NATO Renewed: The Power and Purpose of Transatlantic Cooperation

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NATO Renewed

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NATO Renewed The Power and Purpose of Transatlantic Cooperation Sten Rynning

NATO RENEWED

© Sten Rynning, 2005. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. First published in 2005 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN™ 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 and Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, England RG21 6XS Companies and representatives throughout the world. PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN 1–4039–7065–3 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Rynning, Sten, 1967– NATO renewed : the power and purpose of transatlantic cooperation / Sten Rynning. p. cm. ISBN 1–4039–7065–3 1. North Atlantic Treaty Organization. 2. Security, International. 3. International relations. 4. International cooperation. I. Title. UA646.3.R96 2005 355⬘.031⬘091821—dc22

2005049179

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India. First edition: November 2005 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

For Christilla, Emil, and Axel


Contents

List of Tables

ix

Preface

xi

Chapter 1

Alliances and Change

1

Chapter 2

The Ambiguous Alliance, 1989–1997

21

Chapter 3

The Demise of Collective Security, 1997–2001

69

Chapter 4

Toward a Coalition Framework, 2001–2005

119

Chapter 5

Conclusion

169

Notes

185

Index

221


List of Tables

1.1 1.2 2.1 3.1 3.2 4.1

Alliance motives and dynamics Security Cooperation Defense expenditure, NATO-Europe, 1980–1999 NATO force structure, July 2001 Force planning options, 2000 NATO: dimensions of military change, 2004

12 14 54 101 106 144


Preface

I

n early 2005, when this manuscript was being completed, NATO in many ways appeared to have made a successful transition from the past of the Cold War to a new era of greater complexity. Indeed, NATO was apparently successfully engaged in both territorial defense, the old raison d’être of the Alliance, and asymmetrical security operations, the hallmark of the new era. Territorial defense was visible not only in Afghanistan where NATO’s presence flows directly from the September 2001 attacks on U.S. soil but also in Baltic region where NATO for a transitional period, beginning in March 2004, agreed to deploy aircrafts to help the local governments—and new members of NATO—police their airspace. Asymmetrical security was visible in other respects, notably in relation to terrorism. Within the span of a few months in mid-2004 NATO helped protect the royal wedding in Spain, the European football championship in Portugal, and the Olympic Games in Greece. During the same period of time NATO also practiced disaster response in the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad and the protection of nuclear weapons convoys in the Murmansk region, while expanding its Mediterranean maritime operation against terrorism—operation Active Endeavor—and, shortly thereafter, beginning the training of Iraqi security personnel. One needs to step back just one or two years, however, to detect signs of structural flaws in the Alliance. During 2002–2003, the allies disagreed profoundly on the case of Iraq and NATO was sidelined during the war that began in March 2003. The most testing case for the Alliance came in January–February 2003 when Turkey’s request for security consultations within the Alliance—a so-called Article 4 request—for some time was denied by a small number of allies who perceived not so much a Turkish wish for assistance behind the request but an American attempt to edge the Alliance closer to a military engagement in Iraq. The Iraq debacle followed an embarrassing situation in the fall of 2001 when NATO, for the first in its history, invoked its core commitment to mutual defense—an Article 5

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declaration—but then was bypassed in the war in Afghanistan because the United States preferred to rely on its own forces and diplomacy. NATO did assist in some minor respects but the meager role of NATO’s political center—the North Atlantic Council—and the nonexistent role of NATO’s military authorities—the integrated command—made a mockery of the hitherto potent symbol of Article 5. So which one is it, success or failure? The daily record seemingly supports both—NATO is failing because it comes apart at critical moments; yet it is succeeding in bouncing back—which invites an assessment of the lenses through which we perceive NATO. This book argues that we must understand both patterns of power and purpose: NATO is profoundly affected by the American primacy in military affairs but also Europeans’ growing capacity to handle regional crises, just as it is affected by American pretensions to direct allied affairs and European pretensions to shape a new pluralist NATO. When these patterns are laid out, which this book does, we can provide a short answer to the question of success or failure: NATO was heading for failure in the mid-to-late 1990s but is now on track for renewed success. Put in slightly different terms, NATO’s crisis in the 1990s came about because the Alliance could no longer be an alliance in the proper sense of the word: a group of countries sharing a sense of purpose in the confrontation with a clear threat. The need to reinvent the Alliance was difficult to digest, however, and the risk of fragmentation arose because the allies were drawn to ideas of collective security, a design that did not match the geopolitical reality of NATO. The crisis did pass, spurred by the terrorist attacks of September 2001, and NATO’s current design of flexible coalition-making has the potential to make NATO a successful vehicle for Atlantic security cooperation in the years to come. The book takes issue with scholars and observers who argue that NATO’s continued existence is due to its organizational and/or institutional character, or the democratic identity of its members. Allegedly, NATO exists today because bureaucrats in Brussels, in NATO headquarters, are smart enough to reinvent purposes for NATO governments, and also because NATO governments find the institution useful as it provides information and discourages defection and cheating. Moreover, and according to the democratic identity argument, NATO exists because NATO nations as democracies are genetically propelled toward cooperation. These arguments highlight many important aspects of NATO, it should be noted, but they generally overlook power: they tend to subsume power politics under either institutions or identity and thus end up neglecting it. Power politics is an essential focus if we wish to understand how quests for leadership along with operational challenges have shaped NATO’s trajectory since 1989.

Preface

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This brings us to the Realist school of thought from which this book emerges. Realist theory is known as the power politics theory par excellence, but most realists are in fact NATO pessimists and would thus oppose this book’s conclusions. These realists, most of whom belong to the school of neorealism or structural realism, tie NATO’s raison d’être to the Cold War and fail to see one in the post–Cold War era. However, the problem may not lie with NATO but these realists’ habit of equating NATO with one particular power structure (Cold War bipolarity). Thus, the fact that NATO is still around does not lead the structural realists to concede defeat: if NATO is still with us it must be because the Alliance is receiving life support for reasons of nostalgia, or because the United States single-handedly has turned NATO into an instrument of U.S. foreign policy. These arguments are interesting but they too build on a power gap: their measurement of material power is narrow and overlooks the considerable structural power European allies are able to exert on Europe’s peripheries, and which therefore balances relations within NATO, and the arguments consistently fail to include power’s purpose and thus NATO nations’ motives for investing in NATO. This book elaborates a more dynamic realist view of power politics based on classical realist theory, which was premised on the meeting of objective conditions for state action and subjective conceptions of national interests. Classical realist theory has experienced a revival through the 1990s, to no small extent inspired by structural realism’s neglect of the subjective definitions of national purpose, and some of these modern classical realists have analyzed NATO. In general they find that the objective conditions for NATO exist—that is, it is in the interest of NATO nations to cooperate and maintain the Alliance—but they also worry that subjective conditions are driving NATO into the ground: the critical collective cultural and political glue known as “Atlanticism” or “the West” is coming apart, they fear. This book builds on their understanding of objective and subjective conditions but reaches a less downbeat conclusion. In short, the book argues that realists can be NATO optimists. This book is the product of research conducted over several years and has been made possible by many people and institutions, and I should like to acknowledge their support. The book is the outgrowth of a report I wrote for NATO in 2002 as part of a NATO Research Fellowship I had been awarded two years earlier. From the engine room of force planning, the topic of the report, it was only a small step to a wider assessment of NATO, the object of this book. By granting me the fellowship, NATO gave me notably the financial means to visit NATO headquarters and national capitals and there conduct interviews with people involved in the world of force planning. It is in the nature of things that this world is veiled, and I am therefore grateful to

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the many national and NATO officials who offered me insights into the world of NATO politics and organizational planning. The Danish Ministry of Defense deserves particular mention for going to considerable lengths to advance my understanding of these issues. The framework for understanding NATO that was to become chapter 1 of this book was presented at a number of academic conferences. I would like to thank the panel or working group participants at the 2nd ECPR Conference in Marburg, Germany, September 2003; the annual meeting of the Danish European Studies Society, Aalborg, Denmark, September 2003; and the 45th annual convention of the International Studies Association, Montreal, Canada, March 2004. I am grateful for the written comments John Deni, Karen Peters Van Essen, and Robert Klemmensen provided on these occasions. Two research assistants, Christian Hannibal and Jakob Pall Skött, provided valuable background information notably for chapter 4. I benefited greatly from the written comments provided by two anonymous reviewers of the full book manuscript. I should also like to mention a couple of parallel research projects that have impacted positively on this book. First of all the Nordic Network for Security Studies funded by the Nordic ministries of defense for the period 2000–2005. This project has for several years offered generous assistance for my research on how NATO and the transatlantic partnership have been affected by issues such as the revolution in military affairs, missile defense, and the George W. Bush presidency. Second, a project on NATO’s future funded by the Danish Social Science Research Council for the period 2004–2005. This project allowed me to invite a group of distinguished experts on transatlantic relations to Denmark in August 2004 for the purpose of making a separate edited publication. The support offered for research and the many discussions with people involved in these two projects have inevitably and considerably shaped my thinking for this book, for which I am grateful. Finally, the book is dedicated to my wife Christilla and our two children, Emil and Axel. The writing of the book began at the time of the birth of Emil and finished shortly after the birth of Axel. I am not sure that I was always good at dividing my time evenly, but they should know that they were a magnificent source of inspiration. Sten Rynning Odense, Denmark, March 2005

CHAPTER 1


N

ATO’s ability to outlive the end of the Cold War has sparked a debate on the causes of the Alliance’s apparent good health. All can agree that NATO has changed since 1989: it has enlarged its membership—in 1999 with three countries, in 2004 with seven; it has enlarged, moreover, its missions to go “out of area” and conduct crisis management and more recently to combat global terrorism; it has also enlarged its partnership functions—offering partnerships for peace (PfP) and consultations to all former Warsaw Pact members and also offering a dialogue with Mediterranean and Middle Eastern countries; and finally, and in contrast to these enlargements, it is slimming its command and force structures to remain military capable. The debate is not stirred by change, therefore, but the question of whether change signals vigor, including military vigor, or in contrast whether the many changes merely represent the final steps in the unraveling of the Alliance. NATO’s military engagement in new security operations in the early 1990s illustrate the way in which NATO succeeds in taking on new engagements but in such a way that the specter of failure appears. Consider NATO’s first involvement in post–Cold War missions, which began tentatively in September 1992 when NATO decided to support the United Nations (UN) mission (UNPROFOR) in Bosnia-Herzegovina where Serb, Croat, and Bosnian forces fought a civil war. The North Atlantic Council (NAC) offered forces to protect the delivery of humanitarian aid, to monitor heavy weapons, and to survey the airspace. Missions of surveillance and protection were complemented by peace enforcement just months later, in November, when NATO along with the Western European Union (WEU) agreed to undertake the UN-mandated mission of controlling ship traffic to and from Yugoslavia.

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NATO’s military engagement moved from modest to significant less than two years later. In early 1994, months of tense diplomatic negotiations with warring parties in Bosnia and increasing Western frustrations with Serb war aims and methods resulted in NATO’s firm warning to Serb and Bosnian forces battling for the city of Sarajevo. A momentary respite came to a sudden end on February 28 when four Bosnian Serb warplanes violated a no-fly zone and were shot down by U.S. F-16s patrolling the Bosnian skies as part of a NATO force. The incident represented the first military strike by NATO in its history. About a month later, on April 10, NATO launched its first air-to-ground strike when American F-16s, this time guided by British Special Forces on the ground, attacked a Serb artillery command in the context of a Serb assault on the city of Gorazde, one of the poorly protected UN “safe havens.” On April 11, NATO warplanes, this time U.S. Marine FA-18s, again struck at Serb forces near Gorazde. Douglas Hurd, British secretary of state for foreign affairs, argued the next day, April 12, in the House of Commons that NATO action had been “prompt and necessary” and that “the international community has made it clear that it will not tolerate attacks on [the UN peacekeeping force] UNPROFOR, and attacks on the safe areas must cease.”1 Symptomatically, however, NATO’s intervention was indecisive. In the days following the NATO strikes, Serb forces occupied all strategic points around Gorazde and within days took over the city, thus adding to the stark civilian costs of the war and the humiliation of international society: NATO planes were patrolling the skies when Serb forces took the town but the order for action was never given. The Guardian wrote, “Whatever symbolic role Gorazde had briefly assumed as the scene of the first air strike in Nato history, began to drain tragically away last night.”2 And the troubles continued. In November 1994, Serb forces responded to new NATO air strikes by taking UNPROFOR soldiers hostage, causing a prolonged period of diplomatic anguish in Western capitals. The case of Bosnia-Herzegovina could have been replaced by almost any other NATO operation post-1989 and the conclusion would have been the same: NATO’s new military engagements do not conclusively settle the debate on the Alliance’s purpose and future. NATO, the world’s most powerful alliance, inspires awe when it decides to apply this power; yet timid decisions along with unresolved conflicts in the area of intervention provoke doubt and visions of Atlantic doom. The next section outlines the overall debate on the health of the Alliance before the succeeding sections provide a framework for understanding NATO’s evolution and future. Studying NATO Many observers of NATO affairs provide sophisticated answers balancing continuity and change in their assessment of NATO’s future. Cognizant of


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the danger of painting too crude an image of the debate, I divide the literature into a group arguing that the Alliance continues to be viable and another group espousing the view that NATO is declining. A divide runs through each group, between those who believe that the rock-bottom issue concerns values—do the allies share values strong enough to support NATO?—and those who believe that the issue is really one of calculated interest—do the allies end up with a balance sheet weighing benefits over cost? Unsurprisingly, we find that “viability” is a favored perspective among NATO and member state officials. NATO heads of state and government stated at the Prague summit, November 2002, that they are committed “to transforming NATO” and “to strengthen our ability to meet the challenges to the security of our forces, populations and territory, from wherever they may come.”3 There are several potential reasons why NATO may be succeeding in this transformation. Some argue that NATO is based on shared liberaldemocratic values and that the alliance will persist but also be transformed to respond to international challenges as long as these values persist. NATO’s now former secretary general, Lord Robertson, took issue with the critics who argue that Europe and the United States are drifting apart due to conflicting worldviews. “Look at the facts,” Lord Robertson counseled, “the Alliance is today what is has always been—an enduring community of values.”4 The new secretary general, Jaap de Hoop Scheffer, concurs: “Europe and North America can disagree, sometimes quite strongly, but they remain the world’s closest community—not only in trade or shared security interests, but also in common values.”5 This view of the Alliance is reflected also in NATO’s emphasis through the 1990s on the values originally embedded in the Washington Treaty of 1949 and specifically NATO’s 1995 declaration on enlargement: NATO will safeguard the freedom and security of all members by integrating “more countries into the existing community of values and institutions.”6 Thomas Risse, a scholar, similarly argues that NATO in fact is the institutional expression of a community of norms and values that sustain the democratic identity of its member states, an identity that in turn sustains the choice for alliance continuity.7 The existence of this community also explains why in the wake of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks the United States “immediately entangled itself in a broad coalition of allies against international terrorism.”8 Steve Weber finds that ideas of multilateral cooperation exerted considerable influence in NATO and, writing in 1992, makes the case that “these ideas are now being developed into reformed institutional structures of a new NATO.”9 Mark Webber, Stuart Croft, Jolyon Howorth, Terry Terriff, and Elke Krahmann argue that NATO is but one component in a complex setting of European governance, and also that NATO has become a central component due to its ability to embrace a number of

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“transformational” ideas.10 From a different perspective, Samuel Huntington argues that Western civilization is a basic unit in international politics that sustains NATO: thus, NATO has enlarged within Europe and focuses on “the threat from the south.”11 James Gow sees the West not as a unit but a set of ideas concerning openness and integration that all liberal-minded people must defend, although Gow links NATO to a “Western core” in this ocean of liberal values.12 Henry Kissinger and Lawrence Summers, heading a Task Force reviewing the Atlantic partnership in the wake of the 2003 Iraqi war, make the argument that NATO serves the interests of its members but then add, crucially, that the “first and most important” interest is “to maintain and support our shared traditions and the community that has formed around them.”13 In other words, NATO is a vehicle for protecting and promoting Western values. In contrast, other observers claim that NATO’s good health is not based so much on values as interests. John Duffield finds that NATO survived the end of the Cold War because new threats emerged, because NATO is capable of smoothing relations among its members, and because NATO as an institution was capable of taking on new tasks of stabilizing Eastern Europe.14 All this made NATO indispensable to its members. Robert McCalla agrees that threats are important for alliance cohesion but argues more strongly than Duffield that NATO’s continuity is due to innovation by self-interested bureaucrats in NATO and also investments by states benefiting from NATO rules and procedures.15 Pierre Martin and Mark Brawley argue that allied governments calculate policy based on their security needs in relation to particular threats as well as on domestic opinion: when these pressures converge, NATO is able to embark on a given course of action as in the case of Kosovo.16 Wallace Thies contends that NATO allies want to have their cake and eat it too—they seek “a vigorous collective effort and an asymmetrical sharing of burdens and responsibilities,” a policy of “burden-shifting” that accounts for many intraallied crises. This policy is precisely the reason why the Alliance has a future, Thies believes, because burden-shifting requires a common framework, an alliance. In short, burden-sharing is “profoundly conservative.”17 Other observers prefer to move the focus from internal to external dynamics. Based on a framework of transaction costs, Celeste Wallander finds that NATO’s range of “general assets” such as a tradition for transparency and military infrastructures—as opposed to “specific assets” designed to meet the Soviet threat—make it rational for NATO members to invest in institutional maintenance.18 In fact, Wallander along with Robert Keohane finds that new investments now have been made and that NATO has become a “security management institution.”19 G. John Ikenberry agrees with Wallander and Keohane on the institutional success of NATO but argues that the liberal


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focus on costs, transactions, and assets is too shallow: institutions that emerge “after victory” (as NATO in 1949) create path-dependencies and, over time, an almost constitutional order where cheating, a typical problem in liberal theory, is irrelevant. NATO, Ikenberry continues, is a key provider of “integration and stability” and has therefore experienced “renewal and expansion” rather than “decay.”20 David Calleo does not emphasize institutions as much as geopolitical challenges—the interdependence of Europe and the United States in terms of power and the rise of Asia in a new multipolar world—that the Western (NATO) nations share and which therefore ought to bend American and European visions toward one another. Calleo concedes that Europe and the United States sometimes clash and could end up defeating each other’s vision: still, it is in their geopolitical interest to create a “new and balanced ‘West.’ ”21 Ivo Daalder agrees with Calleo: he believes the era of Atlanticism has come to an end—an era defined by NATO’s status as a foreign policy focal point— but also maintains that determined political leadership can turn things around. Calleo’s “balanced West” becomes “a partnership of relative equals” in Daalder’s account.22 Philip Gordon is more stringently optimistic because in his assessment NATO has already demonstrated its “continued utility” in an era of international terrorism.23 Perhaps, then, “new global threats and opportunities” can make for an “elective partnership” that sustains NATO.24 Among policy-makers and analysts we encounter a range of optimistic views of NATO’s usefulness. U.S. Senator Richard Lugar argues that NATO can be of use in the current strategic context of stabilizing states such as Iraq: “Successful ‘nation-building’ must be an important objective for US policymakers and their Nato partners.”25 This is also the conclusion reached by James Steinberg, a policy analyst and former advisor to President Clinton: the United States and Europe stand to benefit from common action in respect to “new global threats and opportunities.”26 Paula Dobriansky, a former highlevel U.S. civil servant, sums up the essence of the optimistic scenario: “[a]s is the case with most successful institutions, NATO has acquired enough diplomatic, military, and bureaucratic gravity to endure indefinitely.”27 A number of people take issue with this optimistic forecast. John Mearsheimer was quick to foresee the demise of the alliance on the grounds that its external raison d’être, the Soviet threat, had disappeared: “Take away that offensive threat and the United States is likely to abandon the Continent, whereupon the defensive alliance it headed for forty years may disintegrate.”28 Kenneth Waltz reached a similar conclusion: “In an interim period, the continuation of NATO makes sense. In the long run, it does not.”29 Mearsheimer and Waltz have returned to the subject of NATO as the interim period ran out toward the end of the 1990s. Both maintain that NATO has

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ceased to exist in its original form, as an alliance in which allies share goals and are willing to work for the common good. Rather, in Waltz’s prism, NATO is mainly “a means of maintaining and lengthening America’s grip on the foreign and military policies of European states,” an argument echoed by Mearsheimer’s assessment of Europe as a dangerous region in need of a “pacifier”—and through NATO “the United States is determined to keep the forces of trouble at bay.”30 In short, Waltz and Mearsheimer, though representative of distinct schools of thought within the neorealist analytical tradition, find that the “interests” of the largest member of the Alliance explains continuity, adding that significant change has taken place nevertheless within the Alliance. Mearsheimer argues further in his book on great power politics that the United States is likely to pursue a strategy of “off-shore balancing” that would greatly reduce the American engagement in Europe.31 Other critics of NATO agree but add that the United States has overstayed already, to the effect that NATO has no clear strategy and allied relations are increasingly tense. “An obsolete alliance,” in the words of one critic, “searches for relevance,” while another adds that the United States must devolve more responsibility to European allies as part of the disengaging “off-shore” strategy.32 There are limits to the extent to which NATO heads of state and government can ignore underlying “deep structural forces,” contends Stephen Walt, who extends the argument beyond U.S. strategy. Three unifying forces “are now gone or eroding”: the Soviet threat, America’s economic stake in Europe, and shared life experiences among policy-making elites.33 On the fate of the Alliance, therefore, Walt is unambiguous, and it is no coincidence that Walt was the only member of the Kissinger 2004 Task Force who not only endorsed the report but also submitted an “additional view.” “The report does not give sufficient weight to the structural forces that are pulling Europe and the United States apart,” Walt writes, clearly placing shared values lower in the hierarchy of causes than power asymmetry.34 Still, on the question of timing Walt is cautious: “if it is true that ‘NATO’s years are now numbered’ . . . it would still be prudent to keep that number rather large.”35 François Heisbourg argues like Walt and others that NATO allies are losing interest in the Alliance. Heisbourg, who in 1999 warned, “If there isn’t a deliberate trans-Atlantic effort to transform the current sharing of tasks, the basis for the Euro-American compact could erode surprisingly quickly,” reached the somber conclusion in the spring of 2003 that “The Atlantic alliance will remain as a bureaucracy. It will continue to produce a number of public goods standardisation of military equipment, that sort of stuff, which are important, and it will continue of course to serve as a talking shop. But as an alliance, yes, it’s effectively dead.”36


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Pessimists deal with values in various ways. Some argue that diverging values are the primary cause of transatlantic malaise. Peter Van Ham thus argues that domestic organization and governance have moved so far apart on the two sides of the Atlantic that Europe and the United States no longer occupy the “same moral and cultural space”—a situation that obviously impacts negatively on NATO.37 Dominique Moïsi likewise stresses values, and although his point of departure is the observation that the United States and Europe remain “united by democratic values,” he concludes that there is now increasingly “a European way to be Western.” The West, therefore, is dividing.38 Donald Puchala concurs arguing that a “legacy of shared Western values” cannot hide the fact that domestic politics are eroding “sentimental ties” and thus the transatlantic security community.39 Some pessimists emphasize values to an equal extent as these scholars but, it turns out, treat values as the surface of an ocean of politics whose undercurrents concern power. Thus, values, and disputes over values, represent the window through which we observe frayed allied relations but the rock bottom is made up of material might. Robert Kagan figures prominently among these NATO pessimists. Kagan contends that Europe and the United States harbor perspectives on world politics so different that “the West” as a unit in world politics is disappearing: allegedly, the U.S. mission is to project and uphold power, the European mission is to oppose it. These visions diverge not because nations have embraced fundamentally new ideas but because “objective reality”—in the sense of a “power gap”—has emerged to reinforce long-standing ideological differences.40 In light of the postwar situation in Iraq, in 2003–2004, Kagan finds only tragedy: the United States searches for new foundations for international legitimacy but the Europeans are so tied up with the international legal order that transatlantic agreement is impossible.41 Charles Kupchan agrees that the West has come to an end but argues, in contrast to Kagan, that a united Europe in the shape of the European Union (EU) is rising. The future is European, Kupchan predicts, and NATO has only the potential to become a forum for strategic partnerships—across the Atlantic but also extending to Russia and the Balkans.42 NATO could presumably still become a building block in a new Atlantic Union including all states adhering to democratic values, which Kupchan advocated in 1996, but NATO as a military alliance is finished.43 Framing the Analysis: The Power Gap There are thus many insightful approaches to the study of NATO. What is striking about the debate is that arguments over power lead to pessimistic conclusions about NATO’s viability; while NATO’s good health is heralded

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by people arguing over identity and institutions. If one proceeds from the assumption that the final arbiter of politics is power then one is led to the conclusion, at least with the current shape of the debate, that NATO is in serious trouble. One can sympathize with the distinct approaches of Mearsheimer, Waltz, Walt, Kagan, or Kupchan, the conclusion is the same. Even classical realists like Henry Kissinger and David Calleo, who believe the West and thus NATO have a raison d’être, begin to harbor doubts once they couple values to power. Keeping in mind the way in which the Atlantic Alliance has survived the end of the Cold War and adapted to meet a range of new challenges, one cannot help but question this undercurrent of pessimism, even if one shares the basic assumption concerning power and politics. Could it not be that NATO is not so much disappearing as being transformed? Could it be that underlying state interests are developing in such a way that NATO will be succeeded by another type of security organization rather than simply withering? Moreover, could it be that new changes in the security environment, powerfully illustrated by the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, will spur renewed interest in NATO, perhaps reinvigorating it for another 50 years? It is important to note that most realist theory is indeterminate when it comes to the survival of particular alliances such as NATO. The structural realism, or neorealism, of Kenneth Waltz is the exception. Waltz is well known for his prediction: “Balance-of-power politics prevail wherever two, and only two, requirements are met: that the order be anarchic and that it be populated by units wishing to survive.”44 In Waltz’s lens, NATO is a creature of the Cold War balance of power and NATO will disappear with the end of this Cold War, irrespective of the fact that new alliances will appear as a function of new balancing behavior. A lot of realists would agree with Paul Cornish, however, when he argues that, in a realist framework, an alliance robbed of its external threat “could be sustained if the parties decided that it remained somehow in their interest to do so.”45 Thus, in addition to Waltz’s focus on power (balances of it) we must focus on purpose. The wedding of power and purpose enriches the analytical framework but also creates the type of ambiguity that prevailed in the classical realism of the 1940s and 1950s. Hans Morgenthau, for instance, argued on the basis of a distinction between states’ purposes that there are two types of balance of power in international politics: one of direct opposition between two imperialist nations seeking to prevail over one another, drawing other nations into their balancing game; and the other of competition in which the mechanics of balancing remain the same but in which nations align with a particular alliance depending on the goals of their foreign policy: if they seek


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to revise the existing order they will join an imperialist alliance; if not, they will join a status quo alliance.46 This reference to a fluid balance of power process based not merely on power but also national motivation made realism able to grasp the diverse nature of world politics but also made firm theoretical predictions impossible, as Arnold Wolfers noted: the wedding robs “theory of the determinate and predictive character that seemed to give the pure power hypothesis its peculiar value.”47 Today we still do not have a theory about the origins of revisionism, and it is reasonable to ask whether we should use the concept at all.48 The short answer is that we should because the concept helps us grasp important events. Consider Randall Schweller’s “balance-of-interests” theory of alliances. The theory does not theorize the emergence of revisionism but conceptualizes the phenomenon: the theory proceeds from the assumption that states do not balance against power or threats but seek to increase or maintain relative gains: in other words, states seek positional advantage.49 The argument is then that states will become revisionists if they are willing to pay more to increase their values than they are to defend the values they already have.50 The research strategy behind “balance-of-interest” theory, and the one applied here, is to use the concepts that help us understand the world—power (material power) and purpose (patterns of revisionism and status quo)—and discard a theory of revisionism in favor of an interpretation of national motivations building on an understanding of what happens when particular constellations— groups of states motivated in different ways—come about.51 Below I pursue this approach and define two analytical dimensions that give birth to four scenarios of security cooperation. Each of these types of security cooperation should be seen as an ideal-type, an image of what typically happens under certain circumstances. The point is not that an ideal-type is a standard of perfection for NATO: rather, it is a tool for grasping what is happening to the Alliance. Robert Osgood’s observation from 1962 is illustrative: “The history of NATO’s strategy . . . demonstrates that perfect strategic logic is precluded by the process of consensus-building among the allies, a process which, quite properly, makes strategy responsive to the non-strategic demands of domestic and foreign pressures.”52 Pressures—generically labeled domestic and foreign by Osgood—can turn NATO into different types of security cooperation. The foreign and domestic thus make up the two critical dimensions here: the “foreign” dimension concerns the strategic environment and the nature of threats; the “domestic” dimension deals with the motives states have for assembling large or small alliances. The first dimension draws on strategic studies, the second on realist alliance theory—two closely related schools of thought.

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The Strategic Environment. In a modern classical realist definition, strategy concerns “the use of tacit and explicit threats, as well as actual battles and campaigns, to advance political purposes.”53 Strategy thus concerns a very simple question—prevailing in an armed conflict—with endless variation: purposes change, as do the nature of threats, campaigns, and so on.54 It is appropriate to begin with a classical conception of strategy and the strategic environment, and then assess the way in which this has changed. The result will be two conceptions of strategy, the dynamic interaction of which will make up the first analytical dimension. André Beaufre sought in the nuclear age, in 1963, to rescue the emphasis on politics in strategy.55 He did so by replacing “military” by “force” in the strategic equation and defining strategy above all as an interaction in which two opposing wills seek victory. By extension, victory does not merely refer to superior maneuver and firepower on the battlefield but to the psychology of strategic decisions. A strategic decision—to prepare forces for certain engagements—is a “psychological event” intended to convince the adversary of the futility of resistance. This then opens the door to a number of strategies— direct and indirect threats, successive engagements, low or high intensity engagements—that statesmen can choose among depending on their assessment of the adversary’s psychology and the distribution of power. The point we must make here is that traditional strategy is characterized by a conflict between two (or several) actors; and they employ force to prevail in a direct contest. The inverse situation is by many observers said to be a characteristics of the post–Cold War environment. Seen from the perspective of Western states and the members of NATO, the identity of the adversary is unclear and sometimes unknown; the type of force that will be employed is unpredictable; and when employed it will happen indirectly or asymmetrically. Scholars employ concepts such as postmodern threats and risk society to account for the condition. Christopher Coker argues that globalization “has drawn us out of our self-contained national or local communities into a larger world which offers none of the old protections” and into a world where undesired events “have become endless, too large and too global and too apocalyptic” to be fought with traditional means and methods.56 On the agenda is no longer the psychology of strategic decisions but global surveillance, driven by burst of public panic related to multiple dangers. The strategic environment can thus be divided into two generic categories, one defined by Beaufre: “strategic challenge,” the other by Coker: “security management.” It should be noted that Wallander and Keohane similarly have distinguished between “threats” and “risks” to develop a typology of security cooperation.57 However, their use of the concepts is different.


