14 Risk and Private Military Work

Risk and Private Military Work
Carolyn Gallaher
School of International Service, American University, Washington, DC, USA;
caroleg@american.edu
Abstract: To date geography has paid scant attention to private military contracting.
Other disciplines have studied the topic, but their work is state-centric. In this paper
I examine private military contracting through a geoeconomic lens and make four
arguments. First, the heightened security risks of the contemporary era cannot be
explained solely as a result of states decision to cede their monopolies over the means
of violence. We must also examine the private military rms that have created new
monopolies and the strategies they use to manage and distribute risk. Second, the industry
has increased risk in the world system by ofoading security risks onto their employees.
This responsibility over rights management model provides inadequate human rights
training and battleeld adjudication procedures for contractors and civilians alike. Third,
the geography of private military work does not always conform to the global division of
labor between north and south. Instead, private military work creates a class of work that
cuts across social and geographic divides. Finally, while activists should encourage states
to regulate the industry, they should also push it to reform employment practices since
private military rms are increasingly global in scope.
Keywords: military privatization, class, private military contracting, risk, geoeconomic
In 2003 when the USA invaded Iraq, its forces were accompanied by the largest
contingent of private military contractors (PMCs) in US history. There was one
contractor for every 10 military personnel in the Iraqi theatre. By comparison, the
ratio in the 1991 Gulf War was one to 50 (Isenberg 2004). While private military rms
(PMFs) rst drew wide public attention during the second Iraq War, PMFs have been
engaged in contemporary warfare for more than 20 years. Halliburton, for example,
created a subsidiary, Brown and Root, in 1986 to provide war-related services to
the US government (Singer 2003). In 1995 during the Sierra Leone civil war, the
head of the countrys fragile government hired a PMF, Executive Outcomes, to rout
its guerilla adversary, the Revolutionary United Front, from the countrys diamond
mines (Richards 1996).
To date, the discipline of geography has paid little attention to the place of
contract soldiers in modern warfare or the rise of the private military industry (for
an exception see Paglan 2009). However, the issue has drawn the attention of
writers in international relations (Avant 2005; Howe 1998; Pattison 2008; Singer
20012002) and law (Francioni 2008; Verkuil 2007). A good number of journalists
have also covered the topic (Pelton 2007; Scahill 2007). Most of the work on PMCs
has tended to view private military contracting through the lens of security. This
focus gives the work on PMCs a state-centric avor. Indeed, though security scholars
acknowledge that the rise of PMCs is emblematic of the corporatization of warfare
(see Singer 20012002), their work has largely focused on what this means for states
seeking to maintain, regain, or establish security.
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In this paper I examine PMFs through a geographically sensitive political economic
framework. This focus is not intended to debunk state-centered analysis of PMCs
a focus which has yielded important insightsbut rather to provide an alternate
view of the industry. In particular, I use work in geography on the relationship
between militarization and the rise of a geoeconomic order (Cowen 2008; Cowen
and Smith 2009; Flint and Radil 2009; Roberts, Secor and Sparke 2007). This work
situates military privatization in the shift froma world systemdominated by interstate
rivalry to one framed by economic competition. In the geoeconomic order wars are
increasingly imperial and mercenary forces have proven useful for those waging
them. I also draw on Ulrich Becks work on risk (1992, 2002, 2009) to examine
what these changes mean for the distribution of security risk in the international
system.
While this literature provides fertile ground for the project herein, it also contains
gaps this paper is designed to address. In particular, while we know that the new
geoeconomic order has changed the types of wars we ght (and the reasons for
launching them), we know little about how labor relations are organized within
the private military industry, or what this organization means for the distribution of
risk in the international system. To address these lacunae I make four interrelated
arguments. First, the heightened security risks of the contemporary era cannot
be explained solely as a result of states decision to cede their monopolies over
the means of violence. Rather, we must examine entities such as PMFs that have
created new monopolies in their place and the strategies they use to manage
and distribute risk. Second, and relatedly, I argue that the industry has increased
risk in the world system by ofoading security risks onto its private soldiers. This
responsibility over rights management model does not provide adequate human
rights training or battleeld adjudication procedures for either contractors or the
civilians they encounter. As such, and contrary to Beck, I contend that risk continues
to be structured by class positioning. Third, I argue that the geography of the private
military class does not always conform to the global division of labor between north
and south. Instead, it includes workers from across social and geographic divides.
Fourth and nally, this nding has implications for how we resist the clustering of
security risks. While activists are correct to push states to regulate the industry, they
should also push the industry to reform its employment practices since both PMFs
and their workforce are increasingly global.
The remainder of this paper is organized as follows. I begin with a brief discussion
of the extant literature on the industry to demonstrate its state-centric focus and
illustrate the need for geographically sensitive political-economic analysis. I then turn
to the geographic literature that frames my analysis. Though most of this work does
not focus specically on the private military industry, its focus on risk, militarization,
and the rise of the newgeoeconomic order make it well suited for such a focus. I also
point out lacunae in this work that my analysis is designed to address. In the nal
section I conduct a case analysis of the personnel section of the code of conduct
established by the International Stability Operations Association (ISOA)
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, a registered
lobby for the private military industry. I read the codes functionality around three
test cases involving contractor risk to unpack how PMFs manage workplace risk and
how this management model affects the distribution of risk beyond it. I conclude by
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Risk and Private Military Work 785
discussing what my case data say about the rise of the geoeconomic and resistance
to it.
Analyzing PMFs through a State-centric Framework
The literature on privatized militaries is a burgeoning eld, especially within
international relations (IR) where scholars have examined the topic through a
security framework (Howe 1998; Pattison 2008; Rosemann 2005; Singer 2001
2002). Security has traditionally been dened in reference to both individual states
and the state system. At the level of individual states, IR scholars dene security
as the ability to monopolize the means of violence in order to protect citizens
from external enemies (Weber 1978). In the state system, security is viewed as the
ability of powerful states to ensure the integrity of the state system by protecting
weaker states against invasion or mitigating system wide threats, such as nuclear
war (Mearsheimer 1990; Morgenthau 2005).
The literature on PMFs has adopted this view of security. As such, the scholarship
has largely been devoted to analyzing whether the rise of PMFs is good or bad
for the state, and by extension the security of the state system. As I will demonstrate,
this focus means that scholars have tended to ignore what the rise of the private
military industry means for other scales/institutions/actors in the system.
PMFs as a Positive Phenomenon
The most common argument in support of PMFs is that state militaries are ill-
equipped to ght the irregular forces that now dominate contemporary battleelds.
