, “there is no formula for lead-
ership. It is not all-inclusive because to capture all that it is to be a marine or to
lead marines defies pen and paper” (Department of the Navy, 2002, 1). Instead,
the marine corps prefers to stress adaptability and innovation while encouraging
leaders to come to terms with their personal leadership style (Department of the
Navy, 2002).
The recently released AFDD 1-1, Leadership and Force Development, is the air
force’s first attempt to officially define leadership, link it to the service’s core values
and create a comprehensive framework for teaching leadership at all levels (C.
Nath, personal communication, March 11, 2004). AFDD 1-1 is quite similar to
the army’s FM 22-100; although, it is more concise. The leadership components of
core values, leadership competencies and leadership actions are strikingly similar to
the army’s “Be, Know, Do” model, with core values equating to the “Be,” leadership
competencies being the “Know,” and leadership actions, the “Do.” Additionally,
the air force teaches the situational leadership model in AFDD 1-1 and in its profes-
sional military education programs.
Information concerning the content of air force leadership instruction was provided in a series
of personal interviews with officials of Squadron Officer School, the Air and Space Basic
Course, ROTC, Officer Training School and the Air War College, conducted at Maxwell Air
Force Base, Alabama, March 25–26, 2004.
know what power they have, what power they do not have and who else may have
the power needed to help the unit accomplish its goals.
is integrity (Shay, 2002; Department of the Army, 1999; Department of the Navy,
2002; Department of the Air Force, 2004). Leaders who exhibit high levels of
integrity stand a much better chance of success than those who do not.
All four of the military leadership models emphasize trust and integrity. In his
foreword to AFDD 1-1, General Jumper of the U.S. Air Force states, “Integrity is the
basis of trust, and trust is the unbreakable bond that unifies leadership with their fol-
lowers and commanders with their units. Trust makes leaders effective, and integrity
underpins trust” (Department of the Air Force, 2004, iii).
Conclusion
Cohesion is crucial to combat effectiveness. But cohesion is a product of trust between
unit members and their leader. Hence, leadership plays a pivotal role. Although each
of the services has a slightly different ideal leadership model, the models have a great
deal in common. Each of the models stresses the centrality of a set of values—placing
the group’s needs before individual needs, personal integrity, courage and commit-
ment to mission accomplishment. The values are the product of military culture and
provide the necessary structure that underpins combat effectiveness.
Military Culture
Military culture is the bedrock of military effectiveness. Culture can be broadly
defined simply as how things are done in an organization (Ulmer et al., 2000).
This includes values, customs, traditions and the reasoning behind them. There are
four widely accepted essential elements of military culture: discipline, professional
ethos, ceremony and etiquette, and cohesion and esprit de corps (Snider, 1999;
Huntington, 1957).
Discipline may be defined as a “consistently rationalized, methodically trained,
and exact replication of the received order” (Weber, 1958, 253). Discipline enhances
predictability in war, reducing what von Clausewitz (1989) called “fog and friction.”
Consequently, it is seen as critical to victory (Weber, 1958). Military writers, from
Sun Tzu, twenty-five thousand years ago, to today’s leadership manuals, concur that
discipline is central to what it means to be a part of a military force. Consequently,
discipline is the first value taught to all new recruits entering military service.
Because the central, preeminent purpose of the military is combat, its profes-
sional ethos centers on combat (Snider, 1999). This ethos includes the acquisition of
expertise, a strong sense of responsibility towards the organization and the task at
hand, and a powerful sense of corporateness, or cohesion (Huntington, 1957). The
acquisition of expertise (tactical competence) is critical because it is quite literally
a matter of life and death under combat conditions (Department of the Army,
1999; Toner, 2002). Team and unit identity come out of mutual respect, trust
and discipline (Department of the Army, 2000). The subordination of the indi-
vidual self for the benefit of the group is prized as an essential virtue in all the
military services’ list of core values. Whether it is expressed as “selfless service”
(army), “commitment” (navy and marine corps) or “service before self” (air force),
all four services subscribe to the idea that military action is not possible without
teamwork. Teamwork requires individuals to give up self-interest for the good of
the unit (Department of the Army, 1999). The professional ethos of the military is
discussed in more detail in chapter 15.
Ceremony and etiquette are the outward manifestations of cohesion, discipline
and history. As such, they reinforce the core element of discipline and make visible
the unique nature of military culture. Ceremony and etiquette play an important
role in establishing the distinctiveness of military service, socializing military mem-
bers into the service, and reinforcing military values (Snider, 1999). In addition,
ceremony and etiquette visibly link today’s military member with the vast history
and tradition of his or her military service. This link with tradition is viewed as an
important part of the member’s sense of identity and membership in a special call-
ing (Department of the Army, 1999; Department of the Navy, 2002).
Cohesion and esprit de corps are also crucial to the ultimate goal of a military
organization, victory. Scholars have identified two types of cohesion, “social cohe-
sion,” or emotional bonds, and “task cohesion,” or shared commitment to common
goals. The latter is what is related to group outcome and effectiveness (Harrell and
Miller, 1997). Simply put, you do not have to like people to work with them to get
the job done. Taken together, these two are the measures of a unit’s willingness to
perform a mission and to fight. Thus, cohesion is a critical element that culture
contributes to military effectiveness (Snider, 1999; Department of the Army, 1999;
Shay, 2002; Department of the Navy, 2002).
knowing they are part of a tradition. This resistance to change and traditionalism
may be one reason the army has not had a good relationship with Congress nor has
it always excelled in public relations (Ulmer, Collins, and Jacobs, 2000). Nonethe-
less, the army receives high marks in human relations, especially when it comes to
minority inclusion (Moskos, 1993; Ulmer, Collins and Jacobs, 2000).
The navy’s culture is viewed as the most traditional of all the services. Being
fiercely independent is a product of its nature. A service that spends long periods
of time at sea, away from direct supervision of officials on shore, is bound to build a
culture of independence. The navy deliberately instills this in its officer corps. This
sense of independence underpins some unique features in the navy leadership com-
petency model (Department of the Navy, 2004). Leaders who are expected to be
independent need complementary competencies—creativity, vision, decisiveness,
an ability to link the situation with national and naval objectives. All of these fea-
tures appear in the navy leadership competency model (2004). Although indepen-
dence is a combat strength, it may have insulated the navy somewhat from social
trends. This sense of independence may have contributed to the perception that the
navy was less than forthright in its response to recent scandals, such as Tailhook
(Ulmer, Collins and Jacobs, 2000).
The marine corps, rightly, sees itself as unique. Proclaiming that “being a marine
is a state of mind” (Department of the Navy, 2002, 7), the leadership manual, Lead-
ing Marines, repeatedly stresses the unique nature of the Corps. “Marines believe that
to be a marine is special” (Department of the Navy, 2002, 23). So special, in fact, that
being a marine is seen as a lifetime status. The marines stress a sense of “family”—
once a marine, always a marine (Ulmer, Collins, and Jacobs, 2000). This is reflected
in the Corps’ Web site, which now features a section entitled “Marine for Life,” which
provides information for transitioning marines on employment, education, benefits
and Corps-friendly organizations in their area (www.M41.usmc.mil/portal/server.pt).
The marine corps is the most “macho” of the services. This may be because most jobs
that attract female recruits are support jobs that are found in functions provided to
the marines by the navy (Ulmer, Collins, and Jacobs, 2000).
Given that it was a product of technology, it is not too surprising that the air
force is the most technologically oriented of all the services. One of the air force’s
three core values is “excellence in all we do.” In describing what this means, the air
force lays considerable emphasis on continuously looking for ways to improve unit
efficiency and effectiveness. The examples provided stress technical solutions to prob-
lems, enhancing the impression that this service sees technology as holding the key to
its future (Department of the Air Force, 2004). Due to the large combat support and
service support structures, the air force has been the most successful of all the services
at integrating women into its ranks (Ulmer, Collins, and Jacobs, 2000).
An old navy joke runs like this: There are three ways of doing things: the right way, the wrong
way, and the navy way.
Although marriage does tend to increase the propensity to stay in the service,
demonstrate greater maturity and reduce problems with indigenous populations
overseas, a “married force” places additional strain on military culture (Snider,
1999). At the beginning of 2004, approximately one half of the active-duty enlisted
force, and 68 percent of the officer corps, were married (Department of Defense
[DoD], 2006). This puts pressure on the services to address quality-of-life issues.
Because most military spouses also work, the pressure is even more intense. Issues
that commanders might never have thought of thirty years ago, such as day care,
now loom large on many commanders’ agendas (Ulmer, Collins, and Jacobs,
2000). Snider (1999) claims the advent of the married force is the biggest sociologi-
cal change in the military as an institution since the creation of the all volunteer
force in the 1970s.
“Ops tempo,” the increased number and length of deployments, and the unprec-
edented pressure placed on the military to participate in “operations other than
war” have placed additional strain on a married force. This has led to increased con-
cerns in all the services about the effects of such stress on individual performance,
divorce, domestic violence, suicide rates and morale problems. Military person-
nel feel that their military commitments conflict with their commitment to their
families. This leads to perceptions that the military is not taking care of its people,
which in turn erodes morale and reduces reenlistment rates (Steele and Walters,
2001). The initial spark that led ultimately to prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib appears
to have been the cancellation of the brigade’s return to the United States, fuel-
ling perceptions that army leadership was unconcerned about the soldiers’ welfare
(Taguba, 2004).
Moreover, the pressure to do “operations other than war” has led to confusion
over the military’s purpose. Such confusion has implications for practical matters.
Training soldiers for combat is simply not the same as training for peacekeeping
duties (Collins, 1998) or patrolling the border with Mexico. Beyond these practical
issues, conducting operations other than war threatens the military’s conception
of itself. Victory lies at the heart of the military’s self-concept, but victory may not
be the goal in operations other than war. Consequently, military personnel may
feel alienated or “lost” from both their leadership and the civilian population they
serve.
Although women have proven themselves effective, gender integration remains
a significant challenge to traditional military culture. Women were originally
recruited in large numbers to fill out the ranks with the onset of the all volunteer
force (Moskos, 1993; Ulmer, Collins, and Jacobs, 2000). Although women are still
excluded from direct ground combat units, submarines, certain navy ships, and
Special Forces, virtually all other occupational specialties are now open to women
(Ulmer, Collins, and Jacobs, 2000). In 2004, women accounted for 17 percent of
nonprior service active duty accessions and 22 percent of nonprior service acces-
sions to the reserves (DoD, 2006).
This transformation has not come without problems. Reported sexual harass-
ment rates have dropped significantly from 46 percent in 1995 to 24 percent in 2002
(Lipari and Lancaster, 2002). However, questions about the effects of gender inte-
gration on readiness and cohesion, particularly in the army, navy and marine corps
remain. Harrell and Miller (1997) concluded that gender issues did not significantly
affect readiness and cohesion in units with good leadership. But units suffering from
poor leadership experienced a wide array of problems, including gender issues.
Gender problems may be more apt to surface during the stressful periods lead-
ing up to and including combat operations. During such periods, military person-
nel experience high levels of stress, which can lead to misconduct. Such misconduct
is more likely to occur when alcohol is available (Department of the Army, 1994).
Shay (2002) found that troops suffering from combat stress and trauma are more
likely to self-medicate with alcohol and sex. The recent investigation into the highly
publicized sexual assault cases in the Iraqi area of operations concluded that alco-
hol was available, and probably did play a role in the assaults that occurred in the
theater (DoD, 2004).
Conclusion
Combat, with its chaos and violence, is at the heart of what separates the military
profession from all other professions. To survive and thrive in combat requires the
development of a culture with a set of clearly defined values. Thus, military cul-
ture and its distinctive features are a response to the challenges and exigencies of
combat. At the same time, technology, changes within the military and within the
broader civilian society, threaten to undermine military culture.
Such challenges can only be met and overcome with leadership. Leadership has
always been recognized as a key to combat effectiveness. Leaders form the indispens-
able link between unit members and the organization and create the atmosphere
of trust essential to the development of unit cohesion. Although tactical skill and
managerial competence are important components of leadership, the interpersonal
nature of leadership demands more. Ultimately, leaders must behave with integrity,
and live out the values at the heart of military culture—duty, honor, country.
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Specialist Joseph M. Darby did not like what he was seeing. Sickened
by the photographs a buddy showed him of naked, abused Iraqi pris-
oners, Specialist Darby wrote a letter detailing the abuse, backed it up
with photographic evidence, and slipped the information to a noncom-
missioned officer. His courageous act started the investigation into pris-
oner abuse at Abu Ghraib.
Green (2004)
When we are faced with evil, what do we do? As individuals we may fall back on our
religious or moral upbringing, hoping it will tell us what to do. Professionals, how-
ever, also have a set of values that lie at the heart of what it means to follow and belong
to a particular profession. The military is no exception. In fact, the military may have
the best articulated, most consistent set of professional values in today’s world.
Nonetheless, the military also faces unique challenges. Specifically, the violence
of combat places extreme pressures on individuals to depart from the accepted
value set of the military professional. How does a profession that centers on combat
keep that violence within socially acceptable boundaries?
301
alienation, about aspects of American society” (74). These perceived differences are
not simply a matter of pursuing a calling; many civilian professions (such as the
clergy) also feel “called” to serve. Rather, the differences are related to the set of
values that the military espouses. These values distinguish military personnel from
a society that is increasingly dominated by postmodern values.
Morgan (2003) proposes that three postmodern values in particular—the rejec-
tion of absolutes, power and authority—are responsible for much of what Holsti
(2000) refers to as a “sense of alienation” that military members feel from civilian
society. This sense of being separate from society at large can lead to tension and
misunderstanding between the military and society. Commonly referred to as the
“civil–military gap,” this issue has become the topic of much current research and
will be covered in a separate section later in this chapter.
Table 15.1
Army Navy/Marine Corps Air Force
Loyalty Honor Integrity
Duty Courage Service before self
Respect Commitment Excellence in all we do
Selfless service
Honor
Integrity
Personal courage
discipline” (49). The Roman military writer, Vegetius (1985, 75) said “victory in war
does not depend entirely upon numbers or mere courage; only skill and discipline
will insure it.” In the nineteenth century, von Clausewitz (1989) put discipline first
in his description of the military virtues.
This same set of values is repeated in modern military writing. All of the services
stress the importance of discipline, tradition, unity, cohesion and selfless service in
their leadership manuals (Department of the Navy, 2002, 2004b; Department of
the Army, 1999; Department of the Air Force, 2004). Moreover, there are shared
components in the values each of the services identifies as “core” (Table 15.1).
Throughout the lists shown in Table 15.1, and their accompanying explanations,
lie common expectations. These include placing group needs before individual needs,
personal integrity, courage and commitment to mission accomplishment.
These values are important because they build trust, and trust is at the heart of
creating unit cohesion. “Trust in the Marine Corps and in unit leaders who con-
sistently set the example expected of military professionals is vital to establishing
unit cohesion” (Department of the Navy, 2002, 59). According to the U.S. Army,
team identity comes out of mutual respect and trust (Department of the Army,
1999). “Integrity is the basis of trust, and trust is the unbreakable bond that unifies
leaders with their followers and commanders with their units” (Department of the
Air Force, 2004, iii). Shay (2002) proposes that trust is the key that links cohesion,
leadership and training and significantly improves combat performance.
Huntington (1957) identifies the third component of the professional military
ethic as a set of shared attitudes towards military policy. These attitudes are grounded
in the assumption that the nation-state is the basic unit of political organization,
with an accompanying skepticism towards supranational structures, such as the
United Nations. Moreover, military personnel tend to believe that conflict and war
are inevitable, and complete security is impossible. “The art of war is of vital impor-
tance to the state. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin”
(Sun Tzu, 1983, 9). Skepticism of the benefits of treaties, alliances and international
law is prevalent, along with a preference for U.S. military supremacy (Bachman et
al., 2000). Because the stakes involved in conflict are potentially catastrophic (total
annihilation), military personnel tend to overestimate security threats and solicit
forces that can deal with “everything” (von Clausewitz, 1989; Drew and Snow,
1988). Finally, military personnel tend to prefer a foreign policy that avoids treaty
alliances (Huntington, 1957).
Nevertheless, this has not stopped critics of military culture from applying
pressure on the military to “reform” its culture. While a fuller treatment of this
topic is included in the previous chapter, it suffices to say that those who advocate
for allowing homosexuals to serve openly in the military, or for allowing women
in combat, believe that the military should reflect contemporary social values. In
other words, the civil–military gap is not acceptable; the military should conform
itself to civilian culture and values.
Conclusion
The military is a profession that is centered on a unique expertise—the application
of violence to secure political objectives. As a profession, the military possesses
a unique set of values, a “professional ethos” that sets it apart from the civilian
society it serves. These values include honor, loyalty, selfless service, integrity
and commitment. In today’s postmodern society, these values are not univer-
sally shared by civilian society, leading to the long-term possibility of estrange-
ment and misunderstanding between the military and the civilian community it
serves.
The first principle of the law of armed conflict is humanitarianism. This prin-
ciple requires that “persons who are in the power of a Party to the conflict shall
be treated humanely in all circumstances” (Green, 2000, 349). Moreover, this
principle requires that each party respect the “honour, conviction, and religious
practices” (349) of all such persons.
The second principle provides for restrictions on the means and methods of con-
ducting war. This principle restricts the means and methods of combat to those
necessary to achieve victory and prohibits the use of weapons or methods that cause
undue suffering. Included in this restriction is the elimination of strictly civilian
targets. However, it is not a breach of the laws of armed conflict if civilians are
injured incidental to attacks on lawful military targets (Green, 2000).
The principle of proportionality seeks to establish a reasonable connection
between the objective being pursued compared to the consequences of the action.
This involves a subjective weighing of the importance of the objective against the
possible harmful effects on civilians or civilian objects. This includes an accompany-
ing injunction on warring states to separate as much as possible civilians and civilian
objects from legitimate military targets and identifying facilities that are considered
protected, such as hospitals (Green, 2000).
The treatment of prisoners of war (POWs) is also governed under the laws of
armed conflict. POWs are not required to give any information to their captors
other than their identity. Moreover, they must be treated humanely; they may
not be tortured mentally or physically. They must be offered medical treatment if
needed and given shelter in keeping with the local climate. POWs may be required
to work. However, the work cannot be considered dangerous to them or supportive
of the war effort (Green, 2000).
Although other factors were present that led to the abuse, strong leader-
ship could have ameliorated them. These other factors included a lack
of training in detainee operations, understaffing and a lack of basic
soldier support services. Understaffing, coupled with the absence of
expected support services, could have led soldiers to believe the com-
mander did not care for them (Reinke, 2006). Shay (2002) found that
soldier confidence in the commander is critical to protecting troops
from stress. This confidence is grounded in the solders’ belief that the
commander is professionally competent, and credibly and genuinely
cares for their welfare.