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They use “threat” to denote a situation in which an actor has the capabilities to harm and is perceived to have the intention of harming other actors. This is similar to “strategic challenge” although the emphasis here, qua Beaufre’s analysis, was placed on the interaction between the two hostile camps. They use “risks” differently from Coker, however. Wallander and Keohane essentially refer to the risk that states might misunderstand one another, setting off a conflict where none was necessary; Coker refers to a great number of ways in which an equally great number of actors might harm you. Wallander and Keohane’s definition prepares the ground for their subsequent liberal argument that institutions help states overcome problems of cooperation; Coker’s definition, like Beaufre’s, refers to dangers made up by motivated actors and therefore reinforces the emphasis here on modern strategic studies. With this note in mind, the distinct logics of “strategic challenge” and “security management” can be outlined: ●

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Strategic Challenge implies that states must inform themselves about the intentions and capabilities of their adversaries; Security Management that they must plan in the abstract for a full spectrum of threats. Strategic Challenge implies, moreover, that states must connect military force to political goals in a strategy to win; Security Management that strategic thinking is vastly broadened and that victory as a goal disappears in favor of the ability to react to unforeseen events. Strategic Challenge implies, finally, that military force planning can be tailored, also within alliances; Security Management that force planning becomes inherently difficult to guide because disagreements emerge in relation to likely threats and appropriate military responses.

States and Alliance Motives. The extent to which NATO builds on compatible motives is of critical importance to NATO’s chance of survival and more specifically its ability to identify possible military threats to its vital political interests. Past classical realists generally used the idea of a clash between the status quo and revisionism to identify three types of motives, which in contemporary classical realism have become four.58 Still, the basic point is that “The most important determinant of alignment decisions is the compatibility of political goals, not power or threats,” leading Randall Schweller to articulate a balance-of-interest approach to the study of alliances (table 1.1).59 The contention of neorealism, that states balance, is in fact based on a single motive—a status quo motive: if to balance is to preserve, and if states always balance, then states always want to preserve. Realist critics of neorealism argue that some states promote change because they seek profit and, in consequence,

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Table 1.1

NATO Renewed Alliance motives and dynamics

Alliance behavior

Motivation

Balancing

Balance power to gain security Balance threats to gain security

Bandwagoning

“Appeasement” of revisionist by weak status quo power to gain security (akin to strategic surrender) “Jakal bandwagoning” by minor revisionist to profit from campaigns led by big revisionist “Piling-on” by various states seeking profit from and/or to avoid punishment (“predatory buckpassing”) by victorious power at the closing of a war “Wave of the future” bandwagoning by states seduced by profits held out by charismatic leader or dynamic ideology

Source: Schweller, “Bandwagoning for Profit”

that “revisionist powers are the prime movers of alliance behavior.”60 This does not mean that the balancing thesis by definition is wrong because status quo powers may indeed balance and prevail: it does mean, however, that we should examine a greater range of alliance behavior (table 1.1).61 We can use this overview of motives to outline two generic scenarios for an alliance such as NATO, and it should be noted that we in both instances refer to collective dynamics within the Alliance—it is the sum of motives that count. The first of the two scenarios concern the possibility that the allies seek to act in unison—a phenomenon we will label “inclusion.” This would be the case if they were all security seekers faced with an external threat, or if they were all profit seekers hoping to gain from a revision of global order. Bandwagoning may be one way of reinforcing inclusion, for instance if some states believe a particular alliance such as NATO represents the “wave of the future” and therefore seek to join it. The use of “inclusion” in this text, it should be noted, differs from that of Wallander and Keohane’s concept of “inclusive participation”: this book, inspired by the realist debate on status quo and revisionism, ties inclusion to state motivation (i.e., it involves likeminded nations); Wallander and Keohane, inspired by rational choice and game theory, tie inclusion to numbers (i.e., it involves “all states that could pose threats or risks”).62 In contrast to inclusion, and according to the second scenario of “flexibility,” the allies may experience a split between motives of security and profit. If the split is deep, the alliance will fracture and be replaced by two new alliances,


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one supporting the status quo, the other seeking revision. If the split is modest, however, the alliance will be loosened to accommodate greater divergence and enable other forms of cooperation.63 The essential point about flexibility is that states on the one hand agree to belong to the same camp (the status quo or the revisionist) but on the other disagree on some issues of focus and leadership within it. The concept of flexibility reflects two on-going debates within realist theory: one the classical realist concern with “the West” and ways of rendering distinct national or regional visions compatible within this unit;64 the other the concerns of power transition theorists that a type of friendly competition can emerge among status quo states if the hierarchy of power is ill-defined.65 Flexible security cooperation thus refers to intra-alliance hierarchy and opportunities to manifest leadership. Two generic categories emerge, “inclusion” and “flexibility,” that, like in the case of the strategic environment, entail distinct logics of action for states: ●

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Inclusion entails shared perceptions of risks and threats and leads to a search for a large alliance based on consensus decision-making; Flexibility builds on diverging perceptions and calls for change to the existing alliance rather than its expansion. Inclusion builds on shared interests and thus enables policy priorities and coherently focused strategic documents; Flexibility builds on fleeting shared interests and therefore results in framework documents in which several priorities coexist. Inclusion leads to an interdependent military organization where more or less elaborate common infrastructures enable combined and joint action; Flexibility demands a slim common organization designed to enable national and multinational action. Options for Security Cooperation

By now it is clear that NATO’s future is not aptly described by terms such as rise or decline. NATO can on the one hand run into different strategic environments placing distinct demands on its political cohesion and military organization, where vigor will be determined by the Alliance’s ability to adapt to these environments. NATO may also run into the challenge of having to adapt to changes in the underlying pattern of alliance motivations, where vigor again will be determined by the collective Alliance’s ability to serve the interests of all members. The two analytical dimensions, each with two generic options give birth to four scenarios (table 1.2). Since “alliance” is one of the four scenarios, the collective image comes under the heading of “security cooperation.”

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Table 1.2

Security Cooperation

Strategic Environment Motivation Inclusion Flexibility

Strategic engagement

Security management

Alliance Concert

Collective security Coalitions

A few comments will be attached to each of the types of security cooperation but first this table should be distinguished from the one developed by Wallander and Keohane.66 The discussion so far has made reference to their analytical distinctions, which resemble those in table 1.2. They define inclusion and flexibility in terms of numbers, however, where this text defines them in terms of state motivations; and they define risk as the absence of hostile states (i.e., the security dilemma) where this text defines risks as an unpredictable variation of actor-induced harm. The purpose of Wallander and Keohane is clear: they are setting the stage for the argument that institutions matter for the longevity and adaptability of security coalitions. Table 1.2 is in contrast designed to highlight the impact of state interests on security cooperation. The contrast thus follows from theoretical pluralism, which is in the nature of things, but two issues should briefly be noted here. First, Wallander and Keohane open up the possibility that “threat” situations can lead to either alliances or collective security. This does not seem to make sense because collective security by definition depends on a collective commitment to it: how is this possible if states clash over fundamental issues and threaten one another?67 Second, by defining risks essentially as “collaboration problems” or “coordination situations” (well known from the literature on the security dilemma and prisoners’ dilemma) Wallander and Keohane associate with Waltz and the single-motive argument: states are status quo players but they lack the means to coordinate their moves.68 Wallander and Keohane’s framework is thus susceptible to the same criticism that modern classical realists have launched against Waltz: if you do not bring in the revisionist actor, you miss an important part of reality. Wallander and Keohane essentially argue that revisionism is a question of threat (i.e., a large stat bent on revenge): it could also concern a range of other actors using a range of nonmilitary means to harm you. The concept of risk adopted here takes this possibility into account and table 1.2 thus gives birth to the following four types of security cooperation. Alliance. The ideal-type alliance is one that includes all those states interested in countering another actor whose motive and ability to mobilize resources


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are seen as a threat. An alliance thus has unity of purpose generated by a clearly identifiable threatening actor, a common military strategy designed for victory, a system for generating forces, and a public information strategy to intimidate the adversary and engage the domestic public. This image of a perfect alliance is drawn from the conceptual components of strategy, which Robert Osgood69 outlined in 1962 and John Duffield70 revised three decades later.71 According to Duffield, these components of strategy “are always present [. . .] though rarely made explicit in practice.” Here we follow Robert Osgood’s definition of the four strategic components. The first component is military strategy, which consists of estimating “the nature, probability, and seriousness of possible military threats to vital political interests.”72 The second component concerns the “calculation of the best military methods” to deter or resist these threats.73 Such blueprints for likely military responses then give birth to the third component, “the determination of military capabilities—of the weapons and forces—needed to support these responses,” which is to say force planning. Finally, military strategy involves “the formulation of public declarations about responses and other strategic components.” In other words, an alliance must win not only battles but also hearts and minds.74 These, then, are the characteristics of a perfect alliance— characteristics that can be used pragmatically to assess the cohesion of real alliances. Concert. Where an alliance is based on balance of power politics, a concert is based on great power cooperation that partially suspends balance of power politics. A concert depends on the great powers sharing an interest in the status quo; otherwise the system will be divided in hostile alliances sponsored by clashing great powers.75 Widespread support for the status quo implies that the concert’s goal is conservative system-maintenance and that international stability follows from the efforts of the great powers to manage their relations peacefully. These instances of cooperation tend to occur only in the wake of great wars when the victorious great powers are exhausted; when war has proven to be a very costly instrument of statecraft; and when the source of the great war, a revisionist power that reached for empire, remains present, though defeated, as a potential threat to motivate cooperation.76 Thus, concerts are threat-driven, which places them in the left hand of table 1.2.77 Concerts are moreover flexible arrangements compared with alliances. Great powers jealously guard their autonomy and the viability of the concert therefore depends on factors such as the changed estimate of others’ behavior, the value of defecting (i.e., exploiting cooperation) against maintaining cooperation, and the perceived vigor of the defeated threat (i.e., a particular political regime that could rise again or an ideology that could be transplanted to

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another country). Sooner or later, therefore, usual pressures of “friction” and “fear” inexorably come to dominate and undermine the potential for the concert.78 Flexibility may also have a vertical dimension in the sense that smaller powers can be drawn into it: in this case they will be clearly ranked below the great powers and a system of tiered membership is likely to develop. Concerts will not be institutionally elaborate in light of these demands for flexibility—thus, some rules for political consultation may develop but joint military planning will not go much further than the setting of guidelines for military force levels that instill trust and prevent defection from the concert—as opposed to integrated military planning to counter a strategic threat.79 Collective Security. If international agreement runs deeper than that between great powers in the wake of hegemonic wars, and if a strategic threat is absent, then collective security is a possible outcome. Collective security is “inclusive” because it rests on and institutionalizes the principle of all against one. Inclusion means that the involved states—potentially all states on the globe— have many divergent interests but maintain a common interest in stability and agree to act against any and all states threatening peace.80 Thus, the presence of a great power bent on revision would ruin the prospects of collective security because the bedrock common interest is broken.81 Still, collective security is a possible scenario because diverging interests can be held in check as long as all states are vulnerable to collective sanctions.82 Not knowing who may threaten peace, states may see in collective security a mechanism for managing security on an on-going basis. It may involve an elaborate set of institutional constraints, including provisions for military planning, but, given the uncertain environment, these constraints can be expected to concern force levels and general transparency rather than force planning for the purpose of tailoring forces for a specific range of operations. Coalitions. As we move to the lower-right hand corner of table 1.2 we not only encounter states that lack a strategic focus, as was the case under collective security, but also states that fail to reach a common understanding of their interest in the status quo, unlike the case of collective security, and they thus cannot generate sufficient agreement to support the principle of all against one. The principle of inclusion does not make sense because the incentive is not there, either in the shape of shared views of the world or an external threat. The principle of management imposes itself because states are unable to focus on a predominant issue and must adapt to changing “risks” that emerge in a variety of contexts. In some ways a “coalition” scenario will resemble that of “concert” because great powers will jockey to gain influence and will be


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able to exploit their size and capabilities to lead groups of smaller states. But coalitions lack the common threat of concerts—typically yesterday’s threat still looming on the horizon. Coalitions operate in uncertainty that incite great powers merely to prepare themselves for leadership—and thus influence— through the maintenance of a broad range of policy instruments, including the active cultivation of partnerships with the states that are perceived likely to support a particular leadership. Naturally, if the competition for influence turns into hostile rivalry the game ceases to be one of “coalitions” and will instead become one of “alliances” between partners-turned-rivals. To prevent the transformation of flexibility into hostility is the primary political challenge of coalitions. Put differently, the political challenge is one of creating a framework for cooperation that builds on pluralism.83 The military challenge for coalitions is one of creating interoperationability in terms of materiel and personnel, because militaries will need to cooperate in tailored multinational coalitions but nations will be unwilling, given the wish for flexibility, to integrate their forces too far and thus tie their hands. Relevance of the Framework The analytical framework commends itself because it is a tool for understanding how alliances are affected by the interaction between states and security environments. The approach is selective, as are all approaches: this one deliberately emphasizes state power and motivation on the one hand and the nature of the security environment in terms of actors and their ability to do harm on the other. The approach does not allow for continued alliance simply on the basis of shared values; nor does it allow for continuity based on organizational design or inertia and bureaucratic politics.84 For instance, liberal-institutionalists emphasize that institutional form is critical to the survival of institutions: general assets are in demand in a risk environment; specific assets in a threat environment. The approach adopted here puts the emphasis on demand rather than form—demand arising from the strategic environment as well as state motivation. Institutional survival is therefore not a question of institutional form but of geopolitics. An environment containing no predictable threat but simply a range of possible dangers lends itself to cooperative security orders, either in the shape of coalitions, if great powers are not revisionist but still feel particularly concerned about their status and role, or collective security, if all states share an interest in the values that stability promotes. Conversely, an environment with a clear and present danger invites opposition, either in the shape of an alliance where all allies are affected by the threat and agree to meet it shoulder-by-shoulder, or in a

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concert where the great powers share an interest in countering the threat and avoiding debilitating costs of war. Other people have studied NATO from a geopolitical perspective and some use analytical categories that differ from the ones presented in table 1.2. This is a priori positive because the frameworks can sharpen their analytical tools in a competitive debate. A note should be made in relation to the argument offered here, however. The four types of security cooperation in table 1.2 are seen as stable situations based on the fit between international and domestic factors. If instances of security cooperation involve a transition from one type to another, a hybrid type of cooperation may emerge but, goes the argument, it will be fleeting. For instance, states may seek to combine a “concert” with “collective security” in the belief that all states will agree to collective leadership by great powers—akin to the original design for the UN. By the standards of this analytical framework, “collective security by concert” is bound to be transitory because it builds on both unity and flexibility and because it combines threat-based policies with general insurance policies. “Collective security by concert” will therefore, within a short span of time, become either collective security or a concert, as underlying trends crystallize. Other people use the concepts differently, as noted. David Yost, for instance, distinguishes between collective defense (i.e., alliance) and collective security, and then he breaks the latter down into three types, one of which is collective security by concert.85 This may be an option for NATO allies who wish to embrace both principles: however, in this framework, the simultaneous embrace of collective security and concert will be transitory and in time the essence of security cooperation will rely on either collective security or concert. The framework commends itself, moreover, because it lends itself to empirical analysis, as the subsequent chapters also demonstrate. Each chapter follows the logic inherent in the framework.86 This means first of all that each chapter is organized around an incipient NATO movement away from the Cold War status as “alliance” to something else—collective security, concert, or coalition framework. The chapters all begin with a brief overview of the type of development we can detect in a certain period (e.g., 1989–1997 in the case of chapter 1). Subsequently, each chapter analyzes the political and military problems associated with this move to a new type of security cooperation. In so doing, the chapters all address the same levels of analysis within the Alliance: a political level consisting of high politics within the NAC, the decision-making body of the Alliance; a military level consisting of NATO’s prime asset, the integrated command structure, and NATO’s derived national assets, the force structure. Combined, high politics, the integrated command structure, and the nationally based force structure provide an overview of


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NATO’s essential strengths and weaknesses, and it could be that the strengths and weaknesses change along with the type of security cooperation. The integrated command structure may be a great asset for an “alliance” but only marginally useful for “coalitions,” for instance. Three questions can be said to guide the analytical assessment of the political and military health of the Alliance: ●

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Do the allies agree on the interpretation of the security environment, and are they in agreement on the status of their shared motives? Do they agree on the implication of high politics for the types of command arrangements and military forces that they wish to develop, and are they capable of organizing it? Finally, are possible disagreements growing or narrowing over time?

Finally, the framework commends itself because it can make a contribution to the debate over NATO’s future, which was presented early in this chapter. Two fault lines were detected in the debate: one running between NATO optimists and pessimists, another running between accounts based on values and interests. The framework builds on classical realist theory according to which power (material interests) and purpose (values and motives) coexist. Many realists focus primarily on the former dimension of power and are pessimistic about NATO’s future. Classical realists tend to believe that the West or the Transatlantic Community still exist but their optimism on NATO’s behalf is prudent at best. This book aligns with the latter school of thought and also demonstrates that NATO’s situation may not be so bleak after all. In other words, the book demonstrates that realists can remain realists and still contend that NATO has a meaningful future.


CHAPTER 2


N

ATO won the Cold War but still the security policies of the allies were challenged. The political vacuum created by a vanishing enemy eroded the security and comfort of the political status quo and also invited national considerations of how to capitalize on the potential for change. What followed for NATO as a whole was a period during which allies searched for a new alliance design to enhance national prestige and influence, with some of these inevitably clashing. Notoriously, the United States and France led the debate on Atlanticism versus Europeanism. But other issues were also prevalent: the regional as opposed to the global scope of the Alliance as well as its military as opposed to political role. The principle question was not so much one of whether NATO had a future as an alliance or was about to unravel but one of transformation. Would NATO remain an alliance or become something else? NATO governments failed to provide a clear answer and may indeed have been unaware of the stakes. I argue in this chapter that a political blend of conservatism and anxiety produced an untenable position for NATO, one in which NATO had the potential to become the ideal type “collective security” organization presented in chapter 1 but in which NATO allies remained wedded to the “alliance” design that previously had been so fitting for NATO. At stake were conflicting views of the security environment. If residual threats were out there, then it made sense, arguably, to continue to stand united as an alliance. If there were no clear threats, and if democracy spread to all of Europe, then it made sense to think of “unity” at a European level and, effectively, begin NATO’s transformation into a collective security organization.

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Fissures between appearance and reality had profound consequences for the operational and organizational performance of NATO in the early to mid-1990s, as this chapter demonstrates, and were the direct cause of the political acrimony that accompanied NATO’s most ambitious collective operation in 1999 in Kosovo—events that are probed in the next chapter. Why did the Alliance get into such trouble? On the one hand, NATO governments had become accustomed to define their security cooperation as a response to threats, which in 1989–1991 could be justified with reference to the stillexisting Soviet Union. Subsequent to 1991, with Russia emerging from the Soviet ashes, the habit of distrusting Moscow’s intentions and certainly of insuring oneself against Moscow’s ability to mobilize military force continued to command allegiance. NATO might also, more generally, be the best instrument of the zone of peace to respond to new threats emerging from the surrounding zones of turbulence. On the other hand, NATO governments could not easily maintain a focus on NATO as an alliance because these new threats became increasingly hard to define, which symptomatically led policy-makers to talk of diffuse challenges to stability. Moreover, policy-makers were challenged to reconcile their preference for a lean and capable institution with the new and omnipresent vision of “unity” in Europe—a vision made possible by the end of the Cold War, the pervasive idea of democratic peace and cooperation, and the ability of former communist countries to join or even “return to” Western European and Atlantic institutions. Thus, NATO governments on the one hand sought to maintain the “alliance” design, justifying it on the grounds of residual threats from Eastern Europe and new, although vague, threats to allies’ democratic values, and on the other were under pressure to “widen” their understanding of security and realize the vision of a new, unified Europe. In terms of table 1.2, NATO governments were pushed to the right, toward security management, but were not quite ready to give up alliance cohesion. Instead of thinking through the choice that lay open, one of making NATO a collective security organization or a coalition framework, a significant number of allies stuck to past comforts. The political focus on collective defense prevented NATO as a whole from performing well once it was pushed by events in Yugoslavia into tasks of security management. The first section outlines the way in which NATO was drawn into this challenging task of security management, in particular into the diplomacy and fighting in the former Yugoslavia, resulting in NATO’s ambitious air campaign in mid-1995 and, once a peace settlement had been reached, in an unprecedented deployment of peacekeeping forces outside NATO territory. The second section examines the ramifications of this situation: that NATO had become the indispensable security actor in Europe’s new small but


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complex wars. NATO, the section argues, became the European security architecture’s core while other nations drifted in orbit and hoped to see NATO realize its promises of greater unity beyond the Alliance’s Cold War geographical limits. These two sections present an overview of NATO as the alliance that had a potential to become a collective security organization but one that was arrested on its way there by members guarding the organization’s distinction between allies and former enemies—between a core and peripheries. The remaining four sections step back and examine the purported causes of the Alliance’s ambiguous stand. That NATO was inexorably pushed by the security environment to become a security manager, as the opportunity to confront specific threats vanished, does not explain why NATO nations failed to clarify their choice. The analysis establishes that much of the confusion arose from allies’ inability to accurately perceive the security environment and their—often mistaken—interpretation of the scope available for pursuing policies of national prestige. Instead of focusing on the real choice—collective security or coalitions—allies became engulfed in a game of influence in which the United States considered its main challengers, in 1989–1991, France and Germany, as anti-NATO. The United States, logically, focused its efforts on prevailing, which it did in late 1991, but then failed to take the lead just months later when NATO had an opportunity to go out-of-area. In parallel, European allies failed to prepare to take the lead by not investing enough in the military infrastructure—command facilities and forces—that can support a leadership role. The combined effect of this unhappy case of transatlantic satisfaction (the United States not crafting an out-of-area role for its winning organization; European allies doing too little to gain the means to do so) was paralysis. The United States sought to resolve the situation in the mid-1990s with its vigorous push to enlarge the Alliance, but the push came at a price: it pulled NATO further toward a collective security-type role without getting the allies who worried about threats and allied military power on board. In consequence, as the conclusion of the chapter argues, the 1997 summit that celebrated NATO’s decision to enlarge did not surprisingly also result in a decision to undertake a much needed revision of NATO’s Strategic Concept, which had been revised as late as in November 1991. Yugoslavia’s Breakdown: NATO’s New Challenges Yugoslavia’s first plunge into civil war in 1991–1992 ended officially on November 21, 1995 when the Dayton Peace Agreement was initialed at the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio where the United States had spearheaded a settlement between the warring parties. Fighting would pick up some years later in the significantly reduced Yugoslavia over the status

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of Kosovo, but the Dayton agreement at least brought a halt to large-scale armed aggression in Bosnia-Herzegovina (BH). Following the formal conclusion of the peace agreement in Paris, December 14, 1995, NATO began the largest movement of military forces within Europe since World War II to deploy 60,000 soldiers as an Implementation Force (IFOR) to keep Bosnia’s new peace. This force, which in December 1996 became the Stabilization Force (SFOR), remained in Bosnia until December 2004. This history of Yugoslav disintegration and NATO involvement contains many lessons. One may be that “Europe” needs to move quicker and more firmly: this was the hope expressed by French President Mitterrand as he made his surprise visit to the beleaguered city of Sarajevo in June 1992. “Europe will not move if Sarajevo falls,” he declared to his co-voyageur, Bernard Kouchner.1 Another may be that Europe cannot make such interventions on its own and that U.S. leadership is a must: this is the position of Richard Holbrooke, who played a decisive role in brokering the Dayton agreement. “Had the US not intervened, the war would have continued for years and ended disastrously.” With the intervention, Holbrooke continues, “Washington was now praised for its firm leadership.”2 These lessons-learned are part of the on-going negotiations among allies to ascribe failures and leadership credentials. Far more important from the perspective of this analysis is the lesson that NATO was pulled into a situation that it did not plan for; that the justification for the engagement was made up gradually and by grand political ideals; but that the real interests of the allies were more modest; and that this clash between an idealized engagement and modest political interests marked NATO for most of the remaining years of the decade. The NATO trajectory begins with U.S. strategic policy and the role for which NATO was reserved as the United States looked beyond Europe. The principal strategic challenges in 1990–1991 were the disintegrating Soviet Union and the Iraqi-Kuwait crisis that ended in the Gulf War of 1991. NATO was not made for such out-of-area war fighting and, moreover, NATO had an important role to play in Central Europe, according to U.S. policy, where German unification needed to take place within a strong framework of transatlantic security cooperation. As a consequence of these conditions, U.S. policy reinforced NATO’s limited regional role. It did so in two ways. First, the United States did not in 1990–1991 seek to question NATO’s selfimposed ban on out-of-area missions, meaning operations outside the treaty area.3 This policy found its roots in the years following the signing of the North Atlantic Treaty in the context of the Korean war and survived later turbulence—European colonial wars and the U.S. Vietnam war—because “the organization was simply viewed as too precious to jeopardize through


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differences in interests, perceptions of threat and the applications of means” in far away areas.4 In 1990–1991, NATO’s ability to anchor a new Germany in a strong Atlantic framework should not be disturbed by far away events, either. Second, the United States sought to obtain a Soviet commitment to the new international order. Among other things, this implied the solicitation of Soviet approval for the Gulf War of January–March 1991 and Soviet participation in the ensuing effort to craft a new architecture for the Middle East. Therefore, the United States did not rely simply on Kuwait’s inherent right to self-defense (according to the United Nations (UN) Charter’s Article 51) when preparing for the Gulf War but sought explicit authorization from the Security Council. James Baker, at the time U.S. secretary of state, recalls that the decision to go multilateral and ignore the option of simply relying on Article 51 was the president’s. President Bush wanted to mobilize a large coalition against Iraq, and in Baker’s view, it “proved that the United States was leading the international community.”5 Bush gained an additional motive for pursuing a modest NATO policy when hard-liners in August 1991 attempted a coup against Gorbachev. This did not mean that NATO was irrelevant but that it was destined to focus on stabilizing Europe and remain as a fundamental guarantee of peace. The United States did not intend for NATO to become the peacemaker of the Balkans but NATO nevertheless became the natural recourse once European Union (EU) and UN efforts were frustrated and failed, from 1992 onward, to halt the fighting in BH. The fighting was inspired by the national and religious strife characterizing the Serbs’ (being Orthodox) relations with Croats and Slovenes (Catholic) and Bosniaks (Muslims). The United States initially sought to delegate this security task to the Europeans, most of whom were happy to demonstrate the new confidence and alleged strength of the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) (the treaty on EU was negotiated in the course of 1991). However, the situation deteriorated in the spring of 1992 when a referendum on BH independence, organized by the EU, mobilized the different national groups, and when militant Serbs felt they had no other option but war once the international community, now prodded by the United States, granted BH the formal recognition of independence (in April 1992). NATO became involved gradually because NATO nations, working principally through the UN, failed to take control of the situation. The UN, which had helped stabilize the situation in Croatia with a peacekeeping force (UNPROFOR), extended its effort to BH where new UNPROFOR observers and a host of special representatives and diplomats sought to negotiate a ceasefire and a political settlement. The efforts did not create peace but rather an untenable policy: frustrated by local intransigence the UN deployed military forces (UNPROFOR) to facilitate the delivery of

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humanitarian aid and also imposed sanctions on the Serb-dominated Yugoslav Republic as well as an arms embargo on the fighting parties, but also, and significantly, declined to take sides in the hope that a wide-ranging settlement was within its reach. UNPROFOR’s situation was untenable, we now know, because its rules of engagement were restrictive and linked to an impossible policy of even-handedness that led to UNPROFOR’s manipulation by local parties. UNPROFOR’s fate concerned NATO because many NATO nations contributed soldiers to UNPROFOR, and they therefore developed a type of vested interest in it, while the United States, standing outside of UNPROFOR, had free hands in criticizing it and calling for tougher action.6 NATO’s gradually growing involvement can be tracked through these phases of “even-handedness.” NATO at first, in 1992, stepped in alongside the minor European defense arm, the Western European Union (WEU) to monitor a UN weapons embargo as well as the Yugoslav sanctions: this NATO operation, Operation Maritime Monitor, became the Alliance’s first out-ofarea operation.7 Toward the end of the year, NATO agreed to conduct more demanding search operations and the name of the operation therefore changed to Operation Maritime Guard. In October 1992, NATO committed its AWACS (Airborne Warning and Control System) to monitor another UN ban, this time on military flights in the Bosnian airspace. A pattern was emerging, Mats Berdal notes: “once the Security Council adopted a resolution, the UN would formally request NATO support for its implementation.”8 During 1993, NATO figured prominently in the ill-fated Vance-Owen peace plan, with NATO planners envisaging the deployment of up to 80,000 troops to secure its implementation, and it became the lead agent in the UN’s effort to introduce an element of coercion into its policy of conflict resolution. In late March 1993 the UN authorized Member States “acting nationally or through regional organizations”—for example, NATO— to shoot down planes violating the no-fly ban, and in early June 1993 to “take the necessary measures, including the use of force” to protect the safe areas.9 NATO responded first in July 1993 by offering “protective airpower in case of attack against UNPROFOR in performance of its overall mandate, if it so requests,”10 and then in August 1993 with the declaration that “The Alliance has now decided to make immediate preparations for undertaking, in the event that the strangulation of Sarajevo and other areas continues, including wide-scale interference with humanitarian assistance, stronger measures including air strikes against those responsible, Bosnian Serbs and others, in BosniaHerzegovina.”11 NATO’s first combat engagements in the history of the Alliance followed these decisions: the first took place in February 1994, as recounted in the preceding chapter, when Serb warplanes were shot down, and in April when NATO launched an air-to-ground attack on a Serb artillery command post.