Indeed, guerillas and warlords do not have the repower of the US or British Armed
Forces, but they have greater exibility. Horizontal command chains, cell structures,
and familiarity with the terrain give irregular forces a distinct edge over state
competitors. Moreover, because these groups are not states, they can make military
decisions without worrying that their tactics will alienate allies, domestic publics,
etc. In fact, warlords tactics are often designed to terrorize in as much as most gain
power through coercion rather than consent (Kaldor 2001). In this context, states
are better off subcontracting their war-making to entities organizationally similar to
contemporary warmaking groups. An unstated corollary is that PMFs are freer than
states to behave like their enemies.
Another line of argument in support of PMFs is focused on Africa. Scholars argue
that African states are often too militarily weak to ght off guerillas (Brooks 2002;
Howe 1998). As such, when African states use PMFs to repel guerilla forces, they not
only avert state collapse, they protect citizens from guerillas capricious behavior.
Singer (2003) makes this point with a vignette from the Sierra Leone civil war. In
1995 after 3 years of ghting, the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) was perched
20 miles outside the capital. On its way to Freetown the group had pillaged villages
and terrorized civilians by cutting off their hands, and residents in the capital feared
a general massacre (p 4). The struggling government was able to fend off a
bloodbath by hiring a South African PMF, Executive Outcomes, to rout the RUF.
The PMFs military success allowed the government to re-establish itself and hold
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its rst election in 23 years. Although Singer is hardly a PMF booster (his criticisms
also appear in the following section), he argues that PMFs can provide an important
security functionprotecting civiliansthe state is either unable or unwilling to
perform.
Scholars also argue that PMFs are a positive phenomenon because they are more
effective than state militaries. Using military success as his metric, Howe (1998)
argues that Executive Outcomes operations in Angola and Sierra Leone in the
early 1990s were effective because the company was able to defeat guerilla forces
both governments had tried and failed to beat. Lawyer (2005) comes to a similar
conclusion in a comparative analysis of PMF and UN peacekeeping forces in four
African countries between 1993 and 2003. Using length of time in theatre, Lawyer
nds that PMFs are more effective than UN forces because they average less time
in theatre (25 months for PMFs compared with 90 for the UN). Effectiveness is also
measured in light of the political considerations surrounding the choice/ability to
use force. Several scholars argue, for example, that the use of PMFs by the USA
and other big powers is effective because it allows states to meet objectives that
are politically unpopular at home (Jefferies 2002; Markusen 2004). Jefferies (2002)
notes, for example, that the USA used contractors to assist the Croatian military in
its battle against Serbian forces even though the US public did not support sending
soldiers to Yugoslavia. Jefferies concludes that the USA could not have secured its
interest in the region (limiting Russian inuence by attacking their Serbian proxies)
without PMFs.
PMFs are also lauded because they are viewed as more economically efcient than
state or international forces. Lawyer (2005) nds, for example, that while PMF units
cost more per individual unit than UN forces, they are ultimately cheaper because
they use fewer personnel. Their shorter time in theatre also helps PMFs bring their
overall costs belowthose of UNforces. Other studies point to the inefciencies in the
current military model to demonstrate PMFs greater efciency. Apgar and Keane
(2004:46) argue, for example, that the USAs use of an all-volunteer military means
that people are no longer in unlimited supply; they must be managed as scarce
resourcesfully priced and apportioned with the same care as in business.
PMFs as a Negative Phenomenon
Those who view PMFs negatively make a variety of arguments to support
their position. Some scholars argue that state reliance on PMFs erodes political
accountability (Cohn 2007; Rosemann 2005). A classic function of the state is the
monopolization of the means of violence. With the advent of PMFs, states not only
cede partial control of that monopoly, they do so to entities who are not elected.
In democratic states citizens can weigh in on the decision to wage war through
the political process. The 1973 US War Powers Act, for example, was designed to
democratize warfare by ensuring that the decision to go to war rested in more
rather than fewer sets of hands (ie in the legislative rather than executive branch).
Likewise, citizens in democracies can vote against elected ofcials for supporting
unpopular wars, or opposing popular ones. In the USA the Department of Defense
nowbypasses these checks by inserting funding for PMFs into defense appropriations
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bills, which can be thousands of pages long and tend to receive little public scrutiny
(Rosemann 2005).
A second critique is that using PMFs allows states to do an end run around
human rights law (Carney 2006). Indeed, while most states agree to abide by the
Geneva Conventions, non-state actors do not. In Colombia PMFs contracted by
the US government as part of Plan Colombia have been accused of human rights
violations. And, although the US and Colombian governments have publicly decried
these abuses, critics believe the public denouncements are insincere because nearly
all violations have gone unprosecuted (Kurlantzick 2003).
Though less critical than some scholars, Singer (20012002) also sees the potential
for human rights abuses related to state use of PMFs. Singer notes that PMFs may
be encouraged to disregard human rights because obtaining repeat business often
entails being seen as a rmthat gets the job done. And, getting the job done can
require using tactics that are militarily effective but contrary to human rights. As an
example, Singer cites Executive Outcomes work in Angola. The group was militarily
successful in retaking territory from UNITA rebels, but its success was due in part
to its use of vacuum bombs. International Organizations strongly oppose the use of
vacuum bombs because they have a wide kill radius and cause excruciatingly painful
deathmost victims lungs are ripped apart. As Singer concludes, considerations
of the commonweal are matters of morality, while the bottom line is fundamentally
amoral (20012002:214).
Scholars also argue that PMF abuses undermine the legitimacy of state war
efforts. Critics argue, for example, that PMF misbehavior in the war on terror
has undermined US efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan, and as a consequence, overall
US security (Alkadry and Witt 2009; Cohn 2008; Pelton 2007; Ricks 2006). PMF
abuses in Iraq, for example, contributed to local distrust of the US military and
made it difcult for uniformed commanders trying to halt a brewing sectarian war
to gather local intelligence (Ricks 2006). Others argue that the USAs use of PMFs is
imperialist. Like empires before it, the US hires mercenaries to maintain its economic
control of far ung territories (Scahill 2007). Likewise, Watson (2008) argues that the
growth of contractors is indicative of military overreach. He speculates that during
a natural disaster, such as an outbreak of bird u, the US government could use
contractors instead of national guardsmen or local police to maintain order, and
American citizens could nd themselves subjected to the same abuses that Iraqi
civilians experienced at the hands of contractors.
Critics have also taken on the contention that PMFs are more effective than state
militaries. Musah and Fayemi (2000) argue, for example, that military success alone
is not a good measure of effectiveness. Rather, effectiveness must be considered
in terms of a client countrys long-term goals. The stability Executive Outcomes
brought to Sierra Leone, for example, was eeting. Once Executive Outcomes left
the country, the guerillas retook much of the land the company had taken from
them (Richards 1996).
Likewise, critics contend that PMFs greater efciency is illusory. Markusen (2004)
notes that while industry-produced reports often tout savings of between 20% and
30%, their projections are based on savings estimates at the initial bidding stage.
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Many companies offer below market bids because the contracting process at the
Department of Defense allows rms to request additional funding later on.