Other forbidden activities include acts intended to terrorize the civilian popula-
tion, the use of civilians or civilian objects as screens to protect a legitimate mili-
tary objective from attack, attacks with no military purpose and attacks on dams,
dikes or nuclear power facilities. In addition, “scorched earth” tactics, the deliberate
destruction of everything in a given area, may also be prohibited (Green, 2000).
“Friendly Fire”
On March 23, 2003, an Air Force A-10 fired on a company of U.S.
Marines in An Nasiriyah, Iraq. Eighteen marines were killed and
seventeen wounded. The investigation concluded that several factors
contributed to this tragic event. These factors included problems with
communication links and a rapidly changing battle plan. But the prin-
cipal fault lay with a marine corps forward air controller who called
in the air strike believing there were no friendly forces in front of his
unit; even though he could not see the target area. Tragically, he was
mistaken (Herbert, 2004).
during the early stages of combat, in periods of reduced visibility, or where units
are operating in close proximity to each other (CALL, 1992; Regan, 2002). The
prevention of friendly fire requires good communication between combat units,
situational awareness on the part of commanders in the field, and fire discipline on
the part of combatants.
The two most common causes of fratricide are a lack of situational awareness
on the part of combatants and a failure to positively identify targets. Specifically,
two contributing factors stand out in the vast majority of fratricide incidents: (1) a
soldier did not know where he was on the ground, and/or (2) a soldier or airman
engaged without positively identifying his target (CALL, 1992). The case of the
previously mentioned A-10 incident illustrates both reasons. The marine air con-
troller did not have accurate information on the location of his fellow marines. As
often happens in combat, the attack plan changed in reaction to enemy activity,
and the unit that was the victim had moved beyond where the original plan placed
it. Furthermore, the air controller did not positively identify the target as enemy
and called in the air strike. As a result, U.S. Marines died (Herbert, 2004).
These primary factors can be complicated by poor communication between
friendly units. During Operation Iraqi Freedom in 2003, the services experimented
with at least nine different tracking systems for friendly units, many of which could
not share information with one another (Cahlink, 2004). In his testimony to the
Senate Armed Services Committee, General Tommy Franks listed the lack of
standardized combat identification systems and procedures as one of the “lessons
learned” from Operation Iraqi Freedom (Rumsfeld, 2003). After evaluating sev-
eral different technological solutions, the air force adopted a combat identification
system known as Force XXI Battle Command Brigade and Below (FBCB2) and
installed it on E-8C Joint Stars aircraft. This is the same system the army adopted
for tracking blue forces several years earlier (Fox, 2006).
Combat Stress
A contributing factor to both fratricide and violations of the laws of armed conflict
is combat stress. Stress levels among military personnel, either in combat, support-
ing combat or awaiting combat, are high and a frequent source of problems. The
2002 Survey of Health-Related Behaviors among Military Personnel found that 40
percent of men and about half of the 12,500 military members surveyed used food
as a way to cope with stress. More than 25 percent used alcohol or cigarettes to deal
with stress. Heavy drinking was more prevalent among younger service members;
27 percent of those aged 18 to 25 acknowledged heavy alcohol use, double the rate
among civilians in the same age group (Miles, 2004).
Given the youthfulness of the military force, this use of alcohol is particularly
disturbing. Shay (2002) reports that combat trauma sufferers do use sex and alcohol
as a form of “self-medication.” The availability of alcohol, along with the stressful
environment, may have played a role in the heavily publicized sexual assault cases
reported in the Iraqi area of operations (Department of Defense, 2004).
Combatants are subjected to significant physical and psychological stress both
during combat and in the period leading up to combat. These stressors include
exposure to weather, sleep deprivation, extreme fatigue, fear, time pressure versus
what may seem to be endless waiting, grief, guilt, frustration and injury, to name
only a few. These work in combination and can produce both positive and negative
responses in individuals (Department of the Army, 1994). Positive responses help
individuals adjust to the combat environment. Negative or dysfunctional responses
include battle fatigue and misconduct.
Battle fatigue is found in all types of combatants, including heroes. Minor
symptoms, such as hyper alertness or fear, can accompany excellent combat per-
formance (Department of the Army, 1994). However, if battle fatigue progresses
without treatment or rest, the combatant’s performance deteriorates, and can do so
to the point where he or she can no longer perform his or her duties (Department
of the Army, 1994). The inattention and carelessness that sometimes accompanies
battle fatigue can be a contributing factor in fratricide cases (CALL, 1992).
The other type of dysfunctional combat stress response is misconduct. Miscon-
duct stress behaviors can range from minor violations of orders up to violations of
the laws of armed conflict. Such misconduct can include killing or torturing pris-
oners, mutilating enemy dead, rape, looting, “fragging” (killing one’s own leader),
and desertion. These behaviors are more common in poorly trained, undisciplined
units. In addition to poor training and a lack of discipline, other factors that may
increase misconduct stress behavior include the availability of alcohol or drugs,
boredom or monotonous duties, commission of atrocities by the enemy, perceptions
that the civilian populace is hostile or untrustworthy, lack of expected support lead-
ing to a feeling of abandonment by senior leaders, lack of unit cohesion and loss of
confidence in leadership (Department of the Army, 1994).
All of these factors seem to have been at work in the prisoner abuse cases at
Abu Ghraib. The mistreatment, abuse and deliberate humiliation of these prisoners
constitute clear violations of the humanitarian principles underpinning the Geneva
and Hague conventions. Major General Taguba’s (2004) official investigation into
this abuse does not specifically single out stress as a causal factor. But, he does
conclude that the unit was not trained in detention or internee operations or in the
applicable rules of the Geneva Convention. In addition, the unit was undermanned
for its task and the soldiers’ quality of life was extremely poor. This could have led
the soldiers to believe they were not supported by their leaders. Finally, the soldiers
were working in a hostile environment, where relations with the local populace
were rapidly deteriorating.
Although the brigade commander, Brigadier General Karpinski, was well aware
of these deficiencies, she did little or nothing to correct them. Evidence in the report
indicated that discipline in the unit was lax, and Karpinski had little or no contact
with her soldiers (Taguba, 2004). An untrained, undisciplined unit, working in a
hostile environment with a poor quality of life, and a largely absent leader creates a
situation ripe for misconduct stress behaviors, tragic violations of the law of armed
conflict, and national disgrace (Reinke, 2006).
The violence of combat has other effects as well, some of them lasting a lifetime. The
most well-known of these is posttraumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. Combat veterans
are not the only ones to suffer from PTSD. Nonmilitary trauma is actually the most
common source of PTSD (Stein, 2002). Nonetheless, PTSD, with its accompanying
tendencies towards depression and substance abuse, is a major problem (Department
of the Army, 1994). Shay (2002, 36) reports that 73.8 percent of active PTSD suf-
ferers are either alcohol dependent or abusers compared with a 26 percent lifetime
incidence of alcohol dependence or abuse among male civilian nonveterans.
PTSD is characterized by three clusters of symptoms—intrusive reexperiencing
of the event, numbness or disassociation, and hyper vigilance (Williams, 2003).
Many of the symptoms of PTSD were positive responses to combat stress that the
victim cannot “turn off” after combat is over. For example, hyper vigilance, or
constantly being on the alert for danger, is beneficial when one is in combat. In
civilian life, however, it is both unnecessary and counterproductive to be constantly
expecting attack (Shay, 2002). Combatants who suffered from emotional problems
or abuse prior to combat are more likely to experience PTSD afterwards (Gimbel
and Booth, 1994; Shay, 2002).
Although it is treated through the use of therapy and medication, PTSD is gen-
erally regarded as incurable (Stein, 2002). The goal of therapy is to help sufferers
improve to the point where symptoms do not interfere with normal functioning (Wil-
liams, 2003). Nonetheless, it can be helpful for individuals who have gone through a
particularly traumatic experience to have the opportunity to discuss what happened
in a safe, supportive environment. This may promote healing and prevent the devel-
opment of full-blown PTSD. The army encourages combat units to schedule time
for unit members to discuss their experiences, conduct memorial services or work
through unresolved issues before returning home (Department of the Army, 1994).
The recent cases of domestic violence after soldiers returned from combat in
Afghanistan highlight the importance of managing the transition of combat veter-
ans out of the war zone. The military has traditionally had a period of “decompres-
sion time” for returning POWs to help them adjust to freedom (Sample, 2003).
However, such a time period has not always been available to returning combat
veterans. This can lead to significant stress in marital relationships, resulting in
higher divorce and separation rates for combat veterans (Gimbel and Booth, 1994).
Coming home from combat with one’s unit and taking time to talk through what
occurred can play a significant role in preventing both PTSD and other adjustment
problems that veterans experience when coming home (Shay, 2002).
Prevention
What can be done to prevent PTSD and other undesirable consequences of serving
in combat? Interestingly, the exact same factors that promote military effectiveness
lie at the heart of prevention. Shay (2002) proposes that although combat stress
cannot be prevented, it can be eased and the negative consequences reduced, if
units train together, go to combat together and return home together. It takes time
to create unit cohesion, and cohesion is at the heart of both combat effectiveness
and prevention. Cohesion reduces fear and anxiety and, thus, protects against the
psychological damage combat can do to military personnel.
Beyond cohesion, tough, realistic training and good leadership play crucial roles
in prevention. Training helps military personnel adjust to the stress of combat and
respond appropriately to the challenges combat presents (Shay, 2002; Department
of the Army, 1994). Leadership that is ethical, competent and courageous promotes
combat effectiveness and reduces stress. In particular, leaders must behave in ways
that promote trust because trust lies at the heart of creating unit cohesion and com-
bat effectiveness (Shay, 2002).
Conclusion
Combat is at the heart of what separates the military profession from all other pro-
fessions. The need to manage violence, to keep it focused on victory while, at the
same time, keeping it within socially acceptable bounds has generated a unique set
of values that separates military professionals from the civilians they serve. At the
same time, the stress and chaos of combat place extreme pressure on individuals to
violate that set of values. In an atmosphere of hostility and fear, as happened at Abu
Ghraib prison, it can be easy for violence to get out of control.
Leadership has always been recognized by military professionals as the key to
keeping the violence of combat within bounds. Such leadership must be founded
on more than just tactical competence or managerial skill. It must be founded
on the value set that has traditionally been at the heart of military service—duty,
honor, country.
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Johan Eliasson
The European Union (EU), with twenty-seven member states, over 450 million cit-
izens, a total gross domestic product (GDP) greater than that of the United States,
and the world’s largest trading block, is an influential international economic force,
with both positive (development aid, loans, free-trade agreements, potential mem-
bership) and negative (embargo, tariffs, withdrawal of aid) means of economic
influence. Such means are frequently effective in promoting political goals such as
regional stability, democracy and human rights (Zielonka, 1998a; Solana, 2005).
However, these capabilities have not always proven sufficient. In fact, the inability
of the EU to address the wider and more diverse set of security threats that have
come to dominate the international system—humanitarian crises, migration, eth-
nic conflicts, civil war, and various types of terrorist activities—has given rise to
criticisms of the paradoxical nature of the union: striving for a strategic impact
on Europe and elsewhere without any specific strategy; aspiring to be a powerful
international actor while rejecting ideas of a European supra-state; favoring strong
Atlantic ties coupled with strong autonomous institutions; and, critically, aspiring
to prevent and manage crises without the political determination to acquire the
means necessary to do so (Zielonka,1998a, 11; 1998b, Introduction; Sandström,
1998; Ojanen, 2000).
317
However, things changed in 1999. The wars in the Balkans in the 1990s and
British Prime Minister Tony Blair’s emphatic insistence that EU states urgently
needed better military capabilities meant capability building was prioritized. EU
members, led by Britain and France, decided the union “must have the capac-
ity for autonomous action, backed up by credible military forces, the means to
decide to use them and the willingness to do so” (European Council, 1999). Before
year’s end, this new-found political will resulted in decisions on permanent security
and defense institutions, signaling to the United States and other non-EU NATO
members that the EU was serious, while simultaneously coveting non-EU states’
support in the development of European defense (Schake et al., 1999, 22–24).
Thus, unlike most EU policy areas involving new institutions and capabilities, the
European Security and Defense Policy (ESDP) began as a practical, capability-
building enterprise, followed by a purpose-defining, policy-oriented period. The
reversal of the normal, logical order (of purpose preceding institutions) has proven
useful, and is one reason for ESDP’s speedy development. British Defense Minister
Hoon explained, “[ESDP] is all about enhancing military capability. It is not about
political niceties … If hanging a ‘European’ tag on it is what it takes to make it hap-
pen, then so be it.” (Howorth, 2000, n69). Although many might consider defense
integration a natural progression within a political and economic union—and the
September 11, 2001, Madrid 2004, and London 2005 attacks furthered political
will and boosted public support for stronger EU security capabilities—the rapidity
of developments, replacing rhetoric with improved capabilities and common EU
institutions in a policy area historically deemed the sacred domain of states, has
nonetheless surprised most analysts (Howorth, 2001; Gnesotto et al., 2004; Smith,
2004; Forsberg and Herd, 2006).
Following a brief overview and outline of recent developments, this chapter
will expand on how the ESDP works, its structures, organization, and operations.
Included is an explanation of EU policy aspirations, the agreed European Security
Strategy, and the formal administration of the ESDP. Military capabilities, includ-
ing force structures, equipment, the armaments industry and the EU Defense
Agency (EDA), are addressed before evaluating the integral ties to the North Atlan-
tic Treaty Organization (NATO). The emerging EU military culture that, much
like EU citizenship in the civilian realm, is forging an EU perspective and loyalty
among military personnel, precedes a section on EU operations. We conclude with
an evaluation of current and future developments in this rapidly developing area of
EU responsibility.
made more plausible by the fact that, amid wavering support for EU integration in
certain policy areas, public support across Europe for a common EU security and
defense remains consistently higher than for any other policy area (Eurobarometer,
2001, 2003, 2005). Thus, with demand for EU-wide responses growing, and with
the EU adopting common positions on all but one major post-Cold War conflict
(including the Gulf War, the bombing of Kosovo, the invasion of Afghanistan, Bos-
nia-Herzegovina, and the crises in the Congo, the Middle East, and North Korea),
the 2003 invasion of Iraq (where half of EU states participated but the EU did not
adopt a common position) may have been the last divided endeavor (especially
given the post-invasion difficulties).
Terrorism
The ESS is clearly aimed at this new type of military conflict. The capability-driven
development of the ESDP, along with contemporary crises calling for assistance
and intervention, and the reemergence of terrorism as a real threat to Europe, all
shaped the strategic objectives in the ESS. The EU has made fighting terrorism a
key priority, which must be part of “all aspects of the Union’s external relations
policy … [and] requires a global approach to strengthen the international coalition
and to prevent and contain regional conflicts” (EU 2002 Seville Council Declara-
tion). The ESS makes clear that Europe is both a target of and base for terrorism,
requiring a holistic approach to the problem, including intelligence cooperation,
police, judicial and military power (ESS, 2003, 3, 7). The March 2004 Madrid
bombings and the July 2005 attacks on London violently reinforced the notion that
EU states are intrinsically interdependent, facing common threats. This has also
European Council
Dialog EU Candidate
Political and Security States
Committee (PSC)
Dialog
Sends Non-EU
Guidelines Provides Military NATO Members
Advice and
Recommendations Dialog NATO
on Military Matters
Milit. Direction
EUMC EUMS
Early Warning, Situation
Assessment, Military Aspects
of Strategic Planning
Source: ISN Center for Security Studies (CSS) ETH Zurich, Switzerland.
Center, located in the GAERC secretariat and led by the HR, includes the EUMS
and the HR’s staff. The HR’s workload, and the increasing importance attributed to
the secretariat, is evident in the total increase in staff, from fifteen to forty in 2001,
to eighty by 2004. This multihatted structure is intended to both ensure seamless
policy coordination among EU institutions, and consistency in external relations.
Part of the constitutional reforms to be decided by 2009 include transforming the
HR into a formal EU foreign minister who, in addition to the aforementioned
responsibilities would serve as vice president of the EU Commission and also head
the EDA.
There are different decision-making options within the GAERC: consensus,
majority, or consensus with “constructive abstention” (a state abstains without pre-
venting others from acting on behalf of the EU). An adopted Common Strategy
specifies the goals to be implemented by joint actions. The latter may be decided
over the objection of a member state, increasing flexibility in a Council of twenty-
seven, as a “coalition of the willing” can no longer be prevented from acting (Peter-
son and Blomberg, 1999, 230).
Other Committees
The PSC is the central committee in the ESDP. Formally composed of members’
national political directors, ambassadorial-rank representatives from each state are
designated to carry out daily business; and in operational preparations or crises the
PSC is headed by the HR. More specifically the PSC has three explicit functions:
(1) to offer policy advice to the Council for EU military deployment and crisis
management operations; (2) to organize, plan, and evaluate, in liaison with the
PPEWU, all EU operations; and (3) to serve as the political control center for the
day-to-day direction of military operations in order to ensure overall consistency in
the EU’s military response to a crisis, as designated by the GAERC. “To that end,
on the basis of the opinions and recommendations of the Military Committee, it
evaluates in particular the essential elements (strategic military options including
the chain of command, operation concept, operation plan) to be submitted to the
Council” (Council of European Union, 2001).
There is a Strategic Planning Branch, consisting of at least eight military and
seven civilian planners, and an EU Operations Center Permanent Staff. The former
undertakes strategic contingency planning for possible operations at the request of
the HR, taking account of the EU’s strategic objectives. This is then presented to
the GAERC for operational approval. The operations center staff is responsible for
generating and maintaining the inherent capacity to plan and run an autonomous
EU operation. It ensures that the Ops Center is operating within five days, and
fully operational in all areas within twenty days, of a GAERC decision, thus form-
ing the key nucleus of the EU Ops Center during an operation.
Capabilities
The combined EU troop size exceeds that of the United States; the EU accounts
for 25 percent of the world’s military expenditures (the United States, 45 percent),
and 21 percent of the world’s arms exports (the United States, 49 percent) (Brit-
ish American Security Information Council, 2003). At the same time, expendi-
tures on material and acquisition equal only 40 percent of the U.S. equivalent,
with the same ratio for operation and management, and even less (33 percent) on
Research and Technology (R&T). Thus, even if, as some argue, defense expendi-
tures amounting to 50 percent of that of the United States should “be more than
enough to deal with contingencies inside and along the periphery of Europe. After
all, that figure represents one fifth of the world’s military expenditure!” (Heisbourg,
2000, 9), improved efficiency, “more-bang-for-your-bucks,” becomes crucial; pooled
resources are even more important when considering that most EU states—with
exceptions like Finland, Britain, and France—are not increasing defense spending
(as a percentage of GDP).