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With the establishment of safe havens the UN had put its UNPROFOR forces into a difficult situation: there to keep a peace that did not exist and with an official mandate to alleviate suffering, the forces had to prepare for possible combat, or peace enforcement, and request another organization, NATO, to help it carry it out. The result was lamentable. The Dutch battalion supposed to defend Srebrenicia was overrun in July 1995; with inadequate local Dutch forces pinning their hopes on UN-requested NATO air strikes; with the UN already hesitant about moving into a combat role having decided to rule out air strikes; with the Dutch minister of defense asking the UN to call off air strikes the moment he realized the plight of Dutch hostages; and with the UN representative Akashi later falsely using this request to justify his prior decision to abstain from such strikes—a decision that was made in the preceding months of continuous policy debate, with French UNPROFOR Force Commander Bernard Janvier and British Commander BH Rupert Smith advocating distinct policies, respectively soft and hard ones.12 NATO was not directly a part of the Srebrenicia drama but the Alliance was associated with a failing policy. NATO air force supported UNPROFOR, patrolled the no-fly zone, and enforced two Heavy Weapon Exclusion Zones. In mid-1995, as the safe area situation deteriorated, NATO was again at the heart of the situation with a two-day bombing campaign against a Serb ammunition depot around the Bosnian Serb “capital” of Pale. This string of armed engagements came about because NATO was the designate stabilizer of Europe, at least in the U.S. prism but also increasingly in the prisms of European capitals. The effort was half hearted during these years (1992–1995) because of divergent views about what should happen in BH and how it could be made to happen. The United States decided in mid-1993 to bow to European policy but only after an acrimonious debate on the U.S. design for a “lift-and-strike” policy aiming to punish the Serbs. The new alignment of transatlantic positions helped ease tensions in the West but provided no new answers to the question of how to stop the fighting. When NATO policymakers did manage to advance policy, they simultaneously undermined the advance. Thus, as Joyce Kaufman notes, the August 1993 decision to authorize air strikes was historic because it was the first time NATO authorized the use force (and they used it six months later): however, they rendered the decision largely impotent by tying it to the dual key system by which the air strike would be called in if requested by the UN, something that was unlikely to happen.13 NATO did play a critical role in the endgame that led to the Dayton peace settlement and thus was part of the effort to promote, by 1995, a substantially different policy. A host of events helped bring about this change. Serb offensives and attacks had for long undermined Western perceptions of the

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reasonableness of the Serb position, but the fall of Srebrenicia along with the hostage taking of UN peacekeepers, in the spring of 1995, advanced the idea that they would stop only when confronted with a credible military threat. France, Britain, and the Netherlands therefore decided in May to dispatch a Rapid Reaction Force of 10,000 soldiers to assist UNPROFOR. With the military stakes increasing, U.S. President Clinton was pushed into action because the United States had in NATO committed up to 20,000 U.S. soldiers to an evacuation plan and could ignore it only at NATO’s peril.14 NATO’s most extensive bombing campaign, Operation Deliberate Effort, lasted for about two weeks beginning in late August 1995 and was part of a greater campaign to coerce the Serbs—a campaign involving also diplomatic pressure on behalf of the great powers gathered in the so-called Contact Group for Yugoslavia and a Croat ground offensive into BH that owed much to U.S. military advice. In sum, NATO was pulled into Balkan affairs as it was never part of the political design that NATO’s stabilization of Europe should include actual fighting close to but also outside NATO territory. NATO nations had few concrete interests in the Yugoslav fighting except to stop it. By implication, NATO, once the decision was made to engage the Alliance, invariably slid toward an expansive goal of installing a liberal-democratic order in BH and beyond—because there were no other interests to design a less ambitious policy. This leads us to the next section and a discussion of how NATO more generally handled the debate touching on the “old” NATO of the Cold War and the “new” Europe of the post–Cold War. NATO, the Shepherd of European Unity By the time IFOR deployed to BH, NATO had become indispensable in Europe’s security architecture and had outpaced alternative designs and visions whose goals varied between NATO being abolished and NATO being reduced to a secondary player. These alternative designs are examined below throughout the discussion in which the argument is that NATO might have been robbed of an enemy, throwing the raison d’être of collective defense into question and forcing NATO to consider collective security, but that the Alliance turned to this new management task, collective security, in such a way as to maximize its control of the transformation. In short, NATO propagated collective security and thus the ideals of equality and unity but simultaneously felt that the transition, if such it was, would be more secure if NATO remained a solid core in control of the continent’s fragile peripheries. Hierarchy and equality do not match well and NATO in fact pursued a contradictory policy. The fact of the matter is that NATO’s development during


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these years was less a product of masterminding than compromising—which the following section addresses—and that NATO found itself in a difficult situation by the mid-1990s: with a rhetoric supporting collective security; a de facto status as the core whose members (the allies) guided the rest; and finally with a nostalgic memory of the days when NATO was an alliance legitimized by its ability to counter threats. We begin with a brief look at the core before examining NATO’s peripheries. NATO became the core of Europe’s security because Atlanticist NATO allies, such as Great Britain, Denmark, Norway, and Portugal strongly insisted on the Alliance’s supremacy and because other nations, France notable among them, failed to mobilize support for alternative designs. This conflict of designs was in many ways settled in NATO’s favor once the United States threw its considerable weight behind NATO as a solution to Balkan-type problems. It became clear that NATO’s effective engagement placed it at the heart of a tiered system, which had the potential to become like the system once proposed by George Kennan of the U.S. State Department’s Policy Planning Staff during the talks leading to NATO’s establishment. Kennan suggested— though later abandoned the idea, it should be noted—an Atlantic Pact consisting of full voting members, associates, and in the outer orbit, affiliates.15 This section probes the nature of this hierarchy of power in the 1990s, emphasizing the relations between NATO, the EU, and Russia. The subsequent section analyzes NATO decision-making and the alliance politics involved. We thus look first at the emerging order; next at the motivations behind it. Inside the Core. Some of the full voting members in the 1990s were also members of other important clubs, such as the EU, which represented a collective Western European political response to the challenge of continuing past economic cooperation in a new political context involving notably German unification (thus, the EU was the European Community transformed by commitments to greater political integration). As a political entity, the EU was endowed with a CFSP that inevitably came into contact with NATO’s new and softer management roles. In NATO, a compromise was hammered out in the mid-1990s to handle this new relationship. The compromise in many ways sought to delegate responsibility to the EU but it was, unmistakably, a compromise marked by NATO’s recent success and status. Working out a compromise among allies is often a drawn-out process but it is commonly agreed that the NATO ministerial meeting of June 1996, in Berlin, represents a turning point, giving birth to a “Berlin compromise” between NATO and the EU, which when revised in 1999 became “Berlin Plus.” The allies declared in London, June 1990, that “the development of a

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European identity in the domain of security” will strengthen Atlantic solidarity; in Rome, November 1991, they labeled the emerging European security and defense identity (ESDI) “an important basis for the transformation of the Alliance”; and in Brussels, January 1994, gave their “full support” to the development of the ESDI but it was in Berlin, June 1996, that this “identity” began gaining a capacity for policy expression.16 It is important to place the ESDI in the context of NATO’s other goals. NATO professed in Berlin to be guided by three objectives in its quest to enhance its capability to contribute to the security of the Euro-Atlantic region: ensure military effectiveness, preserve the transatlantic link, and develop the ESDI within the Alliance.17 The latter objective was essentially a question of enabling NATO to allow European-led coalitions to form within the overall transatlantic framework. The catch phrase was that these coalitions must be “separable” but not “separate” in order to satisfy the two basic demands of flexibility and unity.18 The WEU was identified as the host for the “separable” components, partly because, naturally, NATO could not host a non-NATO mission, and partly because the EU had identified the WEU as its defense arm (the EU itself had established only a “foreign and security” policy). In consequence, the NATO compromise repeatedly speaks of “WEU-led operations.” In June 1996, NATO also identified three practical implications of its decision to enable these operations: NATO had to (1) identify the capabilities and assets19 that a European coalition likely would need to draw on, (2) prepare NATO’s integrated command for multinational European command options, and (3) integrate the European option in NATO planning and exercises more generally. The Berlin agreement did not represent a decision to let the WEU, and perhaps later the EU, develop into an autonomous actor with NATO serving as a midwife. Like all compromises, this one was sufficiently ambiguous to let some actors (i.e., the United States) claim that NATO now was established as the bedrock of Europe’s security architecture and others (i.e., France) that the European option was on track to grow increasingly autonomous. Still, ambiguity aside, Berlin was designed to encapsulate the European option in a transatlantic framework, which an examination of the details of the Berlin agreement demonstrates. As such it confirms the observation that NATO was establishing itself as a core surrounded by peripheries, with the EU/WEU being very close to the core. The Berlin agreement addresses a number of practical issues related to the organization of a WEU-led operation but not the lieu of decision-making. Logically, a decision to launch an operation could be taken inside or outside NATO, possibly leaving the impression that at the strategic level NATO and the EU/WEU were on par. This would be a mistaken conclusion, however.


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A European group could in theory insist on its decision-making autonomy vis-à-vis NATO, but in practice NATO—here understood as the collective body of allies, including the United States—would insist on approving the operation if the Alliance were to release assets and capabilities to the operation, through the WEU. In relation to assets that are collectively owned by NATO allies, such as the integrated command structure, the head of this structure, the American Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR), would exercise considerable planning influence while all allies would want a say in the decision-making phase. Should the WEU depend also on national assets and capabilities, particularly American ones, the operation would simply become dependent on approval in Washington, DC.20 Moreover, European allies would be reluctant to go it alone even if they could muster the military muscle to do so. Each nation has only one set of forces and if these forces are committed to several organizations, such as the WEU and NATO, their active use would at least presuppose some kind of coordination with the other organization, which would be able to rely on fewer forces for its contingencies. To this we must add that few European allies would be likely to deny the U.S. influence if it sought it: it would aggravate transatlantic relations and weaken the U.S. willingness to come to the Europeans’ rescue if need be. Political expediency, in short, made the United States and NATO vital players in Europe in the mid-1990s. Moving beyond the decision-making level, NATO needed to facilitate WEU operations by enhancing the flexibility of command options and encouraging the development of interoperable forces for expeditionary warfare. These command and force issues made perfect sense for NATO as such because the Alliance would likely have to operate more often outside the national territories. That NATO reform would also enhance the ESDI could then be seen as an added value, a bonus. This is the general impression that flows from the Berlin conclusions—where “military effectiveness” was the first of three objectives mentioned—and also the Brussels conclusions of January 1994, which can be seen as the starting point for the process leading to Berlin. In the first paragraph of the Brussels conclusions, the allies enumerate four points of agreement, the first of which emphasizes their determination “to adapt further the Alliance’s political and military structures to reflect both the full spectrum of its roles and the development of the emerging European Security and Defence Identity, and endorse the concept of Combined Joint Task Forces.”21 In other words, reform processes in NATO enable ESDI, but ESDI is not the justification for the reforms. Combined Joint Task Force (CJTF) refers to a new command option within NATO’s Cold War inventory of headquarters dug into bunkers across Western Europe and along the iron curtain. The purpose of NATO’s

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integrated command structure has since its beginnings in 1950–1951 been to tie national forces coherently together for military operations. The overall goal has not changed but the context has, with force projections requiring command facilities that are mobile and capable of greater degrees of multinational (combined) and multiservice (joint) warfare. During the fall of 1993, at an informal meeting in Travemünde, Germany, the United States presented the CJTF as a solution to precisely this NATO problem, drawing on the American experience with its national CJTF concept. The CJTF was—and is—not supposed to affect the strategic level of NATO command but rather to act as the operational command link between the strategic level (i.e., SACEUR) and the tactical level (i.e., force headquarters). NATO already had operational command headquarters but they were immobile where the CJTF, like the tactical force headquarters, was mobile. The CJTF, moreover, was designed flexibly to accommodate variations in national participation. Thus, the CJTF was designed to consist of a “command nucleus”—during peacetime located in NATO’s regular operational HQ—that could be reinforced by other staff elements, or modules, whose size and function would vary with the political and military context.22 The CJTF could help NATO launch NATO operations, and it could help NATO sponsor WEU operations. In practical terms, this latter option was to be made possible as European officers within NATO’s command structure would stand ready for WEU-led CJTF operations by virtue of a new doublehatting policy. Still, it was not quite clear how far the process would run and in particular whether this was just the beginning of a greater trend of Europeanization (i.e., should the CJTF mainly be about sponsoring WEU instead of enabling NATO operations?). This uncertainty caused some splits within the United States, as the defense establishment—including the Joint Chiefs of Staff but also the SACEUR at the time, General Joulwan, who had previously headed the U.S. Latin America command where the U.S. CJTF concept was greatly developed—went against the political wish to introduce the CJTF in NATO. Political considerations of the way in which CJTF could help appease the Alliance by promising at one and the same time military efficacy for NATO and options for the ESDI/WEU led the White House to overrule this military resistance.23 To back up flexible command options the allies needed to develop flexible forces ready for out-of-area operations, a task that had begun in June 1990 when the heads of state and government had decided to revise NATO’s military strategy and concomitantly “elaborate new force plans consistent with the revolutionary changes in Europe.”24 A new force structure (NATO force structure, NFS) was agreed-to when NATO’s ministers of defense in May 1991 accepted the proposal of NATO’s Military Committee (document


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MC317) to create a new and layered force structure: ● ● ● ●

Immediate Reaction Forces Rapid Reaction Forces Main Defense Forces Augmentation Forces25

The Reaction Forces and Main Defense Forces would include multinational forces “of all types: land, air and maritime,” and demanded “detailed planning.” NATO force planning thus gained a new focal point26 and force planners were asked also to draw WEU requirements into the planning process. NATO force planning operates in cycles to produce capabilities that match operational requirements, and as a result of the Berlin agreement, June 1996, the WEU decided in the following months to contribute to both: operational and force planning.27 Specifically, WEU mission profiles were “transmitted to NATO, which will now conduct illustrative planning for these missions in coordination with the WEU” and WEU members “agreed that it would be valuable for the WEU to become actively involved in the Alliance’s defense planning process.”28 Within a year, NATO’s new Ministerial Guidance, which is renewed every two years as part of the on-going planning process, contained for the first time a contribution from the WEU. This was followed in the fall of 1997 by the elaboration of a NATO defense review of the capabilities that European allies needed to develop in order to handle crisis management operations. These capability goals were then channeled into NATO’s regular force goal planning cycle, which incited WEU members to conclude in February 1998 that “substantial progress” had been made on this (and other) WEU–NATO issues.29 In sum, by 1996–1997, NATO had come to represent the core of European security although the core contained provisions for the separation of a European component. All NATO allies had explicitly endorsed the Berlin view that military effectiveness, transatlantic relations, and the ESDI formed one package of priorities, which amounted to conceding that NATO was the sine qua non of military capability and innovation in Europe. New options had to flow from here, a conclusion reflected in NATO’s primacy at the decision-making level, at the level of organizing multinational command options, and finally also at the level of coordinating and guiding national force improvements. NATO Associates and Affiliates. NATO’s status as a core becomes more visible as we move out of Western Europe and into former Warsaw Pact territory. In the early 1990s, all of NATO’s former enemies accepted a new type of

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institutional partnership with NATO and some of them wished to go further and one day become NATO members. NATO enlarged eastwards in 1997 (with three countries) and again in 2002 (with seven), and so it would seem that this wish for full membership was nurtured with foresight. NATO, however, hesitated and offered little more than a looser formula of association in the period 1989–1997. NATO repeatedly underscored the Alliance’s attachment to Europe’s unity but in practice often developed policies that bolstered NATO’s status as a core. The ensuing discussion engages this development, beginning with an assessment of the all-European framework and then of the decision to invite a select few states for membership in 1997. In July 1990, NATO declared that “NATO must . . . build new partnerships with all the nations of Europe” and invited the Warsaw Pact members along with all Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) countries to sign on to a commitment to the UN Charter, the CSCE Final Act, and the principle of nonaggression.30 This invitation effectively set the stage for a last heroic act by the Warsaw Treaty Organization—apart from its decision of February 1991 to disband itself—when it and NATO in November 1990 published a Joint Declaration on nonaggression. The publication occurred in the context of the CSCE summit meeting in Paris, which in many ways marked the continent’s transition from a state of hostility to one of peace. The Vienna Document on Confidence and Security Building Measures (CSBM), a Treaty on Conventional Force Reductions (CFE), and a new CSCE Charter of Paris for a New Europe represented the tangible signs of the political willingness by all parties to engage the transformation of European geopolitics. These were important steps for a military alliance such as NATO because—and apart from the obvious importance of having won the Cold War—NATO had become politically committed to the promotion of dialogue across the East–West divide, in the spirit of the Alliance’s Harmel doctrine from 1967 but now in a new security environment. Support for the CSCE built on policy priorities established by NATO already in July 199031 but now, by tying NATO into a greater whole, implied the downgrading of collective defense. More practically, NATO’s military preparedness was reduced as part of the CFE treaty and as part of a deal with the Soviet Union (Russia) to withdraw forces from the central theater of operations. Still, NATO was not about to let the CSCE—a “conference” poorly equipped to provide political leadership and moreover a conference in which NATO allies would be on an equal footing with, for example, the Soviet Union—take charge of developments. With the Warsaw Treaty Organization disbanded, the field opened for NATO to define its all-European policy more clearly. In July 1991, NATO ministers spoke of “expanding the network of cooperative relationships across Europe” and hoped to use NATO as a


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mechanism to strengthen the organization of meetings of officials, experts, and military contacts with the countries from Eastern Europe.32 Prodded by the Bush administration, NATO translated this hope into a new grand institutional mechanism for consultation and dialogue presented—along with the conclusions of reforms initiated in London, July 1990—at the Alliance’s Rome summit, November 1991. NATO issued a “Rome Declaration on Peace and Cooperation” in which nine former adversaries were invited to meet annually “in what might be called a North Atlantic Cooperation Council” and that entailed other periodic meetings below ministerial levels.33 The North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC) met for the first time on December 20, 1991, by which time the number of external participants had grown to 22, and then again in March 1992, and although some may have objected to its vague institutional characteristics, few objected to the need to coordinate security policies at the very moment the Soviet Union came apart (the new Commonwealth of Independent States was announced on December 21, 1991 and Gorbachev resigned as Soviet president four days later). The NACC, which soon included all Soviet successor states, was a means to institutionalize new East–West relations and communicate—from West to East—military expertise, policy issues, planning procedures, and standards of civilian control of the military. Still, with no budget and a rationale clearly secondary to that of NATO itself, the institution became a modest success that was replaced in 1997 by the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC). The EAPC represented continuity of the NACC because all states—allies and non-allies—believed in the need to maintain a forum for collective deliberations, operational briefings by NATO, and a vehicle for organizing external contributions to NATO operations.34 But the EAPC was also merely the tip of an iceberg that consisted of a growing number of military contacts between NATO members and their new friends to the East. In particular, NATO decided at its informal meeting in Travemünde in October 1993 to enhance relations to the East in the shape of “partnerships for peace” (Pf P). The PfP had a dual purpose of strengthening military cooperation—as opposed to mere diplomatic dialogue—and creating a mechanism for enlarging the Alliance but without promising to do so. The formal offer of partnerships was made at the January 1994 Brussels summit that also approved of the Alliance’s new ESDI and CJTF concepts. The military accent was clear in the Framework Document that new partners had to sign:35 (a) facilitation of transparency in national defence planning and budgeting processes; (b) ensuring democratic control of defence forces;

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(c) maintenance of the capability and readiness to contribute, subject to constitutional considerations, to operations under the authority of the UN and/or the responsibility of the CSCE; (d) the development of cooperative military relations with NATO, for the purpose of joint planning, training, and exercises in order to strengthen their ability to undertake missions in the fields of peacekeeping, search and rescue, humanitarian operations, and others as may subsequently be agreed; (e) the development, over the longer term, of forces that are better able to operate with those of the members of the North Atlantic Alliance. Once an Eastern European state had agreed to sign this framework document, the real work of crafting an individual partnership program began because NATO wanted the PfP to consist mainly of bilateral relations, not least as a measure to tailor work programs to particular national circumstances. The coordination of common PfP issues, still important, takes place through the partners’ liaison officers at NATO’s political headquarters in Brussels and a Partnership Coordination Cell (PCC) at the military headquarters in Mons. The PfP was not simply a mechanism for improving military capabilities; it was also a stepping-stone in the process of enlarging the Alliance. In fact, at this stage the Alliance had yet to decide whether to enlarge, and the PfP invitation document therefore fudges the issue by declaring first that NATO “remains open to the membership of other European states in a position to further the principles of the Treaty” and then adding, ambiguously, that “Active participation in the Partnership for Peace will play an important role in the evolutionary process of the expansion of NATO.”36 Stanley Sloan, observing the debate raging within the Alliance on the enlargement issue, a debate to which we shall return below, notes that “The PFP concept was a policymaker’s dream”—not only extending promises but also buying time. Still, as Sloan continues, the PfP merely postponed important decisions and may have heightened public awareness of the budgetary and operational difficulties inherent in NATO’s enlargement.37 A decision was ultimately made, first when U.S. President Clinton in October 1996 announced that enlargement formally would take place in April 1999, then in July 1997 when NATO agreed to extend invitations to three countries, Poland, the Czech Republic, and Hungary. Part of the reason why this process proved tortuous was the question of gaining Russia’s tacit approval of NATO’s expansion into former Warsaw Pact territory. Russia’s status vis-à-vis NATO was in flux and the discussion above noted the extent to which NATO sought to placate Russia through support for the CSCE and principles of equality but also the way in which NATO in practice preferred


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to retain control of security developments as the first among equals. Russia and NATO thus became engaged in a tit-for-tat game that effectively coupled enlargement to Russia’s status at a very early stage in the process, even if, as James Goldgeier reports, the linkage between the two issues was articulated only in the fall of 1993 in the U.S. administration and then had to make its way into U.S. and allied policy.38 Russian policy-makers vacillated between the hope of witnessing NATO’s demise in favor of the CSCE (from 1994 the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe [OSCE]) and the fear of becoming a mere “affiliate”— and not even an associate—in a new Atlantic security order. When the former proved vain, Russian efforts therefore focused on obtaining a special deal with NATO in recognition of Russia’s power status. NATO was naturally reluctant to grant this but in time became convinced that such a deal would appeal to pro-reform forces in Moscow and advance the reform of the Alliance. Thus, NATO and Russia came to an agreement in May 1997 involving the conclusion of a “Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security between NATO and the Russian Confederation” as well as the establishment of a Permanent Joint Council (PJC), destined to serve as a mechanism for joint cooperation on peacekeeping issues, general defense discussions, arms control, nuclear safety, nonproliferation, and emergency relief. The signing of this Founding Act on May 27, 1997 allowed NATO to move ahead just days later and launch the EAPC as the NACC’s replacement and also in July to issue invitations to prospective new Alliance members. The road to the Founding Act was a capricious one and Russia’s political frustration with its loss of empire and influence accounts for many of the twists and turns. For instance, Russia joined the PfP in June 1994, six months following the issuing of NATO’s invitation but only after several clashes with NATO over Europe’s security architecture in general and interventions in BH in particular.39 Russian President Yeltsin first warned NATO decision-makers to consider the impact of the PfP—and thus prospective enlargement—on Russian public opinion; a euphemism for the possible hostility of the government. Russian policy became more flexible once the so-called Contact Group of great powers was organized in May 1994, with Russia included, to promote a Yugoslav settlement. Still, the special status gained in this context did not prevent Russia from launching a final “diplomatic assault,” according to the Financial Times, in order to extract from NATO a special PfP deal— consisting of adding eight conditions to the general framework documents that all PfP nations must sign.40 NATO did not even make reference to this demand some days later in its ministerial conclusions (from Istanbul, June 9, 1994), although Russia did obtain a token of recognition in the shape of a one-page unsigned protocol attached to the framework document indicating

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the need to enter “an extensive individual partnership program that is in keeping with Russia’s size, importance, and potential.”41 Russian frustrations are not the end of the story, however, because NATO pursued a by now well-known ambiguous policy of equality in theory and asymmetry in practice. NATO wanted Russia to consent to partnership and stability, this was clear, but the contours of the ultimate goal—a new European order—were unclear and led NATO to treat Russian demands ambiguously.42 Russia demanded an assurance that NATO would not deploy any nuclear weapons on the territory of new allies, but NATO would not go further than to say that it had “no intention, no plan and no reason” to undertake such a deployment, just as it did not “foresee any future need to do so.” Likewise, the Russian demand that the OSCE be given the lead in organizing European security was met with the vague promise that NATO would support the OSCE as well as the UN. Russia unsurprisingly failed to secure a veto over NATO decisions, and NATO insisted that the Founding Act should be politically but not legally binding. The Russia–NATO partnership of 1997 was therefore as inconclusive as the partnership program itself and a reflection of NATO’s position as a core pretending to promote policies of equality, which brings us to the conclusion to this section. This section has presented an overview of NATO in the mid-1990s, arguing that NATO was not merely going through a transformation inspired by democratic ideals and European unity, which was often the summit rhetoric, but that NATO in practice became the core of the European security architecture, symbolized by the lack of alternatives to NATO in solving the wars in the former Yugoslavia and also by the Berlin agreement tying a European defense option to NATO, while other nations undergoing a true political and economic transformation were in orbit, in NATO’s periphery. As mentioned, this led NATO nations into a position where they needed to clarify their choice of design for future cooperation. According to the framework of this book, the geopolitical environment gave NATO little hope of remaining an “alliance” focused on threats because the threats were simply not there. Instead, NATO could choose a “collective security” design to manage security risks, but this would entail a massive investment in bringing in new members, helping them to become interoperable with NATO forces, and then broaden the Alliance to become a close neighbor to the OSCE, perhaps even to fuse with it. Alternatively, NATO could choose to continue as a core by emphasizing its unique military capabilities and tying them to a flexible coalition framework in which NATO countries, by virtue of their capabilities, would become lead players. However, the coalition design in 1996–1997 was imperfect: to perfect it, NATO would have to downplay policies of equality and instead put a premium on flexibility, thus accept and organize new types


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of leadership—involving the most willing and capable allies—with the United States acting as the natural leader in most instances. Continuously seeking an opportunity to turn NATO into something new and less potent, Russia in the spring of 1997 extracted a promise from NATO that the Alliance would revise its Strategic Concept. The promise may not have been hard for NATO to give because the old concept from 1991 made reference to an outdated threat, the Soviet Union, and NATO, as this section has emphasized, was in general need of a strategic overhaul. Naturally, the strength of a new strategic concept depended on NATO’s disposition to seize the opportunity. The following sections therefore step back and analyze the political currents within NATO, the balance of forces and prevailing ideas, during this period, 1989–1997. Was the ambiguity in design simply a measure of political confusion, in which case a new strategic concept likely would do little good? Or was NATO marked by clear but clashing designs, in which case the new concept would provide the occasion for the Alliance to clarify its internal balance of power? Within NATO there was both confusion and struggles to gain power and policy control within the Alliance but the analysis below argues that one followed the other. Specifically, the new Strategic Concept that was negotiated in November 1991 was the outcome of a power struggle that the United States largely won. The stage was set for a clarification of the Alliance’s role but instead U.S. reluctance to follow up on its own lead and take charge of out-of-area crises threw NATO into a state of confusion, which was merely reinforced by the European allies’ reluctance to invest in the command structure and force reforms that NATO force planners recommended. These two failures of leadership are presented in separate sections below before the discussion turns to the decision to enlarge NATO—a decision largely pushed through by U.S. decision-makers but whose hidden costs were to reinforce NATO as a collective security-type institution whose military strength was of secondary importance. This left NATO with a strong need to revise its Strategic Concept and think through its institutional design and purpose. A New Strategic Concept NATO has traditionally connected its view of external threats to plans for military responses in strategy documents that guide the day-to-day work of civilian and military authorities and frame political discussions. These strategy documents came subsequent to the establishment of NATO: once the United States had been tied to Western Europe’s defense, the Alliance could think through specific strategies. These strategies took into account three basic principles. First that an attack on one ally would be considered an attack

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on all but also that each ally was free to decide on the level and nature of assistance (Article 5 of the treaty), an idea the United States brought into the 1948–1949 negotiations from the existing Rio de Janeiro treaty (the 1947 Inter-American Treaty of Reciprocal Assistance) to balance between European demands for automatic involvement and the U.S. Senate’s preoccupation that Congress, not the U.S. president, had the constitutional power to declare war. Second that NATO was tied to the UN Charter (Article 1), not quite as a regional security organization under the Charter but by virtue of its promise to restore peace and security, which in the spirit of the UN Charter’s Article 51 implies referring matters to the UN Security Council and terminating operations once the Security Council has taken steps to reestablish peace and security.43 Finally, NATO operated within a geographical confinement (Article 6), which essentially consisted of the national territories in Europe and North America in addition to forces, vessels, or aircraft located in the North Atlantic area north of the Tropic of Cancer. The clue to making more specific plans for the collective defense lay partly in the geopolitical situation, partly in the treaty’s Article 3 and thus the commitment by the allies “separately and jointly” to “maintain and develop their individual and collective capacity to resist armed attack.” The collective dimension consisted initially of planning done in the Western Union, which preceded NATO, of the Mutual Defense Assistance Act passed by the United States in October 1949, and finally also of the planning that NATO’s five new Regional Planning Groups were capable of producing on a short-term basis. These disjointed documents were tied together in December 1949 by the Defense Committee, consisting of NATO ministers of defense, in the Alliance’s first “strategic concept,” which was subsequently approved by NATO foreign ministers, and which paved the way for the elaboration of NATO’s first multiyear defense plan—the Medium Term Defense Plan of April 1950.44 This defense plan in turn led to the elaboration of force goals that, having been negotiated among allies with the assistance of the growing NATO bureaucracy, committed the allies to implement certain goals in the national defense planning processes. By 1952, when the force goals were agreed to—famously, in Lisbon, because they proved wholly unrealistic— NATO had gained the basic planning infrastructure: strategies, defense plans, and force goals. Strategic concepts were kept secret by the Alliance until it decided in the course of 1991 to publish its new Strategic Concept, which at the time was under negotiation and was published in November 1991.45 One might note that while publication represents a step forward in our understanding of the Alliance, such public documents should be approached with caution. The fact that they are published inevitably leads the Alliance to be less frank,


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in turn making it harder for outside observers to understand their essence. To be sure, even secret plans can be deceitful: for instance, Andrew Johnston takes issue with standard interpretations of NATO’s Lisbon Force Goals from 1952, claiming they were not an honest effort to provide a conventional defense but represented principally the United State’s effort to keep its European (regional) strategy decoupled from its global strategy based on nuclear forces.46 Public defense strategies are notoriously vague because governments are reluctant to name threats or enemies and instead prefer to enumerate a wealth of progressive goals: consequently, as Rob de Wijk notes, the 1990–1991 decision to go public was bound to greatly affect “the content and the style” of the new strategic document.47 The Strategic Concept that NATO made public in November 1991 relies greatly on the treaty foundations. NATO’s “essential purpose” remained the one set out in the Washington Treaty “to safeguard the freedom and security of all its members by political and military means in accordance with the principles of the UN Charter.”48 Moreover, paragraphs 16–18 outline the unchanging nature of the Alliance: embodying the transatlantic link, based on the indivisibility of security for all, and also based on equal security for all, big and small. Then four “fundamental security tasks” are introduced in paragraph 20, and here we detect a blend of old and new: ●

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To provide one of the indispensable foundations for a stable security environment in Europe based on democracy and peaceful conflict resolution; To serve as a transatlantic forum for consultations on any issues affecting allies’ vital interests; To deter and defend against any threat of aggression against the territory of allies; To preserve the strategic balance within Europe.

