the linkage of international and internal security ... · the end of the cold war and the emergence...

The linkage of international and internal security – Brazilian contributions to

United Nations peacekeeping operations and their effect on the domestic

security sector

Paper prepared for presentation at the ECPR General Conference in Glasgow, 06.09.2014*

Preliminary draft – Please do not cite, comments welcome

Christoph Harig PhD Candidate

King’s Brazil Institute King’s College London

[email protected]

Abstract

The end of the Cold War and the emergence of ´new security threats´ have contributed to the rising demand for South American states to participate in increasingly robust peacekeeping operations. Brazil is a prominent example of this paradigm change, particularly with leading the military component of peacekeeping forces in Haiti. Moreover, members of government and Armed Forces see the peacekeeping experience as an exercise for fighting criminality within Brazil. Drawing on a field trip to military units that were deployed both in peacekeeping and in internal missions, this paper aims to deal with the consequences of peacekeeping for civil-military interactions in Brazilian public security. With the blending of police and military tasks being a defining character of Brazil´s peacekeeping missions and training, I aim to assess if this is going to reinforce the ´militarisation´ of public security inherited from the authoritarian past by the ´police-isation´ of the military in internal missions.

* A previous version of this paper has been presented at the WISC Fourth Global International Studies

Conference in Frankfurt, 07.08.2014. All translations from German, Portuguese and Spanish sources into English are my own.

Harig – The linkage of international and national security 2

Introduction

Over the last ten years, Brazil has tried to foster its international standing with an increased activism

in United Nations Peacekeeping Operations (PKO). Beginning in 2004, the Brazilian dominance of

MINUSTAH – the UN Stabilisation Mission in Haiti – has changed long-standing paradigms of the

country´s foreign policy such as the traditionally reluctant attitude towards robust mandates of PKO.

As not all political legacies of the last military regime (1964-1985) had been overcome, many saw the

mission in Haiti as an opportunity to enhance civilian supremacy and to accustom the military to

democratic standards.

This paper aims to scrutinise if PKO participation brought significant changes to the Brazilian Armed

Forces in two respects: at the level of civil-military relations (CMR), I am going to assess whether it

actually improved civilian supremacy; at an operational level, I try to find out more about the origins

of strategic approaches used by the military in urban areas of the Haitian capital Port-au-Prince and

Rio de Janeiro. In sum, I try to find out whether international influences are really strong enough to

trump national traditions and to alter military conduct.

Brazil´s Armed Forces still possess significant prerogatives in the political system and wide autonomy

in managing defence matters. As an example, they successfully resisted any attempts to enable legal

prosecutions of human rights violations during their last regime. Another rather anecdotal, but telling

illustration is that it took over 25 years of democracy until the government banned the Armed

Forces´ public commemorations of their last coup – which they keep calling ´Democratic Revolution´

(Bertazzo, 2012, p. 817).

Furthermore, the Brazilian military looks back at a long history of involvement in public security, not

only in times of authoritarianism. Since the return to democracy, the deployment of troops for

guaranteeing law and order (GLO) has become increasingly trivialised by ´leftist´ governments of

former opponents and victims of military rule (Harig, 2014). The legal framework for GLO operations

now allows the Armed Forces to act as a police force within Brazil´s borders and to take over the

operational control of the other public security institutions (Centro de Estudos Estratégicos do

Exército, 2007, p. 14). This led to concrete consequences for public security, notably before and

during the Football World Cup 2014, when Rio de Janeiro´s pacification strategy and the associated

military-backed occupations of favelas have raised international attention. Brazil seized the

opportunity to bolster the image of pacification by linking it to PKO: badges and the light-blue colour

of caps worn by the Força de Pacificação in Rio symbolically create a proximity to UN blue helmets.


Changing perceptions of security and consequences for UN peacekeeping

missions

With the end of the bipolar world order, security concerns shifted away from interstate war and

began to focus on ´new threats´ of transnational crime and terrorism. Particularly since 2001, failed

and failing states as well as other “ungoverned spaces” (Clunan & Trinkunas, 2010) are considered

perilous. Instability and violence are thought to endanger their peaceful surroundings: “In thinking

about spaces and security (…), the danger flows out of its origin or locus in zones characterized by

turbulence (…) to zones of order and stability” (Williams, 2010, p. 40). The international community

has therefore become increasingly concerned with containing this threat. Consequently, the

characteristics of UN peacekeeping have changed accordingly and were adapted to internal conflicts

and governance issues.

Moreover, the experience of genocides committed despite the presence of peacekeepers in former

Yugoslavia and Rwanda has sparked a debate about the appropriate degree of coercion to be used in

PKO. The so-called Brahimi report concluded that peacekeepers should be able to implement their

mandate and to protect civilians more effectively and thus called for “robust doctrine and realistic

mandates” (United Nations, 2000, p. ix). The majority of ensuing resolutions met these demands by

granting peacekeepers a much wider room for manoeuvre for protecting civilians and implementing

the mission´s mandate (Tardy, 2011, p. 152).

This development inevitably altered the role of Armed Forces in PKO. Doyle and Sabanis (2006, p. 11)

provide a useful typology for the changing nature of UN missions by dividing them into three

different “generations”. Not to be understood in a strictly chronological way, they nevertheless

represent different degrees of PKO evolution and levels of coercion (Bures, 2007, p. 409). The first

generation reflects the deployment of UN troops in a conflict between states, e.g. for securing a

buffer zone. The second generation mirrors the involvement of the UN in developing peace

agreements, particularly after civil wars. Consequently, the focus of PKO shifts away from inter-state

to intra-state conflicts. Such missions not only involve traditional military tasks like securing borders,

but also a significant component of civilian and police tasks. What is common to these two

generations is that they are based on Chapter VI of the UN charter and therefore require the consent

of the conflicting parties.

In contrast to this, “the defining characteristic of ´third generation´ operations is the lack of consent

by one or more of the parties to some or all of the UN mandate” (Doyle & Sambanis, 2006, p. 15f.).

Third generation PKO under a Chapter VII mandate effectively undermine the traditional principle of

impartiality, as UN troops inevitably have to take sides in a conflict where one or more parties do not


agree with their presence. Furthermore, third generation PKO clearly reflect the post-Cold War

concern with failing and failed states: they are not only meant to build or secure peace, but also to

engage in domestic governance issues, in which they aim at building institutions for the stabilisation

of the host nation. While the possibility to use coercion has definitely been broadened in third

generation PKO, mandates obviously authorise much less violence than in inter-state war. Armed

Forces involved in these missions are often required to complete law enforcement tasks where they

have to refrain from what they are originally trained to do – using full-scale force (Stephens, 2010, p.

461).