Before proceeding, two clarifications are in order. First, while “EU” spending
refers to cumulative EU spending, most governments—ever more explicitly—fac-
tor in the larger European context when setting defense budgets. This includes
the projects, policies, and capabilities needed for the ESDP; strong public sup-
port for ESDP adds to this focus. Second, defense spending is not the most accu-
rate of figures as different member states exclude certain spending. For example,
France excludes from the defense budget spending on military infrastructure and
transportation, Finland includes certain dual-use products, while Sweden does not.
Nevertheless, the above-mentioned figures on material and development highlight
a challenging reality for all EU members in improving capabilities.
Headline Goals
The “Headline Goal” (noted above) has been the focus of developments and the
core from which other aspects of the ESDP have flowed. In 2000 member states
engaged in an initial pledging of national assets that would be available for EU
operations, resulting in a European Force Catalog. The 2001 follow-up conference
resulted in the European Capability Action Plan (ECAP), erecting working com-
mittees tasked with proposing specific ways to improve and coordinate collective
capability goals in areas such as command, control, intelligence, and transport.
Each of the nineteen working groups was headed by EUMS staff specialists and
their work was coordinated by the Headline Goal Task Force (HTF). Their 2003
A Battle Group
The Headline Goal planning horizon for BGs is five years, with EU member
states offering their BG packages at the biannual, EUMS-chaired, BG coordina-
tion conference. There are thirteen national and multinational BGs, each of which
has a battalion-sized force, support elements (including preidentified logistics). This
arrangement enables BGs to be deployed separately, or jointly, as part of a larger
operation. Most BGs have specialty areas such as mine-sweeping, chemical and
biological weapons (CBWs), or special operations forces. All BGs must be deploy-
able within five days of an EU Council decision to initiate an operation—which
is preceded by EUMS identification of a task for the EU and operational recom-
mendations by the EUMC—and be sustainable for at least thirty days, extendable
to one hundred twenty. Since January 2007 the EU has been able to undertake two
concurrent single BG-sized rapid-response operations, with full support structures
for both (Table 16.2).
The contributing states guarantee that each BG is deployable and capable of
meeting the set minimum standards for EU deployment, but the certification is
also monitored by the EUMC and the EUMS, thus ensuring consistency and over-
all cohesion of the capabilities available to the EU. BG training remains primar-
ily the responsibility of the contributing states, although larger biannual EU and
EU–NATO training exercises provide valuable operational training. The Headline
Goal agreement, the BGs, and the growing number of EU operations (discussed
below), have led to enhanced cross-national military cooperation and coordina-
tion between affected ministries, as well as institutionalized coordination with EU
authorities. This improves the knowledge of each other’s military capabilities, facili-
tating rapid decision making when an EU operation is launched.
An intra-EU division of labor, or role specialization, is increasingly visible, yet
without a fully integrated defense command and force structure EU capabilities
will be hampered, even as capabilities and interoperability improve. Though some
brigades are under multinational command (e.g., there are cases with a German
commander of a Dutch brigade; a Swede in charge of a joint Swedish–Finnish
brigade), these, like equipment and force structuring under RMA, need to become
“second nature.” As many requirements necessitate increased commitments from
larger states (e.g., transport, headquarters), smaller states with specific strengths,
and eager to be perceived as equal contributors alongside military powers, such as
Excluded from the EU’s arsenal are nuclear weapons; weapons all west Euro-
pean states have the capability to produce, yet which all but two have chosen not to
pursue. Britain and France have long been members of the nuclear weapons club,
with former French President Chirac declaring that his country’s nuclear missiles
would be used in response to a large-scale attack in Europe by an external power or
entity (terrorists), even if the attack occurred outside French territory.
One major problem area for the EU is logistics, another command and control.
Most EU forces are still largely static, a conspicuous problem when considering that
with the necessary troop rotations inherent in any operation, as well as the need for
at least a few reserve brigades, only fifteen to seventeen brigades, or fifty thousand
European troops—15 percent of all uniformed soldiers—can currently (2006) be
deployed simultaneously. Currently Britain and France have the most, albeit, lim-
ited capabilities for air and sealift, mostly C141s (fifty-four) and A200s (twenty-
eight), respectively, with Germany and Italy also possessing a dozen each. The UK
also has sixty intra-theater C130 airlift planes (compared to the United States’ over
four hundred), and some EU states have leased similar planes from Ukraine. While
this and other deficiencies are being addressed, with vast improvements in airlift,
command and communication, technological advances and interoperability phased
in from 2008 to 2012 (including, e.g., A-400M transport planes, a new command
headquarters, a European Strike Fighter, the Joint Strike Fighter, and the Euro-
missile), interim strategic airlift capabilities (SALIM) have been secured. Several
states (including Britain, France, Germany, and Italy) have guaranteed short-notice
airlift capabilities (Antonov AN-124-100, C-141 and A200 model aircrafts) for all
EU operations. The Global Approach on Deployability (GAD), part of Headline
Goal 2010 and run out of the EUMS is critical here. Emphasizing that the EU, no
later than 2010, must have the necessary capacity and full efficiency in strategic lift
in support of anticipated operations, the GAD works to coordinate all European
strategic air, land and sea-lift assets through the Strategic Airlift Coordination Cell
located within the European Airlift Center at Air Base Eindhoven (the Nether-
lands), which also hosts the Sealift Coordination Center. The cell is supported by
the Greek Sealift Center in Athens, which is helpful in case of Mediterranean and
North African operations. Both cells are also available to NATO.
developments (Guay, 2005), and was also why formal EU-wide convergence criteria
were rejected when establishing the Headline Goal.
The European Defense Agency (EDA), established in 2004, is under the
authority of the EU Council and headed by the HR. It has a staff of eighty and
a steering board, composed of one delegate from each participating state, usually
double-hatted with the EUMC, and one nonvoting representative from the EU
Commission, which serves as the EDA decision-making body. The EDA scrutinizes
members’ defense capabilities and their pledges to the EU, while also presenting
armaments policy recommendations to the GAERC. Following the determination
by the EUMC of the EU’s military requirements and shortfalls, and the political
priorities set by the PSC, EDA experts work to redress these needs by seeking to
coordinate, promote, and help facilitate armaments R&D and procurement among
member states (including legal contracts), and promote wherever possible the pool-
ing of states’ resources (Council Joint Action 2004/551/CFSP, articles 13.2, 17, 20,
21). ECAP project groups were merged with EDA Capability Technology groups
(staffed with member states’ experts and networked to all members) in 2006, and
will, under the control of the EDA, focus on R&T, complementing the capability-
driven priorities. This “bottom-up” approach, starting with EU members prioritiz-
ing and specifying defense needs, and project groups identifying shortfalls via the
capabilities catalog, and areas suitable for EU-wide integration, is indicative of the
ESDP. This approach keeps national agencies involved in EU projects, providing
valuable input and feedback to EU agencies and committees. Progress reports on
ECAP is submitted by the EDA and the EUMC to the GAERC annually.
The agency’s administrative costs are financed through member contributions,
with projects financed by participating member states. The EDA has legal person-
ality, meaning it can enter binding agreements on behalf of members with third
parties. Its budget was €25 million in 2005, and €40 million in 2006, with addi-
tional research funding pending negotiations among states (as of November 2006).
Although the budget requires unanimity, Council members agreed that as many
decisions as possible will be taken by majority voting (Dempsey, 2004).
The EDA has four directorates (capabilities, R&T, armaments, and defense
industry/market), and the agency’s potential benefits for the development of Euro-
pean capabilities are considerable. In 2006, EU member states spent €2.3 billion
on defense R&T, equal to 1.25 percent of total defense spending, and 11 percent
of R&T (€280 million) spending was multinational. To this effect, the EDA
Armaments Directorate surveys member states’ intended upgrades of major equip-
ments, with the aim of facilitating collaborative development or procurement of
new technologies, subsystems, or components. It also reviews existing multina-
tional collaboration projects with the goal of finding other members that might
be encouraged to participate in replenishment or follow-up purchases. A major
problem in arms consolidation and expanding collaborative projects is Article 296
of the Treaty on the European Union. This allows states to exempt from intra-EU
competition—the internal market governing goods and service—all products with
of close weekly cooperation among EU and NATO military staff include regular
EU–NATO working groups, emanating from the respective organization’s military
committees and addressing operational procedures, training, and equipment. Most
EU–NATO members double-hat their representatives when possible (meaning the
same person sits on the EU and NATO committee). This is done to ensure continu-
ity, but also to minimize potential personnel conflicts and reduce the number of
people accessing sensitive information.
Even with the political and military institutions in place, many ESDP operations
require access to certain NATO assets, placing pressure on complete interoperabil-
ity between all EU and NATO states’ forces and equipment. An agreement formal-
ized in 2003 (“Berlin plus”) gives EU access to NATO assets such as AWAC planes,
communication systems, satellite pictures, and, if needed, use of its headquarters
in Mons, Belgium, during operations. There is also an agreement on NATO–EU
exchange of security information (Council of European Union, 2003a). Following
the security agreement national NATO specialists with significant experience of
operational planning now work side by side with EU military personnel on propos-
als, strategies, and other aspects of military planning in the EUMC and EUMS.
The EU also has a planning cell at NATO headquarters for Allied Powers Europe
(SHAPE), to coordinate missions where NATO assets are used.
The year 2003 saw the first joint EU–NATO training exercise focused on the
interaction between EU and NATO at the strategic politico–military level, and has
been followed by annual exercises at various levels of scope and command (includ-
ing joint troop exercises).
side is that military personnel, including defense ministers, frequently speak a more
“similar language” (Whitney, 2005) because of their similar military training; they
frequently find common grounds on practical problems facing the states and the
region (Howorth, 2001, 767–782; personal communication, Brussels, 2003; Whit-
ney, 2005).
Brusselization
An institutionalization, or “Brusselization effect”—with EU perspectives and val-
ues—has pushed harmonization of views and practices and contributed to altered
national security and defense policies, while speeding up domestic security and
defense reforms in member countries. The permanence of military institutions,
along with the informal defense ministers’ Council, quickly began to promote a
greater harmonization of views as military personnel (Howorth, 2001, 767; Elias-
son, 2004a); and the EU foreign and security policy dimension has consciously
and unconsciously become part of policy makers’ basis for setting national policy
(Manners and Whitman, 2000, 243). The ease of interaction available to military
representatives at different levels in the ESDP, and with NATO representatives,
frequently resulting in common cross-national military positions on issues under
discussion, has begun to generate a harmonization through norms and accepted
behavior essential to a functioning military organization. Military and civilian per-
sonnel from across Europe are socialized in the EU environment (Eliasson, 2004;
Missiroli, in Gnesotto et al., 2004, 56), what analysts call “going native” (Checkel,
2003). Eliasson (2004), through analysis of official documents and statements, and
numerous personal interviews with policy makers, diplomats, and military per-
sonnel over a three-year period, provides evidence of how EU membership and
developments in ESDP has contributed extensively to harmonizing participating
individuals’ perspectives. This is particularly true for smaller, and/or neutral, states,
whose foreign policy apparatuses do not equal those of, for example, France or
Britain, which need to make use greater of the resources in EU institutions to
further ideas and proposals in all areas, including now defense. Several officers and
diplomats interviewed in 2001 and again in 2003 had changed their perspectives,
referring in much more positive terms to the EU’s new defense dimension.
We see a remarkable difference after they have been here for a while,
at first they stick with the official line … then they begin to see the
benefit of ESDP and convey their experience to government officials with
whom they interact and whom are increasingly receptive … while officials
cannot, for domestic political reasons, be as clear publicly, they have
recognized the significance of what is happening and the need to adjust
policies and practices accordingly. (Eliasson, 2004a, 183)
AMIS II Assistance
(Sudan/Darfur) EUJUST THEMIS
60 international (Georgia)
2004–2005 (completed)
EUSEC DR Congo
9 international AMM Monitoring Mission
+ EUSEC-FIN (Aceh/Indonesia)
28 personnel 90 international
84 national
EUPOL Kinshasa
(DR Congo) EUJUST-LEX
27 international/8 national (Iraq/Brussels)
+ temporary reinforcement 38 staff 20 international
Problems
Another problem is intelligence. There is no EU intelligence agency equivalent to
the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency, and to properly advise the PSC, the HR
Note
1. With an operational nerve center at NSA headquarters in Fort Meade and listening
posts located all over the world, the two most notable in Menwith Hill of Yorkshire
and in Sugar Grove, West Virginia, some three billion communications are inter-
cepted per day. Those intercepts are sieved through by each member state’s “diction-
ary,” a compendium of terms, names, numbers, IP addresses, and any other key bits
of information submitted by member states respectively, keeping only those intercepts
that match one of the Dictionary terms submitted by one of the member states, and
is then forwarded on to those member states for which there is a match. (Bamford,
2001, 404.)
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Transformation at Last?
Achieving Radical
Military Reform in
the Czech Republic
and Slovakia
Introduction
Central and Eastern European (CEE) militaries have undergone dramatic changes
in the postcommunist era. All have conducted significant downsizing, reoriented
their national security strategies and military doctrines to adapt to the post-Cold
War strategic environment, and achieved the essential elements of subordination to
democratic political control. Three CEE states, Hungary, the Czech Republic, and
Poland, were granted North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) membership in
the first stage of NATO’s post-Cold War enlargement in 1997. Seven more received
invitations at the Prague Summit in November 2002: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania,
Reprinted from Public Administration and Management 10, no. 2 (2005). With permission.
This chapter does not reflect the views of the Department of the Army, Department of Defense,
or the United States Army War College.
347
Slovakia, Slovenia, Bulgaria, and Romania. However, all cases are still victims of
their Warsaw Pact legacies which have had a long-term impact on their societies,
politics, and national security cultures. The greatest challenges exist in states that
are adapting national security apparatuses inherited from the communist era. The
Baltic states, Slovenia, and to some degree Slovakia, had the benefit of creating their
national security systems from scratch.
This chapter focuses on the current efforts in the Czech Republic and Slovakia
to finally undertake radical systemic military reform. Although each state has made
significant contributions to NATO missions as either an ally or partner, each has
done so without the benefit of rational defense planning systems that can set priori-
ties and match resources to defense needs. Communist-era bureaucratic manage-
ment practices have persisted as key national security institutions’ efforts remain
uncoordinated. Personnel systems remain unreformed as the “inverted pyramid”
structure on hand in 1989 still lingers. Capabilities are low due to outdated equip-
ment, shortfalls in human resources, and systemic limitations.
In 2001 both the Czech Republic and Slovakia began an attempt to break the
cycle of inefficiency and lack of capability and institute radical military reform. As
a long-time observer of each case I was fascinated by the scope and ambition of each
effort. Factors that had limited such efforts in the past had obviously changed and I
wanted to understand the conditions that were finally coming together to effect real
change. In each case a reform plan has been put in place and implementation is in
the early stages. This comparative study analyzes the strategic context within which
the reforms are being carried out and what has transpired to date in each effort.1
in order to develop compatible military forces, and evidence that democratic forces
had a firm hold on the domestic politics of the transitioning states were all impor-
tant factors for accession.
The Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland were swept into the Alliance in
1997 amid a sort of political euphoria that these former “captive nations” had made
the dramatic political and economic transformations, along with some progress
toward reforming their national security structures, that merited admission to a key
Western club. This first stage of post-Cold War enlargement had fundamentally
a moral and political character. There was not a great expectation that substan-
tive military capabilities be contributed immediately. The common view was that
defense reforms initiated in the candidacy and accession periods would proceed
with the result of the interoperability and capability gaps gradually closing within
a decade or so.
All three “first-wavers” fell far short of NATO military standards at the point
of accession. Poland was largely regarded as having the most professional armed
forces, with the Czech Republic and Hungary holding down distant second and
third places. The Czech Republic and Hungary have been continually berated as
“new allies” for not living up to the commitments established in the accession pro-
cess to improve their military capabilities. The Czechs have responded with the
reform plan detailed in this chapter, while Hungary seems to have accepted the
moniker of “most disappointing new member of NATO” (Wallander, 2002).
June 2002, Robert Bradtke, deputy assistant secretary of State for European and
Eurasian Affairs, laid out the Bush administration’s new view, “We want as many
allies as possible in the struggle against those who would destroy our way of life
and who would threaten us with terrorism and the proliferation of weapons of mass
destruction” (Bradtke, 2002). He went on to credit all nine candidates (to include
Albania and Macedonia who did not receive invitations at Prague) for taking the
MAP process seriously and for making “real progress.”
This focus on the primacy of providing capabilities and assets, no matter how
small, to contribute to the war on terrorism, coupled with the Bush administra-
tion’s preference to increasingly regard NATO as a “tool box” from which forces
and niche capabilities can be drawn upon to contribute to U.S.-led coalitions, has
resulted in the downplaying of overall military capabilities at the point of accession.
Assessments evaluating the progress in the MAP process concluded that none of
the nine aspirants had fully met the formal criteria for membership and that the
military capabilities of all are substantially weaker than those of the “first-wavers”
at the time they were invited to join in 1997 (Moroney, 2002).
Observers predicted that NATO would signal its future direction—toward a
more politically oriented Euro-Atlantic talking society or toward a reinvigorated
defense organization committed to retool further to maintain its relevance vis-à-vis
global threats—with the scope of the enlargement at Prague. A smaller enlarge-
ment taking in only the most capable candidates would send a message that acces-
sion standards are necessarily high because the Alliance must be careful to absorb
only those armed forces that will not dilute the Alliance’s capacity to deploy inte-
grated forces through NATO integrated structures to take on NATO-led missions.
A larger enlargement, such as the “big bang” approach undertaken at Prague, was
thought to be a signal that NATO was defunct as a military organization. Groucho
Marx once quipped, “I’d never join any club that would have me as a member.”
Extending invitations to states with armed forces substantially below NATO stan-
dards and to some states with uncertain democratic futures, given the negative
experience of trying to keep the first-wave allies on track, would seem to indicate
that delivering military capabilities was no longer NATO’s raison d’etre. Allowing
such a development would signal further the Bush administration’s intention to
continue to bypass NATO as a key instrument of its foreign and security policy.
What actually happened at Prague, however, was more of a mixed and complex
message. NATO favored the “big bang” enlargement, yet at the same time insisted
that the Alliance was entering a new era of relevance and would be a prime player
in the war on terrorism, as well as be a force to put down other global threats.