The second and the third “fundamental tasks” are rewritten versions of the Washington Treaty’s Articles 4 and 5, providing for consultations if the territorial integrity, political independence, or security of an ally is threatened, and signaling that an attack on one will be considered an attack on all. The first and fourth “fundamental tasks” are new, at least to some extent because NATO always did preserve a strategic balance in Europe. The key is the reference to becoming part of the indispensable foundation for a new European order, which connects directly with the later initiatives to institutionalize partnerships with Central and Eastern European countries and also the decision to enlarge the Alliance: NATO had gained a broader purpose both in terms of functions and geographical scope. The task of preserving the strategic

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balance was a thinly veiled reference to the Soviet Union, which disappeared just one month later, however, and robbed this fundamental task of much of its raison d’être. The disappearance of the Soviet Union removed not only a threat to NATO but removed a contradiction from the new Strategic Concept, it might be noted, between the need for a strategic balance and the implied harmony of a new democratic order. The overall impression is that the Alliance placed great emphasis on continuity in terms of inclusion and unity: to stand united within the Alliance and also offer NATO as a uniting framework in the new Europe. The emphasis on indivisibility and equal security is a case in point. Naturally, unity does not imply that flexibility is excluded: we have already seen how each ally is free to decide on its contribution to an Article 5 situation. But what political reality lurked behind the concept? If NATO faced a security environment in which “the old threat of a massive attack” had been replaced by “uncertainty and unpredictable challenges,” did NATO still need to speak in terms of collective defense, and thus in terms of Article 5 commitments?49 In extension, was the Alliance’s collective dimension not challenged because risks no longer were shared? And would the effect not be to downgrade the military dimension of security, giving more emphasis to political-economic measures related to democratization and the channeling of military efforts into the creation of deployable and multinational forces of higher readiness that certainly would not only be more appropriate for crisis management outside the national territories but also a mere complement to “political actions within a broad approach to security”?50 The fact of the matter was that the allies were split on these questions. As noted, the Strategic Concept ended up defining NATO as “one of the indispensable foundations” in a new Europe, a statement that reflected an intense debate taking place between France and Germany on the one hand and mainly the United States on the other. The statement was ambiguous in so far as other institutions might also be “indispensable” but still there was no doubt that the United States had fought to make NATO the indispensable institution and largely won the policy debate within the Alliance. We first examine the challenging designs promoted by France and Germany, then turn to U.S. designs and diplomacy. France “was involved with all three tracks”51 that NATO put into motion in mid-1990 to revise its strategy: one track to address broad political perspectives, another to provide political guidelines for military planning, and a third to develop military strategy. Since France was not—and still is not—a member of the integrated command, one might question what France hoped to achieve and why it suddenly was ready to bend past practice to achieve it. The French goal was consistent with French and predominantly


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Gaullist thinking over the past decades and consisted of realizing the longstanding Gaullist vision of a Europe between the Urals and the Atlantic liberated from external influence. In practice this meant a policy of limiting NATO’s external growth by channeling new responsibilities to the CSCE and also of hollowing out NATO with reference to the European pillar in the shape of the EU/WEU. Led by François Mitterrand, France was in no doubt that the new Europe needed to be guided by a core of countries—paradoxically reflecting the kind of design that by 1996–1997 had become NATO’s—but that France and other EC/EU countries, in contrast to NATO, should make up this core. This became clear as Mitterrand first, in his New Year’s Eve speech, December 1989, outlined a confederalist-type partnership between East and West, then overcame brief moments of hesitation in relation to German unification and, in early 1991, opted for a tight partnership with Germany anchored in a federalist European Community.52 Mitterrand’s idea of a European federation within a European confederation—and with NATO reduced to a background collective security guarantee—was therefore fairly well articulated by late 1991 when the NATO summit took place and when the European Community (EC) held its Maastricht summit marking the decision to become a EU.53 Why, then, did France suddenly agree to take part in all aspects of the Alliance’s reforms? Part of the answer is that France did not quite take part in all aspects: France was modestly involved in the Strategy Review Group and although France in April 1991 declared itself ready to accept the strategy document as a whole, France still remained at arm’s length from the document’s military guidelines. In the third track, the Military Strategy Working Group, the French influence “was extremely limited.”54 Still, France was involved, and another part of the answer relates to the French leadership’s confidence that France could not lose. In the words of the French NATO ambassador, 1987–1993, French leaders simply trusted the “the tide of history.”55 Mitterrand, ever the political realist, knew well, however, that the tide of history sometimes needed to be eased along by crafty policy-makers, which is why France became so engaged in NATO. As the French president wrote in his last book before his death in 1996, he kept a weary eye on the American ambition, in his lens, to increase the U.S. presence in “all the political and military machinery we were putting in place”—“restraining the freedom of movement of our common institutions, in particular the first link in a common [European] defense.”56 West Germany and in particular its foreign minister, Hans-Dietrich Genscher, pushed actively during 1990–1991 for a considerably enlarged role for the CSCE which threatened to relegate NATO to a secondary position. In consequence, France offered to support Genscher’s policy. German support

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for the CSCE was not driven by a desire to marginalize NATO but to capitalize on what was perceived to be a benevolent climate of reconciliation and a new type of security policy based not on military force but “civilian power,” a domain in which a new Germany could excel. To be sure, actors within the German government, such as the ministry of defense, continued to support NATO but the government was constrained by a public swayed by the vision of civilian power, budgetary pressures, and the foreign ministry’s enthusiasm for the CSCE.57 Lawrence Freedman wrote on the day of German unification, October 3, 1990, that “the new Germany lacks an Ostpolitik to help cope with the consequences of the transformations it has helped bring about.” Moreover, in the CSCE’s favor and NATO’s disfavor, many Germans “seem to find it difficult to think in terms other than wholly co-operative security structures and insist on playing down anything reminiscent of the old confrontation.”58 One year later, and in the run-up to the NATO Rome summit, Foreign Minister Genscher took advantage of an CSCE foreign ministers’ meeting in Moscow to present proposals for the transformation—not of NATO, to which he made no reference—but of the CSCE into a pan-European security organization capable of imposing sanctions and boycotts and empowered to use force to regulate internal conflicts that breach CSCE principles and the Paris Charter. NATO would be among the vehicles supplying the CSCE with peacekeeping troops that could be called into action by a new CSCE “security council.”59 Genscher’s motive must in large parts be attributed to the circumstances surrounding German unification because while he did not want a new Germany to be neutral and free of allied ties he also sought to provide concessions to Warsaw Pact members and the Soviet Union in particular. Thus was established a linkage in German policy between continued NATO membership, which succeeded, and an enhanced role for the CSCE, which succeeded only to a limited extent. “Again, given the existing practical problems and the very nature of CSCE, there was no way we could accept that group absorbing NATO and its functions,” wrote President Bush in retrospect in a reference that captures the gist of U.S. policy.60 As German unification outpaced the two-plus-four talks supposed to control it, U.S. policy centered on maintaining Germany in NATO with Soviet consent. The outcome, as we know, was German NATO membership but with the added footnote that “NATO’s current jurisdiction” would not be extended “eastward.” This phrase, which was offered by U.S. Secretary of State Baker to Soviet leader Gorbachev in February 1990, was accepted by the Soviet leadership as a measure to avoid another “Versailles”— unchecked German rearmament—and also as a promise that NATO would not enlarge, an interpretation that would cause some problems later in


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the 1990s. For Genscher, who was behind the formulation in the first place, it represented the key to realizing the “NATO plus CSCE” design. For Baker and the Bush administration, it was a measure to make a few concessions in relation to the former GDR territory once inside NATO but without questioning NATO’s right to collective defense and enlargement.61 Once German unification had been achieved in conformity with the U.S. goal of NATO preeminence, the U.S. administration could set its eyes on sidetracking potential rivals in the run-up to the Rome summit, in particular the CSCE and the EC/EU. It was a measured success. The new role for the CSCE was perhaps a fairly easy issue to deal with because German Foreign Minister Genscher became increasingly convinced that an all-European structure could be built also with the new NACC that NATO was about to launch. The United States and Germany had jointly presented the NACC in October 1991 and Germany was, subsequent to the summit, an enthusiastic supporter of enlarging the NACC to all former Warsaw Pact countries.62 The EC was gaining momentum in the Maastricht negotiations, however, and pro-NATO countries could not prevent other countries, especially France supported by Germany, from linking defense to the EU’s potential development and from making the WEU the EU’s defense agent. Specifically, a Franco-German EU proposal published in mid-October led President Bush to issue a stern warning to his allies at the Rome summit: “If you want to go your own way, if you don’t need us any longer, say so.”63 Would it be fair to call NATO’s Strategic Concept a success for U.S. diplomacy, or did the document rather reflect a tied game in the balance of power led principally by the United States and France? Hubert Védrine, Mitterrand’s diplomatic advisor and later foreign minister, later argued that patient French diplomacy, including participation in the Gulf War coalition earlier in the spring, had produced the encouraging result that NATO recognized in stronger terms than earlier the emerging European defense identity.64 But if we must recognize that the U.S.–French power struggle continued and had not been resolved, we must also note that the heavy U.S. insistence on the primary role of NATO reinforced many European governments’ preference for tying the United States and Europe together in one organization and helped give NATO a momentum toward its new goal of stabilizing Europe through partnerships and cooperation. The critical question was then whether new investments would be made in this momentum, particularly to equip the Alliance—politically and militarily—to confront the new security challenges that might arise. These investments were not made, at least not in any measure sufficient to prevent NATO from sliding into an ambiguous role a few years later. Two cases illustrate the development: out-of-area missions and force planning.

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Out-of-Area but Where and Why? NATO was a territorial defense organization and the Washington Treaty contained explicit clauses to prevent the Alliance from operating outside its area and mandate. When war, first in the Gulf region and then in the Balkans, pushed the allies to consider out-of-area operations they ran not merely into the problem of whether they really desired granting NATO such a role but also into the problem of defining this role’s legitimate basis. Legitimacy within the Washington Treaty framework was not impossible to find because although Article 6 seems to set strict limits on the operational reach of the Alliance there is an opt-out in Article 4 and the commitment to consult whenever an ally feels threatened. Logically, an ally could feel threatened by developments in a far-away region and the Alliance could, if acting by consensus, decide to address the issue. For a number of reasons related to conflicts during the Cold War—colonial wars of liberation and the Vietnam War in particular—NATO established the practice that it did not operate out-of-area, as defined by Article 6. This was a practice, though, and it could be revised. The United States sought revision of the practice in the 1980s but the European allies resisted: the issue was security in the Persian Gulf, and the outcome for NATO was an understanding that NATO’s involvement was limited to analysis and consultations and also the organization of force compensations so that individual NATO allies could be free to act in other contexts: but NATO as such would not act in the region.65 The question of gaining a legitimate mandate for out-of-area actions was more complex given the relationship between states’ security needs and the common laws of war that in part have been written into the UN Charter. The Washington Treaty, as will be recalled, makes reference to the UN and specifically to the UN Charter’s Article 51 governing self-defense. The founders of NATO, however, “sought near maximum freedom of political maneuver”— supporting “UN principles, but not necessarily, UN practices.”66 Thus, in a deliberate move to prevent the UN from exercising a political veto over NATO, the allies refrained from inserting language making reference to the UN Charter articles governing “regional arrangements.” These articles define a number of limits to the enforcement actions that “regional arrangements or agencies” can undertake without prior permission from the UN Security Council. The regional arrangement would, for instance, be subject to inspection by the Security Council and its hands would be tied to the unanimity principle of the Council.67 The Gulf War of January–March 1991 was an important context in which these issues could be raised. In general it must be said that the war came too early for NATO to be seriously involved: allied governments had yet to define


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NATO’s mission and preferred to handle the Gulf War on an ad hoc basis. But the context is still important because it reveals how U.S. policy was briefly captured by an enthusiasm for the UN in a new world order; how this confirmed U.S. policy-makers in their belief that NATO above all should be a stabilizing framework in Europe; and how difficult it was subsequently to change behavior—American as well as European. NATO did not become involved in the Gulf War but the allies used NATO for condemning Iraq’s August 1990 invasion of Kuwait and supporting the actions taken by individual allies to deter Iraq from further aggression. NATO was most directly involved through the case of Turkey, which as a neighbor to Iraq was threatened by aggression, which brings NATO’s Article 4 and 5 into play. All allies without exception supported a rapid meeting to assess the situation, which took place on August 10, 1990. Later in the conflict Germany along with Belgium and Italy sent aircrafts to Turkey as part of a NATO mobile force and Germany’s Chancellor Kohl even called President Bush to assure him that Germany would fight for Turkey if Iraq attacked it with Scuds, as had been the case in Israel.68 But in general NATO did not step outside the arrangements for managing out-of-area disputes that had been agreed to in the late 1980s in the context of the Persian Gulf. Victorious in the Gulf War, President Bush seized the moment to outline a vision of global cooperation and stability centered around the UN—a vision that soon receded—but which built on the American wish to reap political benefits from its military investments. It was at this moment, in mid-1991, that fighting in Yugoslavia erupted and U.S. reluctance to become involved was assisted by Soviet turmoil (which U.S. policy-makers found more important to deal with) and the willingness of the EC to attempt Yugoslav conflict resolution. By this set of circumstances, and as we saw earlier in the chapter, NATO was kept out of the Balkan area in the early phase of the conflict. In fact, as Stanley Sloan notes, the statement on Yugoslavia that was produced at the Rome summit made clear NATO leaders’ “desire to keep NATO at arms’ length from the conflict.”69 U.S. policy was at this stage motivated by the conviction that NATO was on track and Yugoslavia was a quagmire for others to become stuck in. The United States changed policy course within six months but by then the damage had been done: European allies were set on a policy course that conflicted with U.S. preferences, and as the Bush administration and especially the Clinton administration that took office in January 1993 designed policy according to U.S. preferences, a transatlantic clash occurred that inevitably harmed NATO’s first incursions into out-of-area operations. When NATO threatened air strikes in August 1993, a senior NATO official declared to the Financial Times, “NATO as an institution has drawn a line in the sand on

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this . . . It has its credibility on the line.”70 It was correct and, in hindsight, regrettable. The Bush administration realized during the spring of 1992 that it was no solution to maintain NATO as the only capable security institution and then refuse to use it when the European house was on fire. Either the United States would have to engage or it would have to enable other institutions to call on NATO forces to put out the fire. This translated into a policy—quite a reversal—of supporting the CSCE in March 1992 when it prepared to assume the role of undertaking peacekeeping operations as a regional security arrangement under the UN Charter—a change that was successfully concluded at the CSCE Helsinki summit, July 1992. The American change of heart was articulated by Secretary of State Baker at a NACC meeting the same month of March when he backed a Dutch proposal to strengthen the CSCE and went on to support the idea of NATO deploying peacekeepers to Nagorno-Karabakh.71 The policy then led NATO foreign ministers to declare, on June 4, 1992, that “we are prepared to support, on a case-by-case basis in accordance with our own procedures, peacekeeping activities under the responsibility of the CSCE, including by making available Alliance resources and expertise.”72 This transition to a new NATO policy was not allowed to take place smoothly, however. France objected to the newfound American enthusiasm for the CSCE on the same grounds that France had previously objected to the NACC: the policy would, effectively, leave NATO in control. France thus fought to prevent NATO from becoming the CSCE’s “habitual peacekeeping agent”73 and inspired the Petersberg WEU meeting on June 19, 2002, where WEU members (excluding the United States) declared their willingness to undertake peacekeeping and -making missions on behalf of the CSCE or the UN. It took NATO another six months to follow suit—to tie itself to the UN also—by virtue of its readiness “to support, on a case-by-case basis and in accordance with our own procedures, peacekeeping operations under the authority of the UN Security Council, which has the primary responsibility for international peace and security.”74 The confusion was now pervasive: NATO was initially not to be engaged in out-of-area operations and had confirmed its limited arrangements dating back to the late 1980s. The United States then changed track and sought to create a NATO role by using an institution, the CSCE, it had recently downplayed, while European governments had responded to the opportunity to act and the necessity of acting in Yugoslavia and had thus engaged a strictly European crisis management policy that corresponded poorly to U.S. preferences—a European policy that was wholly disconnected from the reemerging NATO, but which also was not working.


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Not all Europeans supported the French idea of European “autonomy”— Great Britain, the Netherlands, Denmark, and Portugal were known critics of this idea given their Atlanticist inclinations. However, the reason why the WEU became involved was the fact that the United States had handed the Yugoslav question to “Europe” and that all European allies, via the UN and also by implications of geography, felt involved in the conflict’s resolution. An almost inevitable transatlantic row erupted in May 1993 when President Clinton articulated a “lift-and-strike” policy—lift the weapons embargo to arm the Muslims and strike at the Serbs—that found no appeal among the many European allies with peacekeeping troops already on the ground and therefore troops that would be at the frontline of renewed tensions and fighting. The U.S. policy was to run Western policy on two tracks: one reserved for the air strikes the UN might call for; another reserved for more assertive air strikes corresponding to U.S. policy.75 The Europeans vehemently opposed the policy and when NATO reached a consensus—reflected in the August 1993 decision to use military force, if need be—it was the Europeans who had won. The policy was restrictive and linked the use of force to a dual-key control system. In line with the Security Council’s call for wide-ranging coordination, the use of force depended on the alignment of the views of the UN secretary general, UNPROFOR officials, and NATO nations. As we saw in the case of the safe havens, the system failed to protect the civilians to whom protection had been offered. It was by then clear that Western diplomacy was blocked: Britain opposed U.S. policy but wanted a compromise following diplomatic rows in the spring of 1993; France supported threats of NATO air strike but only if linked to UN authorization; and the U.S. supported strikes but not an extensive role for the UN. Intra-alliance problems helped convince the Clinton administration that it needed to become more fully engaged in resolving the BH war, and not only because the problems permitted the fighting to continue: they also threw into doubt the U.S. NATO policy of stabilizing Europe through partnerships and possibly enlargement, a policy that was particularly dear to the Clinton administration. PfP were not credible if the Alliance’s leader promoted policies—such as lift-and-strike—that sowed political discord and made no impact on the ground. Likewise, NATO’s vision of co-opting Russia into the new political order was at risk: Russia was not only aligning with the Serbs against the United States but was in a position to appeal to unity with the European UNPROFOR nations.76 To salvage its European security policy, the United States needed to change track. It did so slowly, joining Russia and the big European allies in great power talks on Yugoslavia, abandoning its lift-and-strike policy, and reassuring NATO partners of the PfP potential. It was not until mid-1995,

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when the safe havens were overrun and the European allies looked desperate, that President Clinton committed the United States massively to the making of peace. The fact of the matter is therefore that the United States had let an opportunity to define a leadership role slip away in the course of 1991 and subsequently found that the cost and complexity of leadership progressed along with NATO’s need for it. When NATO moved into Bosnia with IFOR, it was not an Alliance acting in triumph that took center stage but an Alliance bruised by battles to define a proper out-of-area role. Forces for Europe: The Missing Link While the United States did not provide the leadership that could have given the Alliance a clearly defined out-of-area role, the European allies failed to invest in the forces that were needed not only to undertake out-of-area operations but notably to take the political lead. Adequate European forces had become a missing link.77 This left NATO in a bind: if the leader, the United States, was reluctant to spearhead change, and if European allies did not acquire the means to form capable coalitions, then NATO could not fulfill the perhaps most promising role of the 1990s, that of becoming a coalitionenabler. Why, then, one could reasonably ask, did the allies use meeting after meeting to support the Alliance? The question is pertinent because NATO force planning actually emerged reinvigorated from the end of the Cold War. Force planners—in the military commands and the Brussels headquarters— reacted to the new geopolitical environment by spearheading a new planning agenda that won political approval and therefore gave impetus to new force goals that, if implemented, would enable the type of multinational cooperation that could sustain out-of-area operations and NATO as a coalition enabler. The vigor of the planning regime was not matched by vigorous national defense plans, however. With the end of the Cold War, NATO’s force planning regime was threatened by turbulence that could unravel the regime altogether. NATO force planning at first appeared unaffected by the policies of glasnost and détente in the late 1980s, it should be noted. In November 1989, NATO defense ministers, meeting in the Defense Planning Committee (DPC), announced they had “considered the results of the 1989 Annual Defense Review and adopted the NATO Force Plan for 1990–1994.” Moreover, they pledged to focus on a number of “key deficiencies” that had been identified in their Conventional Defense Improvement (CDI) program. The motivation was clear: “we cannot ignore the fact that [. . .] the Warsaw Pact will retain well-equipped forces which substantially outnumber those of the West.”78


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The Warsaw Pacts dissolution combined with the effects of the CFE treaty did not fail to make their effect, however. According to Martin Smith, “it does appear as if the established force-planning cycle may have been effectively suspended during 1990 and much of 1991.”79 The risk that stagnation would turn into fatal decline was linked not only to the high politics of the Alliance—allied disagreement could undermine the strategic raison d’être— but importantly also to military dynamics that, viciously, could undermine NATO from within. In particular, a wind of “national self-sufficiency” was blowing through NATO corridors: national military bureaucracies now began to voice their demand that national planning sufficed.80 Paradoxically, the military experts most likely to oppose this wind of change, NATO command staff, shared their view that national formations were superior to multinational ones, being more interoperable and effective.81 At this point in time, political uncertainty and divergent military opinions combined to form “in all likelihood [ . . . ] the toughest challenge that NATO has ever faced.”82 NATO planning prevailed due to the ingenuity of NATO planners who seized the occasion in the fall of 1989 to outline new planning scenarios taking into account the changing geopolitical landscape, a process that by the spring of 1990 resulted in the conclusion that NATO’s military strategy was in need of revision. Political leaders, supported by the Supreme Allied Commander Europe, General Galvin, opposed the conclusion, however, on the grounds that the reigning strategy of “flexible response” could be adapted to new circumstances. Still, NATO’s International Military Staff continued to work along the new lines and in a gradual process of consultation with the European command of SACEUR—SHAPE—and national defense staffs they succeeded in “changing the mind-set of a broad group of people who prepare policy.”83 The chairman of NATO’s highest military authority, the Military Committee, then brought the issue before NATO defense ministers in May 1990 who reached agreement to instruct NATO military planners to revise NATO’s military strategy and task their permanent representatives to review NATO strategy. Two months later, in London, NATO heads of state endorsed the agenda for reform and set NATO on track for the Rome summit of November 1991 and a new Strategic Concept with all its implications for force planning. The new force structure that was announced in May 1991 contained the graduated design that was mentioned earlier in this chapter, running from “immediate” reaction forces over “rapid” reaction and “main defense” forces to “augmentation” forces. Readiness and alternatively augmentation capacity were therefore keywords in the new Strategic Concept. Moreover, and

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clearly opposed to the previous pressures to nationalize formations, NATO declared:84 . . . the ability to work closely together, which will facilitate the cost effective use of Alliance resources, will be particularly important for the achievement of the missions of the Allies’ forces. The Alliance’s collective defence arrangements in which, for those concerned, the integrated military structure, including multinational forces, plays the key role, will be essential in this regard. Integrated and multinational European structures, as they are further developed in the context of an emerging European Defence Identity, will also increasingly have a similarly important role to play in enhancing the Allies’ ability to work together in the common defence. Allies’ efforts to achieve maximum co-operation will be based on the common guidelines for defence defined above. NATO leaders did not only call for more multinational forces; they emphasized that these were particularly important for European nations. In retrospect it appears that this dash for notably European multinationality was aided by three factors, political as well as military. For one, decision-makers saw it as a means to safeguard NATO against forces of renationalization. Second, decision-makers could not help but notice how “the NATO network” had enabled the Gulf War to be fought so successfully by a broad coalition of states.85 Third, some argued, and were aided by the political turn of events, that the formation of multinational corps held out the promise of reducing logistical redundancy, renewing the anchoring of U.S. forces in Europe, enhancing interoperationability, and safeguarding national command (though not necessarily operational control).86 From here on, NATO force planners were faced with the complex task of planning for “the number of sub-units required to construct a coherent whole and detailed negotiations with nations to ensure that the burden of providing them is shared equitably.”87 To underscore to which extent NATO experienced a failure of European leadership in this context we will briefly look at three ways in which the institutional framework for planning de facto was strengthened. 1. Deepening of Force Planning Focus. Following the Brussels summit, January 1994, NATO defense ministers first, in May, endorsed a set of force goals—“designed to ensure that our collective defense arrangements continue to provide for the full range of Alliance responsibilities”88—and then, in June, agreed to a Ministerial Guidance that reflected the new simultaneous emphasis on Article 5 and non-Article 5 operations. In November 1995, force planning had progressed to the extent that the DPC could


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approve a five-year force plan focused on flexibility and multinational forces. While difficult to probe from the outside, the effects on the depth of the force planning process appear positive. In June 1996, the Military Committee, thus NATO’s senior military authority, endorsed a new military strategy in light of the strategic emphasis on the full range of missions. This document, MC400/1, first examined the military implications of political guidelines and then went on to define a list of Primary Military Requirements (PMR) to guide subsequent force planning. A few months later, in September 1996, the MC299/5 document specified the PMR in even greater detail in order to identify detailed Military Functions (MF). Combined, PMR and MF define the rationale for force proposals and ultimately force goals. As a clear indication of the solidity of the new force planning focus, MC400/1 and MC299/5 remained valid throughout the 1990s. 2. WEU Participation. Institutional widening can be said to have occurred as the WEU was incorporated into NATO force planning. This development was significant because the WEU was defined as the defense instrument of the EU but now connected to NATO’s potential status as a coalition framework. Especially the decision of 1993–1994 to develop CJTF headquarters was important because while temporary command-and-control arrangements employed by ad hoc coalitions in the past were combined and joint, NATO now promised to “permanently institutionalise” the idea and make NATO the first alliance to use CJTFs as its modus operandi.89 The WEU, with its circumscribed “Petersberg” agenda of crisis management missions, therefore in the fall of 1996 (following the “Berlin” agreement) transmitted mission profiles to NATO and found its force planning being incorporated into the NATO force planning regime by 1997. 3. Partner Planning. NATO force planning, and the broader process of defense planning, got an offspring with the establishment of a distinct planning process for NATO partners (Planning and Review Process—PARP). Related to the broader partnership for peace (PfP) program, PARP got under way in December 1994 as a means to enhance interoperationability, which was of essence in peacekeeping operations. PARP in many ways resembles its parent regime: it has a Ministerial Guidance (the first of which was made in November 1999) that informs subsequent Partnership Goals (in 2000, again in 2001, and so on), and which is followed by a joint review of progress. For aspirant countries, PARP is a key tool to prove their military credentials. Dealing with partners only, PARP naturally does not involve Article-5 scenarios, and planning assumptions are more general. European allies therefore had ample institutional incentive to act and shape the capabilities that would reinforce not only NATO as such but NATO as a

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new coalition framework in which they, the European allies, would be better able to provide coalition leadership. On paper they did achieve results. Multinational forces for the Reaction Forces were declared operational on schedule in 1994–1995, including a new Multinational Division Central (MND-C) as part of the new Allied Rapid Reaction Corps (ARRC). Renewal for the Main Defense Forces took place on the basis of lead-nation concepts, leading to the composition of bi- or tri-national corps that during peacetime were “skeleton forces.”90 The fact that the envisaged Multinational Corps South (MNC-S) failed to materialize was due to the usual contentious politics among southern NATO allies, Greece and Turkey in particular. Critics have not failed to notice that advances within a planning regime do not necessarily imply that policies are being implemented. Irrespective of the creation of the MND-C and the ARRC there were signs that European hesitation prevented the implementation of allied force plans. The problems related in part to economics but notably also to politics. The desire of European governments to cash in on the peace dividend and channel resources into domestic welfare programs accounts for an unambiguous decline in defense budgets for “NATO-Europe”—thus, NATO except the United States and Canada (table 2.1). The only European ally to actually raise budgets through these years was Turkey, with key allies such as Great Britain and France falling respectively from 4.5 and 3.8 to 3.7 and 3.4 over the period 1985–1989 to 1990–1994. It made no difference that U.S. expenditure likewise declined: the issue was one of whether the European allies were willing to invest in leadership resources. In budgetary terms they were not. In qualitative terms they were not either. Michael O’Hanlon’s conclusion is blunt: in spite of the many apparent changes made since 1990, including the multinational divisions declared ready, “NATO’s actual military capabilities have not changed very much” and “too little European money is sustaining too many production facilities and associated communities.”91 Hanlon’s criticism of defense priorities ties in with the argument that European defense planning was hampered by prestige as much as by economics.