Brazil and the changing nature of PKO

To what extent does this development influence Brazil and its participation in PKO? Even though it is

widely acknowledged that developing and middle-income countries bear the brunt of peacekeeping

work, many authors neglect their possible agenda-setting powers. A widespread claim is that

‘Southern’ peacekeepers are being used for maintaining an impartial image of UN PKO, while the

interests and norms of ‘Northern’ states nonetheless prevail (Kurashina Whitestone & Segal, 2007, p.

19). Despite sending own troops only guardedly, developed countries still exert “disproportional

influence” (Uziel, 2010, p. 199) in the decision-making process and the design of missions. Moreover,

liberal ‘Northern’ states have been accused of pursuing their agenda aggressively with an ever

increasing militarisation of PKO since the end of the Cold War (Pugh, 2012, p. 412).

However, there is also a remarkable body of scholarship that portrays a less clear-cut division. Amar

(2012, p. 4f.) correctly highlights that literature on PKO usually neglects the innovative potential of

the ‘Global South’ as actor. To his interpretation, troop contributors from South America and other

non-‘Northern’ states were pursuing own agendas and eventually were shifting established patterns

of norm diffusion. Accordingly, “to participate in PKOs was a way to ensure that South America

would have place in the new global cartography” (Esteves, 2010, p. 624).

In the case of Brazilian PKO participations, both sides might find supporting arguments for their

respective interpretations. On the one hand, asking Brazil to take over the military command of

MINUSTAH certainly served Northern interests, for countries such as France and the United States

would have evoked heavy criticism for being visibly involved in Haiti. By delegating this responsibility

to Brazil, they did not stand out prominently but were nevertheless able to exert significant influence

(Fernández Moreno et al., 2012, p. 382). For instance, when MINUSTAH was facing a deteriorating

security situation, it was not the group of ‘Southern’ troop contributors but countries like France,

Canada and the USA as well as UN diplomats that successfully pushed for a more coercive approach

(Chagas Vianna Braga, 2010, p. 714; Kawaguti, 2013).


On the other hand, Brazil´s peacekeeping efforts undoubtedly serve its goal to be recognised

internationally as a powerful country (Sánchez Nieto, 2012, p. 174; Spektor, 2012). Yet, third

generation PKO starkly contrast to Brazil´s traditional respect for foreign countries´ sovereignty. Even

faced with the genocide in Rwanda, Brazil rejected a robust intervention of the UN and demanded

that any actions should be taken under a Chapter VI mandate (Kenkel, 2010a, p. 654). This attitude

has changed, albeit with reservations. To strike the balance between officially rejecting

interventionist Chapter VII missions and nevertheless accepting the role as leader of the military

component of MINUSTAH had been a high-wire balancing act for Brazilian foreign policy. President

Lula explained Brazil´s eventual consent by stating that its foreign policy would still be guided by the

traditional emphasis of non-intervention and the respect for sovereignty but would now also

consider an “attitude of non-indifference” (Benner, 2013, p. 3) when facing severe human rights

violations.

The country´s exceptionalism and its drive to go its own way are very well summarized in the words

of a British diplomat: “Brazil is so un-aligned that it did not even align with the Non-Aligned

Movement” (Ellis, 2014). In this sense, weakening or changing traditional principles that stand in the

way of its ambitions is a recurring pattern that has also been detected in other fields of Brazilian

foreign policy (Ratton Sanchez, 2009; Zilla & Harig, 2012). In the case of PKO, the Brazilian strife for

international recognition as ‘Emerging Power’ overweighed the initial reluctance to engage robust

missions (de Figueiredo, 2013, p. 13). With this paradigm change, Brazil may have accepted to follow

a supposedly ‘Northern’ framework of PKO but used it pragmatically in order to attain its own goals.

MINUSTAH then marked the beginning of a growing activism in UN missions: in 2003, only 79

Brazilians were deployed in two UN missions. Until 2010, this number grew to more than 2,200

persons in nine operations, with the bulk being deployed in Haiti (Cavalcante, 2010, p. 150). The

number has meanwhile dropped to 1,685 (United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations,

2014a), but the notable increase in PKO contributions is seen as “part of a broader international

marketing strategy” (Sotomayor Velázquez, 2014, p. 56) that aims at supporting the country´s global

standing, not least with regard to the claim for a permanent seat at the UN Security Council. Given

Brazil´s past as military regime, to rely on Armed Forces as a foreign policy tool raises further

questions to which I am going to turn to now.


Civil-Military Relations in Brazil

Having experienced a large number of military regimes in the 20th century, assessing any actuation of

South American Armed Forces is inevitably linked to the quality of democracy. Despite no country in

the region being governed by Armed Forces anymore, Armed Forces were often able to preserve

prerogatives “in exchange for political subordination” (Hunter, 1998, p. 300) until today. The

conventional wisdom of CMR literature suggests that sending troops to PKO was an opportunity to

broaden the influence of civilian administrations, as they could redirect the military´s focus towards

external missions and consequently keep them away from internal roles. Ideally, external missions

would even create the “military desire to remain subordinate to civilian authority” (Pion-Berlin &

Arceneaux, 2000, p. 417). Some argue that countries like Brazil or its neighbours might use PKO as

the most appropriate way to gain professional experience for their militaries (Michael & Ben-Ari,

2011, p. 670). Multinational military actions co-ordinated by civilians are thought to enable political

control over the military as well as to improve soldiers´ ability to follow orders that originate outside

their traditional chain of command (Diamint, 2006, p. 12). The formerly military-ruled countries

Uruguay, Chile and Argentina are arguably proving such assumptions (Benítez, 2007, p. 105). South

American experts and practitioners therefore widely regard peacekeeping as a way to improve CMR

(Avezov, 2013, p. 166). This is mostly due to the civil-military interactions necessary for planning and

implementing a PKO. For instance, MINUSTAH required an unprecedented degree of co-operation

between Brazil´s diplomatic elite and the Armed Forces (Ramalho da Rocha, 2009, p. 153). However,

the Brazilian Armed Forces´ predominance in managing own affairs contradicts the conventional

wisdom.

Brazilian military rule (1964-1985) had a bigger involvement of civilian politicians in the decision-

making process than its neighbouring counterparts (Agüero, 1997, p. 181). A two-party system was

established that included a party for the tolerated parts of the opposition (Goes, 2012, p. 5), and the

regime mostly tried to give its political decisions a legal appearance (Soares & Kuhlmann, 2005, p.