Summit leaders approved the formation of a joint 21,000 Response Force to have
initial operational capability no later than October 2004, streamlined the com-
mand structure, and adopted the Prague Capabilities Commitment (PCC) that
will newly focus the allies, new and old alike, on making major gains to improve
military capabilities in key areas.
The reform of the armed forces is mainly connected with the new reality
and new security challenges in the world. We must abandon the Cold
War model and adopt the armed forces of a modern European democ-
racy, which has nothing to do with NATO membership, although the
success of transformation increases our qualification for NATO. But
Slovakia would have to undergo such a development even without the
membership. (Czech News Agency [CTK], 2002)
Kacer added that Slovakia was interested in expressing “the ability of playing
an active role in world politics, contributing to the solution of emergency situa-
tions, and showing a certain international maturity. I would not like to link this
with NATO membership” (CTK, 2002). Although the direction and relevance
of NATO may still lack certainty in the wake of the Prague Summit, the current
international security environment calls for increased capabilities on the part of
all states whose interests are threatened by the transnational threats of terrorism
and weapons of mass destruction, as well as the challenges of dealing with failed
states, resolving postconflict societies, and nation building. These tasks will require
a spectrum of capabilities sustained over an indefinite timeline. The United States
does not have the resources to take on these challenges alone. It is within this con-
text that the success of military reform in CEE states, and within other states with
shared interests, is important. This is the spirit within which the Slovak and Czech
cases will be explored. The hope is that by studying these cases and following them
through the implementation phase, lessons for other CEE states that have experi-
enced intractable problems in carrying out comprehensive military reform, yet seek
to contribute some capabilities toward countering regional and global threats, will
be learned.
was disinterested in facilitating the conditions that would facilitate such gains.
Emblematic of the lip service paid to European integration aspirations was the
turning over of the reins of the Ministry of Defense to the extreme nationalist
Slovak National Party (SNS) even though the party openly opposed the goal of
NATO membership (Szayna, 2000, 74). Meanwhile the development of a domes-
tic political environment conducive to reaching consensus on issues of national
security, or any issue for that matter, was thwarted by Meciar’s refusal to let oppo-
sition politicians fully participate in the political process (Szayna, 2000, 74). The
international community’s repeated citings of the Meciar government for violating
democratic norms led to its pointed exclusion from the first post-Cold War wave of
new allies whose selections were announced at the 1997 Madrid Summit.
The Meciar period seriously affected the evolution of all Slovak institutions in
general, and of the national security infrastructure in particular (Ulrich, 2000).
By 1998, opposition forces tired of bankrupt economic policies, eager to restore
the rule of law, and determined to integrate Slovakia into the EU and NATO,
coalesced into a united front and defeated Meciar in the 1998 parliamentary elec-
tions. The new Prime Minister Mikulas Dzurinda had led the opposition coalition
and pledged to make admission to NATO and the EU the centerpieces of Slovak
foreign policy, root out corruption, restore democratic principles, and rebuild the
economy (Ulrich, 2002b).
Political will to undertake reform and to commit scarce economic resources to
it is a key factor for substantive reform. This did not exist in Slovakia prior to 1998.
The conditions for substantive reform of Slovak national security structures finally
began to take shape in the Dzurinda government. Slovakia had lost five critical
years and squandered a golden opportunity to become a NATO member. Within
a year of taking power, though, the Dzurinda government approved in June 1999
a program for preparing the country for NATO membership called PRENAME
(Program for Preparing Slovaks for NATO Membership) (Bilchik et al., 2001, 251).
This program was a marked departure from past declarations of interest in NATO
membership in that it required all government ministries to coordinate their activi-
ties undertaken to support the state’s candidacy for NATO membership.
Several Western defense assessments were completed which agreed that numer-
ous serious deficiencies plagued the defense establishment. On the heels of the Brit-
ish and American assessments came a negative NATO Planning and Review Process
(PARP) Assessment in February 2001. The Dzurinda government concluded that
“an extraordinary effort had to be initiated if there was to be any hope of cre-
ating the conditions for successful reform and the changes in strategy, doctrine,
organizational designs, and operational concepts that would be required” (Armed
Forces of the Slovak Republic, 2002, 3). In March 2001, Prime Minister Dzurinda
directed that such an effort be undertaken.
n The Armed Forces of the Slovak Republic: Model 2010 Concept Document
n The Long-Term Plan of Structure and Development of the Armed Forces of
the Slovak Republic.
Key to the overall enterprise was the drafting and approval of the Military Strat-
egy because this document would serve as the basis of the detailed planning process
getting underway. As the reform team was being organized the National Council
of the Slovak Republic approved Slovakia’s first Security Strategy in March 2001.
This document was unique in that it engaged key national security stakeholders
in its drafting and for the first time articulated long-term Slovak interests (Ulrich,
2002a). The Defense Strategy was subsequently approved in May 2001. This docu-
ment elaborated on the defense policy component of the Security Strategy and pro-
vided the conceptual framework for the development of the Military Strategy.
The Military Strategy surveys a variety of threats and developed different scenar-
ios, each of which would require different force structures and capabilities depend-
ing on the nature of the threat. The Military Strategy concludes that the probability
of a major armed conflict requiring a unilateral Slovak capacity for national defense
is low, while there is a moderate probability that a regional armed conflict requir-
ing a unilateral capacity could occur. Acknowledging and accepting the risk of not
allocating the vast majority of resources toward low-probability threats made pos-
sible the decision to put forth a strategy that recommends downsizing the inherited
force structure to gain savings that could be applied to such near-term priorities
as enhancing NATO compatibility and interoperability, reforming the person-
nel system to emphasize the roles of junior officers and noncommissioned officers,
introducing training management systems to improve unit training, and funding
quality-of-life issues to help recruit and retain the force (Military Strategy of the
Slovak Republic, 2001, 14–15).
The Military Strategy recognizes that the most likely threats will call for forces
prepared to participate in “cooperative security” responses rather than territorial
defense, and assumes that Slovakia would not face an aggressor alone (interview
with Western Advisor to the Slovak General Staff, 2001). Despite reservations of
some members of parliament that the Military Strategy was too vague, the National
Council unanimously approved it on October 25, 2001. From March 2001 to
the Military Strategy’s approval seven months later the assumptions of its working
drafts outlined above served as the conceptual guidance to the working groups as
they fleshed out their specific proposals and completed the complementary docu-
ments, Organizational Structure of the Ministry of Defense of the Slovak Republic,
the Program Force Model 2010 document, and The Long Term Plan of Structure
and Development of the Armed Forces of the Slovak Republic. Ultimately all of these
inputs served as the basis and rationale for the overall plan to reform the ASR – Slo-
vak Republic (SR) Force 2010.
influential outside advisors to the Slovak defense community. The key individuals
in the Slovak case were the British brigadier, French lieutenant colonel, and German
colonel assigned to advise the Chief of the General Staff, Land Forces Commander,
and Defense Planning Groups, respectively. When it came to key decisions in the
reform process related to the professionalization of the ASR these players usually
had coordinated positions and advice, which made it easier to reach consensus on
the range of issues being considered in the comprehensive reform planning process
(interview with U.S. Army Major General Bob Howard, 2001).
Observers of the reform effort uniformly note that it benefits from a favorable
leadership environment, from the top echelons of the national government through
the military and the Ministry of Defense. There is a broad consensus across politi-
cal parties on the priority of integrating Slovakia into European security and eco-
nomic institutions. The concept of SR Force 2010 was successfully pitched as a
way to achieve these objectives by overhauling defense structures and concepts in
order to create a more NATO-compatible force. Dzurinda infused the Ministry of
Defense with experienced international bureaucrats by assigning seasoned Ministry
of Foreign Affairs hands to Ministry of Defense leadership positions. The Minister
of Defense, Josef Stank, as well as Ministry of Defense State Secretary, Ratislav
Kacer, had served in key Ministry of Foreign Affairs roles. Stank was previously
the Slovak ambassador to Prague, where he observed the Czechs become selected
for and accede to NATO. Kacer had worked on international security issues at the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs and accepted a transfer to the Ministry of Defense with
the understanding that his role was to lead a resistant bureaucracy through major
reform. These civilian leaders, along with General Cerovsky, whose key role has
already been noted, remained engaged in the planning process and truly led the
effort at every stage.
The particular methodology of the planning process is another feature worthy
of greater in-depth study. The Steering Committee met monthly to assess the prog-
ress of the individual working groups and the development of the overall plan. Gen-
eral Milan Cerovsky, chief of the General Staff, as well as the state secretaries for
Defense, members of Parliament, and NATO ambassadors were active participants
in the steering committee. Those involved with the process noted that often these
high-level participants would become personally engaged in the various debates
that ensued about the way ahead across the gamut of issues considered.
Slovak officers, senior Slovak defense officials, members of the American
CUBIC team, and other Western advisers agree that the process of conducting the
comprehensive strategic review has in and of itself resulted in significant changes
that are already having an impact on how the Slovak defense community conducts
its business. A key problem prior to the launch of the SR Force 2010 strategic review
was the integration of the General Staff and the Ministry of Defense. The General
Staff and Ministry of Defense had only recently been co-located in Bratislava and
were attempting to overcome years of uncoordinated efforts. Parallel directorates
existed in each entity that rarely worked together to achieve results in common
areas of responsibility. The strategic review, however, was set up in such a way that
representatives from the Ministry of Defense and General Staff were forced to serve
on the various working groups together. In many cases individuals with common
responsibilities had never even met. The common enterprise of serving on the work-
ing groups has helped to promote cross-institutional communication and has had
some positive effect on integrating the Ministry of Defense and General Staff.
SR Force 2010 is a departure from all previous Slovak attempts at reform because
of its scope: The effort is total, affecting all aspects of the ASR and its oversight;
its political support from above (the Slovak government has given its full support
to the effort); its political support from within (key Western-educated officers are
staking their careers on its success); and, finally, its acceptance of realistic assump-
tions in terms of its matching of reform objectives with economic resources.
Another key concept to understand about SR Force 2010 is that it embodied
Slovakia’s hopes for NATO membership. The timeline governing the working
groups’ activities appears to have been developed to be synchronous with key mile-
stones in the months leading up to the issuance of the second wave of NATO
invitations in Prague in November 2002. Indeed, one could make the case that
the Slovak strategy for “earning” its way to a NATO invitation was to invest its
resources in the detailed articulation of a credible defense reform plan, leaving the
challenges of actual implementation to the months and years subsequent to receipt
of an invitation.
spending level that they could expect the government to maintain through 2005.
From 2006 onward the expectation was that defense spending would increase to a
minimum of 2 percent of GDP (Armed Forces of the Slovak Republic, 2002, 19).
noncommissioned officers. Yearly targets have been set in order to reach the desired
force structure by 2010. The 2002 goal was to reduce the officer corps by 1000 by
the end of the year. Observers report that although carrying out such reductions
is inherently difficult, the Slovaks are on track. Careful management of this par-
ticular element is key to the success of the overall plan. The method of reducing
the force must be perceived as fair and transparent. Slovak defense leaders must be
careful to balance their multiple goals of reducing, recruiting, and retaining (inter-
view with Brigadier Stephen Gledhill, 2002).
The ASR has also simultaneously taken on the additional challenge of eliminat-
ing conscription and moving to an all-professional force by 2006. This requires a
reconceptualization of officer and noncommissioned officer roles as currently prac-
ticed in the ASR, along with conversion of present grade structures to accommo-
date junior, mid-level, and senior noncommissioned officer positions.
The ASR has set for itself the ambitious objective of radical force restructur-
ing while simultaneously trying to systematize a merit-based promotion system,
establish a program for separating career personnel, rationalize its compensation
system, and institute a recruiting system. Inevitably, serious challenges lie ahead as
the attempt to implement these reforms simultaneously gets underway.
Secretary of Defense. NATO specifically took the Czechs to task for not fulfilling
alliance commitments. In the NATO assessment, National Chapters 2000, evalu-
ators noted:
Czech political leaders, who historically have paid minimal attention to mili-
tary affairs and who have long neglected the transformation needs of the ACR, were
embarrassed by the public disclosure of the assessments and moved to correct the
situation. As a result of Governmental Decision 489 taken on May 14, 2001, Prime
Minister Milos Zeman appointed Major General Jaroslav Skopek to head a special
commission charged with developing a plan to create small, modern, sustainable,
and deployable armed forces that balanced national interests with NATO obliga-
tions and resource allocation with likely threat scenarios (Skopek, 2001). Early on
reformers realized that fulfilling such a task would require comprehensive defense
reorganization. In May 2001, Major General Skopek and his team established the
Center for the Preparation of the Reform of the Armed Forces of the Czech Repub-
lic, which became the hub of reform activities.
rethinking the current basing situation, and modernizing equipment and support
to service personnel and units (Skopek, 2001).
2001 one Cubic consultant was already on the scene supporting a contract to help
with the development of the Strategic Defense Review. When the Center began its
work, the Cubic consultant moved to the Ministry of Defense to assist the reform
team (interview with Cubic team member, 2001). Observers note that the Czech
approach to outside consultants has been to limit their involvement to ensure that
Czech expertise is built up in the process. The Czechs were also concerned that the
planning products were “home-grown.”
Stefan Fule remarked in a July 2001 interview that attempts at military reform
in the Czech Republic had failed in the past due to the lack of political support,
the lack of personal courage to make hard decisions (such as implementing painful
personnel reforms), the favoring of political over professional leaders in the min-
istry, and the lack of an overall vision to drive the change (interview with Stefan
Fule, 2001). The reform effort begun under Defense Minister Tvrdik represented
a rare window of opportunity when many of the factors that had previously been
absent came together. It turns out, though, that the opening was narrow and may
have closed markedly with the government’s decision in May 2003 to drastically
reduce the Army’s budget as part of an overall austerity package. This action led
Tvrdik to resign in protest, citing an inability to successfully carry out reform with
the reduced resources.
The key themes that echo through AFCR are rational defense planning, the improve-
ment of the operational capabilities of the ACR, professionalization, improving the
acquisition system, and streamlining the organizational structures and command
and control system. Overlaid on the entire effort is the realization that a trans-
formation in thinking must occur in every aspect of the Czech national security
system. Indeed, the AFCR planners have included as part of their plan programs
that educate defense personnel and the civilian public on the necessity of reform
in general, and, more specifically, on the need for the plan to be implemented in
its entirety.
proposed reform represents a major change in Czech society and culture that must
involve the total participation of the Czech people and their political system. In
the Czech case more so than in the Slovak case the reform aims to improve the
standing of the Czech military in Czech society. The ACR seeks increased prestige
and the creation of the perception among Czechs that its military is a relevant
institution engaged in significant missions worthy of the state’s limited resources.
The myriad of personnel issues in play in both cases is foreboding. Accomplishing
force-level reductions while recruiting to the lower ranks and trying to retain at
the middle ranks is a monumental task. Furthermore, this must be achieved while
reconceptualizing the roles and functions of each member of the rank structure and
establishing career paths and conditions of service.
Finally the importance of personal leadership at every level of the effort—from
the highest echelons of the government to the lieutenant colonels and colonels
charged with reorganizing directorates, to the junior officers and noncommissioned
officers assuming positions of leadership—cannot be underestimated. Wholesale
reform will require wholesale implementation. Piecemeal implementation of a
large, complex, interdependent plan dependent on simultaneous implementation
of its various components will doom the efforts. The presence of committed leaders
supported with the human and material resources to carry out their mission is a
critical element of success. The absorption of the defense cuts and the departure of
Defense Minister Tvrdik dealt a severe blow to the Czech reform efforts. He took
several key reform leaders with him and those who remain face the task of imple-
menting reform with significantly less resources. It remains to be seen if this loss
combined with the scaling back of the government’s commitment will deal a fatal
blow to the effort.
Conclusion
Neither the Czech Republic nor Slovakia has yet achieved their shared goal of insti-
tuting radical military reform. Success will depend on maintaining the domestic
political consensus within the government and the armed forces that is currently
still at high levels compared to earlier points in the postcommunist era. Continued
external pressure is also vital. NATO can exert leverage due to its interest in polic-
ing interoperability standards so that the Alliance can improve its capabilities. The
EU, which has its own ambitions to be a relevant actor on the international security
stage, can send the signal that abandonment of national security responsibilities in
order to single-mindedly pursue economic goals is not desirable. Finally, the United
States can persist in its external assessments in order to enable its CEE allies to
make meaningful contributions to the war on terrorism.
Slovakia must avert the tendency to become complacent in the wake of Prague,
while the Czech Republic must convince its allies that its post-accession compla-
cency has been reversed. Obstacles will certainly challenge each. Czech planners
are struggling to overcome the one–two punch of the economic toll of the Summer
2002 floods and the Summer 2003 defense cuts. Slovakia’s fragile governing coali-
tion must sustain its support for military reform and its commitment to spend 2.0
percent of GDP on defense.
The prospect for CEE states making significant contributions toward abating
regional and global transnational threats and securing their fledgling democracies
is great if they can stay the course on military reform. The newly named allies
should be particularly interested in studying the pitfalls and progress made by the
Czechs and Slovaks outlined in this survey. There is no common path that can be
universally prescribed to each state in search of the gains resultant from compre-
hensively reforming its national security structures, but the study of these two cases
suggests that there are common ingredients whose presence and integration across
the state’s political, military, and societal spheres are more likely to lead to success.
Note
1. For an extended discussion of NATO’s post-Cold War evolution focusing on its out-
reach to the East, see Marybeth P. Ulrich, “The New NATO and Central and East-
ern Europe: Managing European Security in the 21st Century.” In Almost NATO:
Partners and Players in Central and Eastern European Security (Boston: Rowman and
Littlefield, 2002).
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Overview of Latin
America’s Military
Administrations
Introduction
An attempt to describe military administrations within the Latin American region
is a considerable challenge considering the space limitations for one book chapter.
After all, Latin America is a region encompassing thirty-five states (members of the
Organization of American States, with Cuba’s membership suspended since 1962)
with very diverse territorial and population sizes, economic potentials, and industrial
bases (see Table 18.1.). For instance, El Salvador’s territory is similar to that of Mas-
sachusetts, while Brazil’s is comparable to that of the entire United States. Similarly,
whereas El Salvador is populated by about 7 million people, Brazil’s population is
close to 190 million. Their ethnic composition, historical conditions and legacy, cul-
ture and national traditions, and internal and international political dynamics also
differ. That is not to say that Latin American states have nothing in common with
each other; the point is merely to avoid the misperception that all Latin American
states are identical, which is not true and may lead to false simplifications.