Whats Missing?
While the literature on PMFs is diverse, the state lies at its analytic core. Indeed,
although scholars highlight the states retreat fromthe monopolization of the means
of violence, the focus is on what this drawback means for both individual states and
the wider state system. This focus appears on both sides of the debate between
supporters and opponents of PMFs. Scholars such as Brooks (2002) and Howe (1998)
argue, for example, that the state maintains power by outsourcing military functions,
while others (Alkadry and Witt 2009) argue that state efforts are undermined by
PMF use. In both scenarios, however, the locus of analysis is on what happens to
the overall health of the state and of its interests.
Although studying the rise of PMFs with reference to the state is theoretically
sound (there has long been consensus that state formation involves the
monopolization of the means violence), it is a spatially static approach. By zeroing
in at one level on the geopolitical scale the literature ignores dynamics at other
scales and overlooks important actors outside of state institutions. It also ignores the
erosion of the geopolitical system itself.
Relevant Geographic Literature
As I note at the start of this paper, the discipline of geography has paid little attention
to the rise of PMFs. However, geography provides fertile theoretical ground on
which to begin such an investigation because it has a well developed tradition in
political economy. Here, I draw on recent work on militarization and the rise of a
new geoeconomic order (Cowen and Smith 2009; Flint and Radil 2009; Roberts,
Secor and Sparke 2003; Sparke 2007). I also draw from Ulrichs Becks work on risk
(1992, 2002, 2009). Together, these works help me place the industry within a
geographically sensitive political economic framework, and in so doing, to focus
on how industry dynamics play out in the new geoeconomic system. To provide
coherence I break my analysis into subsections. I begin by discussing the connection
between military privatization and the new geoeconomic order. I then discuss how
this relates to Ulrich Becks work on risk. In the next two subsections I discuss the
changing nexus between military service and citizenship and the nature of privatized
military work. I conclude by outlining lacunae in this work, especially as it relates to
class.
Military Privatization and the Geoeconomic
Over 20 years ago Edward Luttwak (1990) coined the term geoeconomic to
capture a shift in the global system from one where interstate rivalries frame the
balance of power to one where economic competition between states, corporations,
regions, and individuals does. While geographers have not wholly adopted Luttwaks
idea of geoeconomics, they have used the approach to develop a number of
important insights relevant to the study of war. First and foremost, geographers
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note that the shift (however partial) from a geopolitical to geoeconomic order
has undone the importance of territory in war (Cowen and Smith 2009; Sparke
2007). Dominance is not displayed by capturing or holding territory but rather
by capturing and expanding market share. This is not to suggest that territory
is absent from the calculations states at war make. States continue, for example,
to reserve the right to acquire territory and/or maintain territorial control they
already have, but it is, as Cowen and Smith (2009:42) note, a tactical option rather
than a strategic necessity. Likewise, Sparke (2007) argues that the geopolitical
and the geoeconomic are discursive constructions with different geostrategic
underpinnings. While geopolitical discourse imagines space as partitioned, enclosed,
and/or protected, the geoeconomic discourse imagines space as at, inclusive, and
expansionary.
Second, and relatedly, geographers note that the shifting logic in the world system
affects the types of wars that are increasingly waged (Cowen and Smith 2009;
Roberts, Secor and Sparke 2003). Cowen and Smith (2009) argue, for example, that
the territorial wars that were at the center of the geopolitical era are increasingly
giving way to imperial wars in which economic accumulation (by states and private
entities) is the goal. The second Gulf War is a good example. While the USA invaded
and briey occupied Iraq, its goal was never to take over the country so much
as establish a climate suitable for corporate extraction and sale of Iraqi oil to the
West. Indeed, while imperial wars have been around for quite some time, Roberts,
Secor and Sparke (2003:888) note that the contemporary geoeconomic period is
different because the gangster capitalist intervention at the previous n-de-si ` ecle
has been replaced by a much more open, systematic, globally ambitious, and quasi
economic style.
The twin contentions at the heart of the geoeconomic orderthe economic
imperative of accumulation and the social impetus to expand the inclusionary net
around which accumulation occurs (and in which it presumably confers benets)
have also facilitated new norms for starting war. While the geopolitical era required
some threat to security to legitimate an attack, the geoeconomic logic permits, even
encourages, preemptive war (Roberts, Secor and Sparke 2003). Indeed, because the
geoeconomic order is envisioned as socially useful, war to expand it is viewed as
justied.
This work, though not focused on military privatization, has relevance for
understanding it. Indeed, the rise of PMFs is part and parcel of the geoeconomic
order. And, recognizing their presence within this new order helps us esh out
more clearly the contours of this new order as it relates to war. Indeed, the
geoeconomic order is not only dened by changes in the types of wars waged (more
imperial wars), or the justications necessary to wage them (preemptive war is now
acceptable); it is also marked by a new type of accumulation in war. Territorially
organized accumulation, by states on behalf of their citizenry, has been replaced by
accumulation unanchored to a body politic. And this new type of accumulation has
relevance for how security risks are now distributed. States no longer ght wars for
the body politic, so the historic promise at the heart of the states monopolization
of violencethat the state will only use its monopoly externally to protect the
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citizenryhas collapsed along with its willingness to mediate security risks on behalf
of its citizens.
Risk
Although Ulrich Beck is not a geographer, his work on risk society is useful here for
further unpacking the nature of risk under the new geoeconomic order. For Beck,
risk is a product of modernity. During feudalism, people saw themselves as subject
to unseen forces over which they had little sway. As the modern era progressed,
however, unseen forces such as bacteria were studied and identied by scientists
who developed mechanisms for controlling them. As the state system emerged,
states established means for averting risk for their citizens, and where aversion was
not feasible, distributing it as widely as possible across the citizenry. In so doing, the
modern state was able to increase social and economic benets for all. However, by
the end of the twentieth century, individualism started to dominate views of risk.
Instead of relying on state institutions to mitigate risk, for example, individuals are
now expected to assume more risk on their own. Beck also argues that risk is now
global in expanse and cannot be temporally or spatially contained. Risks associated
with the overproduction of harm, for example, affect even those who believe they
can insulate themselves (Beck calls this blowback). Victims of the September 11,
2001 attacks, for example, included Christians and Muslims (Beck 2002). Likewise,
the radiation fallout from Chernobyl killed the young and the old. Indeed, Beck
argues that risk is no longer clustered at the bottom of the class hierarchy but spread
across it. Furthermore, the global nature of risk means that states can no longer
effectively manage it. And, the rise of neoliberal logicespecially of privatization
means that many states have stopped trying to do so. In this void, decision-making
about security and the power that stems from it occur outside the state in what
Beck refers to as the subpolitical (2009:95). Subpolitical groups include a variety of
non-state actors, such as transnational corporations, social movements, and even
terrorist networks.
