welsh
Junkmaster
Not sure how many of you are interested in this, but over the past ten years or so, mercenary work has become very popular. They have popped up in places as diverse as Sierra Leone, Angola and Croatia.
For those interested-
Can anyone curb Africa’s dogs of war?
Jan 14th 1999 | JOHANNESBURG
From The Economist print edition
Former soldiers are finding lucrative jobs fighting other people’s Wars. South Africa would like to ban them
EVEN the pope uses them. Soldiering for pay, not patriotism, has a long record in Europe’s history: the Swiss Guard protects the Vatican, Gurkhas serve in the British army. But it is in Africa where states are weak that mercenaries are most powerful.
As western countries have lost interest in sending their own soldiers to prop up dubious governments in distant wars, those governments—and the rebels fighting them—have increasingly sought help from mercenaries, who are now provided by a collection of private companies. At the same time, governments of such countries as America, Britain and Israel have helped set up security firms staffed by former special-forces officers. The aim has been partly to protect these countries’ nationals or commercial interests in dangerous places, partly to do dirty work they could not allow their armies to carry out.
South Africa, however, has a problem with its mercenaries. For those who soldiered for apartheid, career options today are limited. If they stay on in the new, racially integrated South African army, promotion is unlikely. One alternative is for them to go private. South Africa’s ex-servicemen, especially from the special forces, have years of experience of combat, tactics and modern weaponry. They are now to be found wherever warring Africans have the diamonds or oil to pay them.
This embarrasses South Africa’s government, which would like to be a peacemaker in Africa. Last year it passed a law banning mercenary activity by its nationals. On January 1st, Executive Outcomes (EO), South Africa’s best-known mercenary firm, “terminated” its operations. A swift success for high-minded legislation? Not really. EO’s headquarters near Pretoria is still staffed. Former personnel are still available to provide their services elsewhere. Many former EO soldiers have turned up in Sierra Leone with a company called Lifeguard.
Law or no law, South African mercenaries are still active, sometimes on opposite sides. According to security analysts, one former EO director provides pilots, training and intelligence to the Angolan government in its new war against UNITA rebels. For its part, UNITA, which used to enjoy the support of the apartheid army, is reported to have hired 100 or more former comrades-in-arms to help with communications, artillery and armoured vehicles.
Legislating against mercenaries is tricky for several reasons. What is a mercenary? Several countries have laws which forbid fighting for other countries’ rebels for profit. But proving such a motive is all but impossible. Some people join foreign revolutions because they believe in them. South Africa’s new law defines mercenary activity so broadly that it could include academics giving talks on military topics abroad. It will be hard to enforce, particularly since mercenaries often operate in violent, chaotic places where evidence is hard to gather.
Even if someone is convicted of being a mercenary, how can his assets be confiscated, as the law envisages? Mercenary companies do not usually own helicopters or maintain standing armies. They tend to be “virtual companies”, sometimes no more than “a retired military guy sitting in a spare bedroom with a fax machine and a Rolodex,” says James Wood, a former American defence official. He also calls them “businessmen with guns” because they are often paid in oil or mineral concessions and the profits accrue to companies, registered in tax havens where their links to the mercenaries are hard to trace.
Defence or attack
Moreover, the trade in military skills has grown more sophisticated. In the 1960s, ragtag freebooters such as “Mad” Mike Hoare and Bob Denard fought in various parts of Africa, relying on little more than the ability to shoot straight and the fear that white soldiers inspired among former colonial subjects. In 1967 Mr Denard mounted a coup in Benin with only 60 paratroopers. These days special forces can train armies in a variety of weaponry and communications equipment. Their most valuable skill is battlefield assessment: the co-ordination of intelligence gathering and deployment of forces in the right strength and at the right moment. In Africa’s guerrilla wars they are mini-generals.
Companies such as EO and Sandline International, registered in the Bahamas, insist that they work only for legitimate governments. That may not be enough to keep them out of trouble. Sandline was investigated in Britain for an alleged breach of UN sanctions when it provided military help to the elected but deposed government of Sierra Leone. It claimed it was doing so with the approval of the British government. Britain denied it.