All of these factors to a larger or smaller degree had and still have an impact on
the process of formation, reform, and existence of national armed forces and their
character in a specific state of the region. In that sense, clearly, the situation is not
373
different from that of other states of the world, be it Bulgaria, Fiji, Uganda, or the
United States. Latin America, thus, includes a number of states possessing con-
siderable armed forces that are being modernized and reformed on a fairly regular
basis, but there is also a rather long list of states of the region possessing indeed very
small, or no, military potential. The reasons depend, of course, on a number of fac-
tors, including specific states’ internal and foreign policies, international standing,
territorial size, and economic basis for the national armed forces.
Military administrations in Latin America, with few exceptions, tend to share a
number of basic features, some of them found also in many countries outside of the
Latin American region. First of all, a great majority of Latin American armed forces
presently find themselves under the control of democratically elected national gov-
ernments. An exception that clearly stands out from this pattern is Cuba, which
since 1959 has been governed by a communist government. Second, most Latin
American armed forces are supervised and commanded by a defense ministry (or
its functional equivalent), which, in many cases, is headed by a civilian minister
responsible to the president. Third, most armed forces of Latin American states
maintain structural and functional service distinction between land, naval, and
air forces. In many cases, additional service branches are constituted by national
guard or national police formations (for instance, Chile’s Carabineros). The fourth
frequent characteristic is that the armed forces in Latin American states, in addi-
tion to fulfilling their constitutional duties of standing by to defend their nations
against external threats, have also increasingly been orienting toward peacekeeping
missions, civilian disaster relief activities, and assistance in law enforcement opera-
tions. The last, fifth, feature of most military establishments of Latin America is
that although they have clearly moved toward the modus operandi of armed forces
of democratic states, in most cases they still remain skeptical about the general
public having considerable insight into what goes on within the military estab-
lishments. Thus, transparency is on the rise, but it is often still fairly shallow. It is
important to keep in mind that civilian control of the armed forces is not a rule
throughout the region; in some cases (e.g., Brazil, Colombia, Chile), it is a civilian
who holds the position of a defense minister (or its equivalent), while in others those
positions are held by military officers (e.g., Mexico, Venezuela, Cuba).
This chapter focuses on the military administrations of four Latin American
states: Mexico, Colombia, Venezuela, and Brazil. The reason behind this selection
is threefold. First of all, these states are of high significance to the U.S. foreign
policy in this part of the world. Second, they maintain considerable armed forces or
possess relatively significant military potential. The third reason is that it is impos-
sible to look in reasonable depth at all Latin America’s military administrations in
one chapter without making it into a book itself. Thus, following a more detailed
discussion of the aforementioned four national military administrations, a number
of other Latin American states are overviewed together.
Context
When analyzing the history of armed forces of Latin American states, it is impor-
tant to emphasize one characteristic that is known to most students of that part of
the world as the so-called “special role” of the armed forces. It refers to the historical
conditions present in many states of the region, conditions that resulted in armed
forces being seen as, if not de facto being, the most stable and effective state insti-
tution. A combination of centuries of colonial reality filled with complex racial,
economic, and social relations characterizing the past of most Latin American
countries laid foundations for coups, frequent changes in political leadership, and
long periods of internal and international instability. Initially, those socio-political
turbulences were related to the period in which most Latin American states gained
independence, a process that started in most cases in the early 1800s. The forma-
tion of national governance and state structures was accompanied by frequent and
fierce internal struggles in which emerging military structures played significant
roles and were a critical ally to have.
The second important factor in the history of armed forces of the region was
constituted by periods of dictatorial rule, which, although at different times in
different countries’ histories, influenced most Latin American states. Obviously,
maintaining control over armed forces was a sine qua non condition for any dictator
to retain power and it was frequently done at the price of increased role or status (or
both) of the military in public life.
After the end of World War II, most armed forces of Latin American states saw
their role as that of defenders against communism. Along these lines, two treaties
were signed: the Inter-American Treaty of Reciprocal Assistance (known also as
the Rio Treaty) was signed in 1947, and the Mutual Security Act, signed in 1951,
creating the basis of U.S. cooperation with and support for Latin America’s armed
forces. As a result of the U.S.–Soviet Cold War competition (1945–1991), armed
forces in Latin America, mostly supported by the United States, often fought left-
ist guerrilla formations (under different names) that were mostly supported by the
Soviet Union. Thus, the Cold War reality only served to strengthen the rhetoric of
the “special role” of the armed forces because they saw and portrayed themselves
as defenders of external sovereignty and, through the fight against leftist rebels,
guardians of internal order and integrity. The Cold War period left significant
wounds on the social fabric of many Latin American states because many govern-
ments were in the hands of military dictatorships that not infrequently contributed
to human rights violations while targeting political opposition. Those people were
often victims of arrests, tortures, and physical elimination, while the official pre-
text for those actions was the defense of democracy and national integrity against
communism. Unfortunately, in this way what the communists did in other parts of
the world, right-wing dictatorial governments did in Latin America. As a result of
such actions, it is estimated that nine thousand people disappeared in Argentina,
several more thousand in Chile, while countries like Peru or Guatemala suffered
even greater casualties.1
Not surprisingly, in the atmosphere of various sorts of instability and socio-
political storms that Latin American nations experienced, armed forces saw them-
selves, and often were perceived, as the guarantors and defenders of the state’s
institutional continuation. Moreover, in most Latin American states, armed forces
were a part of the so-called power triumvirate, together with the politico–financial
elites (mostly of White, Iberian origin) and the Catholic Church. Presently, in most
of the region’s states, both the position of the Catholic Church as well as the role
of the armed forces have seen a decline, with simultaneous increase of the role of
democratic institutions and procedures, which have slowly, but effectively, been
replacing the archaic and undemocratic systems and mores of governance.
Presently, as was mentioned earlier, the armed forces of many Latin American
states, albeit not very enthusiastically, take part in or aid law enforcement opera-
tions and are used against drug crime organizations (e.g., in Colombia). On the one
hand, such tasks are not typical for armed forces, but on the other hand they practi-
cally prepare the respective national militaries for the challenges of the twenty-first
century in which mobile, hit-and-run, and unconventional warfare seems to be on
the rise, contrary to the large front, thousands of tanks, and millions of soldiers
scheme more typical for the first half of the twentieth century.
As a curiosity, it is worth mentioning that the armed forces of a number of
Latin American states are financed not only through national budgets and defense
appropriations, but also by income generated by private companies owned by the
very armed forces. In some cases, for instance in Chile, such solutions provide for
the resources needed to purchase new weapons and weapons systems (in the case of
Chile, such funding basically doubles the amount appropriated from the national
budget to the Ministry of Defense). The downside of such solutions is that the
amount is not guaranteed because it depends on the market fluctuations and result-
ing profits for the companies owned by the military. For that reason, full data on
the financial operations of the specific armed forces is not always available, since the
“outside-of-the-budget” part is not entirely known or predictable.
Mexico
Being the United States’ large and direct southern neighbor, it is natural to start the
comparative look at military administrations of selected Latin American countries
with Mexico. Mexican armed forces total close to 193,000, including 144,000 in
the army, 37,000 in the navy, and close to 12,000 in the air force. Mexico also pos-
sesses paramilitary troops numbering 11,000, while the reserve core of the armed
forces is estimated at 300,000.
Chain of Command
Chain of command in this country probably stands out the most in comparison
with other Latin American states. Similarly to many other countries, the president
of Mexico is the commander in chief of the armed forces. In contrast to many other
countries in terms of the administrative structure is the fact that the president does
not command the armed forces via one defense-related ministry or department,
but through two institutions known as Secretariats (Figure 18.1). The Secretariat of
National Defense (Secretaría de la Defensa Nacional–Sedena) supervises the Mexi-
can Army (Ejército) and the Mexican Air Force (Fuerza Aerea Mexicana, or FAM),
while the Secretariat of the Navy (Secretaría de Marina Armada de Mexico–Semar) is
responsible for the supervision of the navy, naval air, and marines.2 Thus, Mexico’s
governmental structure does not include a defense minister per se and, therefore,
only Mexico’s president has full command over the country’s entire armed forces.
President of Mexico
Secretariat Secretariat
of National Defense of the Navy
High Command
Supreme Command
Supreme Military
Tribunal High Command
Military Air Force First Army Military Special Paratroop Presidential Rural
Regions Command Corps Police Forces Corps Guards Defense
Military Zones
-Mil. Air Regions Independent
-Mil. Air Bases Infantry
Military Units Brigades
-Combat Wing
-Reckon. Wing
-Air Squadrons
(2000–2006), officers from lower ranks were chosen to head the services, which
was perceived as a move towards letting more progressive and younger commanders
take charge. However, the traditional isolation of the internal affairs of the military
from the outside, public world did not change as a result of those personnel moves
and the military remains rather cold about public relations.
Secretary
Strategic
Admirals Board
Planning Unit
Naval Forces,
Regions, Zones
and Sectors
The Mexican Army is armed with 264 reconnaissance vehicles, over 860 armored
personnel carriers, 1,174 artillery pieces, and 80 air defense guns. The army’s stra-
tegic reserve is composed of four armored brigades, one airborne brigade, one engi-
neering brigade, and one military police brigade.5
Although formally the Mexican Air Force possesses 107 combat-capable aircraft,
the main weight of potential fighting responsibility rests on ten F-5 and seventeen AT
33 Shooting Stars. Additionally, there are seventy-three transport aircraft, including
three B-727, one B-757, six Beech 90s, one C-118, seven C-130s, four C-26 Metros,
twenty Rockwell Commander 500s, and six Rockwell Turbo Commander 680s.6
logistics and support vessels. Naval Aviation comprises eleven hundred person-
nel with eight combat-capable aircraft. Mexican Marines number eighty-seven
hundred.7
Colombia
The Colombian armed forces total 207,000 active duty personnel and are divided
into three branches. They include army (Ejército Nacional), navy (Armada Nacio-
nal, including naval aviation, marines, and coast guard), and air force (Fuerza
Aerea Colombiana). The paramilitary force, mainly national police units, number
129,000,11 and all military branches are under the control of Colombia’s Ministry
of Defense.
Chain of Command
The president of Colombia is the supreme commander of the Colombian armed
forces (Figure 18.4). Directly responsible to him is the Minister of Defense, who
oversees the General Command of the Armed Forces (Comando General de Fuerzas
Militares). Subordinated to it are the respective commands of the army, navy, air
force, and national police.
President of Colombia
Min. of Defense
General Command
of the Armed Forces
Personal Adjutant
External Assessors
Office
Army Commander General Inspectorate
Juridical Office
General Adjutancy
Personal Adjutant
Second Commander
General Staff Planning Directorate
and Chief of Staff
Informatics Directorate
further divided into battalions. The commander of the army supervises the second
commander and the chief of the Army General Staff. They, in turn, supervise seven
division commands, responsible for their respective territorial areas.
The Colombian Army numbers 178,000, with almost one third (64,000) being
conscripts, while the army’s reserves are estimated at almost 55,000.12 It is orga-
nized into seven division headquarters,13 with the bulk of the force constituted by
nine Mobile Counter Guerrilla Force brigades, six mechanized brigades, two air
mobile brigades, nine infantry brigades, one special forces brigade, four mountain
infantry battalions, two artillery battalions, one antiterrorism unit, and one coun-
ternarcotics brigade.14 The army has 12 light tanks, 135 reconnaissance vehicles
(mainly EE-9 Cascavel), over 190 armored personnel carriers, 639 artillery pieces,
and 30 air defense guns.
Naval Operations
Command
Operational
River Eastern Coordination
Command Naval Zone and Control
Directorate
Hydrography Armaments
Telematics and and
Directorate Navigation Electronics
Directorate Directorate
- Personal Adjutancy
- General Adjutancy
- Information and Press Office AF General
AF Commander
- Prof. Reserve Officers Command Inspectorate
- Juridical Department
- Military Ceremonial Protocol Dept.
- Adjutancy
- Classification Council
Second Commander and - Integral Action Dept.
Chief of General Staff
- Strategic Planning Dept.
- Contract Department
- Financial Department
possesses eight amphibious units and seven logistics and support craft. Colombian
Marines number fourteen hundred.
skeptical of periodically aired ideas about conflict resolution, which would include
partial integration of former guerrillas into the military. Mutual animosity, not
infrequently on a personal level, does not bode well for potential cooptation of the
former leftist guerrillas into the formal military structures, although such a pos-
sibility remains an option. The fact is that under the leadership of Colombia’s cur-
rent president, Alvaro Uribe, Colombian armed forces contributed considerably to
the increase of governmental control over Colombia’s territory and its fight against
leftist guerrillas and drug organizations. To some extent, the success of the armed
forces and Uribe’s application of the concept of “democratic security” is measured
by the re-election of Alvaro Uribe to his second term in May 2006.
In the course of the fight against leftist guerrillas, a serious problem has been
reoccurring in recent years. While pursuing FARC forces near border areas,
Colombian troops crossed international borders and entered into Ecuadorian ter-
ritory, while on another occasion, they reportedly entered Venezuela, and yet on
another occasion Brazil.16 Colombian military claimed to be pursuing guerrillas,
who set up safe havens in bordering countries. Although those claims are almost
certainly true, military incursions into foreign territories lead to dangerous interna-
tional incidents. It is, therefore, clear that in order for the Colombian military to be
fully successful in cornering and eliminating the FARC or other illegal organiza-
tions, political international agreements must be reached, which will result in close
military cooperation of bordering states and, potentially, in joint military opera-
tions against guerrillas. Otherwise, the refugee crisis in Colombia’s border areas
is likely to continue, with the present number of refugees outside of Colombia’s
frontiers estimated at three hundred thousand, while internally displaced persons
now number between 3 and 3.5 million people.17
The fact remains, however, that the Colombian armed forces are engaged in
combat against a mobile, well-trained, and well-equipped enemy operating in dif-
ficult mountainous and jungle terrain. The Colombian military has suffered sig-
nificantly due to insufficient mobility, which is critical in combat against such an
enemy. Thus, the United States has been helping to fix that deficiency by providing
helicopters. Through an interagency assistance plan, as part of the “Plan Colom-
bia,” the U.S. government provided funds needed to procure fourteen UH-60 Black
Hawks and thirty UH-1H Huey II helicopters, in addition to supporting the pro-
curement of fifteen UH-1N helicopters.18 Moreover, Colombia ordered two UH-60
A/L Black Hawk helicopters from the United States and the first four of twenty-five
Brazilian EMB-314 Super Tucano planes were to be delivered in 2006.19
Venezuela
Venezuela’s National Armed Force (Fuerza Armada Nacional, or FAN) totals over
82,000, with 8,000 in Army reserves. They include ground forces or army (Fuerzas
Terrestres or Ejército), naval forces (Fuerzas Navales or Armada [including Marines
President
of Venezuela
Min. of Defense
and Coast Guard]), Air Force (Fuerzas Aereas or Aviación), and Armed Forces
of Cooperation or National Guard (Fuerzas Armadas de Cooperación or Guardia
Nacional). They are under the control of the Ministry of National Defense (Minis-
terio de Defensa Nacional), which reports to the president of the republic.
Chain of Command
The President of the Republic is the commander in chief of the armed forces of
Venezuela. Through the Defense Minister, he commands the Army, Navy, and Air
Force (Figure 18.8).
Acquisitions
Department Juridical
Second Department
General Financial Division
Inspectorate Directorate
General Staff
Third
Aviation Division
Inspection
Directorate Commander Personnel Intelligence
Fourth Directorate Directorate
Security and Logistics Division
Investigations Command Planning Operations
Directorate Directorate Directorate
Fifth
Command Division
Evaluation and
of School Informatics Situation
Control
Sixth Directorate Room
Department
First Engineering
Division Corps
Ninth
Division
Navy General
Command
Navy General
Inspectorate
Responsible to the Navy General Staff is the navy’s Inspectorate General and four
function-specific commands:
n Operations Command
n Logistics Command
Naval Operations
Command
n Personnel Command
n Education Command
AF General Command
AF General
Inspectorate
Brazil
Before the Brazilian Ministry of Defense was created, its three branches of armed
forces were directed by three ministry-level departments dealing exclusively with
the specific military branch. In 1999, the three departments were transformed into
three military commands responsible to the Ministry of Defense (Ministério da
Defesa), which was created on June 10, 1999. The Ministry of Defense oversees
and coordinates the activities of the three branches of the Brazilian armed forces:
the Army (Exército), Navy (Marinha do Brasil), including Naval Air and Marine
Corps (Corpo de Fuzileiros Navais), and Air Force (Força Aérea Brasileira). Total-
ing 287,159 personnel, the Brazilian armed forces are the most numerous in all
of Latin America. In addition, Brazil possesses significant reserves, estimated at
over 1.3 million. Military police and state militia forces, or public security forces,
constitute a paramilitary wing of the defense system of Brazil and are estimated at
385,600.32
Chain of Command
The chain of command within Brazilian military administration begins at the top
level with the president of the Republic, who, according to article 84 of the Federal
Constitution, is the executive commander of the armed forces and appoints com-
manders of the army, navy, and air force. Directly responsible to him is the Minister
of Defense, who, via Defense Ministry and Defense General Staff (Estado Mayor da
Defesa), oversees the army, navy, and air force commands (Figure 18.13). Ministry
of Defense and Defense General Staff are responsible for strategic operations and
their coordination. The three respective commands of the military services (army,
navy, air force) are responsible for the component-specific, operational administra-
tion of the forces under their command through subcommands.
President of Brazil
Min. of Defense
Army Commander
Superior Econ-
Army High Com
Financial Council
Mil. Command Mil. Command Mil. Command Mil. Command Mil. Command Mil. Command Mil. Command
Southeast South East Northeast of the Amazon of Planalto West
2nd Mil. Reg. 3rd Mil. Reg. 1st Mil. Reg. 6th Mil. Reg. 12th Mil. Reg. 11th Mil. Reg. 9th Mil. Reg.
5th Mil. Reg. 4th Mil. Reg. 7th Mil. Reg. 8th Mil. Reg.
turn, oversee twelve military regions. Regional military commands, responsible for
tactical-level operations, include:
The Brazilian Army numbers 189,000 personnel and is presently organized into
eight Army divisions.33 Approximately 40,000 of the Brazilian army are conscripts
with the mandatory service lasting nine to twelve months.34 However, an increas-
ing number of conscripts remain in the army serving contractually extended terms
of service in narrowly specialized niches. The bulk of the Army includes:
The army’s main equipment comprises 464 tanks, 409 reconnaissance vehicles,
803 armored personnel carriers, over 1,550 artillery pieces, 79 helicopters, 54 sur-
face-to-air systems, and 134 air defense guns.36
Navy Commander
Navy General
Staff
Interministerial
Commander’s Intelligence Commission for Sea
Cabinet Center Resources Secretariat
Naval Systems
Navy School
Analysis Center
Naval Ops Navy General Navy Materiel Navy Personnel Navigation Gen. Command
Command Secretariat Gen. Directorate Gen. Directorate Gen. Directorate of the Marine Corps
Similarly to the army, Naval District Commands have territorial responsibilities for
their respective theaters of operations.