467). Military rulers not only relied on coercion but also on a mutual agreement with civilian elites in

which the military represented the final arbiter in decision making. The Armed Forces managed to

maintain a significant degree of congressional allegiance well beyond the transition to democracy

(Pereira, 2001, p. 572). By defining the conditions of the transition themselves (de Oliveira & Soares,

2001, p. 100), the Armed Forces only consented to re-democratisation in case their future possibility

to intervene in political affairs was guaranteed (Saint-Pierre & Winand, 2008, p. 61). After 1985, the

Armed Forces saw themselves as legitimate moderator in the Brazilian polity (Stepan, 1988, p. 131),

which was broadly accepted by public opinion and uncontested by the majority of the political


establishment (Przeworski, 1992, p. 147). As a result, the successful influence of the military lobby

guaranteed them significant political powers in the 1988 Constitution (Agüero, 1997, p. 185f.).

Nevertheless, considerable advances in terms of civilian supremacy have been achieved over the last

29 years. The number of military ministers has been cut back drastically, the Armed Forces accepted

former opponents as their commander-in-chief and most areas of public policy are not openly

influenced by the military anymore (Harig, 2012, p. 43). However, the example of the Ministry of

Defence shows how flawed the institutionalisation of civilian supremacy still is. Civilian-led Ministries

of Defence are theoretically regarded as a milestone for democratic CMR but in the Brazilian case

hardly contributed to improvements. After an arduous process of negotiations and resistance of the

Armed Forces, the unified Ministry of Defence was established and the three ministries of the

military branches were abolished in 1999. Yet, most of its staff consists of members of the Armed

Forces and except for the position of the minister in person, only few high-ranking positions are held

by civilians (López, 2008, p. 310). Appropriately enough, President Cardoso admitted that he did not

intend to enhance civilian control through creating the Ministry (Marques, 2004, p. 49).

Ramalho da Rocha´s comments (2008, p. 5) about the role of the Ministry of Defence summarise well

what lies at the core of the problem regarding CMR in Brazil: Despite civilian supremacy being rarely

questioned nowadays, civilians still fail to exercise authority in issues of defence. The decision-

making process for PKO highlights this issue: initiatives to formalise it have failed so far; inter-

ministerial co-ordination in the Brazilian polity is generally hard to achieve, as ministries take

advantage of considerable autonomy in their respective area; the civilian part of the Ministry of

Defence only has minor influence in controlling military affairs; and, as in the entire policy area of

defence, there is scarcely any parliamentary participation (Kenkel, 2013, p. 337ff.). Moreover,

political guidelines on defence are very vague and do not firmly establish the participation in PKO as

a foreign policy tool (Cavalcante, 2010, p. 152).

Hence, the political establishment and the Armed Forces each see a different rationale behind PKO.

While government and the Foreign Office (Itamaraty) want to achieve advantages in global politics,

Ministry of Defence as well as Armed Forces aspire to attain institutional gains. Consequently, they

do not understand PKO as a means to re-direct their actions away from internal tasks. Quite the

contrary, a former Minister of Defence (Zaverucha, 2008a, p. 22) as well as several Army officers

(Martins Filho, 2010, p. 302), among others, expressed the desire to use the MINUSTAH experience

for improving GLO operations. Hence, the military establishment sticks to the understanding of its

role as an internal actor and it appears that PKO are rather reinforcing than changing this perception.


The widely-held idea of using PKO and other external missions in order to re-direct Armed Forces

away from internal tasks is therefore not applicable to the Brazilian case.

Militarisation of the police and police-isation of the military

While PKO arguably do not help to improve CMR, the trend of using the military for law enforcement

tasks raises further questions. The growing focus on internal issues of PKO host countries has led to a

rising deployment of UN police forces. Since the end of the Cold War, the deployment of UNPOL

(back then CIVPOL) has risen sharply: in 1988, only 35 police officers were deployed in PKO; this

number rose to 7,300 in August 2006 (Greener, 2011, p. 184) and stood at 13,056 in February 2014

(United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations, 2014b). Despite this increase in numbers,

several problems impede successful police work in PKO: most countries do not possess enough

civilian police officers to send a sufficient number of them abroad, UNPOL lacks the logistical

capabilities to organise major expeditionary missions, and its officers are usually not equipped and

trained to do their work in a non-domestic environment. Moreover, as missions have become more

robust, UNPOL forces are required to act more aggressively. Some nations have reacted to this gap

between demand and capability by deploying police units that “specialize in the harder edge of

policing” (Greener, 2011, p. 188). The increasing use of such gendarmerie-style police forces, that

often display military characteristics in terms of “organizational structure, institutional affiliation,

doctrine or weaponry” (Lutterbeck, 2013, p. 7), clearly underlines the trend of militarising police

tasks in PKO. Moreover, UNPOL are more and more unable to overcome the high levels of crime they

are confronted with and military forces are frequently supporting or even replacing them (Greener &

Fish, 2013, p. 3).

MINUSTAH shows similar problems. With almost 2,500 officers, the mission in Haiti has the second-

largest police contingent of current PKO (United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations,

2014c), but its operations suffer from a plethora of problems. First of all, the bulk of police officers

comes from countries where security forces have problematic human rights records, which provokes

concerns by the Haitian population over their appropriate behaviour. Given the ‘liberal’ agenda of

PKO with values such as democratic institution-building and the respect for human rights, there is

reason to doubt that a considerable share of UNPOL personnel may be apt for these missions

(Greener, 2011, p. 190). Furthermore, there is a huge language barrier between UNPOL and the local

population (Gauthier & Bonin, 2008, p. 9), as most countries seem to fail in preparing their police

contingents adequately in this respect. At times, police forces did not dare to enter the most

contested areas of Port-au-Prince and the military consequently had to act alone (Bolfoni da Cunha,

2008, p. 86).


In sum, shortcomings of police forces and the seriousness of crime lead to an increasing militarisation

of law enforcement in PKO, not only by heavily armed police officers but also by using the military

instead of police (Guttieri, 2004, p. 84). This mirrors the global trend of blending together police and

military tasks, in which “the traditional distinctions between military/police, war/law enforcement,

and internal/external security are rapidly blurring” (Kraska, 2007, p. 501).