Table 2.1 1980–1984

Defense expenditure, NATO-Europe, 1980–1999* 1985–1989

1990–1994

1995–1999

3.2

2.6

2.2

3.5 * Percentage of GDP. Source: NATO data


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In fact, policy-makers and military organizations conspired through the 1990s to prevent a thorough rationalization of European defense spending. Policy-makers were focused on the odd prestige project; military organizations displayed a significant reluctance to sacrifice the static infrastructure of the Cold War; and the outcome was that European allies generally created new but minor rapid reaction components while leaving the main structure of conscripted mobilization intact. One centrally placed force planner of the NATO staff in Brussels argued that conscription should have been done away with years ago to free up resources for fewer but more professional combat forces backed by a significantly larger number of combat support units.92 The latter support units were necessary because NATO forces by definition would move beyond their territorial infrastructures and in all likelihood operate in areas without host nation support. “If budgets do not grow,” the force planner continued, “then it means fewer combat units. And there’s an enormous institutional reluctance to sacrifice combat for support units.” In short, seen from within the Brussels-based institution that, after all, had reinvigorated the planning regime, the process had been a “painfully slow” one. The point was confirmed by a national defense official, working with NATO defense planning, who bluntly stated that nations gain prestige from being in the frontline, not from providing the kitchen units that serve the frontline forces.93 Allied defense planning suffered from the split visions analyzed earlier in this chapter, or, in the words of Rob de Wijk, from “hollow concepts” put forward “with great élan” but inviting conflicting interpretations.94 Earlier in this section we noted that allied defense planning was steered onto a clear course with the adoption of a new military strategy, MC400/1, in June 1996 and concomitant military functions to guide force goal planning, MC299/5, in September 1996. The observation stands, but it should be complemented by two other observations. First, the implementation of planning in the period 1991–1995 took place at a modest speed, for reasons just examined, but by the mid-1990s there was little excuse for nations to claim ignorance of the investment priorities of the Alliance. Reaction forces were demanded in the force structure of 1991 (MC317); the full spectrum of operations (Article 5 and non-Article 5 situations) was made the centerpiece of military planning with the Ministerial Guidance of May 1995 and in the renewed military strategy of June 1996 (MC400/1); and investments in the shape of concrete military functions, to be coupled with force goals, were identified in the fall of 1996 (MC299/5). The second observation concerns the integrated command structure which became an issue of contention once force planning seemed to be on track. The command structure issue revealed an inherent national tendency

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to focus on prestige and, whether knowingly or not, to delay effective military reforms. An illustration follows. In January 1994, the allies made two decisions relating to the command structure: that it was in need of rationalization, and that new mobile and multinational operative headquarters, CJTFs, should be organized as a measure to make NATO more flexible for out-of-area operations, to enable action by NATO’s European pillar (ESDI), and to enable cooperation with new partners from Eastern Europe. Prompted by these political guidelines, major NATO Commands worked out a CJTF report within the next couple of months but then ran into two problems: the political guidelines were ill defined and therefore controversial, and it was unclear at what level in the existing command structure that the CJTF should be developed.95 The first problem stemmed from multiple political visions: the CJTF was originally based on the U.S. perception following the Gulf War of 1991 that NATO needed to augment is collective defense capacity, if for instance a war broke out between Turkey and Iraq; in the mid-1990s the CJTF then became connected to NATO’s crisis management (non-Article 5) role in the Balkans; while finally, in the French view, CJTF was the centerpiece in the effort to realize a European defense option with real operational potential. The second problem was connected to the many layers in the command structure of the mid-1990s: allies such as the United States who were sure to be represented in the upper levels of the structure favored anchoring CJTF here; but a significant number of European allies wished to tie CJTF to lower-level headquarters located on their national territories in order to provide these with a new raison d’être. These problems were tied together in one package of military reform labeled the Long-Term Study (LTS), whose terms of reference were established in September 1994, and which can be seen as a result of the political decisions of January 1994.96 The LTS consisted of a number of Military Transition Implementation Working Groups, including one for CJTF and one for the command structure, that labored under the leadership of NATO’s International Military Staff in Brussels. The outcome was a new NATO command structure endorsed by the North Atlantic Council (NAC) in December 1997.97 We should note three characteristics that all relate to the conclusion that European allies often focused on national benefits and generally failed to provide leadership for internal military reform. First of all, the allies claimed to have reduced the command structure from 65 to 20 headquarters with the reform, but this claim of “political rationality” was largely irrelevant and certainly distorting. On paper the reduction did take place but cuts were made in the bottom layer of the command structure— the fourth layer known as Sub-Principal Subordinate Command, consisting of single-service headquarters paid for out of national budgets—where


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cuts either would have been made anyway or where they had no real effect because the capability had eroded along with defense budgets. The real issue of reform concerned the third layer—the Principal Subordinate Command layer. Allies such as the United States and Great Britain felt that this layer was superfluous: NATO needed a joint (multiservice) strategic level (such as SHAPE), a joint operational level (such as Brunssum), and then a tactical level of single-service headquarters. These advocates of a stringent design lost the internal debate, however, and NATO ended up endorsing a renovated joint third level with seven Joint Sub-Regional Headquarters (JSRHQ) funded by NATO’s collective budget. There were two ironies in this. First that “rationalization” had led to the endorsement of not one but two layers of joint operative headquarters—the regional and the sub-regional. Second that the sub-regional “joint” headquarters de facto were not joint: the air force and the navy used single-service component commands (CC) at this third level, which left land forces to occupy the JSRHQ. The command structure reform had thus turned out to be an exercise in the preservation of national prestige, and it would be no stretch of imagination to consider that the hosts of the JSRHQ—Norway, Denmark, Germany, Turkey, Greece, Italy, and Spain—had been at the forefront of the exercise. Second, France’s entry into the reform process raised hopes that a consensus could be reached especially on the CJTF question but these were soon dashed by France’s continued hostility to the integrated command. Enthused by its vision of Europeanization, France overplayed its hand, demanding not only a significant detachment of the CJTF from the integrated command but also a diminished American role in it. These demands sufficed to raise suspicion that France was not ready to reform NATO but sought to derail it.98 The question of France and the command structure came to a head in late 1996 when the United States refused to consider French proposals for the Europeanization of the southern regional command in Europe, in Naples, and when France therefore terminated its rapprochement with the integrated command structure. But prior to this turn of events France had sought to detach the CJTF as much as possible from the integrated command structure in the attempt to create a distinct structure for collective defense (the withering integrated structure without France) and one for out-of-area operations (the CJTF structure with France). France therefore participated in institutions created by NATO for the purpose of realizing the CJTF. One such institution was the Capabilities Coordination Cell (CCC) that NATO in 1995 created within the Military Staff to assist the Military Committee in out-ofarea questions. France sought to move this organ out of the Military Staff and increase the weight of the organ, partly by arguing that a general should head it, in order to make it the centerpiece of allied out-of-area operative planning.

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This policy failed: the CCC ended up remaining within the Military Staff with a staff of about ten people headed by a colonel.99 Resistance to the French proposal was partly based on the Alliance’s policy of using the strategic commands (in 1997, SHAPE and SACLANT) for such out-of-area planning. Focus therefore moved to the new Combined Joint Planning Staff (CJPS) created within SHAPE, also in 1995, to perform CJTF planning functions for all NATO commands. To ease France’s entry in the integrated structure the allies agreed, in effect, to erode the (American) Supreme Commander’s (SACEUR) authority to plan for out-of-area contingencies: the CJPS was created by dual-hatting SACEUR’s Reaction Force Planning Staff and Reaction Force Air Staff, making these bodies available to both SACEUR and his deputy, the designated commander of “European operations,” DSACEUR. DSACEUR thus grew in importance within the command structure.100 But the allies in the end did not wish to go as far as France had hoped for—with its plan to detach Article 5 and non-Article 5 command arrangements— because they wished to maintain the integrated and multinational nature of command.101 Finally, a discrepancy between the CJTF as a solution to NATO’s operational difficulties and as a measure to advance national interests should be noted. By 1995, NATO was set on a course of developing two CJTFs: one in Brunssum, the Netherlands, another in Norfolk, the United States. CJTFs are big packages to maintain and assemble, and therefore a challenge to organize. Once negotiations over the final outline of the new command structure drew closer, the number of CJTFs was raised to three, however, effectively because Italy wanted a CJTF for its regional headquarter in Naples.102 Moreover, some of the allies fighting for the third level headquarters, JSRHQ, sought to rescue the raison d’être of the this third level by turning JSRHQ headquarters into “modules” that could be used for assembling a CJTF. These allies did not succeed in connecting JSRHQ and CJTF but they did succeed in establishing a consensus, by late 1996, one year before the command structure was agreed to, that the second level (of regional headquarters) should be slimmed while the third level (of JSRHQ) should be developed. In other words, in Europe, the regional command level was reduced from three to two headquarters: North and South would remain while Central was disbanded; while sub-regionally the wealth of JSRHQ would remain. The JSRHQ nations thus managed to nourish both French and Italian frustrations: Italy was adamant that the “South” (in Naples) needed a CJTF on par with the “North” (Brunssum) now that the compromise position of placing Europe’s one CJTF in “Central” was gone; and France was almost bound to make demands on command posts dear to the United States because its entry points into the command structure had been reduced from three to two.


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France was never likely to look “North” with the “Central” threat gone, and it was therefore predictable that France in 1995–1996 sought to extract concessions in relation to the Naples command “South”—host also to the U.S. Sixth Fleet. This section began with an outline of initiatives that had secured the revitalization of NATO’s force planning regime. A new force structure including multinational formations and based on a new military strategy was ready to guide European force planning and ultimately to enable European leadership of the Alliance. This leadership failed to emerge and realize the regime’s potential. European allies lacked defense resources in general but particularly troublesome was the widespread interest in obscure sub-regional headquarters, the French demand for stonewalling the integrated command structure, and Italy’s demand for an ambitious CJTF agenda based on territorial politics. Enlargement The decision reached in 1997 to enlarge the Alliance was the culmination of a process of Eastern engagement that, from its beginning in 1991, confronted NATO with difficult questions concerning the why, when, and extent of enlargement. In 1994, President Clinton played a decisive role in pushing a commitment to study the “when,” not the “whether,” of enlargement, which led the NAC to declare, in December 1994, that “We expect and would welcome NATO enlargement.”103 The NAC then initiated a study on the criteria for membership, leading NATO to conclude in September 1995 that new members would have to meet Western democratic standards and also be capable of contributing to the common security. The enlargement question then went into hibernation due to the uncertainty surrounding the Russian presidential elections of July 1996. But with these elections passed—with Yeltsin winning another term—and following allied consultations, the Clinton administration announced in September 1996 that NATO would identify its new members in mid-1997. The extent of enlargement, finally, was settled at the Madrid summit of July 1997 when the U.S. preference for just three new members prevailed over those of France and Italy, championing an enlargement with five countries. It would appear that this process was a fairly rational one: moving from enlargement’s raison d’être to its timing and scope. The problem is that differences were papered over in the first instance, relating to the raison d’être, and that underlying designs therefore collided in the latter phases. We look at these designs below: one was American, the remaining two European. The point of the matter is not so much that one design prevailed—the American one—but that the preoccupation with

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democratic unity across Europe prevented key players, notably the United States, from realizing that all-European unity was difficult to combine with out-of-area flexibility. The choice was one of prioritizing unity or flexibility, but the choice was not pondered. Studies have established how crucial a role the United States played in bringing about NATO enlargement. Political leadership emerged as President Clinton with the support of a policy community in Washington decided that NATO could not remain vital unless enlarged. Specifically, Clinton opted in the course of 1994 for a double-track policy of enlarging NATO while striking a special deal with Russia.104 The sources of this decision are varied. One analyst makes reference to the preference of the influential former national security advisor, Zbigniew Brzezinski; another analyst stresses the alignment of Democrats and Republicans on the issue; while a person intimately involved in the later stages of U.S. enlargement policy emphasizes the agenda-setting power of a community of analysts and observers, in which he took part, and which connected to influential Congressmen such as Senator Lugar.105 These are all important factors in a policy process greatly shaped by U.S. domestic politics, as opposed to international negotiations. Indeed, as one critic of enlargement lamented, “The fact is that NATO . . . has been landed with a policy the US government foisted upon it against its better judgement in face of opposition from within the administration from those with some knowledge on these matters.”106 Still, an account of why the president chose this option and stuck with it through a difficult interagency process must make reference also to the president’s personal convictions. There is little doubt that President Clinton believed firmly in the superiority of democracies over nondemocracies, a belief anchored in liberal philosophy and optimism. Traceable to the thinking of Immanuel Kant, the idea of a new “democratic peace” found its way into the scholarly debate in the 1980s and 1990s and also into the national security strategy of the Clinton administration, the first version of which was published in 1994 and which was tellingly entitled “engagement and enlargement”: engagement in the democratic community and enlargement of it. A policy of enlarging NATO required no leap of imagination in such a context. It also became a rallying point for Eastern European governments who gained an occasion to stress the values held in common across Europe, the risk that a rejection of enlargement would provoke a similar rejection in Eastern Europe of these same values, and who thus gained an opportunity to de-emphasize the relative insignificance of their military capabilities. Democratic engagement implied also a concern with Russia’s fragile democracy. Critics of NATO enlargement drew their strongest argument from here: enlargement would push Russia back into despotism and, ultimately, recreate


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a Yalta order of division and confrontation.107 As the earlier discussion of Russia’s entry into the PfP and the creation of a PJC—to facilitate enlargement— illuminated, Russian policy-makers fought to affect NATO policy by linking respect for Russia’s history and status to the prospect for a stable European order. The strategy of negotiation became prevalent once Russian policymakers realized that Baker’s promise to Gorbachev in 1990—that the inclusion of the GDR in NATO would not lead NATO to extend its jurisdiction eastward—could not be used to block enlargement. Some officials within the State Department in Washington found the Russian position so critical that they opposed NATO enlargement—notably Strobe Talbott, special adviser to the secretary of state on the Newly Independent States (the former Soviet Union)—but they lost the policy debate, and for the United States and NATO the key question became one developing a dual-track policy— enlarging NATO and engaging Russia. The policy granted Russia negotiating leverage and pushed NATO to consider the construction of a wide-reaching architecture. This brings us to the European scene and also to part of the reason why European allies failed to invest in new forces for leadership. The U.S. policy on enlargement no doubt influenced some allies in the sense that it comforted their view that what were needed were not larger defense budgets but political engagements to promote and safeguard emerging democracies. To be sure, the Alliance had committed itself to building new reaction forces following from the new Strategic Concept but the most important insurance policy now seemed to be investments in Eastern European democracy—and maintaining U.S. interest in them. Not all allies agreed, however, because they were led to be concerned with military efficacy: problematic military engagements in BH were part of the problem, a general preoccupation with NATO’s status as a military alliance another. Ronald Asmus writes that U.S. policy-makers were quite isolated during enlargement debates in 1993–1995. Thus, the U.S. ambassador to NATO, Robert Hunter, wrote in January 1995 that “Few allies are enthusiastic about expansion, and several will drag their feet on getting the necessary work done this year, whether out of inertia or out of a hope that, somehow they will not have to cross this particular Rubicon.” Intense diplomatic efforts nevertheless produced a NATO consensus by the following March on some core ideas, one of which were that “enlargement’s rationale was to expand integration and stability in Europe eastwards, and not a strategic response to a specific military threat from Russia.”108 The coupling of NATO’s purpose and European democracy could only raise worries among the allies most focused on military efficiency. Among these allies was Great Britain. Britain had invested heavily in the new force structure by transforming its British Army of the Rhine (BAOR)

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into the backbone of NATO’s new ARRC, which followed from the guidelines of the 1991 Strategic Concept. The ARRC became operational in 1995 and its headquarters took command of the land component of the IFOR operation that began in December 1995, and the HQ ARRC remained in charge through 1996 of up to 55,000 troops from 35 nations. Britain was certainly not the only ally present in the ARRC: the HQ was multinational and the forces assigned to ARRC consisted of ten divisions of varying nationality, including the new multinational division (MND-N). Still, Britain secured permanent command of the HQ ARRC and filled a majority of the HQ staff positions, and Britain also assigned one of the two ARRC divisions that were not home-based and better trained and equipped for out-of-area operations.109 The ARRC investment represented an investment in the renewal of past British policy principles, combining NATO “orthodoxy” with a “continental commitment”—relying on the army rather than the navy, although the distinction should not be overdrawn.110 The British government was probably among the allies dragging their feet on enlargement, in Robert Hunter’s words, but it gave up its opposition in the course of 1994.111 The British government was in fact not so much concerned with enlargement in the abstract as its impact on NATO and its ability to (1) tie the United States to Europe and in so doing discourage both isolationists in the U.S. Congress and autonomists in continental Europe, and (2) grant Great Britain influence qua its military capabilities.112 The British government was thus supportive of enlargement if this policy contributed to British objectives. This conditional support could be mistaken for “easy” acceptance, even for Britain having “conceded” to U.S. policy, but the fact of the matter is that Britain maintained a strategic focus on strong military bonds across the Atlantic.113 British policy found support in the U.S. Department of Defense, which was likewise skeptical of the military consequences of enlargement. The Pentagon had been against enlargement from the very outset in the early 1990s and was a key source of the “wait-and-see” solution adopted in 1993–1994: PfP. Stanley Sloan thus recounts how advocates of enlargement in Washington were countered by defense officials spanning NATO’s supreme commander in Europe, U.S. General Shalikashvili, his staff, and a number of “senior Pentagon officials.”114 The latter argued that certain criteria had to be met before enlargement could take place and in particular that new members would have to be producers, not just consumers of security. In other words, shared values will not do; military ability counts as much. The perception that Pentagon representatives were hostile to NATO enlargement produced a tense situation in September 1994 when Richard Holbrooke took charge of the interagency process, determined to push through the policy of enlargement. During a key interagency meeting, Holbrooke “insisted that he


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had a mandate from the President to enlarge NATO”—which was not quite clear at this stage of the process—and then warned the Pentagon representative, General Wesley Clark, that any questioning of the policy would be an act of “insubordination.”115 By the end of the year, 1994, Holbrooke and the other advocates of enlargement within the administration had settled the policy issue in enlargement’s favor. The position of Britain and the Pentagon at least had the virtue of supporting a coherent design: an Atlantic “coalition” framework organized to enable military operations. Enlargement, they feared, could undermine the military aspect and also, importantly, the Atlantic framework itself. Coalitions and Atlantic dilution were the goals of French policy when France in 1996–1997 decided to support not only an enlargement to three but five new members: including the French champion, Romania, and the Italian, Slovenia. France shifted track from its previous policy of preserving various forms of enlargement for the EU, thus preventing NATO’s enlargement, because it perceived an opportunity to build a coalition framework that would hollow out the Atlantic framework from within and simultaneously enable “Europeanization” at a military level. In the French view, enlargement was just one aspect of NATO’s transformation, which consisted also of a more coherent ESDI—notably reinforced by European cooperation on the ground in BH—and of a command structure designed for flexibility in the shape of CJTF.116 In some ways, NATO would take the place of the “confederation” in Mitterrand’s previous design and the EU would be better placed—as the real embodiment of the ESDI—to become the political core; with France and Germany making up the core of the core. France announced its partial reintegration in NATO’s military structure in December 1995 because the newly elected president, Jacques Chirac, had gained free hands to revise French policy after the Mitterrand era, and more specifically because the activist new president perceived this opportunity to influence NATO’s transformation—and promote its Europeanization. The difference in logic between France and the United States was too great to permit a compromise and France’s full reintegration floundered on the issue of NATO’s southern command in Naples (alluded to above); but any issue could have provoked the rupture that resulted from a clash of designs. The United States prevailed again, as in 1991, but again at a price: it had yet to fully articulate its policy for NATO as a “coalition” and it faced allies who worried that the leadership was not there to prevent NATO from sliding into a softer collective security-type organization, enlarged to the East and, although not with Russia as a member, shaping its policies according to Russian internal affairs. Enlargement therefore revealed the extent to which NATO allies had failed to assess the options available in the new security

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environment deprived of “threats” but rich in “risks”: a collective security design adapted to all of the Euro-Atlantic region dominated by democratic status-quo players; or a coalition design adapted to varying national demands for a flexible framework enabling the pursuit of national prestige and influence. This brings us to the conclusion of this chapter. Conclusion NATO was pulled in two directions in the early 1990s, toward collective security and a coalition framework. This movement came about because threats disappeared and were replaced with diverse risks that required political efforts as sustained as those mobilized during the Cold War but yet different in nature. As the first two sections of this chapter demonstrated, efforts had to be directed at the management of armed conflicts taking place in Europe’s peripheries as well as relations to former enemies to the East. As the two sections then also argued, NATO’s responses were less than clear: NATO reluctantly embraced crisis management as a task only once the credibility of the EU and the UN had been undermined—a development of which NATO was part and parcel—and NATO built relations to the East in the spirit of unity and equality but to the practical effect that the old distinction between West and East was preserved in a new core-periphery architecture. In short, NATO came to accept the task of security management but hesitated in its choice between unity (collective security) and flexibility (coalition framework). Some might argue that NATO in fact was being coherent through these years, seeking to construct a collective security system enforced by flexible coalitions. In other words, all European and North American states would subscribe to the set of principles embodied in the Paris Charter of the OSCE; NATO would support these principles through partnership programs; but NATO would first and foremost be the vehicle for organizing those coalitions that were willing and able to enforce respect for these principles in particular cases. This image of coherence is no doubt appealing to policy-makers but it fails to take into account the basic tension between status quo and revisionist motivations that also was built into the analytical framework of this book. All states professed allegiance to the status quo in adhering to the Paris Charter and supporting the vision of cooperation inherent in NATO’s partnership programs. However, some states were clearly also worried that collective ties would inhibit the pursuit of profit—power and influence—that the new environment offered: hence, the recurrent demands for flexibility in strategy and organization. These conflicting demands were not integrated into one overall design for NATO; instead, NATO developed in response to the


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balance of interests within the Alliance and, as the discussion has repeatedly emphasized, tensions emerged. The balance of interest was complex and cannot be reduced simply to one set of countries facing another. The U.S. administrations of Bush and Clinton were among the actors that supported “unity” on several occasions. President Bush insisted during 1991 that NATO should prevail as the cornerstone in Europe’s security architecture, preserving unity among the old allies and inhibiting the development of an autonomous EU defense dimension. President Clinton pursued the same policy but also added a more explicit justification for it in the shape of his engagement and enlargement national security doctrine. We should note that Bush and Clinton supported unity in the shape of a democratic Europe but never intended to tie American hands in a collective security system in Europe (and also that European actors lacked the power to tie American hands). In some ways, therefore, the presidential position was that unity should apply largely to the continent of Europe where threats had vanished and where old and new democracies now should work in common to confront new risks while the United States was free to act elsewhere in its capacity as global leader. Germany was preoccupied with unity and focused earlier than the United States on the implications for all of Europe, which led to some transatlantic tensions on the issue of the CSCE versus NATO in 1990–1991. But Germany aligned with American NATO policy in the context of elaborating NATO’s partnership dimension in the fall of 1991, thus at a time when German unification was on track and less vulnerable to Soviet policy. We should also note that most NATO allies placed a premium on the U.S. engagement in Europe’s security and therefore tended to follow Washington’s political lead. This became evident during the enlargement process when NATO accepted first the U.S. policy on the principle of enlargement and then the U.S. preference concerning the extent of enlargement. Symptomatically of the U.S.–German relationship noted above, the European decision-maker most often noted by American observers of enlargement as having aligned most closely with U.S. policy was the German defense minister, Volker Rühe. A number of actors supported inequality (though they did not put it in these terms) to gain flexibility for their own actions. The Pentagon opposed enlargement on the grounds that it would dilute the military power of NATO, which became evident first in 1993 when the Pentagon favored partnerships for peace over enlargement and later during the debate on the costs of actually enlarging the Alliance. The Pentagon’s position was ultimately a conservative one seeking to preserve the military capacity of the old Alliance while also safeguarding flexibility mainly in the hands of the U.S. forces rather than in some new European force structure. This accounts for the fact

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that the Pentagon on the one hand resisted enlargement and on the other also resisted diluting the command structure—during the CJTF debate in 1995–1996—and thus enabling European command options. France and Britain were two other key actors behind the flexibility agenda and in effect the idea that some allies should be able to gain a leadership role due to their military ability and determination. France wanted flexibility so that it could move European coalitions out of the NATO framework and inspire a process of Europeanization, and France began a thorough reform of its military forces in 1995–1996 in order to gain the military currency of leadership—professional and mobile forces. Britain had this type of forces to a greater extent than other European allies but nevertheless initiated a restructuring (as well as downsizing) of its forces to claim a leadership role in NATO’s new force structure, testifying to Britain’s ambition to strengthen NATO rather than the EU defense dimension. An ability to claim leadership in flexible but also militarily capable frameworks accounts for the reluctance with which both countries received the U.S. decision to press ahead with NATO’s enlargement. A large and soft gathering of old and new democracies committed to continental stability and security could well undermine the strategies for active leadership that both countries were developing. France ended up supporting a larger enlargement than that proposed by the United States but only because it thought that NATO enlargement could end up reinforcing the political lead of the EU. Actors supporting greater flexibility made reference to new military demands—because of the new security environment and because they happened to possess a lead capability in this context. In this they could count on the support of the NATO planning staff, meaning both the civilian and military components in Brussels (the International Staff and the International Military Staff ) and the military authorities of the command structure (the headquarter staffs), because they had been among the first to envisage the need for new mobile forces trained for multinational operations. Since such operations would be mounted on a case-by-case basis there was a builtin demand for organizational flexibility that tied in with national demands for political flexibility. Pro-Atlantic allies such as Britain supported NATO defense planning with no great qualms where pro-EU allies such as France supported only that part of it that related to flexible out-of-area operations: France thus chose to participate in CJTF planning but remained outside the integrated collective defense planning system. Vested organizational interests thus account for part of the reason why NATO continued to function—planners doing what they are good at: planning—but the point should not be exaggerated because planners were part of a greater political whole.


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This set of divergent political interests and the impotency of NATO during four years of war in BH provided ample reason to revise NATO’s raison d’être. The formal decision to this end was made at the Madrid summit of July 1997 when NATO heads of state and government declared that “we have decided to examine the Strategic Concept [of 1991] to ensure that it is fully consistent with Europe’s new security situation and challenges.” If they were looking for input to clarify this security situation, they had only to look at the other statements in the summit declaration covering a “lasting order of peace for Europe as a whole,” the maintenance of “collective defense,” and internal reforms based on CJTF and ESDI intended to provide NATO with “effective” but also “flexible” force options.117 The reform of the Strategic Concept was to be concluded at NATO’s fiftieth anniversary summit in Washington in April 1999, and the Alliance thus had a little less than two years to decide whether it could be all that it wanted to be. The timeframe was a priori reasonable, but NATO soon found that its political and military energies were channeled into another Balkan crisis, this time in Kosovo: the anniversary summit was thus held in the midst of NATO’s Kosovo war, and it was open to question whether NATO policy-makers would be able to focus on the Alliance’s underlying crisis and offer a coherent new blueprint for cooperation.


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ATO engaged the debate on its new strategic concept at a moment when tensions between designs of security cooperation were reaching critical levels. NATO had with reluctance abandoned its old role as an alliance, and ambiguity prevailed in relation to the Alliance’s future mission. During 1997 and 1998, in the run-up to the April 1999 Washington summit celebrating NATO’s fiftieth anniversary, the Alliance operated on two levels. On the one hand, the vision of Europe unified was cultivated, and the summit could rightly be portrayed as the first enlargement summit of the post–Cold War era with Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic having entered the Alliance just days ahead of it. On the other hand, the allies subtly jockeyed to define the Alliance in such a way that venues for national influence would become broader. This was in some measure the old story— of the previous chapter—but now a breaking point was reached. Naturally, breaking points are hard to identify because breaks tend to occur as a consequence of structural pressures operating over time but it would at least seem accurate to say that the Kosovo war, March–June 1999, made several key governments realize that things could not stand as they were, that ambiguity had reached its limits. Kosovo was presented as a case of a rogue regime transgressing the rules of the game in Europe’s democratic order, making the conflict appear as a confrontation between democratic Europe and a vile case, Serbia, rooted in Europe’s own troubled past. And the figures were impressive: the armed intervention led by NATO involved 59 airbases in 12 countries, 941 fixed aircrafts and 279 helicopters, and while the bulk of the forces were American, a large

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number of allies and partners provided forces for the operation. In addition, the subsequent peacekeeping mission, KFOR, consisted of 46,000 soldiers from 39 countries, with the bulk of the forces being non-American. One observer therefore reached the conclusion that NATO’s broad aspirations were “moving the alliance into the realm of collective security” and, writing in the midst of the Kosovo war, suggested with cautious optimism that Kosovo may “help to propel the alliance into a new role as a European collective security organization.”1 The appearance of an all-against-one operation was deceptive, however. The operation was decisive in convincing key players in the Atlantic arena that policy should build on the political reality of national ambitions, and the fact was that these ambitions pointed in diverging directions when it came to defining the “when” or the “how” of military force. The discourse on and the wish for Euro-Atlantic unity had been strong but national ambitions prevailed in the end. NATO therefore entered a new phase in which the challenge was one of defining and then organizing a looser “coalition” design (see table 1.2). The challenge was a difficult one and considerable efforts were put into the internal reform of NATO at the expense of the partnership and enlargement programs that had come to dominate in previous years. Both tracks—internal reform and outreach—continued to run in parallel, naturally, but the stakes were now raised in relation to the former: the state that succeeded in putting its fingerprint on the new organization would create greater opportunities for influence in subsequent Alliance affairs. Outreach programs such as the Membership Action Plan (MAP) and the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) therefore entered a phase where their future potential was determined not so much in Eastern Europe, otherwise the object of the programs, but in the heart of the old Alliance. The struggle to refashion the Alliance and promote coalitions in such a way that national opportunities were maximized pushed NATO into its perhaps worst crisis. NATO had earlier experienced sharp disagreements on particular issues but this time the crisis was structural and led to the creation of a truly autonomous European defense option. To be sure, once launched in 1999–2000, this option needed time to mature and become operational. But the remarkable thing about it, the European Security and Defense Policy (ESDP) of the European Union (EU), was that it broke with the past Berlin agreement that European operations should begin inside NATO and remain linked to NATO throughout operations. By 1999, this Berlin scenario, representing a legacy from the era of “unity,” had been complemented by another based on greater “flexibility,” autonomous European action. One can only wonder what might have become of the Atlantic Alliance had not September 11 disrupted this development and brought


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about a new direction in allied relations, but this is the subject matter of the next chapter. The story of the demise of collective security as a goal and the grave crisis produced in the context of organizing flexible defense cooperation is told here. The chapter begins with an overview of the reasons why collective security as a vision with a potential for realization was mortally wounded rather than reinvigorated by the Kosovo war. The immediate causes are found in the collective weakness that is the direct result of the lack of unity among the great NATO powers. Section one examines this collective weakness and also its structural causes that are found in the geopolitical situations of the great powers. Geopolitical divergence ultimately paved the way for a more radical reorientation of Atlantic security cooperation. Sections two to four then analyze various aspects of the structural crisis in NATO and the potential for a rupture. Section two addresses the Strategic Concept from April 1999, which was so ambiguous that it provided no glue for the Alliance during critical moments. Section three looks at the reform of NATO’s integrated command, which was challenged by demands for greater geographical mobility and organizational sensitivity to varying political participation. Section four addresses force planning, which is perhaps the area in which an alternative organization to NATO developed most rapidly. The chapter’s final section considers how these internal dynamics tied in with external relations to Russia and other countries in Eastern Europe. Collective Security’s Deceptive Victory Several developments may at first sight nourish the idea that Kosovo pushed NATO further down the collective security track: first that the Alliance succeeded in realizing its vision for broad security cooperation in Europe, drawing under its wings a very large and diverse collection of forces; second that NATO de facto authorized its own military action, usurping the authority of the United Nations Security Council (UNSC), but, crucially, claiming to do so in the name of the collective security principles inherent in the UN Charter. As mentioned in chapter 2, NATO never declared itself a regional security arrangement under the UN Charter because the allies, back in the late 1940s, wanted to safeguard their decision-making autonomy and not, as would otherwise have been the case, make it dependent on UNSC authorization in accordance with the UN Charter’s Article 53. NATO could always claim that its authorization to use force during the Cold War would come from the inherent right of individual or collective self-defense (UN Charter’s Article 51), but in the case of post–Cold War crisis management the issue is and was more troublesome. Unless military action takes place in self-defense,

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it requires that the UNSC shall determine the existence of a threat to peace (Article 39) and mandate the use of armed force to restore international peace and security (Article 42). NATO took it upon itself to restore international peace and security in the case of Kosovo because the allies felt that humanitarian considerations legitimized the intervention, and that obstructionism on the part of Russia and China prevented the UNSC from acting on its decision that the situation in Kosovo did in fact constitute a threat to peace and security in the region (an Article 39 resolution). UNSC resolution 1199, which was adopted in September 1998, identified this threat but never gave birth to an Article 42 resolution, although many would have found such a resolution a logical consequence of the continuing ethnic fighting in Kosovo. Instead the UN remained camped on the ambiguous position of resolution 1199 where a threat to peace was identified and all parties were instructed to cease hostilities with reference to the Charter’s punitive Chapter VII; but where the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Yugoslavia were reaffirmed as well.2 NATO stepped in and, in effect, decided to define its own Article 42 mandate. Naturally, this became evident on March 24, 1999, when the bombing campaign was launched, but NATO had assumed this role—of mandating and enforcing policy—already in the immediate wake of resolution 1199. In fact, NATO defense ministers held an informal meeting the same day that resolution 1199 was adopted and agreed to initiate NATO’s force generation process. Three steps are involved in this process, beginning with the commander’s authorization to ask governments to identify forces for the operation, a step known as ACTWARN, then moving to a legally binding commitment to assign these forces to NATO command, ACTREQ, and ending with an ACTORD that establishes a date for operations, albeit subject to final approval by all allies.3 Acting through their permanent ambassadors in the North Atlantic Council (NAC), NATO allies authorized ACTORD on October 12, 1998 adding that strikes would begin after 96 hours unless the Council agreed to suspend the order. In addition to mandating the use of force and encouraging broad cooperation during the campaign, NATO engaged a debate over the deeper cause of the war that lent itself to collective security ideas. NATO’s stated goal in the run-up to the war, Operation Allied Force, was to avert a humanitarian catastrophe by halting violence and supporting the completion of negotiations on a Kosovo settlement.4 NATO’s war was thus a humanitarian one, conducted not for the sake of national interest but for human rights and good governance in and around Europe. Several political actors and observers took part in a more general effort to revise the rules of war and argued that the security of individuals may prevail over that of states. Although his organization had


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been sidelined during the Kosovo war, UN Secretary General Kofi Annan stated before the UN General Assembly in September 1999 that individual sovereignty has been “enhanced by a renewed and spreading consciousness of individual rights” and moreover that “on balance” the world community “should welcome” the “developing international norm in favor of intervention to protect civilians.”5 In April 1999, Tony Blair promoted a similar doctrine of intervention based on humanitarian solidarity. Naturally, the fact that NATO had acted in the absence of an Article 42 mandate could be seen as undermining the claim to a new order, but the allies were generally intent on complying with international rules, and they agreed to the ACTORD of October 1998 only in response to the considerable effort NATO’s Secretary General Solana put into the crafting of “a legal position” that provided a basis for using force.6 Moreover, and in a broader perspective, NATO could be said to be acting under the humanitarian impulse that had let to the downfall of the apartheid regime in South Africa, criminal tribunals for Yugoslavia and Rwanda, and a new, standing International Criminal Court: after all, as a professor of international law wrote, “International law is not static.”7 NATO thus appeared to be Europe’s new collective security backbone that sponsored collective action to defend the liberal-democratic status quo. Yet this victory of collective security was deceptive. Through 1998 and 1999, Kosovo revealed that the decisive states in Europe’s security order were discontent with the status quo and sought to gain new opportunities for shaping the order in their own image. This was revisionism of a mild kind, which in table 1.2 was presented under the heading of “flexibility”: states demand reform but not revolution. The cause was the national situations of the great powers, which by the late 1990s were clarified as the post–Cold War fog lifted and which increasingly were difficult to subsume under the universal wish for democratic unity. The consequence was a number of marked weaknesses in the way in which the Kosovo crisis was handled by NATO. We briefly look first at these consequences before the remainder of the chapter examines the causes. The approach of NATO allies to Kosovo suffered in critical instances from a lack of coherence, which probably prolonged the crisis by making Serb leader Milosevic less amenable to outside pressure. In the diplomatic phase, we witness this problem in relation to the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) mission that was deployed to Kosovo in late 1998 and the Rambouillet peace negotiation of February–March 1999. The OSCE mission followed from an agreement negotiated between Milosevic and U.S. diplomat Richard Holbrooke, key architect behind the Dayton agreement, and was intended to provide verification of the compliance by all parties, although notably Serb security forces, with UN resolution 1199.