The navy has nearly 33,000 personnel under its command and is almost entirely
professional, with only 3,200 conscripts. The bulk of the Navy consists of five tacti-
cal submarines, an aircraft carrier (Clemenceau-class), nine frigates, four corvettes,
six mine warfare vessels, three amphibious ships, and over fifty logistics and sup-
port vessels, including three hospital ships.37 Moreover, the Brazilian Navy includes
Naval Aviation, with personnel of approximately 1,200, with principal attack power
of one fighter squadron of twenty-three Skyhawks in four different versions. The
marines, organizationally part of the navy, number 14,600, with one amphibious
division, a special forces battalion, an engineering battalion, and eight regional
Marine groups.38
The Air Operations Command oversees seven Regional Air Commands respon-
sible for tactical-level operations. The Brazilian Air Force is functionally organized
into four air forces (1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 5th; the 4th is deactivated), as they are called,
each of them equipped with aircraft reflecting a given group’s specialization:
A.F. Commander Cabinet Air Force Commander Parliamentary Advisors of the A.F. Commander
Social Communic. Center A.F. Hist.-Cult. Institute
A.F. Intelligence Center Commission on Int’l Aerial Navigation Studies
A.F. Officers Promotion Commission
Air Force High Com. A.F. General Staff A.F. Econ-Fin. High Commission
Air Ops. Support Personnel Air Space Airspace Tech. Civil A.F.
A.F. Econ-Fin.
General General General Control General Aviation Instruction
Secretariat
Com. Com. Com. Dept. Com. Dept. Dept.
Historical A.F.
Document. Instruction and
Center Adaptation Center
Logistics Center
and Cyprus), the largest one being deployed to Haiti and numbering approximately
twelve hundred troops.
Brazil had the region’s most developed nuclear research program and it possesses
sufficient resources to construct nuclear weapons if it so desired, mostly due to sig-
nificant uranium deposits. While civilian authorities conducted a nuclear research
program in the 1970s and 1980s, the military secretly led parallel research with
the aim of uranium enrichment. Yet the military program ended with the return
of democracy in the mid-1980s and the decisive rejection of any nuclear weapons
ambitions, signified through the signing of the Tlatelolco Treaty in 1967, establish-
ing Latin America as a nuclear weapons free zone, the Nuclear Nonproliferation
Treaty (NPT), the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), and membership in
the Nuclear Suppliers Group (NSG).
Over the past two decades, military culture in Brazil has seen a considerable
shift. The armed forces have been increasingly directing their attention away from
individual political objectives inside the country and towards apolitical professional-
ism. That does not mean that certain legacies of political involvement from the past
have been entirely eliminated, but the armed forces today serve their society, rather
than primarily helping to control it, as was the case only two decades ago.
Titicaca, and the Amazon River area. Peru’s navy is armed with six tactical subma-
rines, a cruiser, six frigates, thirteen patrol and coastal combatants, four amphibious
vessels, and nine logistics and support craft. Naval aviation numbers over 800 per-
sonnel and has one combat capable aircraft. Peruvian Marines number 4,000 and
include one marine brigade, a jungle infantry battalion, two independent infantry
battalions, one infantry group, and a commando group.43
The Peruvian Air Force totals 15,000 personnel and is organizationally divided
into five regions: North, Lima, South, Central, and Amazon. The Peruvian Air Force
has eighty-nine combat-capable aircraft, including eighteen MIG-29s, five MK 58
Canberras, twelve A-37s, twelve M-2000s, ten SU-25s, and over thirty SU-17s in
different versions. Moreover, it has three reconnaissance MIG-25 aircraft and eighty-
nine transport planes. The helicopter fleet includes sixteen attack choppers (Mi-24),
twenty-three support (8 Mi-17 and 15 Mi-8), fifty-two utility, and eighteen train-
ing helicopters.44 Peruvian paramilitary forces are comprised mainly of the national
police, which numbers 77,000 personnel.45 A key modernization event for Peru’s
armed forces in recent time was its 2005 order of two Italian Lupo-class frigates.
Chile
The Chilean armed forces are composed of army (Ejército), navy (Armada, including
naval air, Maritime Territory and Merchant Marine Directorate, and marine corps),
air force (Fuerza Aérea), and Carabineros (uniformed, militarized police). Interest-
ingly, the so-called investigations police (Policía de Investigaciones, a nouniformed
police force) is also responsible to the Ministry of Defense. All branches are com-
manded by the president via a civilian defense minister.
The Chilean armed forces total nearly 117,000 active duty personnel with the
army comprising 47,700, the navy nearly 19,500, the air force 10,300, and Cara-
bineros 38,000. Army reserves are estimated at 50,000. Nearly half (21,000) of the
Chilean Army are conscripts serving one-year terms, although as of 2005, Chil-
ean armed forces are heading towards a fully voluntary service. Chile’s army is
organized into six military regions in three theaters of operations (North, Center,
South). It has six army divisions, comprising fifteen reinforced regiments (i.e., with
diverse subunits, capable of undertaking diverse missions, a result of the reform
and modernization process of the Chilean Army), three armored cavalry regiments,
eight mechanized, motorized, and mountain regiments, one engineer regiment,
two artillery regiments, and two telecommunications regiments.46 They are armed
with 260 tanks, 157 reconnaissance vehicles, nearly 1,100 armored personnel car-
riers, over 600 artillery pieces, 30 transport, logistics, and training aircraft, 40
helicopters, 67 surface-to-air systems, and 60 air defense guns.47
The Chilean Navy is divided into four naval zones, with headquarters located
in Valparaiso, Talcahuano, Punta Arenas, and Iquique. The Chilean Navy is armed
with four tactical submarines, two destroyers, six frigates, twenty-five patrol and
coastal vessels, five amphibious vessels, and twelve logistics and support craft. Naval
aviation counts six hundred personnel, six combat capable aircraft, and seventeen
helicopters. Marines count thirty-five hundred.48
The Chilean Air Force is organized into five air brigades, comprising twenty-
one groups (eleven aviation groups, four antiair defense groups, five telecommuni-
cations and aerial detection groups, and an Antarctic exploration group).49 The air
force possesses eighty-seven combat-capable aircraft, including, among others: eigh-
teen F-5s, eighteen A-37s, six F-16Cs, four F-16Ds, thirteen Mirage 50s, and sixteen
Mirage 5s. It also has eighty-four training aircraft and fourteen helicopters.50
Carabineros are organized into 13 zones, 39 districts, and 174 commissariats.
Carabineros possess about twenty armored personnel carriers, an estimated fifteen
helicopters, and a small quantity of transport aircraft.51
The Chilean military is without question among the most professional and
best-trained armed forces in Latin America. It is highly regarded by other coun-
tries’ military administrations and has proven itself historically. The Chilean armed
forces are also among the best-equipped in the region, making sure to constantly
modernize their weapons. To that end, the Chilean Navy in 1998 ordered two
Scorpene-class submarines from France, one of which has already been delivered
while the second was due in late 2006 or early 2007. Two Karel Doorman-class
frigates were ordered in 2004 from Holland and their delivery is expected to be
completed by 2007, while two Dutch Van Heemskerck-class frigates were expected
by mid-2006. Three British frigates are expected to be delivered by 2008. More-
over, in 2002 the Chilean Air Force ordered ten F-16C/Ds from the United States
and all of them were to be delivered by the end of 2006. Additional eighteen F-
16A/B Block 15 aircraft were ordered in 2006 in Holland with the delivery date
set for 2007. The Chilean Army in 2006 ordered a hundred German Leopard 2A3
main battle tanks.52 Moreover, six to eight Bell 412 helicopters are to be delivered
in the near future.
The Chilean military remains active in international peace and aid operations,
with present deployments to five locations, with the largest contingent (close to
five hundred fifty) presently on a United Nations mission to Haiti (MINUSTAH).
With the continued levels of professionalism, training, and modernization, Chile’s
armed forces are certain to retain the prestige they enjoy of being among the top
military forces in the region and even globally.
Argentina
The Argentine armed forces are composed of army (Ejército), navy (Armada,
including Naval Aviation and Naval Infantry), and air force (Fuerza Aérea) They
are responsible to the Ministry of Defense (Ministerio de Defensa), while the civilian
defense minister is responsible to the president of the republic.
The Argentine armed forces total over 71,400 active duty personnel. The para-
military forces include gendarmerie (18,000) and coast guard (13,240).53 The
Argentine Army includes 41,400 personnel. It has twelve functional commands
(communications, health, planning, education and doctrine, arsenals, engineering,
etc.).54 It is organized into three corps, each with its own headquarters. The army’s
core is composed of two armored brigades, four mechanized infantry brigades,
three mountain infantry brigades, and an airborne brigade.55 Main army equip-
ment includes 350 tanks, 74 reconnaissance vehicles, over 500 armored person-
nel carriers, 1,700 artillery pieces, 48 surface-to-air systems, 226 air defense guns,
nearly 100 helicopters, and approximately 45 transport, training, and logistics
aircraft.56
Argentina’s navy totals 17,500 personnel. It is centered around three head-
quarters, including Atlantic (Mar del Plata), Center (Puerto Belgrano), and South
(Ushuaio). The Argentine Navy is equipped with three tactical submarines, five
destroyers, nine frigates, sixteen patrol vessels, two mine warfare ships, twenty
amphibious craft, and fourteen logistics and support vessels. Naval aviation has
personnel of two thousand, with eleven combat-capable aircraft. The Argentinean
marine force counts two thousand people, with the principal combat force of four
marine infantry battalions.57
The Argentinean Air Force numbers 12,500 personnel and is organized into
four functional commands (air operations, personnel, air regions, and logistics),
which supervise and coordinate the activities of eight air force brigades. The air
force has about one hundred eight combat-capable aircraft in the Air Operations
Command (including thirteen Mirage EA/DAs, thirty-four A-4s, nineteen Nesh-
ers, seven Mirage 5s, thirty-five IA-58 Pucaras), and eighty-three training aircraft
in the Personnel Command.58
The Argentine military was at the rudder of state politics for considerable periods
of time in the country’s history. Military rule ended in 1982 with the failed attempt
to militarily seize the Falkland Islands from Britain, which was the nail to the mili-
tary rule’s coffin. Since then, the Argentinean armed forces have undergone a major
mentality transformation and, similar to most other military establishments of the
Southern Cone, became a force serving civilian authorities in a democratic state.
Recently, judicial moves have been made to reopen Argentina’s dictatorial past and
possibly try some of those military officers responsible for human rights violations.59
Argentina was the only Latin American state to participate in the Gulf War of
1991. In January 1998, the U.S. government recognized close ties with Argentina,
designating it as a major non-NATO ally. The Argentinean military was supportive
of governmental efforts at nonproliferation and regional stability in the Southern
Cone, which helped smooth and considerably improve relations with Brazil and
Chile, relations historically filled with suspicion and lack of trust.
Overall, the Argentine military is increasingly well-organized and undergoing
transformation into a light, but rapidly responding force, which is a part of the so-
called “Plan 2000.” In 2005, Argentina ordered an Ouragan-class French landing
platform, which is to be delivered in 2007. The first such platform was delivered
in 2005.60 Argentina deployed military units internationally to European Union,
United Nations, and NATO operations, with the largest contingents presently in
Haiti, Cyprus, and former Yugoslav republics.
Central America
Central America, understood here as comprising the states between Mexico’s
southern frontier and Colombia’s northern border, includes seven countries: Belize,
Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras, Costa Rica, and Panama. Their
combined population is just over 40 million people, with combined territory slightly
less than twice the size of Colorado. All of their military forces combined number
close to 72,000.61 Out of the seven countries, two, Costa Rica and Panama, do not
maintain formal military armed forces, but paramilitary organizations. In the case
of Costa Rica, there are 8,400 men and women serving in the Civil Guard (4,400),
Border Security Police (2,000), and Rural Guard (2,000).62 Panama’s paramilitary
force is constituted by the National Police Force, numbering 11,800.63 Thus, Cen-
tral America’s national armed forces taken together with the paramilitary forces
of Costa Rica and Panama number about 92,000.64 As with the diversity in other
realms in Latin America, the differences between national troop levels among Cen-
tral American countries are considerable, with the most numerous force of over
29,000 in Guatemala, the smallest one of over 1,000 in Belize, and with no formal
military in previously mentioned Costa Rica and Panama.
It is important to emphasize, however, that there is no de facto functioning
organization or institution of common defense of Central American states, so the
combined figures here serve only as a demonstration of relatively low levels of mili-
tary strength of the individual member states, rather than as an indication of a
combined strength of the region. However, there are ideas of creating what might
become the basis of a more common regional defense structures. One of them was
the meeting of all seven countries’ defense ministers in Miami in October 2005 to
discuss the possibility of creating one regional military headquarters and starting a
joint counternarcotics battalion in addition to holding joint exercises, more coordi-
nated multinational operations, and peace missions.65
As always, troop levels and armaments in the region are a function of the present
geopolitical situation, internal and foreign policies of national governments, and,
often most importantly, budgetary capabilities. Overall, presently Central America
is fairly free of international tensions and internal conflicts. Civil wars that used to
devastate the region during the Cold War, with the exception of Costa Rica, are
now a part of history. New security problems are primarily focused around drug
trafficking and organized crime activities, which are more pronounced in some
countries than in others. The fact is that Central America is a logical path from
South America’s coca fields to the primary drug market in the United States.
Standing out on the map of nonstate security threats in the region is the increased
activity of a predominantly Salvadoran mob, known as Mara Salvatrucha or Mara
13 (also called “MS” or “MS-13”). The organization was started in the 1980s as a
gang in Los Angeles, California, but has spread to the majority of U.S. states, El
Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala, and possibly other Central American nations. It
is involved in illegal migrants trafficking, drug running, and weapons smuggling.
So far, however, there are no indications of military involvement in combating that
threat. It is a possibility, though, if national police forces themselves become unable
to root out this rising threat to the economic and political stability of the region.
Castro, and presently is among the world’s few remaining bastions of communism.
During the Cold War, Cuba became the epicenter of international events in 1962
as a result of the so-called “Cuban Missile Crisis.” In 2005, Cuba’s defense expen-
ditures were estimated to reach $1.4 billion.69
The Cuban Army consists of one frontier brigade, up to five armored brigades,
nine mechanized infantry brigades, one airborne brigade, one air defense artillery
regiment, and one surface-to-air missile regiment. It is armed with mostly old,
Soviet-made equipment, which includes 900 tanks (T-34s, T-54s, T-55s, T-62s, and
some PT-76s), 700 armored personnel carriers (all of them BTR in various versions),
over 1,715 artillery pieces, 300 surface-to-air missile systems, and 400 air-defense
guns. The Cuban Navy numbers 3,000 personnel and is structurally divided into
Western and Eastern Commands. It is armed with five patrol and coastal combat
vessels, five mine warfare craft, and a logistics and support vessel. The Cuban Navy
also includes the so-called Naval Infantry, composed of two amphibious assault bat-
talions. Cuba’s air force numbers 8,000 personnel and is armed with 127 combat-
capable aircraft, but only 25 of them are believed to be operational. The key fighting
aircraft include three MIG-29s, ten MIG-23s, and eight MIG-21s. Additionally,
there are sixty-three transport aircraft, all of them old, Soviet-made (e.g., AN-2,
AN-26, IL-62, TU-154). The Cuban Air Force also possesses close to forty attack
choppers (Mi-24) and eighty-five support helicopters (Mi-8).70
Overall, Cuban military equipment is old and outdated and seriously suffering
from the lack of repair parts. The Soviet Union, Cuba’s primary weapons provider
during the Cold War, basically cut off all military support at the time of its collapse
in 1991. Since that time, the Cuban military has seen continuous degradation of its
equipment and, by default, of its fighting capabilities. Thus, although the Cuban
armed forces are comparatively numerous and with significant reserves, their com-
bat capability on the modern battlefield is very low.
The Dominican Republic maintains 24,500 troops, divided into army, navy, and
air force. National Police of 15,000 constitutes its paramilitary force. The country’s
territory is slightly more than twice the size of New Hampshire and its population a
little over 9 million people. Its 2005 gross domestic product (GDP) was $18.15 bil-
lion (in official exchange rate), while its 2005 defense expenditures reached slightly
over $190 million.71
The Dominican Army numbers 15,000 personnel organized into three Defense
Zones and including:
n an armored battalion
n six infantry brigades
n one special forces battalion
n one mountain infantry battalion
n one artillery battalion
n one engineering battalion
n one Presidential Guard battalion
The Dominican Republic’s army is equipped with twelve M-41 light tanks,
twenty-eight armored personnel carriers, and fifty-six artillery pieces. Interestingly,
there is a separate Airborne Cavalry Squadron equipped with forty-four helicop-
ters. The Dominican Navy totals four thousand personnel and includes a marine
unit and a SEAL unit. Its primary equipment includes seventeen patrol and coastal
combatants, and four logistics and support vessels. An estimated fifty-five hundred
men and women serve in the Dominican Air Force, which is tasked mainly with
search-and-rescue (SAR), medical evacuation (Medevac), and transport missions.
To that end, it is equipped with four transport aircraft (including 3 CASA 212-
400s), seven training planes (T-35 Pillans), and fourteen utility helicopters.72
Conclusion
This overview of the military organizations of Latin America serves as an indica-
tion of a significant variety of military potentials and tasks assigned to the region’s
national armed forces. Clearly, modernization levels and armaments strengths are
mostly a function of a given country’s economic performance, its political relations
with other countries of the region, and the developments planned for the near
future.
The most important lesson from present-day Latin America is that its armed
forces have, by and large, been coming closer toward becoming a tool of democratic
governments and are often used to maintain peace in the region and in faraway
parts of the world. This orientation provides the armed forces of many Latin Ameri-
can states with noble goals and a new sense of mission, which helps them move
away from the infamous interest in domestic politics. Peacekeeping operations have
also helped in moving some of the former adversaries (e.g., Chile and Argentina) all
the way from the position of a dangerous arms race towards joint operations. Such a
course of events is a great way of enhancing regional peace and stability, in addition
to increasing international trust and levels of transparency in military affairs.
Related to these changes have been administrative reforms within the mili-
tary establishments of Latin American states. Most of them, although not all, have
established civilian command and control as a permanent feature of their political
systems and as an expression of democratic governance. The effectiveness of such
control still is questioned in a number of cases, but gradual changes in mentality
have been taking place. Transparency levels have been increasing and public insight
into the operations of national armed forces in some countries is considerable, while
in others it is slowly rising.