Brazil´s problem with its militarised police

The growing importance of police tasks for Armed Forces, aptly called the “police-ization of the

military” (Dunlap, 1999), is putting countries that democratised from military rule in a particularly

delicate situation. While often still trying to cut back political military prerogatives, letting the Armed

Forces carry out police tasks in PKO could eventually trigger the re-discovery of their role as internal

security provider. Having had banned internal security roles, Uruguayan politicians, for example,

allowed their contributions after rediscovering troops´ effectiveness in carrying out such tasks in PKO

(Sotomayor Velázquez, 2014, p. 154). Neither being able to root out sources of criminality nor having

police forces that could effectively counter this problem, policy-makers are often stuck between a

rock and a hard place: even if they may feel attached to the long-term goal of demilitarising the

public security sector, they frequently rely on Armed Forces when trying to produce fast and visible

results in the fight against crime. While police forces are often being distrusted by citizens, the

military is usually pretty effective and furthermore possesses high levels of public approval. Hence,

“all the elements are in place to call the military as the main force to tackle criminal activity,

especially crime related to drug trafficking” (Dammert, 2013, p. 116). Undoubtedly, Brazil is facing a

serious crime problem, especially since the return to democracy. Homicide rates have increased by

259 percent from 1980 to 2010 (Moulin Aguiar & Lopes Ribeiro, 2013, p. 4). For 2012, figures indicate

29 intentional homicides per 100,000 Brazilian inhabitants (Waiselfisz, 2014). As a comparison: the

figures for Haiti usually oscillate between 5.1 and 6.9 (United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime,

2012). Poor metropolitan areas – favelas – are commonly associated with high levels of crime and a

low presence of state authorities, most (in)famously in Rio de Janeiro.

José Mariano Beltrame, Rio´s security secretary, once described the state´s absence as main reason

for high levels of crime (Mirkin, 2008). Similar to the logic of failed states threatening the security of

surrounding states, favelas are thus perceived as dangerous for the rest of the city. Considerable

parts of the Brazilian population are supporting hard-line public policies (Gay, 2009, p. 37) and often

consent to violent means of repression (Spanakos, 2006, p. 55f.) in the fight against crime. It may be

right that overcoming the lack of public services is a key factor to integrate the favela population, but

it is mistaken to confuse absent state services with absence of the state. Numerous state

representatives are actually present: politicians were using favela-based drug gangs as a pretext for


interventions and at the same time relied on them in order to gain electoral support in the areas they

controlled (Leeds, 1996, p. 74); corrupt police officers are involved in drug-trafficking (Reames, 2007,

p. 81); another negative example are vigilante groups. In recent years, a growing number of milícias –

composed of former or active police officers, prison guards or fire-fighters – have taken over a large

number of favelas in Rio (Pearce, 2010, p. 296), arguably at least implicitly backed by public

authorities (Gay, 2010, p. 217). Milícia members are now increasingly seeking political offices for

themselves (Ribeiro & Oliveira, 2010, p. 19). Hence, the state indeed is present in favelas, even

though mostly in an inappropriate manner.

The police are sadly no exception to this. Due to Brazil´s federal system, state governments are

mainly responsible for policing. Following a division of labour that was established during the last

military regime, the Polícia Civil is responsible for investigating crimes, while the Polícia Militar has to

perform the visible parts of policing like patrols, arrests and the control of public order (Pereira &

Ungar, 2004, p. 271). Operational and organisational characteristics may differ between states

(Husain, 2009, p. 49), but what they do have in common across the country are extremely low levels

of public confidence (Pereira da Rocha, 2013, p. 85). Police forces are mostly perceived as being

violent, corrupt, ineffective, and behaving badly.

The Armed Forces wield considerable influence over the Polícia Militar in issues such as budget or

training (Pereira & Ungar, 2004, p. 271) and the military police officially counts as reserve and

auxiliary troop of the Army (Centro de Estudos Estratégicos do Exército, 2007, p. 16). The Armed

Forces´ influence on police codes of conduct arguably have a negative impact (Paes-Machado & De

Albuquerque, 2002, p. 63). For instance, police officers may commit human rights violations while,

according to their guidelines, they still have to be regarded as a “good cop” (Costa, 2011, p. 25)

because of not breaching the principle of hierarchy. Some members of the Armed Forces believe that

the popular demand for their internal deployments is rooted in the military police´s bad behaviour,

ineffectiveness, and corruption (Centro de Estudos Estratégicos do Exército, 2007, p. 3). Police strikes

burden this close but tense relationship. Even though constitutionally prohibited, more than 60

strikes have occurred between 1990 and 2007 (Reames, 2007, p. 64), often caused by low-ranking

personnel (Zaverucha & Rezende, 2009, p. 17) that understandably pushed for improvements in their

poor salaries. It is usually the Army that is sent in to end these strikes, eventually by violent means

(Gosman, 2012).

Rio´s police, and especially the military sector, embodies the negative public image by being a major

perpetrator, instead of a preventer of violence and crime. A non-exhaustive list of detected

infractions includes cases of robbery, extortion, drug dealing, kidnapping (Gay, 2009, p. 41) and


killing innocent favela residents in downright massacres (Leeds, 1996, p. 65). Holding the police

accountable for such misbehaviour is hampered by several impediments. In the case of the Polícia

Civil, the process of inquiry is generally debarred from external control mechanisms (Costa, 2011, p.

24). Prosecutions of human rights violations and other offences by the Polícia Militar almost entirely

fall under military jurisdiction. In fact, the 1988 Constitution even deepened this legacy of

authoritarian rule by allowing for the creation of military courts at state level (Costa, 2011, p. 29).

Trials in these courts are heavily biased and result in high levels of impunity (Pereira & Ungar, 2004,

p. 272f.). For intentional homicides are being treated under civilian jurisdiction, it is remarkable that

a large number of deaths involving the police are labelled as having occurred while “resisting arrest”

(Zdun, 2011, p. 192). Military police officers can use this term in order to avoid being tried by civilian

courts, where they probably would face more serious punishments. Occasional reform efforts to

improve accountability mechanisms have failed against strong opposition from conservative

politicians and the police lobby (Reames, 2007, p. 64).

The Brazilian Armed Forces in public security

With Brazilian police forces being arguably much more violent than UNPOL and crime levels in Brazil

apparently being much higher in Brazil than in Haiti, internal deployments of Armed Forces

nevertheless follow similar patterns as in PKO: highly militarised police forces apparently cannot

solve the problem, so the military is used instead. On numerous instances, Brazil used Armed Forces

in the aftermath of spectacular actions by gangs or organised crime (Macaulay, 2012, p. 830).

Furthermore, Brazil frequently resorts to the Armed Forces in the run-up and during large events.

Hence, there is a recurring way of reasoning behind military deployments after re-democratisation:

Brazil is facing increased international interest due to particular events and simultaneously violence

and crime originating in favelas are posing both a domestic security risk and a threat to its image

abroad.

Since the end of the military regime in 1985, the country has witnessed a growing trivialisation of

military engagements in public security: troops have not only protected elections, the Carnival in Rio

de Janeiro and the visits of different popes but also repressed workers´ and police strikes as well as

manifestations and eventually kept the landless movement from invading the farm of President

Cardoso´s sons (Mathias & Guzzi, 2010; Zaverucha, 2008a). Initially, military actions in domains

originally reserved for state police forces were not based on adequate legal footing. Yet, the “trends

indicate an interest in and willingness to blend police and military functions, which if it continues

should require legislation and demand careful planning and strict civilian supervision” (Reames,

2007, p. 73). As will be shown subsequently, Reames´ call for planning and legislation has been


heard. Against the background of Brazilian CMR, it is however not surprising that civilian supervision

has only been subordinate in this process.