Becks work here is relevant because it helps us conceptualize how security risk
is distributed through (and perceived within) the international system. The global
nature of contemporary risk, along with a lack of centralized risk management at
the level of the state, means that for many people security risks appear greater and
less predictable. These perceptions have facilitated the growth of the private military
industry, whose executives successfully sell themselves as mitigating the risk they
often perpetuate. Becks recognition of the importance of subpolitical actors is also
useful because it suggests that PMF decisions on the battleeld are as important to
understanding the distribution of risk as those made by the states that hire them.
Changing Nexus of Military Service and Citizenship
The shift away from a geopolitical order to a geoeconomic one also has important
ramications for how military work and citizenship are connected. Under the
geopolitical order military work was seen as an aspect of citizenship. Thus, military
work often came to be dened as military service. While many developed countries
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had forcible conscription, the state made concessions to soldiers by creating a
system of welfare for them (Cowen 2008). Military welfare provided services such as
subsidized housing and economic assistance for job training and/or college. It also
absorbed some of the risks associated with soldiering. The families of soldiers killed
in battle, for example, received survivor benets and returning veterans received
subsidized care for the rest of their lives. In terms of battleeld risk, soldiers were
also guaranteed a military justice system so that infractions by or against an active
duty soldier were adjudicated fairly. States also protected servicemen accused of
breaking foreign laws by trying them at home where the legal system was familiar
and any jail time could be served on home soil.
The advent of neoliberalism, and its application to the US military, has undone
the relationship between citizenship and military work (Cowen and Smith 2009).
The rst application came after the Vietnam War when the USA ended the draft and
replaced it with an all volunteer force. As Cowen and Smith (2009) argue, the all
volunteer force represented a marketization of military service. The US Armed Forces
now advertise for recruits, and most branches of the service rebrand themselves
every couple of years. The marketization of the Armed Forces in the seventies also
allowed privatization advocates in the 1980s to push for deeper market reforms.
In particular, advocates encouraged the US Armed Forces to privatize portions of its
operations. Their success over the next decade was highlighted when then Secretary
of Defense Donald Rumsfeld launched a hearty defense of military privatization
in the wake of the September 2001 attacks (Rumsfeld 2002). Although many
commentators lamented the prior decades downsizing when discussing the attacks,
Rumsfeld (2002) vigorously defended the Armys smaller footprint and suffered little
recrimination for doing so.
This delinking is relevant to understanding the geography of contemporary
military work. Within state militaries, especially in the rst world, service has become
socially and geographically clustered. The reduction in overall troop size, coupled
with the decision to cut or scale back many of the entitlements associated with
military service, has reduced the attractiveness of military work. The private sector
now offers better pay and benets than the militaries of most developed countries
(see Cowen 2008 on the Canadian Armed Forces). The result is that military service
is now the province of people with limited job prospects. In the USA, for example,
military recruiting is geographically concentrated in economically depressed regions
such as the rural south and the inner city (Cowen and Smith 2009).
Within the emerging private military industry neoliberal practices also structure
the labor force, with similar social and geographic clustering. Management
positions, for example, tend to be lled by former ofcers in Western militaries while
foot soldiers and support positions (eg food preparation, clean-up, transportation)
are often staffed by men fromthe developing world such as Bangladesh, El Salvador,
India, the Philippines, and Sri Lanka among others (Schulman 2008).
The Nature of Military Work
One of the sacrosanct parts of the geopolitical order was the divide between military
and police functions. Indeed, the monopolization of the means of violence by
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the state was legitimated in large part because the state promised to only use
its monopoly of force externally, to protect those within the territorialized nation-
state. And, in an effort to ensure militaries did not overstep these boundaries, most
developed nations put their militaries under civilian control. Maintaining internal
security was the job of police forces, which were branches of local government.
Of course, there have always been states where this rewall was bridged on a
semi-regular basis. Countries in Latin America, for example, have tended to have
operationally independent militaries. However, in these places the legitimacy of the
state, and trust in it by the citizenry, have tended to be weaker than in countries
where militaries were controlled by elected ofcials and prohibited from policing.
The breakdown of the geopolitical order, and the rise of the geoeconomic one,
has created a blurring between police and military functions (Cowen and Smith
2009). For their part, police have become more militarized. After September 11, for
example, US federal agencies in charge of ghting terrorism formed partnerships
with domestic police forces. Local police now patrol borders and deal with crimes
that would normally be the jurisdiction of the military. And, many local police forces
now have elite paramilitary units within their ranks and use military style surveillance
technology (Maguire and King 2004). Military units have also witnessed a blurring of
their role. As inter-state wars give way to so-called newwars, militaries increasingly
ght in urban areas populated with civilians (Cowen and Smith 2009). Once they
capture an urban battleeld, soldiers often nd themselves doing police and even
judicial workapprehending thieves, adjudicating land disputes, keeping the peace,
etc (Kaldor 2001). Unfortunately, the shoot to kill ethos of the battleeld does not
always translate well to the policing sphere where one deals with a suspect rather
than an enemy and the discharge of a rearm is more restricted.
The changing nature of military work is relevant to the study of PMFs because the
blurring of military and police work is occurring in the private military workplace as
well. In particular, while the industry likes to maintain that there is a distinction
between security and military contractors,
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security contractors often nd
themselves in military situations for which they have little training (Avant 2005).
This blurring not only increases risk for contractors, but also the civilians with whom
they come in contact.
The Role of Class?
The geographic literature reviewed above provides a good basis for situating military
privatization within a political economy. However, there are also lacunae in this
work. As I note in the beginning of this paper, the literature on PMFs outside
of geography has tended to look at the PMF phenomenon as it pertains to states.
While geographers have avoided this trap by examining what the rise of the industry
means for the structure of the international system (and the rules that govern it), it
has not specically examined the structure of labor relations within the industry or
its effects on the distribution of risk within the system. Cowen and Smith (2009:37)
recognize, for example, that military outsourcing reects and reproduces global
class difference, but they proffer no concrete explanation for how this process
works. Nor do they discuss the possibility that variations from the old order are
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likely. For his part Beck (1992, 2002) dismisses class altogether, arguing that class
positioning no longer explains the way that risk is distributed throughout society.
In this paper I make four interrelated arguments about how labor relations within
the industry are organized and how these relations affect the distribution of security
risk today. First, while states have been actively engaged in reducing their own
monopoly over the means of violence, the source of insecurity is not based, in
and of itself, in the states decision to subcontract risk. Rather, we must look at the
entities to which risk was subcontracted and assess how they absorb and distribute
it.
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States have primarily subcontracted risk to PMFs.
Second, and relatedly, I argue that instead of absorbing important battle-
associated risks for their soldiers in the way that states did, PMFs have individualized
risk at the level of the private soldier. I label this a responsibility over rights
management model. As a result, and in contradistinction to Beck, I argue that class
continues to be important not only for understanding where security risk is absorbed
within the global system but also where blowback from harm production originates.