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As Ivo Daalder and Michael O’Hanlon note, this agreement was “peace at a price.” Western states were seeking to alleviate the humanitarian situation without addressing the underlying political motives for the conflict, and they could reasonably expect that fighting would resume in the near future. Moreover, the agreement was weak on some critical issues: it did not adequately define the nature and extent of the Serb withdrawal (thus making verification inherently difficult); it did not explain how NATO could enforce it when OSCE observers were scattered on the ground; and it did not address the fact that the Albanian force, KLA, would seek to exploit the opportunities created by Serb withdrawals.8 Renewed fighting then led NATO allies to take the working documents of the frustrated mediator, Christopher Hill, and use them as a basis for a decisive peace conference at Rambouillet in France, February 6–23. These negotiations failed to produce an agreement, however, and the involved parties were given an extra opportunity to settle matters peacefully in Paris, March 15–18. Several issues could be subject to criticism in this process, including for instance the willingness to negotiate with a Serb delegation of political lightweights during the first week at Rambouillet, or the negotiators’ sudden decision to change the ground rules of the negotiations. Still, more important was the absence of a strategic sense of purpose. Joyce Kaufman notes that the credibility of NATO’s military threat, supposed to advance the negotiations, “was undermined by the knowledge that NATO had not yet agreed on whether and when to send in troops.”9 Daalder and O’Hanlon criticize the allies’ design for a political agreement—an interim solution to Kosovo’s status—for lacking substance and support.10 The allies were in effect advocating a solution that none of the key parties to the conflict wanted and which the allies were not ready to fight for—albeit that is what they ended up doing. The Kosovo Albanians did not want to respect the territorial integrity and sovereignty of Yugoslavia, and the Serbs did not want to postpone a settlement and see it resolved later by referendum, the outcome of which was only too predictable in light of Kosovo’s significant majority of Albanians. The end result was precisely the one that NATO had sought to avoid with its coercive diplomacy: an escalating bombing campaign that ran for 77 days. A strategic sense of purpose implied a basic choice for the Alliance. On the one hand, it could align with one of the local parties and fight to impose their point of view. However, the West was reluctant to align with Kosovo forces that were focused on independence and prepared to use all means to gain it. On the other hand, it could define a completely new solution and impose it. This could have implied redrawing Yugoslav borders but the West being reluctant to do so ended up supporting Kosovo autonomy within Yugoslavia.


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If all local forces are opposed to the plan, one must invest heavily in its realization, both in terms of a massive military campaign and subsequent political-economic engagements. The West was prepared to do neither. It believed that a few days of bombing would force Milosevic to withdraw his forces, which turned out to be an erroneous assumption in October 1998, when NATO threatened to bomb, as well as in March 1999, when NATO actually did bomb. And it had no plans for running a protectorate. Such a protectorate is now in place but the “interim” solution is not made viable for this reason: in the words of Bernard Kouchner, UN Chief Administrator for Kosovo in 1999–2000, “I have discovered hatred deeper than anywhere in the world.”11 Once the war began, NATO experienced problems that were partly related to its political indecision, partly to the nature of post–Cold War campaigns. The campaign was one of imposing peace among other hostile parties, and NATO was therefore fighting its most ambitious version of the type of war that became prevalent with the fall of the Soviet Union, peace-making, or, in the words of its detractors, nation-building. Chapter 2 outlined the way in which such wars—in which NATO was the third party and not one of two actors engaged in a strategic stand-off, and which fell in between traditional peaceful and coercive conflict resolution (cf. the UN Charter’s Chapter VI and VII)—caused NATO and other organizations considerable problems in the early 1990s. What was surprising was how ill prepared NATO was to confront a similar situation in 1999. Much of NATO’s conventional forces are designed to operate in a classical fashion: using distinct branches (air, sea, and land) in a concerted campaign to overwhelm the enemy first with air power and then with decisive strikes by armored and mechanized forces at his center of gravity. As Martin van Creveld notes, “some of the most fundamental characteristics of conventional warfare have remained unaltered.”12 This is not to say that change has not happened: proponents of change, particularly in the United States where defense budgets allow for significant investments in research and development, argue that a revolution in military affairs in taking place and that . . . technology can give us the ability to see a battlefield as large as Iraq or Korea—an area 200 miles on a side—with unprecedented fidelity, comprehension, and timeliness; by night or by day, in any kind of weather, all the time.13 This is not what took place in Kosovo: change failed to leave an imprint. Clouds and bad weather often prevented NATO from launching air strikes, civilians were mistakenly attacked, as was the Chinese embassy in Belgrade,

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ground forces were repeatedly excluded as a force option, and it is doubtful that NATO after 77 days of bombing in an airspace they completely dominated seriously dented the material and organizational capacity of the Serb security forces to operate in Kosovo, except for forcing them to take cover.14 NATO’s supreme commander during the Kosovo war, General Wesley Clark, therefore warned that “some US military thinking” is heading in a wrong direction, failing to take into account that the “training areas in the American desert”—with clear air and clean ground—do not resemble “future battlefields” with cloud, vegetation, villages, cities, civilians, environmental hazards, laws, journalists, and public visibility.15 The friction of war suggests that NATO was not ready to assume collective security-type missions, irrespective of the fact that NATO had assumed the role of the UN in “mandating” the mission and moreover promoted a humanitarian doctrine that found support throughout the EuroAtlantic area. NATO prevailed in Kosovo because the United States invested heavily in the air campaign and because the fear of failure took hold of all allies who became convinced that Milosevic’s victory would spell NATO’s demise. But politically as well as militarily the Alliance was drifting from collective security to management by ad hoc coalitions. Politically the Alliance lacked a strategic sense of purpose, as mentioned, and the cause is found not least in Washington. The Secretary of State Madeleine Albright may consistently have advocated a tough approach to the Serb leadership but the U.S. administration as a whole did not. President Clinton devoted only sporadic attention to the issue and acted on the belief that neither Congress or U.S. public opinion would support a determined response involving ground forces. In consequence, the Clinton administration “opted for a minimalist strategy” once the bombing began and even strove to prevent the U.S. Senate from authorizing the use of “all necessary force” as late as May 1999.16 Previously, in the fall of 1998, U.S. mediator Richard Holbrooke felt that he lacked support notably from his own administration. Once the situation deteriorated in early 1999, the administration was reacting to Kosovo through the lens of preserving the president’s ability to deal with the impeachment procedure that Congress had commenced and of preserving NATO’s ability to properly celebrate its fiftieth anniversary in Washington, April 22, 1999.17 But the cause is found also in the Alliance as a whole where the view prevailed that it was worth fighting but not dying for humanitarian issues. European allies generally did not advocate a ground war and were instead aligned behind the decision to use force lightly, and when this proved inadequate, to continue the air war from an altitude that protected pilots first of all. Planning for a ground war made sense in so far as the situation


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might require such a response: the allies in June 1998 asked NATO military authorities to develop a full range of force options but then in the following two months discarded forced entry on the ground.18 This reluctance was so embedded that even when it turned out that NATO’s intervention did cause Milosevic’s regime to accelerate the expulsion of Kosovo Albanians, thus significantly worsening the humanitarian situation on the ground, NATO did not seriously consider a forced entry that would have been costly for the allies—in terms of lives and money—but which might have brought the Albanians benefits outweighing these NATO costs. True, the Alliance came close to approving forced entry when President Clinton had been prodded by SACEUR General Clark and British Prime Minister Blair in April–May 1999 and when France and Italy in late May consented to such an option. But the fact of the matter remains that the decision was not made and that NATO inadvertently defined its political legacy as one according to which humanitarian causes generate intermediate political solutions and low-risk force options. The military impact on the Alliance was inevitable under these political conditions: that of embedding national armed forces in the role conceptions that they had planned for previously. Put differently, a ground invasion, with all its challenges and costs, could have generated a political-organizational consensus that serious investments had to be made in the combat units and combat support units that NATO planners had asked for since the early 1990s. Moreover, the incentive for European reform would have been strengthened by the fact that the Pentagon argued that Kosovo was irrelevant to its essential mission of fighting in two “major regional conflicts” (MRCs): the Pentagon concluded in its Kosovo After Action Report that U.S. forces would have been withdrawn from the Kosovo war if the MRCs required it.19 The Pentagon thus clashed with the U.S. NATO supreme commander, General Clark, who knew of the problems a ground option would create for the “overall [U.S.] defense program that had been designed by the Pentagon, forcefully advocated by the Secretary, and approved by the Congress” but he, nevertheless, continued to push for this option, including in the context of the Washington summit, April 22, where leading U.S. officials sought to keep the option off the table.20 In July 1999, General Clark was informed of the Pentagon’s decision to replace him prematurely on the grounds that his post needed to be vacated for General Ralston, Vice-Chairman of the Joint Chiefs in the Pentagon.21 Few if any observers were persuaded by this pretext and saw in the change of command a punishment of General Clark. Lawrence Freedman thus concludes that the whole affair—Kosovo and the ground option debate—reveals “the contemporary Pentagon’s lack of interest in European affairs.”22 Robert Kagan puts the point differently, asking what

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would happen in a conflict in which, unlike in Kosovo, “Americans believed their vital interests were directly threatened” and providing the answer that Europe and the United States would drift apart because the Pentagon’s worldview is indicative of a transatlantic gap in strategic culture.23 The situation for NATO was therefore that Kosovo had pointed to the need for a more flexible framework, one that would provide opportunities for national ambitions and one whose raison d’être would be to generate allied support for national policy when vital interests are at stake. This is also the conclusion of Ted Galen Carpenter who observes that NATO in the course of the 1990s gained two protectorates in the Balkans, not by design but by humanitarian impulse—Bosnia and Kosovo. Addressing an American audience, Carpenter argues: The appropriate way of dealing with a security environment that is far more complex and fluid than it was during the era of Cold War bipolarity is to establish a more limited and flexible security relationship with the nations of Europe.24 The remainder of the chapter examines the interaction between collective security and such flexible security relationships in the period 1997–2001 and pinpoints the way in which collective security, although heralded as part of NATO’s mission, lost momentum. The New Strategic Concept The Alliance adopted a new Strategic Concept on April 24, 1999. In its own words it sought to bridge the old—NATO’s “essential and enduring purpose” as defined in the Washington Treaty—and the new—“an environment of continuing change.”25 In a sea of change, apparently, NATO remained NATO. The new concept was built on the old one from 1991 but unlike the old one, which involved the attempted wholesale renovation of the Alliance’s strategic thinking, the new concept was intended to reflect evolutionary change. The NATO heads of state and government declared in Madrid, July 1997, that they had “decided to examine the Strategic Concept,” indicative of a level of ambition below that of revision.26 The heads of state and government then directed the NAC in permanent session to develop appropriate terms of references, which it did in December 1997 by restating the conservative agenda: “Today, we have endorsed terms of reference for the examination, and updating as necessary, of the Alliance Strategic Concept.”27 In the spring of 1998, a politico-military committee—Policy Coordination Group (PCG)—began working on the concept with the goal of preparing a


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new version for the April 1999 Washington summit. A national participant noted that the mandate was “restrictive”—including references to bedrock principles such as collective defense and the transatlantic link—and did not permit the PCG to write a new draft strategic concept. The first months were therefore spent shifting through the old concept and discussing central themes, before a first overall draft was made in September 1998. As discussions turned contentious they moved into informal sessions of the NAC and finally also into the Washington summit itself. These controversies along with the workload stemming from the Kosovo crisis “allowed only three consecutive draft versions of the new Concept, whereas fourteen versions were produced before the 1991 Concept was completed.”28 The following discussion uses three dimensions of the new Strategic Concept to gauge the changing balance between the principles of all-for-one and flexibility, using each dimension to examine the run-up to the Washington summit, the nature of the Washington compromise, and also whether subsequent events challenged or confirmed the compromise. NATO’s Purpose. The new Strategic Concept begins in Part I by outlining the “Purpose and Tasks of the Alliance,” which consist of the enduring goals of the Washington Treaty and then a number of “fundamental security tasks” shaped to the current security environment. There are four such tasks and three of them are taken directly from the 1991 concept: to provide an indispensable foundation for a stable Euro-Atlantic security environment; to provide an essential transatlantic forum for consultations; and to deter and defend against any threat of aggression to allies. One fundamental task turned out to be new, however. NATO defined one “fundamental security task” as enhancing “the security and stability of the Euro-Atlantic area,” which implied a double focus: ●

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Crisis Management: To stand ready, case-by-case and by consensus, in conformity with Article 7 of the Washington Treaty, to contribute to effective conflict prevention and to engage actively in crisis management, including crisis response operations. Partnership: To promote wide-ranging partnership, cooperation, and dialogue with other countries in the Euro-Atlantic area, with the aim of increasing transparency, mutual confidence, and the capacity for joint action with the Alliance.

The key to understanding the debate over “the examination, and updating as necessary, of the Alliance Strategic Concept” is this fourth point: the nature of its definition and the reason why other issues did not make it into the

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exclusive list of “fundamental” tasks. Klaus Wittmann indicates that a critical debate took place between allies who wanted to safeguard the primacy of collective defense (another of the fundamental tasks) by having the new fourth point refer simply to “new missions.” Presumably, they sought to use vagueness in the latter respect to emphasize the solidity of the former. But other allies insisted that the concept be specific and argued that there should in fact be two new fundamental tasks—crisis management and partnership cooperation. The compromise was a single fourth point that contained both aspects, wrapping them in a reference to Euro-Atlantic stability and security (which, confusingly, was also the subject matter of the first fundamental task).29 This compromise is indicative of the fact that proponents of collective security thinking significantly influenced the strategic concept. In many ways, collective security was an ideal entertained by European allies while the United States sought to orient NATO toward new types of threats. The United States used the occasion of conceptual rethinking to focus on the kinds of threats that it had experienced or perceived outside Europe in recent years and which related to the two issues of terrorism and weapons of mass destruction. The United States had been hit by terrorist attacks in New York in February 1993, when the World Trade Center was bombed by an international terrorist network, and it was hit again in July 1996 when the U.S. compound, Khobar Towers in Saudi Arabia, was bombed, just as bombs in August 1998 went off outside the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania. The latter attacks coincided with a change in perception in Washington that missile threats were more certain that previously believed. A North Korean launch of a three-stage missile, the Taepodong I, in August 1998 “served as a kind of final straw”—coming on top of Pakistan’s test of a medium range Ghauri missile in April, Pakistani and Indian nuclear tests in May, Iran’s first test of its Shahab 3 medium-range missile in July, and the Rumsfeld Commission’s—a bipartisan commission chartered in 1996 to make an independent assessment of ballistic missile threats to the United States— conclusion, also in July 1998, that U.S. policy should be “revised to reflect the reality of an environment in which there may be little or no warning.”30 The report’s conclusions were controversial but a momentum had built up and missile defense, coupled to the fear of facing a threat composed of missile technology and weapons of mass destruction, subsequently became inscribed in U.S. strategic policy: the Clinton administration decided to fund missile defense in December 1998, at a moment when NATO foreign ministers met to outline the new strategic concept, and President Clinton signed the Ballistic Missile Defense Act in July 1999, just months following the Washington summit.


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These two tracks intercepted. The conclusions from the NATO foreign ministers’ meeting in early December 1998 simply refer to the need for the new concept to “take account of the challenges the Alliance now faces” but U.S. Secretary of State Albright had in fact used the meeting to call for a further transformation of NATO. In particular, NATO should be better able to meet the threat of nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons, provide flexible forces to meet nonconventional threats, and support a European capacity to handle regional (European) crises.31 On the eve of the meeting, Albright had published a comment in the Financial Times in which she spoke of defending “enlarged borders” and responding to “the full spectrum of threats to alliance interests.”32 In practical terms this meant that NATO had to recognize the elasticity of its geographical borders, widening its area of operation, and explicitly address these nonconventional threats. A debate on these issues took place in the run-up to the foreign ministers’ meeting, as U.S. Senator Roth in his capacity as president of the North Atlantic Assembly (now called the NATO Parliamentary Assembly) in October 1998 issued a report on the new NATO. On the issues of geographical scope the report noted that the Washington Treaty does contain options for going out-of-area (i.e., using Article 4 instead of Article 5 and 6) but that allies are reluctant to articulate a policy on this issue and probably would refer to leave decisions until circumstances demand them. This is unfortunate, however, the report argues, because the other issue of nonconventional or asymmetric threats—in the shape of terrorism, both state-supported and independently organized, and nations and/or subnational groups exploiting sophisticated weapons or information technology— demand planning. NATO’s ability to defend and deter involves the ability of NATO “military authorities to plan and practice operations far from NATO territory and in a wide range of geographic and climatic conditions.” This led Roth to two conclusions, and they are mentioned here because they align closely with the official position of the U.S. government:33 – Even when individual international terrorist acts affect only one Ally, it should be clear that each such act is part of a broader terrorist phenomenon that threatens the entire Alliance. – The NATO Allies should neither suggest that NATO missions will assume a “global” character nor put artificial geographic limits on such missions. If the European allies had supported this agenda, NATO would have been drawn decisively into a “flexible” framework, breaking with the type of

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security management that had sustained the collective security idea for most of the 1990s. The latter rested on the absence in Europe of a demand for strategic engagement and a wish for unity across the continent. The United States pointed to the need to embrace a new and also more dangerous type of risk management. To the U.S. administration there was no doubt that the terrorist attacks and missile developments mentioned earlier were indicative of new threats—actors with hostile intents and capabilities. However, as the Rumsfeld Commission also concluded, it was not possible to define the location or shape of the next attack. In the vocabulary of this book, the United States was still dealing with risks, albeit very lethal ones. From the American perspective, the maintenance of NATO’s collective defense framework posed no problem but it should be adapted. Collective defense needed to become flexible, which was to say that NATO had to build in flexibility in the political process, becoming an Alliance of interests, as one official put it, and that NATO needed military instruments tailored to meet the full spectrum of threats. Flexibility had become primordial to the United States because the lethal nature of the risks offered little time for organizing a response, and because one risk should probably be managed with means differing significantly from those needed to manage another. The American agenda did not prevail because European allies were reluctant and, crucially, they could point to the evolving crisis in Kosovo as a case for focusing on crisis management: in October 1998, NATO threatened to bomb, and NATO did bomb before, during, and after the Washington summit. This is not to say that the Europeans prevailed: a compromise was made. On the one hand, the European preoccupation with Kosovo-type situations—crisis management—became one of the fundamental tasks, just as partnership did. The U.S. agenda was relegated to the subsequent section on Strategic Perspectives, by nature a looser consideration of challenges and risks ahead. Paragraphs 22 and 24 read as follows:34 – The proliferation of NBC weapons and their means of delivery remains a matter of serious concern. – Any armed attack on the territory of the Allies, from whatever direction, would be covered by Articles 5 and 6 of the Washington Treaty. However, Alliance security must also take account of the global context. Alliance security interests can be affected by other risks of a wider nature, including acts of terrorism, sabotage and organised crime, and by the disruption of the flow of vital resources. On the other hand, the United States did gain an extension of NATO’s operational limits with the recognition that NATO’s mission applied to the


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“Euro-Atlantic” region. The label was not global but it would do: by modest political feat the Euro-Atlantic region could be stretched to include North Africa, the Middle East, and the Caucasus. This area of operation, while seemingly focused on Europe, corresponded well to the policy agenda of the Clinton administration—adding flexibility without “trying to get NATO to go global.”35 The principal European governments generally did not want to look far beyond Europe. After all, allies such as France and Great Britain had been engaged on the ground in the Balkans since 1992 and problems were resurging in Kosovo as they negotiated the new concept. Sharing a concern for Balkan developments, France and Great Britain found common ground in revitalizing European security cooperation, which they did with their St. Malo declaration of December 3–4, 1998, in which they called for an EU “capacity for autonomous action” in cases “where the Alliance as a whole is not engaged.”36 The issue of NATO’s European pillar will be examined shortly, the point here being that regional crisis management was at the heart of the agenda of these two countries. Germany, whose new coalition-government of Social Democrats and Greens had taken office in October 1998, continued its effort to see NATO interlock with other institutions and help stabilize Europe but, due to the composition of the new government, also made an issue of NATO’s policy of maintaining a first-strike nuclear capability—written into the 1991 strategic concept and thus in principle up for revision in 1998–1999. Faced with a firm American refusal to consider this issue the German government soon backed down but still the affair revealed that for Germany, Europe’s security challenge was not related to threats but the management of stability.37 The outcome in relation to NATO’s new tasks was a compromise focused on the balance between regional crisis management and new threats beyond Europe. In this process, no one stood up for the preservation of the fourth issue of the 1991 Strategic Concept: maintaining a strategic balance in Europe. “We are not in the game of strategic balance anymore, but of collective defense and the extension of security beyond our borders,” argued one senior diplomat.38 David Yost had warned the Alliance that a rejection of strategic balancing—which might seem obvious in light of Russia’s democratic transition—could lead to a multiplicity of commitments inspired by collective security thinking.39 The compromise of 1999 indicated that such thinking continued to be influential but also that the United States was pulling the Alliance away from this position toward flexible security management related to diverging and serious risks outside of Europe. Mandating NATO Action. It was only subsequent to the making of the 1991 Strategic Concept that NATO decided to go out-of-area, which is to say that

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the question of legitimizing out-of-area operations was not raised in the Concept. Instead NATO presented itself as one of several institutions capable of taking advantage of the “increased opportunities for the successful resolution of crises at an early stage.” Rather than signaling intervention by military force in crises, the Alliance’s Strategic Concept of 1991 thus emphasized the means of dialogue and cooperation and noted that other institutions such as the OSCE, the European Community (EC), the Western European Union (WEU), and the UN would have “an important role to play.”40 However, the issue of forceful intervention took center stage once the Yugoslav crisis proved that dialogue and cooperation did not necessarily suffice to settle conflicts. NATO’s response was generally inspired by the idea of “interlocking institutions”: NATO, it was agreed, would execute decisions made in “mandate-issuing” organizations such as the OSCE and the UN, for which NATO made itself available in June and December 1992, respectively.41 Interlocking became interblocking, however, and by the mid-1990s the consensus behind the division of labor between mandating and executing organizations had fractured. The question was not so much one of whether NATO should strive to operate within the bounds of the international order defined by the UN’s common law but what NATO should do in those instances, however few they might be, where the UN might be preventing NATO from doing that which it found right. Most European governments saw little reason to enlarge on this type of “emergency exit” policy because it might open a broader venue for security operations outside UN mandates. For smaller European allies this would upset the rules of the game from which small states normally benefit; for bigger allies, notably France and Great Britain, it would upset their decisive role in the UNSC. These were also the frontlines when the debate over the new strategic concept heated up in the late fall of 1998. At the meeting of the NAC December 8, 1998, U.S. Secretary of State Albright outlined the U.S. position that NATO operations should not be made hostage to Russian and Chinese consent and thus that NATO should be able to intervene in crises without the explicit authority from the UNSC. European allies and Canada were critical. Canada’s Foreign Affairs Minister Lloyd Axworthy thus noted in the context of the NAC meeting that “. . . this role of intervention that NATO has acquired as part of its new activity needs to have some definition and some connection back to the UN Charter.”42 The allied criticism of U.S. policy was not dogmatic, as in demanding a mandate for all interventions, but sought to tie NATO interventions to a legal framework. There were good reasons for the allies to thread carefully at this stage because the events of October 1998, when NATO had threatened to bomb Serbia and activated its forces, implied that the Alliance, and thus all allies,


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were ready to bomb merely on the basis of an Article 39 resolution by the UN Security Council, identifying a threat to peace, and not an Article 42 resolution mandating armed intervention. Later, in late March 1999, and in spite of their reluctance to endorse U.S. policy in principle, the allies did commence a bombing campaign without such an Article 42 mandate. The key question in the run-up to the Washington summit was therefore whether Kosovo represented a precedent, as U.S. officials argued, or merely a special case, as French, German, and other officials argued.43 The compromise reached in Washington in April was sufficiently ambivalent to satisfy both parties:44 ●

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In paragraph 10 introducing the Alliance’s “fundamental security tasks,” contained in Part I, The Purpose and Task of the Alliance, the allies profess to be “an Alliance of nations committed to the Washington Treaty and the United Nations Charter”; In the following paragraph they write, “In fulfilling its purpose and fundamental security tasks, the Alliance will continue to respect the legitimate security interests of others, and seek the peaceful resolution of disputes as set out in the Charter of the United Nations”; In paragraph 15 of Part II, Strategic Perspectives, the allies affirm that “The United Nations Security Council has the primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security and, as such, plays a crucial role in contributing to security and stability in the EuroAtlantic area.” In paragraph 25 of Part III, The Approach to Security in the 21st Century, the allies define their aim of building a security architecture where NATO and other organizations such as the UN are “complementary and mutually reinforcing.” Finally, in paragraph 31 of Part III the allies recall their previous offer “to support on a case-by-case basis in accordance with its own procedures, peacekeeping and other operations under the authority of the UN Security Council or the responsibility of the OSCE, including by making available Alliance resources and expertise.”