Most importantly, the 1988 Brazilian Constitution allows for the internal use of Armed Forces.

According to Article 142, their role – apart from the obvious primary task to defend the country – is

to be guaranteeing law and order (GLO) upon the initiative of any of the constitutional powers.

Article 142 further states that complementary laws shall establish norms for the deployment of the

military. Albeit public security being the domain of state police forces according to Article 144, the

Armed Forces meanwhile have police powers at their disposal during engagements in GLO

operations (Daladier Barros, 2011, p. 102). This situation resulted from a long process of formalising

internal military engagements.

The Lei Complementar (LC) 69 of 1991 states that Armed Forces may only act internally if the

ordinary police forces prove to be incapable of securing order (for the text of LC 69 and its

subsequent amendments, see Brasil. Presidência da República, 1999). Furthermore, LC 69

substantiated the authority of the executive branch in ordering such deployments. Particularly

President Cardoso (1995-2002) has been accused of abusing this prerogative by deploying the

military without making full use of the police first (Zaverucha, 1997, p. 15). However, not only

Cardoso “overstretched” (Flemes, 2008, p. 4) the legal framework in the following years. This is

remarkable, as the conditions as well as the room for manoeuvre for internal military deployments

have constantly been extended and already allow a frequent use. Some documents that officially

guide Brazilian defence policy hint at the process that led to this situation.

The Estratégia Nacional da Defesa (END), approved in 2008, explicitly refers to GLO operations.

Hailed by military circles as “watershed” (Maia Neto, 2011, p. 2) and “milestone” (Estado Maior do

Exército Brasileiro, 2010, p. 21) in terms of civil-military interaction for developing a defence agenda,

it was in fact almost exclusively drafted by members of the Armed Forces (Gomes de Mello, 2012, p.

55f.). In this vein, the END specifically addresses the need for a legal framework that not only

outlines the conditions and proceedings of GLO operations but also serves as protection for involved

troops. To this end, the Ministry of Defence proposed further alterations to the LCs that so far

regulated the use of troops in GLO (Brasil. Presidência da República, 2008).

In August 2001, a decree by President Cardoso gave the military command the right to take over the

partial or entire operational control of state police forces involved in GLO operations, subject to

consent of the respective governor (Centro de Estudos Estratégicos do Exército, 2007, p. 33). The

decree also granted the Army the same powers as the Military Police during GLO operations

(Zaverucha, 2005, p. 150). The Army attained the formal right to arrest suspects in 2004, and


President Lula extended these rights to Navy and Air Force shortly before leaving office (Bertazzo,

2012, p. 814).

Passed in 2010, Article 15, §7 of LC 136 established that GLO operations definitely fall under military

jurisdiction (Brasil. Presidência da República, 2010). According to Article 9 of the Código Penal

Militar, to which LC 136 refers, all crimes committed by troops during GLO operations – except for

crimes dolosos contra a vida, literally “malicious crime against human life” – shall therefore be

judged by federal military courts. Legal experts within the Armed Forces lament this small exception

in the military penal code and suggest that military jurisdiction should be valid in any case. They

argue that only military courts possessed the necessary knowledge for adequately judging crimes

committed by soldiers (Ferreira de Melo, 2010, p. 9f.). The Garantia da Lei e da Ordem-manuals of

2013/2014 (Brasil. Ministério da Defesa, 2013, 2014) uphold the validity of military justice and

further formalise GLO operations with a more precise doctrine. The draft once more did not follow

civilian initiatives but the military´s demand for a framework that regulates their actions during large

events, pacification efforts or police strikes (Lima & de Souza, 2014). Even though the Ministry of

Defence denied any relationship between the document and the wave of protests in 2013 (Tosta,

2014), it is undeniable that the doctrine was going to frame military actions during demonstrations.

To some critics, the first version denominating “movements” and “organisations” as possible

“opposing forces” reminds of the National Security-Doctrine used by the military regime and reflects

how poor the Ministry of Defence is exercising civilian supremacy (Fuccille, 2014). The Ministry of

Defence withdrew some polemical formulations in the second draft but made clear that nothing

essential would be changed (Cantanhêde, 2014). Comparing second and first draft of the GLO-

manual, the new version arguably allows for an even wider scope of military action. In sum, it meets

the Armed Forces´ longstanding demands for a better regulation of their internal deployments and

thus, provides legal ‘protection’ for its members through the validity of military justice.

GLO operations, in contrast to the regular public security provision by the police, are only allowed

episodically and have to be carried out in a determined frame of time and space. However, the

recent Football World, for whose duration the government issued a “preventive” GLO measure

(Werneck, 2014), is certainly a good example for the frequent overstretching of the legal framework:

troops were then protecting airports, hotels and streets used by football teams, foreign government

officials as well as the heads of FIFA. Doubts remain whether the police wouldn´t have been able to

perform the majority of these tasks.


MINUSTAH and domestic pacification

As I have shown, the Brazilian Armed Forces have gained considerable experience and legal backing

for carrying out tasks in internal security. This coincides with the recent pacification strategy in Rio de

Janeiro, where Armed Forces play a significant role in taking over favelas. But how does the

historically developed role as an internal security provider affect the military in PKO? And does PKO

in return affect pacification? According to Dandeker and Gow (1999, p. 64), the extent to which

Armed Forces are able to adapt to the demands of peacekeeping depends on their respective

military ethos. They argue that some countries´ Armed Forces, such as the USA, may feel historically

inclined to combat, while others, for instance Sweden, developed an ethos that fits well with

peacekeeping. Other authors suggest that such differences gradually lost their significance by

common experiences of participating in PKO (Kurashina Whitestone & Segal, 2007, p. 11). This line of

argument is appealing at first sight but has been developed with case studies of established

democracies. Hence, it is not covering democratising countries from the ‘Global South’ and therefore

misses out on the most significant share of troop contributors in PKO.