Is what these companies do so bad? Most draw a moral distinction between protecting people for profit and attacking them. They say that most mercenaries protect oil wells and embassies and help to fight battles only as a last resort. Defensive jobs form the bulk of a security industry that now has an estimated global turnover of at least $50 billion. Revenues for firms that actually pull triggers, though unknown, are certainly much smaller. The controversy that surrounds them is not.
Mercenaries in Africa
The fog and dogs of war
Mar 18th 2004 | JOHANNESBURG AND MALABO
From The Economist print edition
An alleged coup plot and its murky aftermath
IN A marketplace in Malabo, the capital of Equatorial Guinea, foreign traders cower. Since President Teodoro Obiang Nguema's government announced that it had foiled a foreign mercenary plot, the radio has been urging Guineans to report suspicious aliens, and the police have been rounding them up and beating them, or worse. A 12-year-old boy walks up to a shopkeeper from Benin and demands to see his papers. He has trouble reading them, and goes. “What hope is there for this country?” mutters the Beninois.
Mr Obiang is almost a parody of a despot. State radio likened him to God last year. His opponents can end up in jail, or roped to a bar in such a way that their forearms eventually break. Since his country struck oil, he has had a lot of cash to dole out. Rumours of plots against him are common, but this one was unusually dramatic.
On March 7th, some 70 men were nabbed in Zimbabwe, where their plane, which took off from South Africa, had allegedly stopped to load weapons en route for Equatorial Guinea. The men were mostly former members of “Battalion 32”, a disbanded elite South African military unit, some of whose other members staged a brief coup in São Tomé last year. The men were charged with conspiring to murder Mr Obiang, which they denied.
How were they caught? One theory is that South African spies tipped off their Zimbabwean counterparts after noticing dozens of ex-members of Battalion 32 training at a rifle range in Pretoria. Another is that a lowly security officer noticed that there were more men on the plane than the pilot had said there were. Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe's president, seized on the incident as proof that western powers are bent on overthrowing splendid chaps such as himself. He did not dwell on the report that the alleged gunmen were buying their guns from the state-owned Zimbabwe Defence Industries.
A second group of 15-odd alleged mercenaries was arrested in Equatorial Guinea and accused of being the advance party. One, Nick du Toit, admitted on television to plans to oust the president and install an exiled rival, Severo Moto Nsa. The alleged motive was a share of renegotiated oil contracts. Mr Moto denies involvement.
Equatorial Guinea's information minister said the plot was orchestrated by a firm called Triple Options. Documents obtained by The Economist suggest that this was a joint venture, formed for ordinary business purposes, between Mr du Toit and Armengol Ondo Nguema, the president's brother and secret-service chief, but the president denied his brother was in business with Mr du Toit, and Mr Armengol could not be reached for comment.
Greg Mills, of the South African Institute of International Affairs, argues that successful mercenary coups in Africa are a thing of the past. The African Union no longer recognises leaders who seize power by force. America is planning several small military bases in remote African spots, which are ostensibly for use against terrorists, but could also protect the superpower's growing oil interests in the region.
Tyrants cannot afford to relax, however. Their armies are often no match for coup-plotters with foreign expertise and weapons. Equatorial Guinea's had until recently just three armoured cars, though the oil money has bought more.
Many former soldiers want to work as mercenaries. Johann Smith, an expert on private military activity, estimates that some 3,000 well-qualified South Africans would be eager. The UN says hundreds serve as security experts in Iraq, and their less skilled compatriots have taken part in recent civil wars in Sierra Leone, Liberia and Côte d'Ivoire. Since 1998, South African law has forbidden mercenary activity, but not everyone is deterred.
It might be smart for governments to recruit some of these fighters. A growing lobby wants some private military activity to be recognised as legitimate. The American government allowed a firm called Military Professional Resources Incorporated, for example, to use former American soldiers to train Croatia's army. The same firm has long requested a licence to train the army of Equatorial Guinea, too. An umbrella group of nine military companies called the International Peace Operations Association argues that private firms can help keep the peace in unstable spots.
In Africa, the need for a bit more stability is obvious. Some UN staff say, privately, that private firms could supply effective peacekeepers more cheaply, quickly and willingly than African governments do. But African governments themselves remain wary of the dogs of war. Once bitten, twice shy.