Nevertheless, critics rightfully emphasize that some military officers still man-
age significant economic resources in a number of countries, while former coup
plotters operate on political scenes feeding on populist rhetoric. It is true that many
military establishments in Latin America see themselves not merely as parts of the
overall state administrations of ruling governments, but almost as their partners.
Some observers point out that even in the most democratic of Latin American
states, certain unwritten agreements are still in place between civil and military
authorities, agreements based on the principle of not intervening into the other’s
sphere of competences. It is often the result of the lack of formal settlements of
civil–military relations, which, in turn, is a legacy of negotiated and difficult tran-
sitions to democracy. After all, changing the mentality and the structure from
guarding the governments against their nations to actually serving their nations
is a complex and time-consuming process. It must be understood that procedural
reforms may not be able to revolutionarily change existing reality from one day to
another and that homegrown models of democracy evolve over a period of time.
In most cases, generational changes are necessary to mark an end of a particular
era. Mentality-wise, such changes may be compared to the security analysts who
spent most of their lives analyzing Cold War threats and now are simply unable
to comprehend the new complexity of the post-Cold War environment. Similarly,
those who spent most of their lives serving in militaries that were seen as the pillar
of governmental security may not be able to understand the logic of democracy. But
these issues, although highly important, are topics for a different work.
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(New York: Taylor & Francis, 2006), chap. 7, 332–334.
5. Ibid.
6. Ibid.
7. Ibid.
8. DeShazo, P., The Impact on Latin America of the American Servicemembers’ Protec-
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11. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America.”
12. Ibid.
13. Ejercito Nacional de Colombia, http://www.ejercito.mil.co/
14. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America.”
15. Ibid.
16. “Colombia and its Neighbours: The Tentacles of Instability.” Latin America, No. 3
(April 8), International Crisis Group, Bogota/Brussels, April 8, 2003. Retrieved
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17. CIA World Factbook (Washington, D.C.: Central Intelligence Agency, 2006).
18. U.S. Department of State. Fact Sheet of the Bureau of Western Hemispheric Affairs.
March 14, 2001. Retrieved from http://www.state.gov/p/wha/rls/fs/2001/1042.htm
19. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America.”
20. Ejercito Venezolano, http://www.ejercito.mil.ve
21. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America.”
22. Ibid.
23. Ibid.
24. Aviacion Militar Venezolana–Grupos Aereos, http://www.aviacion.mil.ve/modules/
content/index.php?id=88
25. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America.”
26. Ibid.
27. Ibid.
28. Ibid.
29. Ibid.
30. See “Navantia Begins Work on 8 Venezuelan Patrol Boats.” Defense Industry Daily,
June 1, 2006. Retrieved from http://www.defenseindustrydaily.com/2006/06/navan-
tia-begins-work-on-8-venezuelan-patrol-boats/index.php; “Venezuela Signs $2B
Arms Contract With Spanish Firms.” Defense Industry Daily, December 1, 2005.
Retrieved from http://www.defenseindustrydaily.com/2005/12/venezuela-signs-2b-
arms-contract-with-spanish-firms-updated/index.php
31. See “Venezuela to Get Russian Aircraft.” BBC News, June 15, 2006. Retrieved from
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/5082006.stm
32. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America,” 314–317.
33. Organizações Militares por Estados do Brasil, http://www.exercito.gov.br/06OMs/
letraA.htm
34. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America,” 314–317.
35. Ibid.
36. Ibid.
37. Marinha do Brasil–Nossros Navios, https://www.mar.mil.br/menu_h/navios/menu_
navios.htm
38. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America,” 314–317.
39. Ibid.
40. Ejercito Peruano, http://www.ejercito.mil.pe; Marina de Guerra del Peru, http://
www.marina.mil.pe; Fuerza Aerea del Peru, http://www.fap.mil.pe/default1.asp;
Ministerio de Defensa del Peru, http://www.mindef.gob.pe/index.htm
41. Langton, “Caribbean and Latin America” 337–339.
42. Ibid.
43. Ibid.
44. Ibid.
45. Ibid.
46. Ejercito de Chile, http://www.ejercito.cl/
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Carabineros de Chile. Retrieved from http://www.carabinerosdechile.cl/
National Defense:
People’s Republic
of China
Hans Stockton
Introduction
At the turn of the twenty-first century, the People’s Republic of China (PRC) is
on the cusp of revolutionary changes in its global and regional strategic goals and
capabilities. Although strategic modernization is several decades away from near-
parity with powers such as the United States, China’s party and military leaders
have already begun the process of developing new defense and foreign policy para-
digms. China’s goal is to become the premier regional military power by 2015 and
to be a global military power by 2050. In order for these goals to reach fruition, the
Chinese Communist Party (CCP) has aggressively pursued a program of far-reach-
ing reforms of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) since the 1990s.
The foreword of China’s 2004 defense white paper states early on that (1) Chi-
na’s continued national prosperity requires a peaceful international environment,
and (2) the country is committed to a foreign policy of peace and a defensive mili-
tary policy. In order to accomplish this, the foundation of the CCP exercise of state
power is “to secure a coordinated development of national defense and the economy,
and to build modernized, regularized and revolutionary armed forces to keep the
country safe” (Information Office of the State Council of the People’s Republic of
409
China, 2004; hereafter IOSC). The modernization of the PLA long took a backseat
to China’s economic modernization, but the last decade has witnessed a marked
readjustment in doctrine and expenditures in order to rapidly move the PLA into
the era of high-technology warfare. As stated in the 2004 defense white paper, “The
role played by military power in safeguarding national security is assuming greater
prominence” (IOSC, 2004, 2).
Modernization of the PLA is viewed as a comprehensive program of reform
within the group. While the next defense paradigm is debated at the highest ech-
elons of the CCP and PLA, the PLA aggressively seeks to purchase military tech-
nologies abroad, reform China’s own domestic defense industry, and increase the
education levels of officers and troops. Key knowledge gaps exist and were recog-
nized in the U.S. Department of Defense’s 2002 Annual Report on the Military
Power of the People’s Republic of China. Three primary gaps identified were (1) the
exact quantity and capabilities of PRC military power juxtaposed to Taiwan; (2)
“intangible PRC capabilities,” such as training, command and control, doctrine,
and special operations; and (3) the ability to quantitatively assess how moderniza-
tion of the PLA will affect “overall military competition” (U.S. Department of
State, 2002 Annual Report, 2; hereafter DOS, 2002). The period of reform has
been brief and complete information is often difficult to obtain, yet analysts fre-
quently note that China’s military ascendance is gaining ground.
This chapter will address several key issues that will continue to influence the
PRC’s rise to regional and, perhaps, global military power. After an initial overview,
this chapter will address China’s military doctrine, introduce the PLA’s force struc-
ture and recent changes, military spending, command structure, and civil–military
relations in the PRC.
Overview
The PRC pursues a national development strategy based upon finding a balance
between “comprehensive national power” (CNP) and a “strategic configuration of
power” (SCP). Under the leadership of Deng Xiaoping, the SCP, related to foreign
and security policy, was guided by Deng’s “24 Character Strategy.” This strategy
called for China to “observe calmly; secure our position; cope with affairs calmly;
hide our capacities and bide our time; be good at maintaining a low profile; and
never claim leadership” (U.S. Department of Defense, 2005,11). The “24 Character
Strategy” was later amended with the phrase, “make some contributions” (U.S.
Department of Defense, 2005, 11). Clearly, overarching strategy calls for China to
build up its military capabilities quietly, avoid being drawn into conflicts or lead-
ership positions too early, and wait for a time when the PRC is more on par with
major military powers prior to becoming more active and outward oriented.
National military strategy since the 1970s has been further guided by the doc-
trine of “active defense,” but there is some confusion as to the meaning of the term.
In its annual report to the U.S. Congress, the Office of the Secretary of State cites
a PLA text, “The Study of Campaigns” published in 2000. “While strategically
the guideline is active defense … the emphasis is placed on taking the initiative in
active offense. Only in this way, the strategic objective of active defense can be real-
ized” (U.S. Department of Defense, 2005, 15). In 1998, Vice Chair of China’s Cen-
tral Military Commission (CMC) and Minister of National Defense, Chi Haotien,
remarked that active defense was principled upon “gaining mastery by striking
only after the enemy has struck … rather than a passive defense of suffering beat-
ings” (Liu and Jingshi, 1998). Under the new “Revolution in Military Affairs with
Chinese Characteristics,” information warfare calls for a “positive offense” in which
conventional forces must rely on more aggressive information warfare prior to the
initiation of armed hostilities.
Since the illustration of the might of high-tech weaponry and airpower in the
Persian Gulf War and the Balkans Conflict, the PRC has devoted increasing atten-
tion to speeding up its own adjustment to the revolution in military affairs (RMA).
In its 2004 defense white paper, the PRC acknowledges that the “forms of war are
undergoing changes from mechanization to informationalization” and that “infor-
mationalization has become the key factor in enhancing the war fighting capability
of the armed forces” (IOSC, 2004). As is typical, however, the Chinese have local-
ized the broader meaning of RMA to that of “RMA with Chinese characteristics”
to account for China’s inability to immediately capture the financial, logistical, and
technological requirements of fully accommodating RMA.
Guided by the doctrines of “active defense” and “Revolution in Military Affairs
with Chinese Characteristics,” the expressed goals of China’s national defense in
2004 are
1. To stop separation and promote reunification, guard against and resist
aggression, and defend national sovereignty, territorial integrity, and mari-
time rights and interests.
2. To safeguard the interests of national development, promote economic and
social development in an all-round, coordinated and sustainable way, and
steadily increase the overall national strength.
3. To modernize China’s national defense in line with both the national conditions of
China and the trend of military development in the world by adhering to the pol-
icy of coordinating military and economic development and improving the oper-
ational capabilities of self-defense under the conditions of informationalization.
4. To safeguard the political, economic, and cultural rights and interests of the
Chinese people, crack down on criminal activities of all sorts, and maintain
public order and social stability.
5. To pursue an independent foreign policy of peace and adhere to the new
security concept featuring mutual trust, mutual benefit, equality, and coor-
dination with a view to securing a long-term and favorable international and
surrounding environment. (IOSC, 2004)
Clearly, the most immediate concern for the CCP and PLA is the preven-
tion of Taiwan’s permanent political separation from the mainland. China’s mili-
tary modernization and military procurement have been heavily dedicated to (1)
isolating Taiwan in case of a conflict; (2) quickly destroying Taiwan’s stand-off
capability and invading if necessary; and (3) creating stand-off capabilities to
discourage or prevent effective U.S. military intervention on Taiwan’s behalf.
While cross-strait tensions escalated in the last years of former President Lee
Teng-hui’s rule, the election of the pro-independence candidate Chen Shui-bian
in 2000 sparked constant tension between Beijing and Taipei. This tension and
China’s concern over Chen’s perceived “splittism” have been highlighted in Chi-
na’s defense white papers since 2000. As Taiwan’s security guarantor, the United
States has remained highly sensitive to moves on either side of the strait that
would spark armed conflict.
China has built up various military resources across from or near Taiwan. Such
items include over six hundred short-range ballistic missiles, attack fighters, and
a concentration of surface ships, submarines, and amphibious craft. Additionally,
the PLA conducts periodic, large-scale military exercises modeled upon a conflict
with Taiwan. These exercises are often near Taiwan. Although China has refused
to renounce the use of force to reunify Taiwan, a variety of confidence-building
measures with the United States have assuaged U.S. fears of an imminent military
conflict.
The reunification of Taiwan with mainland China is an historic obligation of
the CCP and much of the PLA’s modernization has been devoted to equipping
and training the PLA to be prepared to force a reunification if necessary. Should
such a circumstance arise, the United States may very well be placed in a position
to intervene. China’s modernization program must then take into account the
possibility of coming into conflict with the United States. Thus, China’s mod-
ernization is a dual process of preparing for retaking Taiwan while also develop-
ing the stand-off capabilities that may be necessary to prevent an effective U.S.
intervention.
In February 2006, the U.S. Department of Defense released its latest Qua-
drennial Defense Review. This document identifies China as having the “greatest
potential to compete militarily with the United States and field disruptive military
technologies that could over time offset traditional U.S. military advantages absent
U.S. counter strategies” (U.S. Department of Defense, 2006, 29). This report was
not well received in China. An item published in the People’s Liberation Daily days
after the release of the report quoted PLA Major Peng Guangqian as saying, “The
fabrication of ‘foreign threats’ by the United States reflected the Pentagon’s deep-
rooted style of ‘making enemies’ and that its real intention is to secure additional
defense funds to help its arms industry fish for more profits” (People’s Liberation
Daily, 2006b).
Military Doctrine
China’s military doctrine has emerged from the competition of three primary doc-
trinal schools. During Mao’s leadership, the PLA was prepared to fight a “People’s
War.” The People’s War school holds prominence with the oldest PLA cadre. Blasko
wrote in 1999 that the People’s War school was composed of “the vast majority of
the PLA today” (Blasko, 1999, 260). However, Ji writes in 2002 that “the majority
of PLA generals belong to the school of hi-tech warfare” or “fighting future wars
under hi-tech conditions” (Ji, 2002). By the turn of the century, approximately 80
percent of China’s ground, navy, and air forces were equipped to fight a People’s War
(Blasko, 1999, 260). The People’s War school has relied upon the experiences of the
United States in Vietnam and the Soviet Union in Afghanistan to bolster the utility
of this strategy against a numerically inferior, yet better equipped aggressor.
The conflict scenario would involve an invasion by a major power such as the
United States, Japan, and, during the Cold War, the Soviet Union. The envisioned
scenario was one in which a technologically superior enemy would penetrate
quickly into China, although due to a long supply chain, would be unable to pen-
etrate deeply. The Chinese would be prepared to quickly move the political capital
and military production facilities. Millions of Chinese militia members would be
armed and sent against the invading forces to bog down the enemy and buy time.
A long and protracted war would result from China’s inability to quickly defeat an
invader, but this would serve the ends of the Chinese leadership, as such wars of
attrition would increasingly become costly and unpopular abroad.
Under Mao’s successor, Deng Xiaoping, doctrine began to move away from a
major war with probable use of nuclear weapons to one more localized against a
nonsuperpower aggressor from within the region and possibly contain a nuclear
exchange. Deng felt that a major war fought against a major power was not immi-
nent and called for preparation against a “local, limited” war (Finkelstein, 1999,
127). As such, China would seek a quick outcome through the use of rapid reaction
forces (Pillsbury, 1999, 112).
Operation Desert Storm highlighted the change (revolution) in military affairs
that new munitions, targeting, and delivery technologies were introducing. In
1993, Jiang Zemin, in his capacity as chairman of the Military Affairs Commis-
sion, amended the Local War doctrine with the addition of “high-tech conditions”
and instructed the PLA to meet a “new historical period” through appropriate
reform. Thus, “Local (or Limited) Wars under Modern High-Tech Conditions”
(LWUMHTC) initiated a major transformation in which emphasis began to shift
toward an expanded battle space, high-tech systems, rapid reaction, improving C4I
capabilities, and carrying out asymmetrical warfare.
Although active defense is the overall strategy, the asymmetrical approach calls
for gaining the initiative through a first strike. Once an enemy is revealed and
the massing of troops begins, the PLA should strike prior to receiving the first
blow. In contrast to the traditional approach calling for a strike after an attacker
has committed himself, the asymmetrical approach allows for preemptive strikes.
Such strikes are intended to “deal a mortal blow, winning victory with one strike”
(Stokes, 1999, 9).
The third doctrinal school seeks to commit China’s military modernization
more fully to accommodating the RMA and is still the smallest group of theorists.
The steps that the CCP and PLA are taking to bring China in line with the RMA
are fairly straightforward and are evinced in the country’s technology acquisition,
domestic production, and resource allocation to the various branches of the PLA.
Steps to bring China in line with the RMA are laid out in the 2004 defense white
paper and begin with the adaptation of a “composite and leapfrog” approach to
acquiring technology that will allow for the “informationalization” of military
strategy. Second, the PLA is transitioning from mechanization to informational-
ization. Third, the PLA seeks to move away from emphasis on quantity (manpower
intensive) and build qualitatively superior (technology intensive) armed forces.
Fourth, restructuring and reform of the armed forces are intended to create more
efficiency, integration, and improved decision making. Fifth, the PLA reform and
training are to prepare for winning “local wars under conditions of informational-
ization” as well as for a “people’s war” scenario envisioning the invasion of China.
This aspect places emphasis on improving joint logistical support and officer edu-
cation. Finally, the PLA is to conduct military exchanges and cooperation under
conditions of nonalignment, nonconfrontation, and not directed against any par-
ticular international third party. Beijing’s negative reactions to U.S. annual defense
reports is largely driven by the fact that the United States has “singled” China out
as a strategic competitor to be countered despite China’s claims of noninterference
and nonexpansion.
work hard to serve the people.” Second, “The state strengthens the revolutioniza-
tion, modernization and regularization of the armed forces in order to increase
the national defense capability.” The current main tasks for the PLA are to (1)
increase modernization, (2) safeguard national security and unity, and (3) ensure
the smooth process of building a moderately prosperous society in an all-round way
(IOSC, 2004).
from local resources, supporting joint operations, and standardizing and auto-
mating logistical services. Twice, since 2003, the GSD, GPD, GLD, and General
Armaments Department (GAD) have formed joint working groups to coordinate
inspections “of strict administration of the troops” (IOSC, 2004).
The GAD is the newest department, created in 1998. It is now responsible for
managing the defense industry with departments dedicated to functions such as
the research and production of armaments, equipment technology, and electronic
and information base. Conventional weapons testing, nuclear testing, and satellite
launches are also within the purview of the GAD.
The next link in the chain of command is found in the seven military regions
(MR) of the PLA, each exerting control over military districts (MD) and garrison
commands (GC). There are currently four levels of command, beginning with the
MR. Each MR is subdivided into military districts distinguished by province. Each
MD is further broken down into subdistricts at the county level and each subdis-
trict is divided into garrisons at the municipal level.
The Lanzhou Military Region is headquartered in Lanzhou, Gansu. The areas
of responsibility for this military region are Shaanxi, Gansu, and Qinghai prov-
inces, as well as Ningxia and Xinjiang autonomous regions. The Jinan Military
Region is headquartered in Jinan, Shandong. The areas of responsibility for the
Jinan military region are Shandong and Henan provinces. The Nanjing Military
Region is headquartered in Nanjing, Jiangsu and is responsible for Shanghai and
Jiangsu, Anhui, Zhejiang, Jiangxi, and Fujian provinces. The Guangzhou Military
Region, headquartered in Guangzhou, Guangdong, is responsible for Guangdong,
Hunan, Hubei, and Hainan provinces, Guangxi Autonomous Region, Hong Kong,
and Macao. Chengdu Military Region is headquartered in Chengdu, Sichuan. This
region’s responsibilities include Chongqing, Tibet Autonomous Region, and Sich-
uan, Guizhou, and Yunnan provinces. Table 19.1 shows the group army strengths
as of approximately 2004.