Internal tasks have always been central for South American militaries´ roles and self-perceptions, and

external warfare has long ceased to be important. Since the Chaco War between Bolivia and

Paraguay in the 1930s, the region has not experienced major inter-state armed conflicts. Throughout

the Cold War, South American militaries perceived Communism as the most dangerous external

threat. This did not lead to external warfare but resulted in the heavy internal involvement of Armed

Forces that ended up in military regimes dominating the political scene in the 1970s. As a result,

there still exists

“a fundamental contradiction between the philosophy and practice of the military institution in South America. As the armed forces emphasize the defense of the nation-state against external threats as their primary existential and nationally legitimizing purpose, their actual institutional interests and internal political role in their respective societies appear to take center stage in their functions.” (Martín, 2006, p. 164)

As a result of this contradiction, formal elements of military culture such as doctrine, education and

training have been mostly focused on external warfare. Notwithstanding this paradoxical situation,

the broad operational experience of these troops in providing domestic services has even been seen

as an ideal match for the new realities of PKO.

Strategic approaches in pacification and MINUSTAH

In fact, it is particularly the experience in poor urban environments that enabled the Brazilian Armed

Forces to lead a mission that had to confront armed groups in shantytowns of Port-au-Prince. Some

go so far as to say that Brazil´s know-how gives them a “comparative advantage over Northern


troops” (Kenkel, 2010a, p. 653) in these sorts of missions. As a result, the military component of

MINUSTAH has been dominated by Brazil: until today, it is the largest troop contributor (United

Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations, 2014d) and unlike the usual pattern of rotating

leadership in PKO, Force Commanders have always been Brazilian (Kenkel, 2012, p. 29).

In reverse order, the experience in Haiti gives the Armed Forces a chance to use their peacekeeping-

proven tactics in contributing to domestic public security. In the words of a former assistant to the

Force Commander, ”improving the security situation presents an opportunity to apply lessons

learned in Haiti to other situations” (Chagas Vianna Braga, 2010, p. 717). Government officials

reportedly share this view and the former Minister of Defence José Viegas considered the experience

in Haiti as an exercise for the fight against criminality within Brazil (Zaverucha, 2008b, p. 140). In the

run-up to major sports events such as the Football World Cup 2014 and the Olympic Games 2016,

the Armed Forces were consequently used as ‘Pacification Force’, particularly in the city of Rio de

Janeiro.

Officialised by a decree in 2011 – yet in fact started earlier –, Rio´s strategy of ´pacifying´ favelas

comprises four stages: (i) tactical intervention, (ii) stabilisation, (iii) implantation of pacifying police

forces (Unidades de Polícia Pacificadora – UPPs), and finally (iv) evaluation and monitoring. Stage (i)

and (ii) lie in the responsibility of the Polícia Militar´s special operations battalion (BOPE, 2014),

which has frequently been accused of not intending to arrest but rather to kill suspected criminals

when raiding favelas (Zdun, 2011, p. 192). If a military participation under GLO is requested, troops

usually also take part in stages (i) and (ii). Important to note is that the beginning of the occupation is

usually publicly announced. This gives criminals time to escape the contested area but is mainly

meant to reduce possible confrontations with drug traffickers and thus possible ´collateral damage´

among ordinary citizens (Pachico, 2012). Still, 37 people, mostly bystanders, died when police and

military jointly invaded the Complexo do Alemão in December 2010. Furthermore, over 400 drug

traffickers managed to escape, some of them allegedly being driven away by corrupt police officers

(Interview with Ignacio Cano in Melo, 2012, p. 47; Sotomayor Velázquez, 2014, p. 88).

Despite negative side-effects, the pacification strategy has been widely lauded for its innovativeness

and the apparent success in improving security. Perhaps, large parts of this praise are owed to

successful public relations-efforts by the federal and Rio´s state governments. In fact, pacification

largely just repeats prior – mostly failed, never sustained – approaches of public security in Rio: the

idea of expelling criminals and occupying favelas with force combined with an ensuing intent to

develop stronger ties between communities and the police dates back to the 1980s (Moulin Aguiar &

Lopes Ribeiro, 2013, p. 27); supporting or even replacing the police with Armed Forces started in


1994, when around 1,500 soldiers invaded as well as occupied more than 50 favelas (Bertazzo, 2012,

p. 814; Reames, 2007, p. 73). While the recent pacification approach has initially been claimed to

reduce violence and crime, the overall picture deteriorated in the course of time. UPP units have

been accused of various crimes and killings of innocents. Some argue that gangs were still

dominating pacified favelas but only abstained from openly carrying guns (Interview with Ignacio

Cano in Melo, 2012, p. 46). Recent violent attacks on UPP stations in the Complexo do Alemão (O

Estado de São Paulo, 2014) suggest that traffickers are now openly contesting the authority of police

forces again, which in sum casts doubts on the long-term success of pacification. Notwithstanding

these at best mixed results, Rio´s pacification strategy has been transferred to over twenty federal

states (Sotomayor Velázquez, 2014, p. 88) and even considered to be exported to Argentina (Center

for Legal and Social Studies, 2012, p. 186). The military ´Pacification Force´ that occupied the favela-

complexes Alemão and Penha during Operação Arcanjo between December 2010 and July 2012 – up

to this point of time the largest internal military deployment since the return to democracy with

around 1,800 soldiers (Stochero, 2012) – was explicitly linked to the experience of PKO in Haiti.

In the first half of MINUSTAH, the strategy deployed in the Haitian capital Port-au-Prince was the

“progressive occupation” (Aguilar, 2012, p. 231) of one gang-controlled slum area after another,

followed by establishing pontos fortes – strongholds – in order to maintain a constant presence of

soldiers. The military divided the city into different zones, with green zones being considered secure,

yellow ones as insecure and red zones as ´critical´. When Brazil took over the military command of

MINUSTAH in 2004, four large central areas of the city (Carrefour, Cité Soleil, Bel Air and Cité

Militaire) were marked as red and numerous surrounding areas as yellow. In the beginning, Brazilian

commanders had tried to refrain from robust use of force but gradually applied more aggressive

tactics. Until 2006, MINUSTAH troops had already managed to increase the number of secure areas

significantly and surrounded the core gang areas in parts of Cité Soleil and Cité Militaire. It was the

killing of two Jordanian PKO soldiers in 2006 that finally triggered regular and violent incursions into

Cité Soleil (Sotomayor Velázquez, 2014, p. 139). From then on, it took two more years until

MINUSTAH troops also controlled these areas (Rotatori, 2014). Soldiers adapted their behaviour

accordingly to where they were operating. The robust approach in red zones gave rise to criticism

that claimed it was apparently “legitimate to hunt down and eliminate gang members” (Higate &

Henry, 2010, p. 41) in these areas. Moreover, dozens of innocent civilians were killed during military

raids in Cité Soleil, with the walls of their shacks not being solid enough to protect them from stray

bullets (Zibechi, 2007).

Notwithstanding the loss of civilians´ lives, taking over Cité Soleil has afterwards been acclaimed as

“an important example of UN peacekeeping successes” (Fernández Moreno et al., 2012, p. 385).