It was at least fairly clear that NATO in April 1999 aligned closely with the order represented by the UN, which also transpired in the context of the Kosovo war where the Alliance said it would seek a UN mandate for the peacekeeping force that would follow once the fighting had come to a conclusion: this pro-UN statement implicitly underscored NATO’s need to work through the UN in cases of peacekeeping and reflected also the allies’ wish to involve Russia in the effort to settle the Kosovo war. Still, we can

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distinguish between distinct UN schools of thought that emerged in the wake of the summit. One school of thought emphasized NATO’s tight coupling to UN mandates and international law. This was notably the French position. In a press conference following the summit French President Chirac outlined the French view that NATO should not be able to infringe on the authority vested in the UN Security Council. To Chirac, it is “the entire international order built after the second world war that was at stake and in question during this discussion.” Moreover, it was the French view of things that in some ways was “threatened.” He then argued that the NATO compromise represented a victory for French diplomacy—obtained in the very final stages of the summit—which was visible notably in relation to NATO’s stated commitment to the UN Charter (paragraph 10) and its offer to undertake peacekeeping and other missions under “the authority” of the UN (paragraph 31).45 Chirac’s optimism in respect to the validation of French policy was repeated by the French daily La Croix, which saw a “true victory” reminiscent of the days of General de Gaulle and which came about because “Clinton could not ignore the French request for the UN to be acknowledged as having preeminence over NATO.”46 This degree of optimism was not shared in France by commentators and the press in general but the view that U.S. policy challenged the UN and that France ought to resist was widespread. American officials allegedly “scoffed” at the French president’s interpretation of events, according to the Washington Post, and stated that UN approval of NATO operations was welcome but not necessary.47 The United States thus continued to inspire the school of thought that NATO could act autonomously if need be: the strategic concept did not in principle tie NATO to Security Council approval. One could thus interpret the reference to the UN as having the “primary” responsibility for international peace and security as implying that other actors could step in if the UN was unable to live up to its responsibility. Likewise, the reference in paragraph 31 to the “authority” of the UN in peacekeeping and other interventions was linked to an offer to stand ready on a case-by-case basis: it did not necessarily imply that NATO would feel constrained to act only under the UN’s authority. Still, President Clinton was careful to inscribe this policy in values that resonate in the democratic part of the world—which the United States had already promised to “engage and enlarge,” according to Clinton’s national security strategy. “What NATO did here this weekend,” President Clinton argued, “was to reaffirm our commitment to a common future, rooted in common humanity.”48 In other words, if NATO acted outside a UN Security Council mandate it would occur not only in the pursuit of old-fashioned national interests but, as in Kosovo, to protect the humanitarian values on


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which NATO was founded and which also appear in the preamble of the UN Charter. This reference to a humanitarian necessity particularly marked British policy, which thus placed itself somewhere between American and French policy as a school of thought emphasizing ties to the UN Charter, as French policy, but not necessarily Security Council unanimity, as American policy. The discussion above touched on the policy developed by British Prime Minister Blair to distill from the Kosovo case a general doctrine of intervention. Blair implicitly tied elements from the American and French positions together in “a new doctrine of international community.” On the one hand, “we need new rules for international co-operation and new ways of organizing our international institutions,” which is to say that Blair supported rules as much as Chirac, just a revised set of them. On the other hand, even if “undemocratic” states “engaged in barbarous acts” henceforth lose the right of protection by the principle of noninterference, democratic states should not run the risk of overstretch and intervene in every case of human rights violation. Democracies must ask, “do we have national interests involved?” Put differently, democracies must act “where our strategic interests are dramatically engaged.”49 In emphasizing strategic or national interests Blair aligned with the U.S. concerns that motivated the rejection of a tie to the consent of the UN Security Council. The issue of mandating NATO operations thus led to an ambivalent compromise akin to that made on the issue of new tasks and purposes.50 The United States could argue that NATO in principle had approved new tasks beyond Europe and, moreover, could undertake them without Security Council approval if need be. France could argue that NATO was focused on crisis management in the Euro-Atlantic region and was closely tied to the UN’s Charter and authority. Again, the implication was a split between the French vision of tying NATO to collective security-type management and the American vision of enabling NATO to flexibly manage a diverse range of threats in a world where some operations were likely to be contested and fail to gain universal approval. The British position was straddling, which by definition is a difficult one. But it offered the British government an opportunity to broker compromises in another crucial respect: that of developing a European defense pillar. The European Pillar. In Washington, the allies took another step in direction of defining the shape and competences of the Alliance’s European pillar. Representing an elaboration of the compromise reached in Berlin in June 1996, this new agreement was duly labeled the Berlin Plus agreement. At one level the issue was one of organizing for the increasing likelihood that

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European allies would undertake military operations on their own. The United States had led NATO into Bosnian crisis management and peacekeeping but it was increasingly clear that the United States would not be militarily active in all European crises and that key European allies were preparing to take the lead: thus, an intervention in Albania (Operation Alba) in early to mid-1997 was undertaken without the United States—and without Great Britain and Germany—by an ad hoc coalition outside NATO and also the WEU/EU but with a UN mandate (of March 1997) and under the leadership of a framework-nation, Italy. The British-French St. Malo declaration of December 1998 can be seen as an attempt to bring coherence to this type of European coalition operations and notably to anchor them in existing institutions: after all, Operation Alba was seen to represent a failure for the institutional giants, NATO and the EU, and the policy of making them the sine qua non of European security.51 At another level the issue of the European pillar was indicative of the split between the allies on the issue of organizing coalitions: some favored an increased EU role in the organization of coalitions for European crisis management, others continued to support NATO as the vehicle for both crisis management and collective defense-like operations out-of-area. The Berlin Plus compromise must therefore be seen as just one step in an ongoing process of transatlantic negotiation. Still, the compromise reached continued to serve as the framework for cooperation in early 2005 and it is worth investigating in greater detail its nature and the debate surrounding it. The Berlin Plus agreement is described in paragraph 10 of the Washington summit communiqué that was issued in parallel to the new Strategic Concept.52 It consists of four elements: (a) Assured EU access to NATO planning capabilities able to contribute to military planning for EU-led operations; (b) The presumption of availability to the EU of pre-identified NATO capabilities and common assets for use in EU-led operations; (c) Identification of a range of European command options for EU-led operations, further developing the role of DSACEUR in order for him to assume fully and effectively his European responsibilities; (d) The further adaptation of NATO’s defence planning system to incorporate more comprehensively the availability of forces for EU-led operations. The agreement aims to assure the EU that it will be able to count on NATO so that the EU would not have to invest in the infrastructure NATO already has. Still a “capacity for autonomous action,” which was the aim of the


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St. Malo declaration, necessitated some organizational investments. In this respect the EU set up a series of new institutions to serve its decision-making body, the Council of Ministers: a political and security committee (PSC), handling security and defense policy matters and exercising “strategic direction” of operations; a military committee (EUMC) to advice the PSC; and a military staff (EUMS) to “perform early warning, situation assessment and strategic planning for Petersberg tasks.”53 The Berlin Plus agreement was essentially about allowing this process to move ahead while also encapsulating it. In some ways it was convenient for NATO that its Washington summit preceded the decisive ESDP summits—in Cologne in June and Helsinki in December 1999—because it framed subsequent developments. The framing was clear in respect to the four points of the Berlin Plus agenda. First, the EU should not invest in a capacity for operational planning, the nuts and bolts of military planning: instead, while the EUMS did overall strategic planning, NATO assured the EU of access to the operational planning capacity of NATO’s integrated commands. Second, the EU should not invest in collective capabilities matching those of NATO, such as headquarters, communication systems, and airborne surveillance: instead NATO would list these assets in a catalogue and allow the EU to “presume” their availability. Third, the EU should not invest in collective command and control systems: instead NATO would designate its Deputy SACEUR to run European operations using NATO assets. Finally, the EU should not invest a separate defense planning system: instead NATO would adapt its own to suit EU purposes. The agreement was easy to justify from an economic point of view: it made no sense to invest in two sets of institutions if one could do the job and if European forces in any case were in need of new equipment and professional soldiers. The problem was political. Politics explains why the Berlin Plus agreement was not finally accepted until December 2002 and took effect only in March 2003 when NATO and the EU entered a framework agreement. The most enduring issue of contention was that of non-EU allies’ access to participate in EU operations that borrowed from NATO. Arguing that the EU needed to return the favor by granting these allies a place at the decision-making table, Turkey raised objections as early as the Washington summit, where some of the wording of the final communiqué had to be adjusted in the last minute.54 Turkey felt that they had had a better deal with the WEU than the one being offered by the EU, which was now taking over from the WEU, and the Turkish negotiation strategy consisted notably of preventing the EU’s “presumed” access to NATO assets, arguing that all assets—collective as well as national—should be made available strictly on a case-by-case basis, and of modifying the

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EU’s “assured” access to operational planning, arguing that access could be granted only if Turkey was sure to be involved in EU operations in the region constituting Turkey’s near abroad.55 The United States sought to bridge the hostile parties: ensuring that NATO allies (i.e., Turkey) got a fair deal from the EU, and ensuring support for NATO from the sponsors of the ESDP (i.e., France and notably Britain). If the United States aligned too closely with Turkey, the EU might detach itself completely from NATO. If the United States on the other hand was too generous with the EU, it might fragment the Atlantic Alliance. The balancing act informed the policy of three “D’s” outlined by Secretary of State Albright in December 1998, immediately in the wake of the St. Malo declaration. The United States wanted to avoid decoupling and thus maintain European decision-making within the broader framework of Alliance decision-making; they wanted to avoid duplication; and finally also discrimination against allies such as Turkey.56 NATO’s toughest challenge was defining the extent to which it wished to continue to be involved in crisis management—which was the stated domain of ambition for the EU’s ESDP—so as to maintain NATO’s leadership role and preempt political pressure for full decoupling. Events in 1999 led to a formal consensus on this topic. Where NATO previously had argued that European action should take place as a pillar inside NATO (cf. the Berlin agreement of 1996), NATO in April 1999 acknowledged “the resolve of the European Union to have the capacity for autonomous action so that it can take decisions and approve military action where the Alliance as a whole is not engaged.”57 This precondition of EU action (that NATO as a whole is not engaged) was momentarily upset by the EU in June 1999 when it declared that “the Union must have the capacity for autonomous action, backed up by credible military forces, the means to decide to use them, and a readiness to do so, in order to respond to international crises without prejudice to actions by NATO.”58 The EU reverted to the agreement of Washington— that EU action can take place only if NATO “as a whole is not engaged”— at the Helsinki summit the following December and following vigorous American protests. For instance, Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott warned in October 1999 that “We would not want to see an ESDI that comes into being first within NATO but then grows out of NATO and finally grows away from NATO, since that would lead to an ESDI that initially duplicates NATO but that could eventually compete with NATO.”59 Robert Hunter, U.S. ambassador to NATO, captured the worry of Washington with his observation that St. Malo “was silent on the Berlin– Brussels agreements about NATO’s (implicit) primacy and the notion that there should not be ‘two NATOs’—one for Article 5 and one for non-Article 5 tasks.”60


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But Washington’s simultaneous wish for its own flexible engagement in European crisis management and a political guarantee for influence on European coalition-making formed part of the impetus for the ESDP: if the security cooperation design is flexible, then flexibility applies to every one and central control is ruled out. This factor contributed to complicating the separation of EU and NATO responsibilities. Another factor was the position of Great Britain, which was perhaps the most important source of the St. Malo declaration. Its cosponsor, France, was always willing to go further in European defense integration but in late 1998 it had lost its gambit to enter a reformed NATO and lacked the partners with which it could give birth to a new initiative.61 Hubert Védrine, who became French foreign minister in June 1997, wrote on the eve of his appointment that “when the world does not adapt to France, France must adapt to the world.”62 Tony Blair’s decision in mid-1998 to sponsor an ESDP initiative, announced to Britain’s EU partners at an informal meeting in October at Pörtschach, Germany, opened the possibility for France that change could be produced and not just consumed. But Britain’s position was a straddling one, as in the case of legitimizing NATO out-of-area operations, embracing the U.S. view that NATO was essential and the French view that the EU was equally essential. In March 1999, in the process leading from St. Malo to Washington, Tony Blair outlined his view as follows: The initiative I launched last autumn on European defence is aimed at giving greater credibility to Europe’s Common Foreign and Security Policy. Far from weakening NATO this is an essential complement to the Transatlantic Alliance. We Europeans should not expect the United States to have to play a part in every disorder in our own back yard. . . . Europe’s military capabilities at this stage are modest. Too modest. . . . But let me assure you of this: European defence is not about new institutional fixes. It is about new capabilities, both military and diplomatic.63 The EU should be reinvigorated in defense affairs because it would plug in a hole in NATO’s armor—the crises in which the United States has no interest— and presumably encourage European nations to improve their military capabilities. The situation was therefore a complex one—the United States viewed the EU’s ESDP with some suspicion; France viewed it as a political goal; Britain as a means to strengthen NATO—and the agreement that the EU could act only if NATO as a whole was not engaged did little to clarify the situation. In a security environment dominated by risks NATO would almost by definition act “case-by-case,” which is to say in coalitions and not as a whole. The

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agreement therefore boiled down to the question of whether the United States wanted to play a role in European crisis management. If not, then the path opened for European operations, autonomous or assisted by NATO. Britain’s policy represented a bet that improved European capabilities would generate U.S. interest in assisting European action and thus contribute to the revitalization of transatlantic relations. France’s policy was indicative of the hope that NATO was losing steam and that a number of security functions could be taken over by the EU. In this, the years 1999–2000 provided some comfort for France: the United States had been engaged in the Kosovo, to be sure, but fissures between allies and the subsequent declaration of the Pentagon that it continued to prioritize major regional wars outside of Europe rather than crisis management operations in Europe indicated that NATO as a whole would not be engaged in crisis management operations. On balance, the French position seemed to be fairly strong in 1999–2000. One observer even went as far as concluding that this European “option”— based on “purely European action, using European assets only, and with a separate and completely European chain of command”—represented an “ineluctable” trend. Indeed, Europe was “squarely on the road to autonomy in matters of defense.”64 This was pushing the point too far. Europe— whether individual nations or the EU as a collective body—lacked the assets and the chain of command to realize this option. Everyone recognized that European forces were in need of new investments and new ways of organizing things—from the setting of force goals to the operation of common headquarters. The contestants in the European pillar—led by France on the one hand and the United States and Great Britain on the other—therefore began to pay significant attention to defense planning and common command structures. The camp to inspire the greatest change in these respects would gain the foundation for claiming that its option was the most realistic. To France, this meant establishing defense planning and command options in the EU; to the United States and Great Britain, it meant anchoring them in NATO. The game was one of primacy. All involved parties recognized that security challenges—risks—needed to be managed rather than confronted strategically, but the question for France was one of making the EU the centerpiece for new security operations because, presumably, the EU would provide a more coherent framework for coalition-making, one built on crisis management operations mandated by the UN; the question for the United States, in particular, was one of making NATO the framework for “flexibility” in the organization of military operations: ranging from collective security tasks to struggles with terrorism and organized crime, as reflected in the 1999 Strategic Concept. Put crudely: for France, the US policy focus on global threats and missions fell outside the coalition framework; for the


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United States, European action was just an academic option within the Atlantic framework. The following sections address allied debates on command structures and defense planning and the way in which they affected the greater struggle to design security cooperation. Command Structures A new command structure was agreed to in December 1997, the outline of which was examined in the preceding chapter. The notorious feature of the new structure was the third level “joint sub-regional headquarters” that came in addition to another “joint” level (the second level) and that also turned out not be to joint because the air force and navy had separate component commands. Otherwise the headline of the reform was to rationalize the structure and thus reduce the number of headquarters. This goal was achieved largely by scrapping the previous fourth level of nationally funded headquarters that were of little use in the new security environment. The new structure (that began taking effect during 1999) was slimmer but also a legacy of the Cold War structure in so far as the structure was territorially fixed. Had it not been for the new concept of mobile command, Combined Joint Task Force (CJTF), NATO command for out-of-area operations would have had to be organized from fixed headquarters, for example the strategic headquarters, SHAPE, and an operative headquarters—in Brunssum or Naples—and then with lines of command stretching beyond NATO territory to the tactical headquarters (drawn from the force rather than command structure) in the field. CJTF was an idea to move the intermediary link, the operative headquarters, from its fixed location close to the theater of operation. The CJTF is not supposed to enter this theater nor is it supposed to actually command troops, which is done by the tactical commander, but the CJTF is meant to help the tactical commander focus on the fighting by relieving him of the task of securing host nation support (HNS), handling media coverage, and other logistics. NATO’s CJTF was essentially to operate like the Riyadh (Saudi Arabia) headquarters of General Schwarzkopf in the Gulf War of 1991—as a link between the forces on the ground and the U.S. Central Command in Florida—although, as we saw in the previous chapter, allies such as France sought to shape the CJTF to less ambitious crisis management tasks. This variation in political design should not be overemphasized because by the late 1990s the CJTF was organized (though not yet implemented) to handle both collective defense and crisis management operations. CJTF was not an instrument that in and of itself indicated whether NATO was moving in the direction of “unity” or “flexibility.” We must therefore examine the debate surrounding the CJTF and NATO’s command structure in order to

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assess how it affected the American design for a coalition-based Alliance and the French design for a stronger European pillar based on Europe’s (alleged) unity in questions of crisis management and peacekeeping. The examination reveals that the CJTF concept developed fairly smoothly, going through exercises and planning phases, and that it was geared predominantly for flexible coalition-making. However, the concept was also out of tune with the reality of NATO operations and by 2001 had become less relevant to the design debate inside the Alliance. In general, and from a perspective of collective action theory, one could argue that CJTF was precisely what NATO needed to organize coherent and focused coalitions for out-of-area missions.65 However, NATO had demonstrably been able to conduct operations without the CJTF and it seemed that tactical headquarters located in the force structure, not the integrated command structure, were becoming decisive not only for operations but also as a measure to gain influence. The demise of CJTF was predominantly a political loss for France but the struggle for influence continued then in the domain of force planning, which is the subject matter of the following section. First we turn to the CJTF: it is particularly noteworthy that security developments during the 1990s not only caused a political shift of emphasis away from CJTF as a collective defense instrument and toward CJTF as a non-Article 5 instrument, but also that de facto operations raised significant questions about the worth of CJTF for anything but large collective defense-like military operations. In NATO circles, key words such as “mission tailored” and “generic contingency planning” were indicative of the pattern of allied behavior during the 1990s: allies increasingly signed up for non-Article 5 operations but strictly on a case-by-case basis, and varying numbers of NATO partners were involved in addition. An understanding that the CJTF should be an instrument of flexible coalition-making therefore emerged in late 1996 and through 1997–1998 in the two first CJTF-HQ trials. In December 1996, NATO defense ministers approved guidelines from the Military Committee concerning CJTF implementation and they noted that “CJTF headquarters are being developed primarily for operations in non-Article 5 situations, including operations in which nations outside the Alliance could participate. The employment of CJTFs for Article 5 operations is also not excluded.”66 Subsequent CJTF exercises tested the CJTF in relation to peace support operations (PSOs). In the first exercise, Allied Effort, a land-based CJTF “had to be prepared for a peace support operation PSO in a fictional peninsula with rudimentary infrastructure (lack of modern road, airfield and communications network), little host nation support (HNS) and far from Europe’s Central Region.” In the second exercise, Crisis South, a sea-based


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CJTF was again involved in a PSO, taking place in South-Eastern Atlantic and Western Mediterranean, but this time in parallel to a collective defense operation in Norway, the combined exercise being labeled Strong Resolve.67 These two exercises were part of a first planning phase that in addition to the testing of both land- and sea-based options included the decision to set up three parent headquarters at the operational level of the command structure (see the previous chapter for a discussion of the politics of this decision): one under the Atlantic Command in the strike fleet command (STRIKFLTLANT), Norfolk, the United States, and two under the European command, in Brunssum, the Netherlands, and Naples, Italy. Parent headquarters provide the “nucleus” staff for a CJTF that may be augmented, if the situation so demands, by “modules” coming from other headquarters. The exercises of 1997–1998 were notably intended to test the nucleus structure— its range and depth of capabilities—and the size and composition of the augmentation modules.68 The exercises gave birth to a second phase of drawing up lessons learned, while the third phase then was dedicated to implementing these lessons. The second phase ran approximately from September 1998 to March 1999 under the leadership of the Combined Joint Planning Staff (dedicated to the CJTF concept) and its conclusions were presented in a so-called Bi-SC evaluation report from the two strategic commands (SHAPE and SACLANT). The heads of state and government that gathered in Washington for NATO’s fiftieth anniversary summit, April 1999, noted that “After successful trials, we have embarked on the full implementation of the CJTF concept, giving us an important new tool for crisis management in the next century.”69 Thus, they confirmed that the CJTF concept now was primarily about crisis management and had reached the stage of implementation. The third phase was based on the Bi-SC evaluation report, a Military Committee document (MC389), and a CJTF Concept Implementation Plan written at the end of 1999.70 There is no doubt that the overall approach to CJTF was ambitious and also that practical issues caused ambitions to be revised downwards. In terms of substance, we know that the command structure reform agreed to in 1997 contained three CJTF parent headquarters although NATO in 1996 had defined its “minimal military requirements” as two CJTFs: one on land, one at sea. When the big nations, and in particular Italy, pushed for the creation of a third parent headquarters, the International Military Staff in Brussels actually suggested that, for the purpose of rationalization, just one pool of equipment should be created for a land-CJTF and be made available to both Brunssum and Naples. The idea floundered on high politics, however, and NATO had to create three independent CJTFs. As one officer remarked when queried on this issue, maybe the big nations took

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heart at the fact that the CJTFs would be financed by NATO’s budget rather than the budget of national defense ministries. The deployment ambition was defined in a new version of MC389 of June 2000 (MC389–1), which states that NATO must maintain a capability to conduct two simultaneous CJTF operations of up to corps size. This level of ambition should not be underestimated. First of all because it comes on top of a residual collective defense capability—Strong Resolve from 1998 thus tested the two simultaneously—that thus also needs investment. Second, MC389–1 does not rule out the option of two land-based CJTFs because it states that one of the CJTFs may be sea-based—in other words, it does not have to be—and all three CJTFs must therefore be ready to go. Finally, NATO pursues a “bare base” policy, which is to say that NATO must be able to deploy a CJTF to a country where there is nothing in terms of support: no infrastructure, no support, no trucks, no supplies, and so on. A significant amount of requirements for CJTF equipment followed from this assumption, putting pressure on NATO’s budget as well as organization. In terms of timing, the Alliance’s Concept Implementation Plan foresaw an initial operating capability (IOC) by the fall of 2002 (i.e., a sea-based CJTF) and a full operating capability (FOC) by the end of 2004 (i.e., at least one seabased and one land-based). A compressed schedule along with regular problems of planning and implementation bottlenecks account for the downward revision of ambitions, which was summarized in a new document from the Military Committee, July 2001 (MC-118-01). The IOC remained scheduled for the fall of 2002 but was now recognized as a limited and transitional capability; the FOC was deleted and replaced first by a Foundation Capability (FC) scheduled for the end of 2004 and containing an option of either a sea- or land-based CJTF; and then followed by a Tailored Capability (TC), the final step consisting of a capability, scheduled loosely for 2005, to deploy a sea- and land-based CJTF simultaneously. In short, the Alliance had gone from two implementation phases to three, prolonging implementation by at least one year. The revised schedule made the CJTF look more realistic on paper but early in the new century it appeared as if events had conspired to make the CJTF less relevant to the Alliance. The decisive factor in this development was first the Kosovo war of 1999 and the Alliance’s conduct of it without resort to deployable headquarters, and then the NATO-led Kosovo peacekeeping force (KFOR) commanded from an army headquarters. The air war over Kosovo was conducted from NATO’s permanent Regional Command South at Naples—in the organizational chart located just beneath the European Strategic Command (SHAPE) and thus at the second level of the command structure where the CJTF nuclei are also located.


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Geography alone can explain why Naples sufficed for the air war and why a CJTF was unnecessary: Naples is located approximately 600 km from Kosovo. Other factors contribute to the irrelevance of CJTF, such as the decision to conduct an air war only and thus reducing the need for logistical support in neighboring Macedonia and Albania, just as NATO could make diplomatic use of its peacekeeping presence in Bosnia-Herzegovina. In short, geography and the nature of the campaign made the CJTF irrelevant during the war. These factors also account for the absence of a CJTF in the ensuing peacekeeping force KFOR that began deploying in mid-June 1999 and continues to remain present in Kosovo. KFOR headquarters was established in Pristina, the regional capital, with subordinate headquarters following in the five peacekeeping sectors run by lead-nations, Great Britain, Italy, Germany, the United States, and France. The principal headquarters was first commanded by the land component of NATO’s rapid reaction forces, the Allied Rapid Reaction Corps (ARRC), led by Britain. The ARRC headquarters began deploying to neighboring Macedonia already in March 1999 in order to stand ready for the ensuing peacekeeping operation, and the command has subsequently rotated on a semiannual basis. The rotation involves the replacement of most headquarters personnel, with new forces being drawn from other NATO headquarters as well as contributing nations, and from a lead-nation that runs the headquarters for a six-month period. The infamous third level of the command structure, the Joint Sub-Regional Headquarters ( JSRHQ), gained a last moment of glory when Norway (lead-nation) and Denmark used their JSRHQ North and Northeast to run KFOR from April 2001. Two lessons can be drawn from this Kosovo experience. First that cooperation with partner nations, while an explicit dimension of the CJTF concept, could be handled by existing headquarters. For instance, the operation commanded by Norway’s personnel from JSRHQ North, in cooperation with personnel from other structures, comprised approximately 42,000 soldiers in total coming from all of the 19 NATO nations as well as 20 other nations. Crisis management with many partners was thus not a distinguishing feature justifying the creation of CJTF. The second lesson is that the ARRC headquarters was the first to be deployed because it was ready and sized for the task, and thus that headquarters drawn from the force structure (like the ARRC) were flexible and useful for rapid reaction and therefore the appropriate third level below SHAPE and Naples—as opposed to the CJTF and JSRHQ of the command structure. The question was whether CJTFs were still necessary, or whether money should be channeled from the command structure to force structure headquarters such as the ARRC HQ. The ARRC HQ, after all, was standing and

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ready for rapid reaction, it was trained for multinational command with NATO as well as partner nations, and it was ideally suited for an operation the size of Kosovo. This is not to say that a CJTF and the ARRC HQ were designed to do the same thing: they were not. The CJTF is operational command; the ARRC HQ tactical. Rather, it is to say that doubts could be raised whether NATO really needed both—whether the ARRC HQ was not more suitable for the challenges that NATO faced. The CJTF is designed to counter significant military threats, and its justification is therefore related to size and geographical distance: distance presumably makes it necessary to “outsource” command from, for example, Naples to a mobile CJTF located in, for example, Eastern Turkey if a threat appears here; size implies that an operation is not dominated by one branch, such as land forces, but involves all branches operating in large numbers, which necessitates a joint headquarters like CJTF. In short, if NATO is likely to become engaged in large operations far removed from NATO territory, then CJTF may be justified. Kosovo-like operations do not justify CJTF, on the other hand, because regional joint commands do not need to be mobile and because land headquarters like the ARRC can handle the operation in the theater. Proponents of CJTF did not counter the Kosovo logic but merely pointed out that something bigger may be waiting down the road. The trouble for CJTF proponents was that many policy-makers in the wake of Kosovo found it hard to imagine what a big threat this may be—even if it underwent a political revolution, Russia would find it difficult to pose a large conventional threat to NATO, and China was simply too far away (as one observer noted in an interview)—and instead policy-makers tended to focus on crisis management and new doctrines of humanitarian intervention. Doubts reverberated in the military community: “there is a debate on the need for CJTF.”71 To be sure, CJTF can be tailored to the mission and thus does not need to be deployed as a full-scale headquarters against a large territorial threat—which would involve a headquarters staff of about 525 along with about 700 in support units—“but such tailoring along with deployment takes time.” And the question therefore remains: if crisis management is at the heart of the matter, and if CJTF tailoring is time-consuming, would it not be wiser to invest in force structure headquarters that are trained and ready to handle both the operation and partner liaisons? Doubts about NATO’s future involvement in operations going beyond Kosovo in terms of size and complexity and doubts about the usefulness of sizing CJTF to such operations implied a change of pace in the debate over NATO’s design, which for France, the sponsor of European unity, was a mixed blessing. CJTF’s residual justification was now linked to large scale operations in which the United States, not France, would play a natural


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leadership role qua its capabilities, and the CJTF tie to crisis management operations where France perceived a role for the European pillar had been loosened. Although France had invested in its presence in NATO’s command structure, in CJTF organs such as the Combined Joint Planning Staff, crisis management leadership now depended on still new investments in the force structure: boots on the ground and force headquarters. CJTF had always been closely related to NATO’s integrated command, into which France failed to negotiate its reentry in 1996–1997, and from the French perspective force structure headquarters had the virtue of being located outside this “integrated” command. In short, a shift of emphasis to the force structure promised greater “autonomy” in terms of command. But this autonomy could be realized only if Europe gathered the military muscle to operate out-of-area; otherwise, there would be no forces to command, and the United States would again run allied operations. Force structure and planning therefore became central to allied relations at the turn of the century. Force Planning The original idea behind the CJTF was to create a headquarters enabling NATO to act in unison or in flexible coalitions. Subsequent crisis management operations such as in Kosovo made it less likely that NATO would act in unison; moreover, the sheer weight of the CJTF made it more relevant for large-scale collective defense operations. Much could, therefore, be gained in terms of influence by the allies managing to create and sustain the forces “filling in” the third level of an operation: forces capable of deploying to external theaters of conflict and providing command facilities. Individual NATO allies were—and continue to be—sovereign in their defense investment and force planning, and the influence that could be gained was thus on offer mainly to the nations willing to channel new resources into defense planning and, moreover, to divert resources from yesterday’s priorities, such as conscription and heavy formations, to the formation of tomorrow’s force of welltrained and well-equipped professionals. Most nations struggle to cope with such budgetary exercises for reasons of conflicting political and organizational interests. They therefore sometimes resort to collective planning: to empower governments vis-à-vis blocking domestic interests, or to impress on allies the type of investments that a particular nation finds most fit. Collective force planning took center stage in NATO at the turn of the decade for all these reasons. It became a contentious debate evolving around the institutional design for generating new forces: NATO versus the EU. As always, the same set of military forces can be used in several contexts, NATO as well as the EU, which would seem to de-dramatize the debate on capabilities.

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However, the key players were using capabilities to advance policy. France unsurprisingly supported the creation of an EU force planning option; Britain somewhat surprisingly likewise supported such an option; and the United States, in light of the British-French decision to operate outside of NATO, unsurprisingly sought to reinvigorate NATO force planning. The issues at stake will be made clear in the following discussion but the conclusion is that the straddling position of the British government—using an EU option to get more NATO—was difficult and that the real issue became one of how far the European pillar should become detached from NATO. In this period of time, NATO force planning not only continued its regular planning cycles, which run in two-year intervals, but was reinvigorated by a number of extraordinary initiatives that brought about a new design for NATO’s force structure, a special investment program designed to reinvigorate the planning cycle, and a new method to focus planning within the cycle itself. We look at these novelties in turn, beginning with the force structure design that NATO’s military authorities presented to policy-makers in July 2001. The force structure design was contained in the document MC317/1 (subsequently approved by defense ministers) and it differed from its predecessor, MC317 of May 1991, in that it placed a greater premium on the upper levels of forces of graduated readiness. In short, high readiness gained in prominence. MC317 of 1991 had established a pyramid of forces: with immediate reaction forces followed by rapid reaction forces, main defense forces, and finally augmentation forces. MC317/1 focused on the upper levels—immediate and rapid reaction forces—and in addition connected them to out-of-area requirements. In effect, the upper levels of the pyramid had become a matrix because of the double distinction between “type of forces” and “readiness”: ●

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Type of forces: NATO distinguishes between Deployable Forces (DF) available for the full range of missions and In-Place Forces (IPF) mainly focused on territorial defense; Readiness: NATO distinguishes between High-Readiness Forces (HRF) available within 90 days of mobilization and Forces of Lower Readiness (FLR) available within 180 days.

The lower levels of the previous pyramid are in MC317/1 relegated to a third category, Long-Term Build-Up Forces (LTBF), which receives scant attention from force planners. Force planners instead focus on cell A in the force planning matrix presented in table 3.1.

The Demise of Collective Security, 1997–2001 Table 3.1

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NATO force structure, July 2001 High readiness

Lower readiness

Deployable

A: NATO’s top priority

In-Place

C: Lower priority for Article 5 planning

B: Secondary priority as reinforcements D: Low priority

Interviews with NATO officials indicate that force planners focus on cells A and B when putting numbers on the types of forces and headquarters that they believe NATO needs if the Alliance is to meet requirements defined in the Ministerial Guidance. NATO defense ministers, operating within the Strategic Concept defined by heads of state and government, update this Ministerial Guidance every two years and in it they define the type of missions for which NATO must be prepared, including a worst-case scenario that becomes a baseline for force planning. The first concrete figures attached to the new force structure of 2001 thus resulted from the Ministerial Guidance of 2000, which built on the new demand of the 1999 Strategic Concept to stand ready “to contribute to effective conflict prevention and engage actively in crisis management, including crisis response operations.” To do so, NATO needed more deployable reaction forces. The force structure reform had been longer in the making, however. It can be seen as the logical consequence of the Long-Term Study that was initiated in 1994 and which produced first a new military strategy (MC400/1) and then a new command structure (in 1997). With a new strategy and command structure in place, a review of the essential building blocs, the forces, seemed obvious. The expanded crisis management agenda contained in the Strategic Concept of 1999 triggered a continuation of the Long-Term Study in so far as the working group that previously had dealt with the command structure reform now was tasked to review the force structure. As before, reform began with a new military strategy now focused on force projection, MC400/2 of May 2000. This stream of political-institutional initiatives was inspired by the continuing poor state of NATO forces: they were too slow and heavy.72 Too many forces were placed well down into the pyramid, among the Main Defense Forces, where they lacked the infrastructure to move very far. Moreover, to mobilize them, and thus to call up conscripts, governments would generally have to declare a national emergency, which made the forces irrelevant for crisis management. In brief, NATO allies had responded to the

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first force structure design of 1991 by making modest reforms in the bottom of the force structure pyramid, in turn making NATO poorly equipped for rapid reactions and out-of-area crisis management. Policy-makers signaled with the new force structure design that they intended to change this state of affairs. The agenda for change was confronted with the fact that the NATO force planning process had tended to produce incremental reforms. Upon presenting the new force structure design, the head of NATO’s Military Committee, Admiral Guido Venturoni, argued that the reform represents a “leap forward”—a revolution rather than evolution.73 Past practices certainly had to change for Admiral Venturoni’s optimistic claim to hold true. Still, the United States took the lead in changing past practice, and did so in the runup to the Washington summit of April 1999. The U.S. initiative was labeled the Defense Capabilities Initiative (DCI) and involved the creation of a new investment program designed to deepen notably European commitments to a new force posture. DCI was foreign to NATO’s regular force planning process—an extraordinary initiative—and was a deliberate attempt to shake up established routines, cut through red tape, and do away with “insulated vertical planning.”74 DCI consisted of three layers. A first layer was made up of five broad areas containing certain capabilities of which NATO allies were in particular need: ● ● ● ● ●

mobility and deployability; sustainability; effective engagement; survivability; interoperable communications.