For those interested-
Can anyone curb Africa’s dogs of war?
Jan 14th 1999 | JOHANNESBURG
From The Economist print edition
Former soldiers are finding lucrative jobs fighting other people’s Wars. South Africa would like to ban them
EVEN the pope uses them. Soldiering for pay, not patriotism, has a long record in Europe’s history: the Swiss Guard protects the Vatican, Gurkhas serve in the British army. But it is in Africa where states are weak that mercenaries are most powerful.
As western countries have lost interest in sending their own soldiers to prop up dubious governments in distant wars, those governments—and the rebels fighting them—have increasingly sought help from mercenaries, who are now provided by a collection of private companies. At the same time, governments of such countries as America, Britain and Israel have helped set up security firms staffed by former special-forces officers. The aim has been partly to protect these countries’ nationals or commercial interests in dangerous places, partly to do dirty work they could not allow their armies to carry out.
South Africa, however, has a problem with its mercenaries. For those who soldiered for apartheid, career options today are limited. If they stay on in the new, racially integrated South African army, promotion is unlikely. One alternative is for them to go private. South Africa’s ex-servicemen, especially from the special forces, have years of experience of combat, tactics and modern weaponry. They are now to be found wherever warring Africans have the diamonds or oil to pay them.
This embarrasses South Africa’s government, which would like to be a peacemaker in Africa. Last year it passed a law banning mercenary activity by its nationals. On January 1st, Executive Outcomes (EO), South Africa’s best-known mercenary firm, “terminated” its operations. A swift success for high-minded legislation? Not really. EO’s headquarters near Pretoria is still staffed. Former personnel are still available to provide their services elsewhere. Many former EO soldiers have turned up in Sierra Leone with a company called Lifeguard.
Law or no law, South African mercenaries are still active, sometimes on opposite sides. According to security analysts, one former EO director provides pilots, training and intelligence to the Angolan government in its new war against UNITA rebels. For its part, UNITA, which used to enjoy the support of the apartheid army, is reported to have hired 100 or more former comrades-in-arms to help with communications, artillery and armoured vehicles.
Legislating against mercenaries is tricky for several reasons. What is a mercenary? Several countries have laws which forbid fighting for other countries’ rebels for profit. But proving such a motive is all but impossible. Some people join foreign revolutions because they believe in them. South Africa’s new law defines mercenary activity so broadly that it could include academics giving talks on military topics abroad. It will be hard to enforce, particularly since mercenaries often operate in violent, chaotic places where evidence is hard to gather.
Even if someone is convicted of being a mercenary, how can his assets be confiscated, as the law envisages? Mercenary companies do not usually own helicopters or maintain standing armies. They tend to be “virtual companies”, sometimes no more than “a retired military guy sitting in a spare bedroom with a fax machine and a Rolodex,” says James Wood, a former American defence official. He also calls them “businessmen with guns” because they are often paid in oil or mineral concessions and the profits accrue to companies, registered in tax havens where their links to the mercenaries are hard to trace.
Defence or attack
Moreover, the trade in military skills has grown more sophisticated. In the 1960s, ragtag freebooters such as “Mad” Mike Hoare and Bob Denard fought in various parts of Africa, relying on little more than the ability to shoot straight and the fear that white soldiers inspired among former colonial subjects. In 1967 Mr Denard mounted a coup in Benin with only 60 paratroopers. These days special forces can train armies in a variety of weaponry and communications equipment. Their most valuable skill is battlefield assessment: the co-ordination of intelligence gathering and deployment of forces in the right strength and at the right moment. In Africa’s guerrilla wars they are mini-generals.
Companies such as EO and Sandline International, registered in the Bahamas, insist that they work only for legitimate governments. That may not be enough to keep them out of trouble. Sandline was investigated in Britain for an alleged breach of UN sanctions when it provided military help to the elected but deposed government of Sierra Leone. It claimed it was doing so with the approval of the British government. Britain denied it.