Brazil has taken most of the credit, as its battalions were in charge of Port-au-Prince´s most critical

areas (Sotomayor Velázquez, 2014, p. 137). It was particularly under Force Commander General

Antonio Carlos dos Santos Cruz (2007-2009) that the military component of MINUSTAH obtained

control over gang-controlled neighbourhoods in Port-au-Prince. Santos Cruz´ commanding role

during MINUSTAH has been used to justify his nomination as Force Commander of MONUSCO, the

United Nations Organisation Stabilisation Mission in the DR Congo. There, Santos Cruz heads the

deployment of the Intervention Brigade – a unit that for the first time in the history of UN missions is

actively using offensive measures to combat insurgent groups. It is probably too early for remarks

that consider this “a new phase of the (...) general history of UN peacekeeping missions” (Nogueira &

Hussey, 2013, p. 5). However, it shows that the domestically informed PKO strategic approach of

Brazil has raised awareness among the UN peacekeeping establishment.

Differences

Despite all resemblances between pacification and PKO, there also are some important differences. I

do not aim at giving an exhaustive overview here, rather at highlighting two important points. The

first distinction refers to civil-military interactions. After occupying slums in Port-au-Prince, soldiers

provided basic services to the population for which they relied on historical experience in remote

regions of Brazil, where Armed Forces are oftentimes the only representatives of the state. There,

they are frequently carrying out ações cívico-sociais (ACISO) in order to support communities in areas

of health, education or cultural activities (Aguilar, 2012, p. 230). As it is the rule, not the exception in

PKO, Brazilian troops closely interact with NGOs and other civil society organisations. The Brazilian

NGO Viva Rio is among the most prominent examples (Kenkel, 2010a, p. 656). During pacification

however, troops are scarcely contributing to social services. Here, such tasks are reserved for the

pacifying police forces and other state agencies. Moreover, NGOs are usually keen on keeping their

distance from the military. Viva Rio, for instance, does not want to work jointly with the Armed

Forces in favelas (Sotomayor Velázquez, 2010, p. 637). An Army officer deployed in both missions

reasonably declared that NGOs within Brazil probably feared later retaliations by gangs if they would

be seen as closely related to the Armed Forces (Garcia, 2014).

Secondly, the legal framework of UN PKO and GLO is obviously different. During my visit to a military

brigade whose members participated in MINUSTAH and Operação Arcanjo, several soldiers

mentioned that both missions are lacking a clear-cut ´enemy´ and that it was sometimes hard to

strike the right balance between the protection of civil rights and guaranteeing security. However,

they also admitted that the Chapter VII-mandate gave them much more leeway for robust actions

against illegal armed actors in Haiti than in Rio. Such wide room for manoeuvre had its downsides

(particularly in the first half of the mission), as the disproportionate use of force in residential areas


led to a large number of deaths among innocent slum-dwellers and significantly harmed the

acceptance of MINUSTAH among locals (Cockayne, 2014, p. 13).

Similar problems

What both types of missions have in common is the lack of accountability in cases of eventual human

rights violations or other misbehaviour. UN PKO generally do not enable adequate prosecutions of

peacekeepers (Odello, 2010). In the Haitian case, the population voiced numerous accusations of

wrongdoings that were mostly overheard. Moreover, MINUSTAH only hesitantly informed about

eventual prosecutions and often treated suspects far too leniently (Gauthier & Bonin, 2008, p. 18).

Such impunity obviously harms the perception of MINUSTAH´s legitimacy among the population and

consequently endangers the long-term success of the mission. The Brazilian dominance complicates

the issue further: Sotomayor (2014, p. 142) accuses Brazilian Force Commanders of willingly not

reporting misbehaviour of their compatriots in order to protect the Armed Forces´ prestige.

MINUSTAH regulations also impeded civil and criminal actions against PKO soldiers. In sum, Brazilian

troops in Haiti are ‘protected’ by a framework of legal and institutional circumstances that creates

high levels of impunity. If one shares the view of Haiti as a ‘training ground’ for internal missions, this

is certainly a point to worry about.

Rulings on GLO and several Leis Complementares have widened the possibility of using the military as

replacement or supporter of ordinary police forces. Moreover, the legal framework guarantees the

validity of military jurisdiction for troops when exercising such tasks. This may be well received by

military circles but is very likely to have negative consequences for accountability. Military courts

usually tend to acquittals and light sentences when soldiers are facing trials for human rights

violations (Kyle & Reiter, 2012, p. 28) and Brazilian military courts have the particularly bad

reputation of being “used defensively to protect police and military personnel accused of human

rights abuses against civilians” (Pereira, 2001, p. 561). GLO operations are therefore prone to the

same accountability issue that haunts actions of the Polícia Militar. Impunity is already one of the

major problems in the relationship between police and population, and there are no reasons to

believe that possible misbehaviour of soldiers in public security would be treated differently.

Feedback effects and consequences

Feedback effects between pacification and PKO are manifold: a significant component of troops for

Operação Arcanjo was drawn from Haiti-veterans. In reverse order, troops for MINUSTAH have later

also been selected due to their pacification experience. In both kinds of missions, troops are carrying

out police tasks, such as patrols and checkpoints, or establishing pontos fortes within contested

areas. An Army Major who firstly had been deployed during Operação Arcanjo said that he learnt a


lot from exercising such tasks in Rio and that the domestic experience helped immensely for

commanding troops in Haiti. He essentially summarised the pacification deployment as a one year-

long training for PKO (Garcia, 2014).

Some commentators suggest that peacekeeping has triggered pacification: “Armed Forces´ actions in

the hills of Rio cannot be comprehended without the prior experience in Haiti” (Marcos Cintra cited

in Biehler Mateos, 2011). Others contend that PKO has probably fewer consequences for pacification

than the historical internal role has for the Brazilian troops abroad: “Rather than importing new

doctrines from overseas (...) Brazilian troops export their conventional policing roles” (Sotomayor

Velázquez, 2014, p. 89). Probably, the truth lies somewhere in the middle, and trying to detect the

origins of particular tactics would reflect a chicken-egg problem. What is evident is the result of two

types of military deployments being mutually supportive. Moreover, reciprocal effects between PKO

and domestic missions may significantly shape public security in Brazil: in an interview, Army

commander Enzo Martins Peri once admitted that MINUSTAH and pacification are both used to

develop and enhance a public security model that could be employed across the country (Gazeta do

Povo, 2011).