Understanding the dynamics of this class of workers/work is important. Scholars
of irregular warfare note that the intensity and spread of battleeld blowback varies
by both the type of ghting group and its internal organization. Kaldor (2001)
argues, for example, that guerillas following a hearts and minds paradigm tend to
treat civilians better than those who use a fear and hatred model to meet goals.
Similarly, Kirk (2003) notes that kidnapping increased dramatically in Colombia after
Pedro Marin, the head of the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC)
reduced salaries from central command. A similar, systematic analysis of the way
contracting effects battleeld dynamics has yet to be undertaken but is in order.
Third, I argue that the clustering of risk distribution within the industry does
not simply reinforce the global division of labor. Certainly, the distribution of risks
follows this pattern in many ways. First World contractors do, for example, receive
higher pay than their Third World counterparts, and this differential means they
are in a better position to cover costs associated with battleeld injuries than their
peers from the developing world. However, in terms of battleeld risk, contractors
doing military work face the same responsibility over rights management model
across the industry regardless of their social status or national origin. In this sense,
an industrial class is created from the expansionary logic of the geoeconomic even
as the risks associated with it remain clustered on the shop oor.
Finally, while efforts to force states to regulate PMFs are important, they can
and should be supplemented by the actions of worker collectives demanding the
reduction of risk in the work place. Mitigating these risks not only protects workers
themselves, but also civilians who encounter them on the battleeld. To make
and demonstrate these arguments I examine the personnel section of the code of
conduct developed by an industrys trade group (ISOA 2009).
Risk and the PMC Workplace
Should We Care about PMCs?
Before examining the ISOA code of conduct, a temporary detour is in order to
consider whether private soldiers and potential abuses in their workplace merit
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our concern. Indeed, contractors are often unsympathetic gures. They tend to be
depicted as either apocalyptic cowboys popped up on steroids (Durkin 2004) or
opportunistic handmaidens of empire (Scahill 2007).
There are, however, several reasons for examining the PMC workplace and trying
to improve it. First and foremost, it bears reminding that wars are rarely the
responsibility of those who ght them. This point is not to suggest that soldiers
are robots with no free will, but rather that while they may be a fundamental part
of war, they are not synonymous with its decision makers. Indeed, many countries
still have forcible conscription. And, warlord groups have long recruited members
by kidnapping them. Even in countries where joining an army (private or national)
is a choice, it is often a circumscribed one. In developed economies, for example,
there is often a defacto economic draft (Cowen and Smith 2009). Likewise, in the
developing world, voluntary enlistment in a guerilla group is often done in the
absence of other options (Mueller 2007). The complications surrounding job choice
in many sectors of the economy explain why the labor movement has traditionally
avoided moral assessments of particular jobs, and why doing so in the context
of PMFs would likewise be unproductive. Second, the labor relations inherent in
the responsibility over rights management model not only explain why risk is
concentrated in a class of work, but also why it rarely stays contained there and
often affects civilians in random and capricious ways. As such, even if one feels no
sympathy for contractors themselves, their workplace risk creates harm and risk for
others. And, while eliminating military privatization is certainly a more attractive
goal, its illusiveness suggests that targeting its labor practices may provide a more
feasible route to limiting the industrys harm.
ISOAs Code of Conduct
ISOA was established in 2000 as a registered lobby for PMFs. The following year the
organization adopted a code of conduct. In 2007, ISOAs founder, Doug Brooks,
explained the genesis and transformation of the code in the organizations in-house
publication, Journal of International Peace Operations. Brooks interest in PMFs began
in 2000 when he was doing research on the civil war in Sierra Leone. Brooks
discovered that while Sierra Leoneans respected the international legitimacy that
comes with UN peacekeeping, they had lost any faith in the capability of the UN
to provide actual security (Brooks 2007:8). Brooks experience led him to question
traditional views of security and to ponder what role private contractors could play
in places like Sierra Leone. To avoid provoking the cynicism directed at UN troops,
however, Brooks believed contractors would have to hold themselves to higher
standards.
ISOAs code of conduct is a sub-political effort to delineate these standards, and
companies who join the group voluntarily agree to abide by them. In this section
I examine the codes functionality around real world workplace situations in order
to assess both how PMFs manage workplace risk and how that management affects
the distribution of security risk beyond it.
ISOA has revised its code of conduct 11 times. The initial version covered a variety
of issues, including transparency, human rights, and accountability, but it did not
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contain a specic section on personnel issues. The most recent code (March 2009)
contains a personnel section with 13 provisions related to employment practices
(IPOA 2009).
Three of these provisions relate to guarantees companies must provide employees.
Companies that sign the agreement, for example, promise to inform contractors
of risks associated with their job (provision 1), to offer training appropriate to
their duties undertaken (provision 3), and to provide them with equipment
and materials necessary for their jobs (provision 11). Three other provisions serve
as checks against employer abuse of contractors. Companies are prohibited, for
example, from retaining contractors travel documents, or preventing them from
ending their employment (provision 10). Companies must also vet, supervise,
and train personnel, including teaching them about applicable legal frameworks
in the places they work (provision 4). And, companies must act responsibly
and ethically toward their personnel, including responding appropriately if
allegations of personnel misconduct arise (provision 6). There are also six provisions
designed to protect clients from potential abuses by individual contractors hired
by a PMF. Companies must ensure, for example, that they hire personnel who
are medically t (provision 2) and meet minimum age requirements (provision
9). Companies must also promise not to engage in human trafcking or allow
their employees to do so (provision 12). Companies may only base salaries
on merit and national economic differentials, not race, gender, or ethnicity
(provision 8). And, they must seek personnel that are broadly representative
of the local population (provision 7). Finally, companies must act with due
diligence when hiring subcontractors to ensure they are not hiring individuals
who have violated human rights in the past (provision 5). The nal provision (13)
lays out guidelines for the personal behavior of contractors. They are expected
to conduct themselves humanely, with honestly, integrity, objectivity, and
diligence.
A Code with Gaps
In terms of worker protections, ISOAs most recent iteration of its code of conduct
represents a substantial improvement over the groups initial effort. Indeed, the
rst code did not even include a personnel section, so its addition represents
meaningful progress. However, the current code is not without problems. I identify
three here. The rst problem is that the code contains inadequate guarantees
for contractor training. The second problem is that the code does not address
subcontracting, which is often used by companies to avoid taking responsibility
for ensuring adequate workplace safety for employees. The nal problem is that
the code does not require companies to properly describe the scope of contractor
duties, and whether security work may also involve, or devolve into military work.
Taken together, these problems indicate that contractor risk does not just stem
from the nature of the job (warmaking), but also from the way the workplace is
structured. They also suggest that curbing industry excesses will require not just
regulating the states who hire PMFs, but also the workplace guidelines under which
individual contractors operate.