Is what these companies do so bad? Most draw a moral distinction between protecting people for profit and attacking them. They say that most mercenaries protect oil wells and embassies and help to fight battles only as a last resort. Defensive jobs form the bulk of a security industry that now has an estimated global turnover of at least $50 billion. Revenues for firms that actually pull triggers, though unknown, are certainly much smaller. The controversy that surrounds them is not.
Mercenaries in Africa
The fog and dogs of war
Mar 18th 2004 | JOHANNESBURG AND MALABO
From The Economist print edition
An alleged coup plot and its murky aftermath
IN A marketplace in Malabo, the capital of Equatorial Guinea, foreign traders cower. Since President Teodoro Obiang Nguema's government announced that it had foiled a foreign mercenary plot, the radio has been urging Guineans to report suspicious aliens, and the police have been rounding them up and beating them, or worse. A 12-year-old boy walks up to a shopkeeper from Benin and demands to see his papers. He has trouble reading them, and goes. “What hope is there for this country?” mutters the Beninois.
Mr Obiang is almost a parody of a despot. State radio likened him to God last year. His opponents can end up in jail, or roped to a bar in such a way that their forearms eventually break. Since his country struck oil, he has had a lot of cash to dole out. Rumours of plots against him are common, but this one was unusually dramatic.
On March 7th, some 70 men were nabbed in Zimbabwe, where their plane, which took off from South Africa, had allegedly stopped to load weapons en route for Equatorial Guinea. The men were mostly former members of “Battalion 32”, a disbanded elite South African military unit, some of whose other members staged a brief coup in São Tomé last year. The men were charged with conspiring to murder Mr Obiang, which they denied.
How were they caught? One theory is that South African spies tipped off their Zimbabwean counterparts after noticing dozens of ex-members of Battalion 32 training at a rifle range in Pretoria. Another is that a lowly security officer noticed that there were more men on the plane than the pilot had said there were. Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe's president, seized on the incident as proof that western powers are bent on overthrowing splendid chaps such as himself. He did not dwell on the report that the alleged gunmen were buying their guns from the state-owned Zimbabwe Defence Industries.
A second group of 15-odd alleged mercenaries was arrested in Equatorial Guinea and accused of being the advance party. One, Nick du Toit, admitted on television to plans to oust the president and install an exiled rival, Severo Moto Nsa. The alleged motive was a share of renegotiated oil contracts. Mr Moto denies involvement.
Equatorial Guinea's information minister said the plot was orchestrated by a firm called Triple Options. Documents obtained by The Economist suggest that this was a joint venture, formed for ordinary business purposes, between Mr du Toit and Armengol Ondo Nguema, the president's brother and secret-service chief, but the president denied his brother was in business with Mr du Toit, and Mr Armengol could not be reached for comment.
Greg Mills, of the South African Institute of International Affairs, argues that successful mercenary coups in Africa are a thing of the past. The African Union no longer recognises leaders who seize power by force. America is planning several small military bases in remote African spots, which are ostensibly for use against terrorists, but could also protect the superpower's growing oil interests in the region.
Tyrants cannot afford to relax, however. Their armies are often no match for coup-plotters with foreign expertise and weapons. Equatorial Guinea's had until recently just three armoured cars, though the oil money has bought more.
Many former soldiers want to work as mercenaries. Johann Smith, an expert on private military activity, estimates that some 3,000 well-qualified South Africans would be eager. The UN says hundreds serve as security experts in Iraq, and their less skilled compatriots have taken part in recent civil wars in Sierra Leone, Liberia and Côte d'Ivoire. Since 1998, South African law has forbidden mercenary activity, but not everyone is deterred.
It might be smart for governments to recruit some of these fighters. A growing lobby wants some private military activity to be recognised as legitimate. The American government allowed a firm called Military Professional Resources Incorporated, for example, to use former American soldiers to train Croatia's army. The same firm has long requested a licence to train the army of Equatorial Guinea, too. An umbrella group of nine military companies called the International Peace Operations Association argues that private firms can help keep the peace in unstable spots.
In Africa, the need for a bit more stability is obvious. Some UN staff say, privately, that private firms could supply effective peacekeepers more cheaply, quickly and willingly than African governments do. But African governments themselves remain wary of the dogs of war. Once bitten, twice shy.