To a certain degree, the development of the pacification strategy is informed by the historical role of

the Armed Forces and their regular usage as replacement and supporters of police forces. Yet, the

increased PKO engagement also coincides with an effort to actually train troops for such operations

they were already carrying out for a long time. Only in 2005, the Army founded its peacekeeping

training centre (CIOpPaz) (Brasil. República Federativa, 2012, p. 67) and the Navy followed suit in

2008 (de Oliveira Junior & Góes, 2010, p. 16). This made Brazil a latecomer in its region: Uruguay

founded its training centre in 1982, Argentina in 1995, and Chile in 2002, respectively (Kenkel, 2010b,

p. 587). According to Kenkel, PKO training centres are crucial for civil-military interactions and the

exchange of norms and experiences between troops and the UN Department of Peacekeeping

Operations, as they are the place “where military peacekeeping culture meets national military

cultures” (2010b, p. 587). From this perspective, training and educating soldiers for PKO could serve

to translate arguably ‘liberal’ norms and values of UN missions to militaries with a dubious past.

However, one can hardly detect a transmitting mechanism. The UN does not issue any compulsory

training standards or guidelines for training centres and countries are therefore free to train their

troops according to their own respective doctrines (Sotomayor Velázquez, 2014, p. 98). Due to the

considerable military autonomy, training curricula and exercises in Brazil are hardly influenced by

civilians. This is problematic in the sense that military education keeps on promoting traditional ideas

of preserving institutional prerogatives and being the saviour of the nation (Estre, 2012, p. 100).


With own training centres for Army and Navy, Brazilian PKO training used to diverge according to the

distinct doctrines of military branches. Instructive to know here is that the Navy had made greater

efforts to get rid of Cold War-inspired doctrines than the Army (Martins Filho, 2007, p. 16) and thus

arguably conducted much more adequate PKO-training than its counterparts. Sotomayor (2014, p.

86) therefore suggests that delegating the command of the joint training centre CCOPAB (founded in

2010) to the Army reinforced their backward looking views. These are now putatively being

transferred to the entirety of Brazilian PKO contributors, as CCOPAB trains members of all three

military branches as well as civilians and police forces prior to their respective deployment (Centro

Conjunto de Operações de Paz do Brasil, 2013, p. 49).

Apart from arguably promoting the Army´s ideological superstructure, considerable parts of training

at CCOPAB reflect the Army´s experience in policing urban environments. From my own visit to this

training centre in February 2014, I can only confirm that the gradual use of force and non-lethal

weapons, patrolling urban areas as well as interactions with civilians and media indeed constitute

central points of Brazilian PKO training. Hence, CCOPAB clearly achieves synergy effects. Certain

training grounds resemble the environment in Haiti as well as domestic settings (e.g. shacks built on

a steep slope) and one can easily perceive how PKO exercises could also prepare soldiers for just

another favela incursion.

The Army has further adjusted itself to frequent internal missions and created a dedicated GLO

training centre (CIOpGLO) in 2005. Here, soldiers are prepared for actions in favelas or during police

strikes and the school is meant to gradually improve the doctrine for internal developments (Gomes

de Mello, 2012, p. 96). Compared to CCOPAB, the GLO training centre is still very small. However, it

was due to be extended in order to satisfy the ever growing demand (Stochero, 2012) and is likely

going to host plenty of soldiers in the years to come. There are reasons to doubt that training soldiers

for police tasks is designed to change the military mindset, though. An Operação Arcanjo-veteran

who became commander of CIOpGLO reiterated that graduates remain to be trained for war. Even

though exceptional policing was one of their constitutional tasks, he insisted that “we cannot lose

our intrinsic character as an Army. We are not the police.” (Coronel Schubert Ferreira, cited in

Stochero 2012).

Conclusion

This paper has shown that the conventional wisdom of linking PKO with an international

harmonisation of values and doctrines as well as an increase of civilian influence on Armed Forces is

in large parts not applicable in the Brazilian case. The country has rather exported traditional


approaches of militarised public security to the international stage and uses PKO participation for the

further refinement of its urban pacification strategy. After all, the trend of blending military and

police tasks in PKO provides an ideal training opportunity for the Brazilian approach. In this regard,

civilian authorities mostly refrain from exercising leadership and grant the Armed Forces autonomy

in training guidelines and doctrine development. International experiences are then in turn

implemented at home. The result is a further militarisation of Brazil´s already highly militarised public

security provision.

The Armed Forces – at least officially – used to see sustained GLO missions as not desirable and

therefore expressed their interest to limit these missions to exceptional circumstances (Coelho

Cortês, 2008). In some statements however, the traditional reference to the ‘exceptional’ character

of these operations has made way for “semi-permanent” deployments (General Alberto Mendes

Cardoso, cited in Klinguelfus Mendes, 2012, p. 19) in public security. Apparently, the military is

accepting a significant internal role and increasingly prepares its soldiers for the performance of

police tasks (Centro de Estudos Estratégicos do Exército, 2007, p. 22). Thus, the background of PKO

and pacification missions significantly contributes to the police-isation of the military.

The de-militarisation of public security has been identified as a major step towards ending or at least

mitigating violence exerted by state security agents in Brazil (Bonis, 2013). However, the parallel

developments of militarising public security and police-ising the military show that Brazil is not going

to achieve this goal in the foreseeable future. Quite the contrary, federal politicians have created a

legal framework that allows for frequent deployments of troops in GLO. Moreover, these internal

deployments take place under the same terms of military jurisdiction which have caused many

problems in terms of accountability and eventually impunity for misbehaving police officers. On an

operational level, critical scholars (e.g. Dammert, 2013, p. 124; Deheza & Ribet, 2012) doubt the

effectiveness and appropriateness of soldiers doing police work due to their lack of proper training. It

remains to be seen if the ever-growing number of Brazilian soldiers trained for and used in police

tasks during PKO and GLO can refute this argument.

Despite widespread and justified normative concerns about using the military as police and

reasonable doubts about their appropriate reactions in critical situations, empirical evaluations of

soldiers exercising police tasks in PKO and domestic missions are equally scarce. In this respect,

further research needs to be done. Surveys on how soldiers have adapted to the different necessities

in PKO could provide useful insights but have so far only focussed on established democracies

(Broesder et al., 2014; Caforio, 2007). Thus, they did not discuss the area of tension between the

problematic past of military regimes, the domestic experience of policing and the possible change of


military ideology by participating in PKO for democratising countries. To my knowledge, no attempts

have ever been made to approach this issue on the individual level of soldiers. Recent studies on the

effect of PKO on militaries also lament that no surveys on the perception of South American

peacekeepers exist (Sotomayor Velázquez, 2014, p. 8). At a later stage of this project, I aim at filling

this gap by conducting surveys with soldiers that participated in MINUSTAH, domestic pacification,

both and none of these missions. This should contribute to emerging research on how soldiers

behave according to their prior experiences (Ruffa, 2013) and shed light on the appropriateness of

using soldiers for police tasks in PKO and public security.

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