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Problem 1: inadequate training. Critics argue that the provisions for contractor
training in the ISOA code of conduct are vague [Amnesty International USA
(AIUSA) 2009; DeWinter-Schmitt 2009]. Amnesty International argues, for example,
that there are no denitions or explanations of terms to clarify what these
requirements entail (AIUSA 2009). In particular, ISOAs provisions on training
(provision 4) do not include specic requirements for training related to human
rights law. Thus, contractors often go into a war zone without any training on
what constitutes a human rights abuse in the contractors home country, the
country where battle is occurring, and the country where the PMF is registered.
None of this means, however, that contractors are immune from prosecution from
human rights law. Indeed, contractors can nd themselves subject to criminal
prosecution in their home country, the country in which they are working,
and/or in the International Criminal Court (ICC). And, unlike citizen soldiers,
who are usually granted access to military counsel and timely adjudication of
charges, contractors are guaranteed neither. Even in Iraq, where the US-led
Provisional Authority granted contractors immunity from prosecution in Iraqi Courts
(Order 17), contractors may still face legal charges in their home courts and the
ICC, and neither the PMFs that hired them nor the US agency that contracted their
employers guarantees them legal protection or assistance.
A recent example of human rights violations by an American contractor in
Iraq provides a good example of how these problems play out. In 2003, Steven
Stefanowicz, a contractor doing interrogations at the Abu Ghraib prison complex
allegedly ordered US military police (MP) in the prison to withhold medicine from
prisoners and use attack dogs on them. MPs claim Stefanowicz wanted prisoners
softened up before he began interrogating them (Human Rights Watch 2006).
A military commission set up to examine the abuses in the prison found evidence
that the allegations against Stefanowicz were true and amounted to torture (Jones
and Fay 2004). Stefanowiczs then employer, CACI, rejected the assertion that
Stefanowicz had engaged in abuse. In interviews with media outlets CACI argued
that it requires all employees to abide by all relevant local, national, and international
laws, suggesting that its employees were aware of applicable legal codes on human
rights (Zagorin 2007). However, in a webpage CACI created in the wake of the
Stefanowicz scandal entitled Truth and Error in the Media Portrayal of CACI in Iraq,
the company acknowledges it did not provide contractors training on rules of
engagement (where legal codes pertaining to human rights violations would be
discussed). Rather, CACI claims its contract with the Pentagon specied that the
Army would provide CACI employees with readiness training and briengs on rules
of engagement and general orders applicable to U.S. Armed Forces, DoD civilians,
and U.S. contractors (CACI 2009). Based on past practices, it is highly unlikely that
the Pentagon provided such training. Indeed, the economic point of subcontracting
is to relieve the state of costly operations such as training. Moreover, if critics are
correct that the USA uses contractors in order to outsource illegal tactics, then it is
equally unlikely the government provided such training. Unfortunately, the Justice
Department has so far declined to try Stefanowicz for his alleged criminal behavior,
so there is no public record of the contract CACI had with the Pentagon.
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Although Stefanowicz is hardly a sympathetic gure, the industrial relations
governing his status as a contractor mean that he, rather than CACI or the US
government, assumes the majority of legal risks associated with his work in the Iraqi
theater. Indeed, though he is immune fromIraqi prosecution, he may be prosecuted
in the USA. To date, the US Department of Justice has indicted only a handful of
contractors, and Stefanowicz is not one of them. However, congress has introduced
legislation to mandate prosecution of contractors violating human rights, and
human rights advocates continue to press the administration and congress to see it
through the legislative process (Flaherty 2007). Stefanowicz, therefore, nds himself
in legal limbo. Certainly, critics are correct that Stefanowicz is lucky to have (so far)
escaped prosecution, but some contractors in his situation would likely welcome
an opportunity to make a case for innocence, or to establish that his companys
client (for Stefanowicz, the Pentagon) had signed off on illegal actions. Unless he is
indicted, however, Stefanowicz can do little to defend himself since doing so could
involve self-incrimination. In short, the risk of prosecution Stefanowicz faces is not
peculiar to his job as a soldier, but to his employer (a PMF rather than state military).
The Stefanowicz case also demonstrates that the risks associated with the
responsibility over rights management model does not stay contained on the
shop oor. If Stefanowicz and other contractors accused of human rights violations
had been US soldiers, for example, their victims among the Iraqi civilian population
could have reported such abuses to the soldiers superior, who could order an
investigation and if enough evidence was found, recommend a court marshal. The
soldier would then have his guilt or innocence established at trial. Instead, Iraqi
prisoners subjected to abuse by Stefanwicz have little legal recourse for seeking
criminal justice for the abuses they suffered. Order 17 prohibits them from seeking
justice in Iraq. And, their only recourse in the USA is to seek civil judgments in US
courts (Stefanowicz is currently named in such a suit in the Eastern District court of
Virginia). The distance and costs are prohibitive for most victims, but even where
possible, a civil judgment in a foreign country is not the justice most former prisoners
seek. Most want criminal charges led, and criminal punishments applied if guilt is
determined.
In short, CACI and other PMFs have structured a work place where contractors
have few rights and bear responsibility not only for their individual decisions but
also those made by their employers and their employers clients. Human rights
training will not prevent all abuses, of course, but they will prevent some. At present,
however, contractors are responsible for knowing all applicable human rights laws
and howthey apply in specic on the ground circumstances, but there are no clear
mandates for their employers or their employers clients to provide that training.
Unfortunately, the ISOA code, which is designed to ll such gaps, fails to do so.
Indeed, the provision covering training (4) does not mention human rights, instead
using the more generic phrase legal frameworks. Training on legal frameworks
could include information about specic laws related to human rights violations,
but it could just as easily cover the administrative breakdown of a countrys justice
system with no mention of specic laws.
Problem 2: subcontracting as a mechanism for avoiding corporate responsibility. A
second problem with ISOAs code concerns its failure to address issues related to
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subcontracting. Typically, subcontracting is viewed as a mechanism for companies
to ofoad costs. In the security context, it is also a device for PMFs hoping to ofoad
risk to the shop oor. This problem is well illustrated in a deadly altercation in
Falluja, Iraq in early 2004 involving a small team of Blackwater
4
contractors. On
30 March the team was given a mission to provide security for a small convoy of
trucks delivering kitchen supplies to Camp Ridgeway, an American base near the
city (Pelton 2007; Scahill 2007). Although Fallujah was then a hotspot for insurgent
activity, the convoy took a route passing through the city. It remains unclear why
the contractors chose to go through the city rather than around it. Some accounts
suggest the team did not have accurate maps of the region; others suggest the
contractors got lost (see Pelton 2007 for an overview). When the convoy entered
the city it was caught in a trafc jam and soon came under sniper re. The trucks in
the middle of the convoy managed to escape, but the two security vehicles in the
convoy did not. Residents soon surrounded their vehicles, beating contractors and
throwing stones and other blunt objects at them. They eventually set the contractors
vehicle on re. The contractors, by then dead, were pulled from their vehicles and
hung from a nearby bridge (see Scahill 2007 for an overview).