Force Structure
The People’s Liberation Army is the largest armed force in the world, totaling
approximately 2.3 million personnel at the end of 2005. As reported in China’s
National Defense 2004, the distribution of personnel across the armed forces is the
PLA (64 percent), PLA Air Force (16 percent), PLA Navy (14 percent), and the 2nd
Artillery or Strategic Missile Force (6 percent) (Table 19.2).
Obtaining hard numbers for specific force structures is acknowledged as a dif-
ficult task due to a dearth of detailed reporting by the Chinese. Questions remain as
to the composition of a squad or the number of tanks in a platoon. Blasko (2000, 2)
writes that “though we may be able to see the green PLA forest, we have a difficult
time understanding the individual trees.” With regard to the PLAAF, Allen (2005,
Army groups 3 2 2
Armored
Brigade 0 1 2
Division 2 1 0
merly the Urumqi Military Region. The Xinjiang Military District enjoys greater
powers than provincial military districts.
c The Shanghai Garrison is included in addition to the three Nanjing Army
Groups.
d The Tibet Military District enjoys greater powers than normal provincial mili-
tary districts.
Source: Compiled from china defense today, “Ground Forces, Order of Battle,”
http://sinodefense.com/army/default.asp
6) wonders about the number of hours pilots fly each year and the quality of their
training.
The PLA ground forces are the largest branch of China’s military and make up
over 60 percent of total PLA forces. Under the People’s War and “local war under
information conditions,” the PLA has not developed as a force for power projection,
but preparing for defense. The largest troop concentrations, by estimated size, are
found in the Beijing (capital defense), Shenyang (Manchuria), Nanjing (coastal/
Taiwan area), and Lanzhou (western borders) MRs. These deployments date back
to the Cold War period and have not changed a great deal since.
The PLA ground forces are structured into the following size units: group army
(commanded by a major general), division/brigade, regiment, battalion, company,
platoon, and squad. Functional units are divided into infantry, armored, artil-
lery, antiair, antichemical, communications, and engineering units, cartography,
electronic countermeasures, and army aviation. An expressed goal of the PLA is to
create at least one rapid reaction unit within each group army.
PLA units are armed with a mix of low-, medium-, and high-tech weaponry.
The majority of weaponry, however, is low tech and rather dated. Of approximately
ten thousand main battle tanks (MBT) most are the T-59 variety (based on Russian
T54s) and, while upgraded, have been in service for several decades. Newer vari-
ants are of Type 69 and 79, retrofitted for export. The T-62 and T-63 are smaller
versions of the T-59 designed as light and amphibious models, respectively. Newer
models of MBT are the Type 80, Type 85, Type 90, and Type 90-II. The Type 90,
at forty-eight tons, is equipped with modular composite armor, stabilized turret,
slaved targeting and gun, passive thermal imaging, and auto-loading, smooth bore
125 mm gun capable of firing armor piercing, high explosive, and high explosive
fragmentation rounds. The Type 90-II is upgraded with reactive armor panels, an
improved laser rangefinder, and increased mobility (Federation of American Scien-
tists, 2006). There are an additional 5,500 armored vehicles, 25,000 artillery guns
(towed and self-propelled), and multiple rocket launchers.
The PLA Navy (PLAN) is charged with maintaining maritime security and
sovereign control over territorial waters. The PLAN is divided into three fleet com-
mands (North Sea, East Sea, and South Sea) and headquartered in Beijing. The
production in the late 1960s. A goal is to strike a generational balance within the
fighter craft with third- and fourth-generation fighters (models entering production
in the 1990s and after) composing about 40 percent of the PLAAF fighters by the
middle of the first decade of the twenty-first century (Shambaugh, 2003, 262).
The PLA Second Artillery Force is China’s strategic missile force. This force is
charged with deterring a nuclear strike, conducting nuclear counterstrikes, and ini-
tiating precision strikes with conventional missiles. The Second Artillery operates
as a service arm and is under the GSD and CMC. The Second Artillery headquar-
ters is in Qinghe and there are launch bases found in Liaoning, Anhui, Yunnan,
Henan, Hunan, and Qinghai provinces.
The missile force of the Second Artillery is composed of short-, medium-, and
intercontinental-range missiles. The bulk of the force is composed of up to 730
short-range ballistic missiles (SRBM), all of which are in Fujian Province across
from Taiwan, with a range of 300 to 600 kilometers. China possesses approxi-
mately twenty-three medium-range ballistic missiles (MRBM) with a range in the
neighborhood of 1,770 kilometers and up to forty-two intercontinental ballistic
missiles (ICBM) with ranges from 5,470 to 8,460 kilometers (U.S. Department of
Defense, 2006).
Having long relied upon a large army to offset technological deficiencies, Bei-
jing realized after the PRC’s border conflict with Vietnam in 1979 that a smaller,
better trained and equipped army would best serve China’s defense needs. Since
the mid-1980s, the size of the PLA has been decreased by over one million ground
troops. The most recent reduction occurred by the end of 2005.
In the same year, the PLA announced that its two-year troop reduction program
had accomplished a further downsizing of about 200,000 personnel, leaving a total
of about 2.3 million troops. Between 1980 and 1987, more than one million posi-
tions were cut, bringing the PLA forces to about 3.2 million. Another 200,000 troops
were cut by 1997. Further reductions were implemented after 1997, when the PLA
cut another half a million troops, bringing the total to about 2.5 million. In the three
years after 1997, the army was downsized by approximately 19 percent. This com-
pared to the smaller decreases in the navy (11.6 percent) and air force (11 percent).
According to a report in the PLA Daily, the most recent cuts hit the Army
the hardest, reducing its share of personnel to a historic low (Niu, 2006). Of the
200,000 reductions completed in 2005, about 170,000 personnel were officers.
This was necessitated by the PLA’s desire to “optimize the ratio between officers
and soldiers” (Nei, 2006).
Sources: China’s National Defense in 2004, Information Office of the State Coun-
cil, People’s Republic of China; National Defense Report 2004, Ministry of
National Defense, Republic of China.
to less reliable data than defense budget analysis” (2). Without a doubt, the PRC’s
annual increase in military expenditures remains in the double digits, yet according
to the 2004 China defense white paper, the growth in military expenditures has
dropped significantly since 2002 (Table 19.3).
In 2003, China reported spending 1.63 percent of GDP on defense expendi-
tures. This equated to 7.74 percent of the country’s total financial expenditures. The
distribution of expenditures was reported at roughly 33.6 percent for operations,
32.5 percent for human resources, and 33.9 percent for equipment. In 2000, this
distribution was 35 percent for operations, 33 percent for human resources, and 32
percent for equipment. The rate of increase in spending has fluctuated throughout
the 1990s, but leveled off at around 11 percent in 2003 and 2004.
Many estimates indicate that the reported figures are only one third of the
actual spending. The official budget does not include expenditures on items such as
those for the Second Artillery, the People’s Armed Police, defense industry subsi-
dies, and subnational units’ contribution to the PLA (U.S. Department of Defense,
2006, 22). Excluded from the budget are foreign weapons procurement, a figure
approaching $3 billion annually just from Russia. On the other hand, Shambaugh
(2003) notes that a large portion of spending has actually been dedicated to defense
industry reforms such as those accruing from the decommercialization of the PLA
and forced downsizing. China’s Defense White Paper 2004 indicates that military
expenditures have been devoted primarily to increasing salaries, improving the
social insurance system and education, along with “moderate” increases in equip-
ment expenses (IOSC, 2004).
the Education and Management of High and Middle Ranking Cadres of the PLA,
promulgated in February 2004. This provision refines the system of maintaining
“correct” ideology of the officer corps at the regiment level and above and commits
cadres to “do self-study and review, to receive thematic education, to take [sic]
admonishment talks, to make ideological and political assessment” among other
political duties (IOSC, 2004). A People’s Daily editorial on New Year’s Day 2006
praised the PLA as being instrumental in making the previous year one that “deep-
ened the Party-wide education on maintaining the advanced nature of the Party
members” (PLA Daily, January 1, 2006).
As reported in China’s National Defense in 2002 (IOSC, 2002), the NPC
enacted the Legislation Law in March 2000, which defined the legislative pow-
ers of the CMC and the CMC standing with regard to general headquarters and
services. The fact that the NPC, rather than the CCP, is increasingly influential in
matters related to regulating and funding the PLA is a positive step towards proper
civil–military relations. The Legislation Law is important for the trend in moving
the PLA toward a professionalized, state army and provides that
the CMC may formulate military statutes in accordance with the Con-
stitution and laws. The general headquarters/departments, services and
arms, and military area commands may, within their respective author-
ities, formulate military regulations in accordance with the law and the
military statutes, decisions and orders of the CMC. Procedures for for-
mulation, amendment and nullification of military statutes and regula-
tions shall be stipulated by the CMC in accordance with the principles
specified in the provisions of the said Law. (IOSC, 2002, 10)
Conclusion
The PRC’s military rise has now gained prominence alongside the country’s eco-
nomic ascendance and is clearly a major concern regionally and in the long term
globally. Without question, China’s military planners are dedicated to modern-
ization. Although such assessments are so common as to be cliché, there remain
very real challenges to China accomplishing this feat as well as to our own under-
standing of the scale, quality, and speed of China’s ascendance to global military
power. As well, due to the general lack of transparency in matters related to China’s
military affairs, foreign scholars and planners will continue to rely on some degree
of educated speculation for some time to come.
China’s ability to modernize its military at the same speed as its economy, how-
ever, is questionable. Two decades of concerted effort in economic restructuring
have created a global economic dynamo, yet most estimates place China’s rise to
the regional military power at another three to four decades. This begs the ques-
tion as to whether regional or global power is the end goal driving PRC strategic
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429
H scenario, 223–224
soldiers compared to police force, 225–228
Hadley studies, 22 Hooker, Joseph (“Fighting Joe”), 34
Hague Conventions, 308, 312 Horizontal organizational development, 55
Hajjar and Ender studies, 18 House Appropriations Committee, 105–106
Halberstam studies, 212 Howard, Bob (Major General), 356–357
Halleck, Henry (General in Chief), 34–35, 37 Howard studies, 166–167
Hamelink studies, 328 Howarth studies, 36–37
Hamilton and Jay, Madison, studies, 20 Howorth studies, 318, 325, 337–339
Hammond studies, 32 Huchthausen studies, 263, 268
Handel studies, 167, 194, 210 Hudson’s Bay Company, 165
Haotien, Chi, 411 Hudson studies, 37
Harrell and Miller studies, 293, 297 Hughes studies, 145–158
Harris studies, 156 Human Capital Strategy, 59, 62–63
Hartley studies, 172 Human intelligence (HUMINT), 272
Hartz studies, 194 Humanitarianism, 309
Havel, Vaclav, 364 Huntington, Samuel, 9, 11–12, 14, 16, 22–23,
HBCT, see Heavy Brigade Combat Team 167, 193, 228, 239–243, 247, 250,
(HBCT) 270, 292, 302–306
Headline goals, 319, 326–333 Hurricane Katrina response, 67–68
Heads of government (HoGs), 322–323 Hussein, Saddam, 211, 268, 309
Heavy Brigade Combat Team (HBCT), Hypotheses, 199–201
156–157
Hedlund studies, 287
Heisbourg studies, 326
Henry, Kreidberg and, studies, 33, 37, 41 I
Herbert studies, 310–311
Herd, Forsberg and, studies, 318 ICTs, see Integrated concept teams (ICTs)
Hersey and Blanchard studies, 286 Identification-based trust, 290
Hewes studies, 42 Identity, governance reforms, 50
Hillen studies, 304, 306 Identity cards, 179–180
Historical developments IMET, see International military education and
1850-1900, 31–42 training (IMET)
1990-2005, 75–93 Indian wars, 39–41
counterterrorism, 257–265 Influence, civil-military relations, 244
European Security and Defense Policy, 5 Influence of European Union, 5–6
private military companies, 164–168 Ingraham, Romzek and, studies, 20
TSM Abrams, 145–147 Ingraham and Moynihan studies, 18
Hitch, Charles J., 110 Ingraham studies, 18
Hizbullah incident, 263 Initial proposals, 126
Hobbes, Thomas, 193, 216 Initiating structures behaviors, 285
Hoffman, Stanley, 21 Integrated concept teams (ICTs), 150–151, 153
Holsti studies, 246, 303–304, 306 Integrity, 292
Holt, Joseph (Secretary of War), 33 Intelligence and Security Command
Homeland contingencies, 67–68 (INSCOM), 272–273
Homeland security Interagency operations
compromising values, 230–231 communications, 72
discussion, 232–233 field lessons, 66
fundamentals, 221–223 foreign assistance, 70–72
politicization, 228–230 fundamentals, 65–66
reasons for change, 224–225 homeland contingencies, 67–68
Nonstate terrorist and guerilla networks, OMB, see Office of Management and Budget
countering (OMB)
adjudication, 270–271 ONI, see Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI)
Colombia, 277 Operational framework, 65
counterterrorism genealogy, 257–265 Operationalization of strategy
detention, 270–271 cultural issues, 212–213
foreign internal defense, 269 foot dragging, 211–212
fundamentals, 255–257 fundamentals, 209–210
future outlook, 278–280 public impact, 213–214
general warfare, 265–267 threatening signals, 210–211
imperfect warfare, 267–270 Operational Requirements Document/
impressions importance, 273–274 Capabilities Development Document
information operations, 275 (ORD/CDD), 153
intelligence, 272–273 Operation Concordia, 339
Israel, 277–278 Operation Desert Storm, 310, 413
law enforcement support, 269–270 Operation Eagle Claw, 263
low-intensity conflict, 267 Operation Enduring Freedom, 265, 266, 276
military operations other than war, 267–270 Operation Iraqi Freedom, 276, 310–311
Operations
nonkinetic considerations, 270–275
European Security and Defense Policy,
opinion importance, 273–274
339–341, 340
public opinion importance, 273–274
other than war, 296
September 11, 2001 impact, 275–276
PPBES process, 117
targeted strikes, 267–268
Operation Tulip, 264
world opinion importance, 273–274
Operation Urgent Fury, 266
Noriega, Manuel, 264
Ops tempo, 296
North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO)
ORD/CDD, see Operational Requirements
alliance relationships, 68–69
Document/Capabilities Development
assets links, 336–337 Document (ORD/CDD)
North Korean People’s Army (NKPA), 260 Organization, see DOTLMS requirements
NSGC, see Naval Security Group Command Organizational development, horizontal, 55
(NSGC) Organization and structure
NSPS, see National Security Personnel System Brazil forces, 391–394
(NSPS) Colombia forces, 381–384
Mexico forces, 379–381
Venezuela forces, 386, 387
Organization for Joint Cooperation in
O Armaments (OCCAR), 335
OCCAR, see Organization for Joint Overarching Integrated Product Team (OIPT),
126, 129
Cooperation in Armaments
Overseas contingencies, 66–67
(OCCAR)
Offense stance, 216n3
Office of Facts and Figures, 275
Office of Management and Budget (OMB),
103–105, 116, 128–132
P
Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI), 273 Pace, Frank (Budget Director), 108
OIPT, see Overarching Integrated Product Palmer studies, 302
Team (OIPT) Pan Am Flight 93, 261
Ojanen studies, 317 Paparone studies, 291
Olmert, Ehud, 278 Paret, Craig and Gilbert studies, 166
R fundamentals, 4, 6
RFID, see Radio Frequency Identification
Radio Frequency Identification (RFID), 56 (RFID)
Raven, French and, studies, 290 Rhodes studies, 361
Rawlins, John A., 40 Richelson studies, 272–273
RDT&E, see Research, Development, Training, Ricks studies, 22, 175, 246
and Evaluation (RDT&E) funding Risk management, 54
Reagan, Ronald (President), 263–264, 266, 268 RMA, see Revolution in military affairs (RMA)
Realist foundations, 193–194 Rogers, Robert (Major), 257
Reasons for use, private military companies, Rohr, John, 17, 20
170–176 ROK, see Republic of Korea (ROK)
Reconfiguration, Total Force development, 59 Romjue studies, 146–147, 149
Reconstruction period, 38–39 Romzek and Ingraham studies, 20
Recruit quality, 295–296 Roosevelt, Franklin D. (President), 19n, 204,
Reeve studies, 270 271
Referent power, 290 Root, Elihu (Secretary of War), 12–13, 42
Reform background Rosen studies, 196, 241, 248–249, 251n10
Czech Republic, 348–349, 361–362 Ross, Posen and, studies, 195
Slovakia, 348–353 Rough Riders, 169
Reforms vision, 49–50 Rumsfeld, Donald H. (Secretary of Defense),
Regan studies, 310–311 47, 99, 112, 115, 117, 120, 152, 158,
Regional defense policy 311
Central and Eastern Europe, 347–352 Rutten studies, 325
Czech Republic, 361–368
Europe, 317–342
Latin America, 373–404
People’s Republic of China, 409–425 S
Slovakia, 352–360
Reinke and Baldwin studies, 285 Safety, TSM Abrams, 156
Reinke studies, 283–298, 301–314 Sagan, Scott, 197
Reiter, Dan, 248 Sagan and Waltz studies, 197
Reiter and Stam studies, 248–249 Sako studies, 291
Republic of Korea (ROK), 260 Salancik and Pfeffer studies, 290
Research, Development, Training, and Salmon, Kaldor and, studies, 337
Evaluation (RDT&E) funding, 156 Salmon and Shepard studies, 327
Research and development, PPBES process, 118 Sample studies, 313
Reserve forces Samson studies, 352
defense budget, 119 Sandholtz, Stone-Sweet, Fligstein and, studies,
homeland security, 225 7
responsibilities shift, 234n11 Satellites, 341
validity, 216n4 Schake studies, 318
Residual impact, violence management, Schengen Information System (SIS), 341
313–314 Schmitt studies, 335
Resources Schroeder studies, 366–367
planning products, 86–87 Schubert, Frank N., 37
stewardship, 289 Schubert studies, 39
Responsibilities of Chairman, 76–77 Scope of reform effort, 354
Restrictions on means and methods, 309 Scorched earth tactics, 310
Retaliatory strikes, 268 Scott, Winfield (General in Chief), 32–35, 40
Revolution in military affairs (RMA) Scroggs studies, 229
Chinese characteristics, 8, 411, 414 Sea piracy, 262