The contractors families argue that the contractors were sent to Fallujah without
proper safety precautions (Scahill 2007). In particular, two precautions were ignored.
First, although the contract the men were working under specied that security
convoys should have a minimum of six men, the Falluja convoy only contained
four. Second, the team was not furnished with armored vehicles, even though their
contracts required armored vehicles for security (Pelton 2007). A better-protected
convoy would have likely suffered losses, but it would have had a better chance
of survival (Scahill 2007). After the ambush families of the slain contractors led
a wrongful death suit against Blackwater. As the case made its way through the
court system, subcontracting became an obstacle to families seeking to assign
responsibility for the death of their loved ones. In court, Blackwater argued that
another PMF, KBR (a subsidiary of Halliburton) was responsible for the men because
the rm had subcontracted the workers from Blackwater to run the Falluja mission
(Scahill 2007). Thus, KBR, not Blackwater, was responsible for the workplace
conditions that contributed to the contractors deaths. KBR, however, has denied
hiring subcontractors from Blackwater. Unfortunately, it is impossible to fact check
either groups claimsince PMFs in Iraq have used government contracting provisions
allowing companies to protect propriety data to keep such details out of the public
eye (Scahill 2007).
The International Labor Organizations (ILO) Convention on Occupational Safety
and Heath (1981) provides a benchmark against which to measure the distribution
of risk in the Falluja incident. Part 4, Article 16 states that employers shall be
required to ensure that, so far as is reasonably practicable, the workplaces, machines,
equipment and processes under their control are safe and without risk to health.
Employers are also required to provide, where necessary, adequate protective
clothing and protective equipment to prevent, so far as is reasonably practicable,
risk of accidents or of adverse effects on health. In the Falluja case it is clear that
Blackwater did not provide its convoy with adequate protective equipment. Indeed,
the convoys vehicle was not armored even though the contractors were working
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under a contract that required armored vehicles, and despite the fact that Falluja
was considered very dangerous for Americans at the time (Pelton 2007). Likewise,
Blackwater did not meet the terms of its contract related to proper convoy size. Both
Pelton (2007) and Scahill (2007) note that the mission was too small to effectively
ght off attacks while retreating for safety (the mission was not military so retreat
was expected).
Unfortunately, the personnel section of ISOAs code of conduct does nothing
to ensure that PMFs accept responsibility for meeting the terms of their contracts
with employees. Nor does it establish a mechanism for sorting out responsibility in
situations involving layers of subcontracting. Indeed, Blackwaters responsibility
over rights management model allowed it to inoculate itself against any
responsibility towards its employees. As Pelton (2007) notes, Blackwater not only
ignored the provisions in its own contract with its workers, it forced them to
sign waivers promising not to sue Blackwater for any job-related injury. The ISOA
personnel section should, therefore, require companies to adopt ILO workplace
safety protocols. It should also force companies to accept responsibility for not
meeting the terms of their contracts with employees. In particular, waivers
preventing suing should be forbidden in the code of conduct. Finally, ISOA
should develop a protocol for assigning responsibility for workplace harm when
a subcontract is involved. If all companies signed onto such protocols, it would
be more difcult for companies to use subcontracting as a means for avoiding
responsibility for employee safety. It would also provide civilians affected by war
clear mechanisms for addressing war-related grievances. Such measures would need
to be specied for military contracting, but the ILO has worked with states and
corporations to apply their provisions in particular workplaces (DeWinter-Schmitt
2009).
Problem 3: inadequate job descriptions. A third problem with ISOAs code relates to
the scope of contractor duties on the job. The failure to lay out what contractors are
required to do in the fulllment of their job is especially relevant given that the line
between security and military functions is not as rmas the industry often claims it is.
And, while the ISOA code of conduct species that companies must train contractors
for their workplace duties (provision 3), the code does nothing to address the fact
that security operations often blur into military ones. The experience of contractors
working for the British company Gurkha Security Guards (GSG) in Sierra Leone
provides a case in point.
In 1995 the interim government in Sierra Leone, the National Provisional Ruling
Council (NPRC), began searching for assistance in its war with the Revolutionary
United Front (RUF). After 3 years of ghting the RUF had captured several diamond
and bauxite mines in the country and the NPRC wanted assistance to retake
them. The NPRC signed a contract with a British rm, J&S Franklin Limited,
which subcontracted the job to Gurkha Security Guards (GSG). The GSG was
supposed to assist the NPRC by offering training to cadets in the Republic of
Sierra Leone Military Force (RSLMF). The NPRC announced that the Gurkhas
would do no ghting, explaining that it would train the RSLMF in jungle tactics
(Vines 1999:130). GSG made similar statements to British newspapers, noting
that its contractors were not in Sierra Leon in an offensive role (as cited in
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800 Antipode
Vines 1999:130). Based on these public pronouncements, the Gurkhas would
be classied as security rather than military contractors. However, the working
conditions in which the Gurkhas found themselves were clearly military in nature.
And, though the ISOA code of conduct did not yet exist, it would have provided
little protection for the Gurkhas had it been in place.
When the Gurkhas arrived in Sierra Leone in January of 1995 they were stationed at
a military base in central Sierra Leone called Camp Charlie, where they trained cadets
and guarded the base. However, their security functions quickly bled into military
ones. Indeed, the base was in hostile territory and the Gurkha unit was expected
not only to guard it but to also ensure pacication of the surrounding area
(Vines 1999:130). At the end of February the Gurkhas job would become even
more militarized when a contingent of Gurkhas and RSLMF men left the camp
to nd a suitable location for rearms training. While on the scouting mission,
the group encountered an RUF unit and engaged in a reght with the rebels.
Reports from the reght suggest that most RSLMF cadets ed the scene (Vines
1999). At the end of the battle 21 people, mostly Gurkhas, were killed. Many of the
bodies were never found. Others were taken back to an RUF camp, mutilated, and
photographed to publicize RUF dominance over the government. In the following
weeks Camp Charlie came under repeated RUF assaults. The RSLMF withdrew its
remaining cadets at the end of March, leaving the Gurkhas to defend the base alone.
The NPRC then asked the GSG to engage in offensive operations against the RUF.
The GSG refused, citing the terms of its contract.
While the GSGs decision to abide by its contract probably saved Gurkha lives,
it did not represent a refusal of military work. The Gurkhas left defending the
camp were already functioning as a military unit given the daily and repeated
assaults on the camp by RUF units. Indeed, though GSGs defense of Camp Charlie
could be viewed as a security rather than military operation because it did not
involve offensive action, the work GSG contractors were doing exceeded the typical
understanding of a security assignment. Security usually involves avoiding threats or
keeping them at bay, and the use of a rearm would be sporadic and temporary
only until a military or police unit could be summoned. Military operations, by
contrast, involve persistent interaction with an enemy (whether from the defensive
or offensive position), and sustained use of a rearm.
The experience of the contractors working for GSG highlights both important
gaps in the ISOA code of conduct and the complex geography that emerges out
of contracting. First and foremost, the failure of the ISOA personnel code to offer
clear distinctions between military and security work creates a context in which
contractors may be hired under false pretext. A person hired for a security post,
for example, may only nd out he/she must do military work once on the job.
And, the point at which he/she discovers this fact may indeed be a pitched battle
where the option to refuse participation or quit are circumscribed. The ILO does not
have a general resolution about hiring under false pretenses, but it has established
such prohibitions for certain categories of people, such as young women hired for
domestic work outside their home country and migrants going to another country.
These general provisions should be included in the ISOA personnel guide with
reference to the security/military work divide.
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The fate of the Gurkha contingent killed and mutilated by RUF soldiers, along
with the similar outcome in Falluja, also suggests that the distribution of security
risk dees easy geographic categorization. Indeed, while the Gurkahs were from the
developing world (Nepal) and the contractors in Falluja were all American, the two
groups were both hired and trained for security work that devolved into military
work. Men in both groups were also killed and their bodies mutilated because
they were not properly prepared for the full scope of their duties. In this way,
military contractors form a class. The formation of this class does not, however,
replicate the extant global division of labor. Rather, it mimics the structure of
the geoeconomicit is expansionary rather than partitioned. Indeed, contracting
provides a place where workers from across the North/South divide, form a global,
if spatially unrooted, class of workers and concentrated risk. This does not mean, of
course, that corporations no longer differentiate between workers doing the same
job. Pay differentials by national origin remain an industry standard (and one ISOA
supportssee provision 8). However, the geoeconomic nature of war means that
companies do not protect specic categories of soldiers in the way that states did
with their own citizen-soldiers. Indeed, Blackwater is just as likely to leave American
units ill equipped for their jobs as foreign ones.
Conclusion: Risk, Industrial Relations, and the New
Geoeconomic Order
My analysis has made four interrelated arguments. First, we must move beyond
easy platitudes that the states decision to cede its monopolization over the means
of violence explains the redistribution of security risk within the world system, and
the seemingly capricious nature in which it strikes. Certainly, the states decision
was important, but as a precipitating rather than immediate factor. Indeed, I have
argued here that to understand the distribution of security risk today we must
examine the practices of the entities that have created new monopolies over the
means of violence. Second, I argue that one of these entities, PMFs, has chosen
to ofoad security risks onto individual contractors rather than assuming many of
the risks that states traditionally did. Contractors, for example, cannot expect their
vehicles to have proper armor, nor can they expect to receive human rights training.
Contractors may also nd themselves in workplace situations for which they are
unprepared. People hired to transport goods may instead nd themselves engaging
in a re ght to the death. I term this a rights over responsibility management
model and note in contradistinction to Beck that class continues to affect the
distribution of security risk today. Third, I have argued that the geographic clustering
of security risk today does not overlay neatly onto classic geographic categories of
unevenness. While a North/South divide continues to explain some of the clustering
of risk (eg rst world contractors are more buffered from the risk of injury than their
developing world counterparts by virtue of their higher salaries), it is also true that
the private military work creates a class whose risk is dened by its occupation
rather than its state of origin. Indeed, the US contractors killed in Falluja suffered the
same fate as the Gurkhas killed near Camp Charlie in Sierra Leone. And, these risks
were heightened because the men in both instances were hired (and presumably
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trained) for security tasks rather than the military operations in which they found
themselves. Finally, I have argued that proponents of regulating the private military
industry should also focus on efforts aimed at modifying industrial relations on the
shop oor. Though not perfect, ILO guidelines provide a good starting place from
which to strengthen the ISOA personnel code.
Although I have not discussed it at length here, it is also worth thinking about the
role worker collectives could play in pushing the industry towards self-regulation.
Indeed, while I believe a reduction in military privatization is a preferred goal,
and I am aware that supporting workplace regulation could help legitimate the
industry, I also recognize that states have shown little appetite for regulating
military privatization. Indeed, even left of center governments appear to have signed
onto the military privatization model. In the USA, for example, opponents of the
industry had hoped the Obama administration would step up prosecutions against
military contractors accused of human rights violations in Iraq, but it has failed
to do so. And, despite the drubbing Blackwaters reputation received after the
Falluja incident, the CIA recently signed a $100 million contract with the company
(Stein 2010). It is also worth noting that intervention at the state level alone
is no longer sufcient. Although states are currently the dominant group hiring
PMFs, hospitals, hotels, mining companies and other corporations are taking up an
increasing share of PMF clientele. Corporations have already proven adept at taking
advantage of uneven regulatory regimes, so advocates of regulation may have to
rely on new tactics to enact change.
In this context, social movement tactics designed to force self-regulation are
one option for reducing the risk association with military privatization. DeWinter-
Schmitts (2009) comparison of self-regulation in the apparel and private military
industry indicates, for example, that alliances between watchdog groups and worker
collectives are particularly important in encouraging rms to self-regulate. In the
apparel industry, for example, watchdog groups worked successfully with workers
to put public pressure on apparel companies such as Nike to force improvements in
the plants of its subcontractors. Such efforts are just beginning in the private military
industry, but they have borne some fruit. Indeed, although Amnesty International
has critiqued the ISOA code of conduct, it was one of several organizations
encouraging ISOA to adopt a code and it continues to lobby for changes to it.
The fact that Blackwater quit the organization after the code was established also
suggests that the industrys worst offenders fear such efforts.
Acknowledgements
I am most grateful to the three anonymous reviewers whose incisive comments and
constructive suggestions helped me hone my arguments. Any mistakes that remain are solely
my own. My thanks also go to Ever Guandique.
Endnotes
1
Before October 2010 ISOA was known as the International Peace Operators Association
(IPOA). The acronym IPOA is retained in references.
2
The industry maintains that there is a difference between security and military contract
work. Security contractors provide services that are ancillary to war making. They prepare
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meals, transport equipment around the war zone, and provide security for ambassadors,
NGO staff, and UN ofcials. They are only allowed to discharge their weapon in self-defense.
By contrast, military contractors are engaged in classic war-making activities. Their job is to
advance a strategic or tactical mission on the battleeld (Brooks 2002).
3
While security risks have been individualized, they could also be centralized above
the nation-state. Anarchists on the left and militias on the right both worry about the
monopolization of the means of violence by an international body.
4
Blackwater is now known as Xe Services.
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