A second layer then consisted of the specific capabilities within these areas, altogether 58 for the five areas. The 58 agreed-to investment priorities were classified but individual governments provided illustrations through their own presentations of DCI: Great Britain for instance mentioned such capabilities as the C130J transport aircraft, strategic airlift, and roll-on rolloff sealift capabilities for the area of mobility and deployability, stand off missiles, attack helicopters, and combat aircraft for the area of effective engagement and so on.75 A final DCI layer consisted of an oversight committee, a High Level Steering Group (HLSG), which was an informal gathering of national defense advisors and senior officials that met approximately every sixth week to survey DCI progress. In short, HLSG should apply pressure at those points where force planning tended to block. The HLSG thus did not handle day-to-day planning, which was the responsibility of a series of committees found within


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NATO’s existing force planning system. There were fewer than 58 committees involved but every one of the 58 investment priorities were formally assigned to a particular committee. Individual allies were free to participate in just those committees whose focus was of interest for their national defense planning, but the idea was that the entire set-up of HLSG and new priorities should encourage allies to actually acquire the capabilities that new security operations required. DCI was therefore the defense ministers’ contribution to the Alliance’s renewal that was on the Washington agenda—or, less poetically, an item that would grant defense ministers a summit role.76 U.S. pressure for planning renewal continued beyond the Washington summit, resulting in part in the new force structure design analyzed above but also in a generic shift of focus within the planning process. The shift, like DCI and the force structure, is intended to produce deployable rapid reaction forces. Planners have abandoned “threat-based planning” and now do “capability-based planning.” Lay observers will find it hard to distinguish between these two methods of planning because both match capabilities (what do we need) to scenarios (why do we need it). However, the key difference is that threats have become much harder to identify, especially when compared with the Cold War, and that planning is facilitated by moving the focus to “how” (i.e., capabilities) rather than “who, where, and when” (i.e., threats). With threat-based planning, planners begin with certain scenarios for which the Alliance must be prepared (e.g., one major invasion of Turkey and one crisis management operation in the Balkans) and then develop forces accordingly. With the new method, planners begin with the full spectrum of capabilities that deployable forces need: only later in the process do planners introduce scenarios to test whether the Alliance has what it takes to meet a certain situation (e.g., crisis management in Montenegro). This is precisely the type of shift that has taken place within the U.S. armed forces where the Pentagon for most of the 1990s were shaping U.S. forces to be able to respond simultaneously to two major regional wars: essentially in the Middle East and on the Korean peninsula. The course of the 1990s presented new challenges, notably crisis management, peacekeeping, and preventive deployments, that combined to undermine faith in this threat-based planning tool—even before the attack of September 11. The change to capability planning was fully consummated with the presentation of the Quadrennial Defense Review (QDR) of the Bush administration in September 2001. The current capabilities-based planning approach “is intended to refocus planners on the growing range of capabilities that an adversary might possess or could develop. It will require planners to define the military objectives associated with defeating aggression or coercion in a variety of potential scenarios in addition to conventional cross-border invasions.”77

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NATO’s conversion to capabilities-based planning was likewise consummated in 2001.78 It began with the planning guidelines of the 1999 Strategic Concept79 and continued with the new military strategy, MC400/2, from May 2000. In the past, this type of military strategy would derive Primary Military Requirements (PMR) to guide force planning; now, in May 2000, the new concept of Essential Operating Capabilities (EOC) was introduced as a PMR replacement. The wording reveals the nature of the shift: “requirements” follow from specific tasks (scenarios), while “essential capabilities” relate to the “how” of force projection. Background interviews indicate that EOC fall into seven large categories (e.g., deployability, sustainability), which the Strategic Commands of NATO (at the time: ACE and ACLANT) have translated into 14 Military Functions (MF) (e.g., electronic warfare, air operations). These MF are presented in another MC document (MC299/6) of May 2001, and they serve to direct further planning and ultimately define force goals that allies commit themselves to implementing. With DCI as a high-level measure to reinvigorate force planning, a new force structure design, and the capability focus introduced within the regular force planning process, NATO gained the instruments with which it could become the central organization in Europe’s new environment of crisis managing coalitions. However, in spite of all these signs of vigor a parallel system of force planning emerged in the EU—first as a blueprint for change in 1999 and then as a functioning planning mechanism by 2001. A brief description of this NATO challenge follows before we examine the causes and consequences of this turn of events. The EU parallel track originates with the EU Cologne summit of June 1999 when EU members accepted the ambition of creating the “autonomous” defense options put on the agenda by France and Great Britain in December 1998. Six months later, in Helsinki, December 1999, they outlined a concrete Headline Goal for EU forces and, in a stunning development in light of NATO’s apparent vigor, urged the creation of an EU force planning process. The Cologne summit resulted in the statement that EU “autonomy” required the adaptation and reinforcement of defense capabilities.80 The Helsinki summit then accelerated the dynamism. First of all, the Headline Goal necessary for meeting the upper level of the Petersberg agenda was defined as “operations up to corps level (up to 15 brigades or 50,000–60,000 persons).” Inspired by this force goal, EU heads of state expressed their wish for the creation of an EU force planning process, although they were careful to use the vaguer term “method of consultation”:81 [The EU must] develop a method of consultation through which these goals can be met and maintained, and through which national


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contributions reflecting Member States’ political will and commitment towards these goals can be defined by each Member State, with a regular review of progress made. Targeting just Petersberg tasks may appear a modest ambition but it could also, in theory at least, lead to the scenario dreaded by the U.S. ambassador to NATO, Robert Hunter, namely the creation of an entirely new nonArticle 5 organization, with its proper force planning process, operational planning components, and so on. Most of the involved European nations had in fact initiated an “audit of assets and capabilities” in November 1998—through the WEU—to strengthen their crisis management capabilities.82 While this audit had the potential to support NATO force planning, it became, upon its conclusion in November 1999, a pillar of support for the “consultation method” that the EU wished to develop in respect to force planning. The Portuguese EU presidency ( January–June 2000) set up an interim EU Military Staff (EUMS), which started operating in March 2000, and which was instructed (in part) to “identify the capabilities necessary for the EU to respond to the full range of the Petersberg tasks.”83 From the audit and the work of the EUMS emerged, in the spring of 2000, a Helsinki Headline Catalogue (HHC) containing the forces that the EU foresaw that it might need. Next step was the making of a Helsinki Force Catalogue (HFC) that represented the forces that EU countries were ready to commit to the EU. These were committed at a so-called Capabilities Commitment Conference held under the French presidency in November 2000. The catalogues are kept secret but it has become common knowledge that the HFC involved 100,000 soldiers along with 400 aircraft and 100 vessels. The shortfalls created by a comparison of the demand-side (HHC) and the supply-side (HFC) resulted in a Helsinki Progress Catalogue (HPC) that, like NATO’s DCI and regular force planning process, identified key investment priorities for the allies. The HPC was put together by the Swedish EU presidency in the spring of 2001 during which time the presidency also sought to institutionalize the EU force planning process in the shape of a so-called Capability Development Mechanism. This institutionalization did not happen during 2001, however, due to the difficulties of implementing the EU-NATO Berlin Plus agreement.84 The United States reacted with concern to this turn of events and Secretary of Defense Cohen sought in particular to prevent the emergence of an autonomous EU force planning option by outlining his vision for a broader and unified planning regime that retained NATO as its core. This vision was presented at an informal meeting of NATO defense ministers, Birmingham, October 10, 2000. Under normal conditions nothing is published in the

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context of such informal meetings: conditions were not normal, however, and Secretary Cohen’s remarks were widely distributed.85 Cohen pleaded for a “unitary, coherent, and collaborative” planning approach based on the rationale that all allies had only one set of forces and one defense budget. In other words, NATO and the EU must draw on the same force pool because no one will create distinct EU troops. Therefore, Secretary Cohen continued, “I could very well imagine this unitary approach taking the form of a ‘European Security and Defense Planning System,’ or ‘ESDPS.’ ” The ESDPS would gather all 23 countries belonging to NATO, the EU, or both, a proposal whose significance must be appreciated in light of the overall options on the table in 1999–2000. According to a NATO official intimately involved in this process, four options were now on the table (see table 3.2).86 As is usual in such a situation, two options defined the outer limits of a spectrum, and could thus be discarded, while the middle two options made up the real issue of contention. By October 2000, when Cohen presented the ESDPS idea, the EU option was quite far into its realization, a fact of which he certainly was aware, and his proposal suggested a compromise centered on NATO’s reform (i.e., option 2). Cohen offered to abandon a stringent NATO option—the old NATO system doing planning for NATO and others—and, instead of planning at 19, invited allies and friends to do planning at 23. What Cohen sought in return was the abandonment of an autonomous planning process in the EU. The ESDPS never materialized and NATO, in spite of a new force structure design (MC317/1), a new investment program (DCI) and planning method (capability-based), was faced with a force planning competitor. The British position was that the EU capability development mechanism would reinforce NATO rather than compete with it. Britain feared that Europe’s lack of military investments would undermine the transatlantic link and saw Table 3.2

Force planning options, 2000

Option 1

Option 2

Option 3

Option 4

Stringent NATO model: established NATO system integrates agenda of other organizations

Defense planning at 23: ESDPS. Fusion of NATO and EU planning, with four non-NATO EU countries gaining a special status in NATO.

Autonomous NATO and EU planning processes but with various steps harmonized and with formal rules of engagement.

Completely separate NATO and EU force planning processes with no formal connections.


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in the EU a mechanism for reviving these investments and thus the link as well.87 British Secretary of State for Defence Geoff Hoon underscored this pragmatic approach to the EU in February 2001 when he pointed out that the defense initiative was taken in the EU in the first place because the EU had the “capability to mobilize a military response.”88 But British pragmatism also implied that the Berlin Plus agreement of April 1999 was challenged. According to point four of the agreement, NATO should adapt its defense planning system to better take into account European options: now, a new system had emerged. British policy-makers implicitly accepted a criticism of NATO force planning by agreeing to the EU mechanism. They were in effect saying that NATO’s system could not deliver. They thus followed in the footsteps of French policy-makers who had long contended, in line with former President de Gaulle’s vision for alliance cooperation, that integrated planning relying on an elaborate set of Brussels-based institutions was fictional and that effective planning could happen only in a bottom-up system dominated by states.89 By logical implication, the British government needed to set out its vision of how the EU’s ESDP would affect the whole Berlin Plus package and how NATO, not the EU, could remain the predominant coalition-framework. Prime Minister Tony Blair suggested the outline of such a vision when he first met newly elected U.S. President W. Bush in late February 2001. Blair argued that the ESDP represented an investment in the Berlin Plus agreement, and President Bush endorsed Blair’s position, albeit somewhat vaguely: “I support his [Tony Blair’s] point of view”—adding that “he also assured me that the European defense would [in] no way undermine NATO.”90 Tony Blair in return endorsed the Bush security policy agenda’s emphasis on new threats coming from weapons of mass destruction and missile proliferation, which also served as the Bush administration’s justification for promoting a new ambitious missile defense program. Blair did not explicitly endorse this program—due to its controversial status in Britain, among European allies, and in Russia and China—but welcomed a dialogue on the subject.91 Bush and Blair effectively suggested that security priorities were diverging but could be accommodated within NATO’s new Strategic Concept, nevertheless: the ESDP was compatible with the crisis management focus of the Concept’s Part I; the U.S. security policy agenda compatible with the Concept’s perspectives in Part II. Such a harmonious interpretation of recent ESDP events did not prevail everywhere, however. In Britain, observers noted that Blair was cultivating Britain as a bridge between Europe and the United States and warned that “bridges under pressure at both ends have a nasty habit of coming apart in the middle.”92 The trouble was that influential senior officials in the Bush administration—notably an “iron triangle” of Vice President Cheney, Defense

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Secretary Rumsfeld, and Deputy Defense Secretary Wolfowitz—were opposed to the European defense option, which they had made clear in the run-up to the Bush–Blair summit, and which Vice President Cheney apparently also signaled Blair in their head-to-head during the summit.93 On the other hand, in Europe, French President Chirac may have soothed Blair on the compatibility of the ESDP and NATO but he also floated his idea that the EU must gain an autonomous capacity in operational planning (which the Berlin Plus agreement stipulates lies with NATO) and in explicit terms went against the U.S. policy of missile defense.94 In short, the idea that NATO’s Strategic Concept corresponded to recent developments was not universally backed. In a comment in the Financial Times, Philip Stephens argued that missile defense and the ESDP “represent changing mindsets.” “Neither partner is willing to admit this. If NATO has lost its guiding purpose, the US and Europe have nothing yet to replace it. But they cannot much longer deny that the parameters of the relationship have decisively shifted.”95 In other words, the jury was out on whether NATO or the EU was prevailing, but the fact of the matter remained that by 2001 a real competition had opened between the two to become Europe’s coalition framework. Before we move on to the conclusion of this chapter we briefly consider in which way NATO’s relations to Eastern Europe and Russia affected competition and cooperation internal to the Alliance. NATO and Eastern Europe NATO had turned its back on collective security designs to organize itself as a coalition framework that naturally would be able to act in support of collective security organizations but which reserved the right not to do so and moreover to act without mandates. A split had emerged within the Alliance between proponents of an Atlantic framework and a European crisis management option, with both of these developments falling within the “coalition” scenario of table 1.2 characterized by a diffuse security environment and a wish for flexible alignment options. The question addressed here concerns the impact of Eastern European countries, including Russia, on these developments. Did external relations further NATO’s move away from collective security, and did they favor NATO or the new European option? The brief answer is that these external developments exerted no decisive influence on NATO primarily because policies developed outside of NATO were crosscutting: Russia supported the development of the EU’s ESDP while Eastern European countries favored NATO and particularly the Alliance’s Eastern enlargement. On balance one could possibly argue that Russia’s support for the EU was weakened by the unreliable character of Russian security policy


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and that NATO, more than the EU, benefited from external developments. However, this conclusion should be kept within the perspective developed above, that dynamics internal to NATO/the EU created a momentum in favor of the EU in some important respects. Russia took a positive view of the ESDP through 1999 mainly for instrumental reasons: it aimed to create a counterweight to NATO. The foreign policy doctrine of Yevgeny Primakov—that Russia must regain great power status and that the world should become multipolar—conditioned Russia’s reaction and made it tempting to read into the ESDP a broad European wish for a detachment of European security policy from the United States and NATO. This Russian mindset informed first the “Mid-Term Strategy on Relations with the EU” that Russia adopted in October 1999,96 and which covered the coming decade, and the Charter for European Security that the OSCE adopted the subsequent month, in November 1999, not least prodded by Russian diplomacy: the former document explicitly argues that the ESDP could serve as a “counterweight” to Europe’s “NATO-centrism,” while the latter supports the making of a new pan-European security architecture in line with Russia’s long-standing preference for a new OSCE-inspired order.97 Russia’s view of NATO as being little more than the United States’ instrument for influencing European affairs was shaped not only by the general Russian wish to regain its past status—expressed in the Primakov doctrine— but also by the United States’ decisive role behind the NATO policies that most affected Russia. The United States had spearheaded the Dayton agreement leading to NATO’s peacekeeping mission in a “Slav” region, just as the United States spearheaded NATO’s enlargement policy leading to the inclusion in NATO of former Warsaw Pact countries. The United States was also the clear leader in NATO’s Kosovo war against Serbia in 1999 when the ESDP was also launched. These factors help account for the fact that “the US and NATO as an organization bore the brunt of practically all of the Russian opprobrium from the overwhelmingly negative perceptions of NATO’s role in the Kosovo crisis” and that “Russia’s relations with the European member states of the alliance suffered surprisingly little.”98 Russia’s top representatives reacted strongly to NATO’s decision to strike against Serbia: Yevgeny Primakov, now promoted prime minister, was on his way to Washington for financial talks but ordered his plane to turn around in mid-air upon learning of NATO’s decision, and Russia’s President Yeltsin went on Russian television to urge the world to stop U.S. President Clinton from taking “this tragic, dramatic step.”99 Yeltsin then announced Russia’s decision to suspend all cooperation with NATO, including Russia’s participation in the partnership for peace (Pf P) program, the recall of Russia’s military envoy to NATO, as well as the closure of Russia’s NATO offices in Brussels.

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In spite of the ESDP’s momentum and Russian support for it, Russian policy-makers lacked alternative options to cooperation with the US and NATO. They could cultivate such alternatives—the EU, the OSCE—but the basis of Russian policy was weak: a weak economy based primarily on the production and export of primary resources, and a politically weak Commonwealth of Independent States, where Byelorussia was the only reliable partner because the Ukraine, the only other member, was seeking closer relations with the West and an arms’ length relationship to Moscow, the former imperial center.100 Russia’s war in its region of Chechnya, it should be noted, also undermined its EU-OSCE policy by virtue of its brutal character: the war began anew in September 1999, just months following the Kosovo intervention. The effect of these constraints became visible notably in 2000–2001 under the new president, Vladimir Putin, who is more inclined to accept the “reality that Russia does not have the means to avert” adverse developments and whose new pragmatism has stabilized relations with the United States.101 Putin thus toned down Russian criticism of American plans for a missile defense that would breach the Anti-Ballistic Missile Defense treaty, although he did seek to rally European support for the view that the United States should abandon the treaty only under terms acceptable to Russia, the treaty’s other sponsor, and also China. Putin’s approach differed remarkably from that of Yeltsin whose leadership seemed capable of going from one extreme to another in the Russia–NATO relationship. To illustrate, in May–June 1999, Yeltsin’s Russia was drawn into the diplomatic end-game of the Kosovo war, as Germany spearheaded the Alliance’s policy to get Russia on board, and as the diplomat designated to extract Serbia’s capitulation, Finnish President Ahtisaari, made clear that he would work with Russian envoy Chernomyrdin only if Russia reached an agreement with the United States in their running dispute over the terms of a possible Balkan peace.102 Russia gained diplomatic capital from its constructive engagement in these negotiations but then squandered a good part of it in mid-June when Russian forces from Bosnia moved into Kosovo to seize control of the Pristina airport in violation of the peacekeeping agreement entered between NATO and Russia.103 Months later, when the OSCE met in Istanbul to adopt a new security charter, Russia clashed with Western states on the issues of NATO’s “illegal” war in Kosovo and also fighting in Russia’s secessionist republic of Chechnya—issues that for Russia combined in the single question of prioritizing state sovereignty against external intervention on humanitarian grounds. Russia’s positive view of EU developments was therefore an ambiguous gift for EU countries: if it represented an attempt to drive a wedge between Europe and the United States, a typical Cold War–type measure, many EU countries would not hesitate turning it down; if, on the other hand,


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it represented Russia’s genuine appreciation of EU policy ambitions, it was inaccurate—because the ESDP built on divergent motives—and therefore was dangerous: it could rip open wounds of disagreement and undermine the case for humanitarian interventions. In any case, as observers have noted, the EU–Russia security partnership is under construction with a short historical record to build on, and Russia’s operational value to the EU—in terms of physical capabilities that the EU might need—is limited. The value of the partnership for the EU is political influence in that part of the world and perhaps external support for the ESDP, but with the caveat that the partnership could be difficult to realize because Russia may be misunderstanding EU motives and moreover appears set on linking the legitimacy of EU policy, as Russia has done also in the case of NATO, to a new pan-European OSCE order.104 While Russia gave some weight to the emerging European pillar, other former Warsaw Pact members in Eastern Europe pulled in the inverse direction, in favor of NATO. Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic had gained NATO membership with the 1997 decision to invite them, albeit their formal entry took place only in April 1999 in the run-up to the Washington summit. Other countries were lining up in the hope that NATO’s open door would continue to remain open, a prospect that caused concern in Russia where policy-makers combined NATO’s possible continued enlargement with the new Strategic Concept’s emphasis on out-of-area crisis management in the view that NATO was an offensive alliance threatening Russian interests. Russian concerns and occasional hard-talk only made Eastern European nations more eager to join NATO, thus causing a growing wave of Alliance support but one that was, ultimately, of ambiguous value to the Alliance. The problem was that NATO could be importing members whose security agenda was not synchronized with that of NATO nations: on the one hand, the new members might be predominantly focused on obtaining territorial guarantees against a possible Russian threat; on the other, old members had moved beyond a territorial defense agenda to focus on the management of crises and risks. As long as this cleavage continued to exist, NATO would de facto be hampered in its defense planning because although new allies might subscribe to NATO’s out-of-area agenda they would be unlikely to contribute significantly to it. Put crudely, the new allies might prefer to see old NATO forces transformed into mobile forces capable of deploying to Eastern Europe rather than their own forces made into Middle Eastern gendarmes. And on top of these political considerations came the precarious economic situation of most applicants that limited the extent to which investments in defense reform could be made. NATO had little choice at the Washington summit but to strike a compromise deal between the need to cultivate relations to Russia and to

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assure other Eastern European countries that Article 10 of the Washington Treaty—opening the Alliance to any country “in a position to further the principles of this Treaty and to contribute to the security of the North Atlantic area”—remained applicable. While relations with Russia had deteriorated at the time of the summit, the concluding Washington Summit Communiqué nevertheless struck the balance by declaring on the one hand that “NATO will continue to welcome new members” but adding on the other hand that nothing had yet been decided—enlargement “is part of an evolutionary process that takes into account political and security developments in the whole of Europe.”105 To steer the evolutionary process NATO launched a Membership Action Program (MAP), which set out NATO requirements that had to be fulfilled before an aspiring country can hope to be considered for membership. The requirements are straightforward in that they concern political issues of democracy and good governance, defense issues of substantive alliance contributions, and also resource, security, and legal issues. NATO was careful to note that the requirements do not represent a list of criteria that, when met, give access to membership: all decisions are made on a case-by-case basis, just as all MAP meetings take place in a so-called 19⫹1 format between NATO and individual aspiring countries.106 Blurring lines between countries inside and outside NATO by emphasizing partnership programs and action plans was a strategy that NATO deliberately pursued to alleviate both Russian and Eastern European concerns: Russia might feel that NATO at least was not expanding its territorial domain; East Europeans might feel that a road to membership was opening. Simultaneously, blurred lines served NATO in its new role as a coalition framework: if NATO could establish close ties to these countries, then NATO could also help shape their forces for out-of-area operations, make them compatible with NATO standards, train them to work in NATO command structures, including the new CJTF arrangements, and in general have them support the out-of-area focus of the Strategic Concept. This type of blurring had occurred from the outset with the PfP program, since 1994,107 but decisions were made in April 1999 to enhance it—which NATO did also in the spring of 1997 when the new EAPC was launched—and thus to enhance the gray area between membership and close partnership. Partners were by the turn of the century drawn closer to NATO through the following mechanisms:108 ●

Partnership Work Program (PWP) and Individual Partnership Program (IPP): both were part of the original 1993–1994 design for the PfP, with the IPP representing the individual agreement between NATO and the partner. When cooperating on this bilateral basis they draw on a wide agenda of objectives that can be pursued within a two-year


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period of time and which are collected in the PWP, thus serving as guidance for IPP. The PWP for 2000–2001, for instance, contains 21 areas of cooperation with each one broken down into distinct objectives (ranging typically from 3 to 6) and activities to attain them. Planning and Review Process (PARP): the PfP set up a planning mechanism that mirrors that of NATO’s Defense Planning Process (DPP) with the notable difference that the PARP does not deal with territorial defense. Otherwise the PARP operates with a Ministerial Guidance (like the DPP) to frame planning, a Partner Questionnaire to examine the national inventory (in the DPP: Defense Questionnaire), and Partner Goals (in the DPP: force goals) that partners can sign up to and implement nationally. The first two-year PARP cycle was launched in December 1994, and during this and the next cycle the original narrower focus of the PARP was reflected in the name for “force goals”: Interoperationability Objectives. Reforms begun in 1997 augmented the planning regime and led to the adoption of the first PARP Ministerial Guidance in November 1999, followed by a first set of Partner Goals (replacing, or rather subsuming the Interoperationability Objectives) in 2000. The Washington summit gave birth to a strengthening of existing PfP dimensions and also introduced new ones under the heading of an Enhanced and More Operational Partnership for Peace Program (which in fact was the outcome of the aforementioned reforms begun in 1997). Among the new initiatives was a Political Military Framework for NATO-led PfP Operations (PMF) that sets out guidelines for crisis management cooperation in four distinct phases, running from a phase of noncrisis to execution. Also introduced was an Operational Capabilities Concept (OCC) intended to serve as a force generation mechanism, by which NATO would help identify force packages among partner forces and enhance their interoperationability. In parallel to all these initiatives, we find a number of parallel and bilateral activities intended to strengthen any given partner’s adherence to the PfP program as such: for instance, Great Britain may initiate certain activities with the Ukraine that the two countries come up with for reasons related to their interests and particular circumstances. These activities, known as “in the spirit of PFP,” were allowed from the outset of the PfP and were meant to complement the PWP, which they still do, but they have grown significantly in size and now outnumber PWP activities by a factor of about four. According to a NATO official, “in the spirit of PFP” activities make sense because they are generally shaped to local conditions and permit NATO’s overarching PWP to focus on general factors only.

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Maintaining a large and loyal group of NATO partners capable of operating with NATO’s mobile forces and headquarters was then a key strategy for the Alliance to establish its out-of-area role, in accordance with the 1999 Strategic Concept and in line with the American wish to secure NATO’s central role in Europe’s security order. Eastern European countries enthusiastically supported NATO by threading the path to possible membership: by 2001, nine countries participated in the MAP (Albania, Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, and Macedonia), and, counting these, 27 countries took part in the PfP (the EAPC had 46 member countries compared to the OSCE’s 55). This reservoir of NATO support was not decisive in the game to shape either NATO or the EU for European crisis management operations because, as already mentioned, extensive cooperation did not ensure that NATO and its partners or new members shared a view of the world that might ensure that Eastern Europe’s limited resources were channeled in a direction beneficial to NATO’s ongoing process of building capable projection forces. Moreover, Russia was likely to counter NATO’s evolution in two respects— insisting that its policies were developed in respect of mandating organizations in which Russia was a member (the UN and the OSCE); and favoring the EU’s defense dimension, the ESDP—an opposition that by itself could be uncomfortable for NATO allies but which could also add to the lack of shared worldviews between old and new NATO members in that the new ones might conclude that a residual territorial threat existed and that NATO’s Strategic Concept was too optimistic. Worldviews change slowly, but at least it appeared by 2001 that the United States through NATO was better able to shape the worldviews of Eastern European leaders than leading EU countries could hope to in the case of Russia. In sum, therefore, external relations provided support for both the EU and NATO, with the latter enjoying a potential slight advantage in that the relationship was asymmetrical in NATO’s favor (NATO was the stronger part of the relationship), but these relations did not fundamentally alter the fact that NATO through the latter half of the 1990s had turned its back on collective security functions to develop its role as a coalition enabler, and that this role was challenged by the emergence of the EU as a security actor. Conclusion On the face of it, NATO in the late 1990s presented an impressive range of initiatives that could signal vigor: a war to force the Serb regime to change its Kosovo policy; a new Strategic Concept geared to enable out-of-area action; a new force structure sharpening the distinction between reaction and legacy


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forces; a slimmer command structure with a plan for implementing mobile CJTF operative headquarters; and finally enhanced partnerships and an action plan for continued enlargement. Still, NATO lacked both continuity and cohesion through this period. NATO changed because the impetus to become a collective security organization—directly or as a sponsor of collective security policies—was lost. The reason lies partly outside NATO’s scope: Russia and China opposed the Kosovo war and therefore pushed NATO into the situation where the allies would have to bend to Russian and Chinese wishes or intervene without a UNSC mandate. They opted for the latter and thereby opened further the debate on the legitimacy of out-of-area interventions. For a moment it might have seemed that a new humanitarian paradigm was in the making, substituting the law of nations with a law of individual rights and paving the way for a new type of collective security action in and around Europe. Kosovo ultimately revealed a different trend, however, with most European allies preferring to make of Kosovo an exception to the rule— that states’ rights are the bedrock of international law—and with the United States preferring to go even further in the direction of letting interests rather than international law guide security policy. The allies moved in the same direction, away from collective security, but also parted ways, Europeans remaining closer to the idea that coalitions, even if changing in nature and scope, could be guided by shared principles such as support for the UN, Americans generally convinced that coalitions are shaped by interests related to risks and moreover should not be constrained unduly by principles. The Strategic Concept of 1999, expressing the Alliance’s purpose and guiding NATO’s military authorities, reflects a compromise between these diverging positions. NATO needed to compromise in April 1999 in order to secure the Alliance’s future as such but also to focus on the ongoing fighting in Kosovo. This may not have made for a strategic document characterized by stringent priorities. One critical observer, Ted Galen Carpenter, takes note of the Concept’s fluid geographical reach of the Alliance (the Euro-Atlantic area) and its many types of threats and concludes that “One would be hardpressed to find any unpleasant development within several thousands kilometers of a NATO member that could not arguably be considered a potential security issue for the alliance under those circumstances.”109 Carpenter in fact identifies the conditions that made NATO’s embrace of a coalition design inevitable: on the one hand, the security environment continued to be marked by uncertainty and thus “unpleasant developments” in many guises; on the other, allies’ had lost the past degree of unity in outlook and differed as to the role of NATO vis-à-vis third parties such as the UN and Russia and the security order in general. In terms of table 1.2, NATO had to cope with a coalition design or simply perish. NATO, led by the

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United States, began this process of change but also faced the emergence of a new competitor, the EU, which some states felt was a more appropriate mechanism for sponsoring new types of security missions. The EU challenge was severe not so much because the EU was a large and capable organization. In terms of security and defense policy, the EU was a virgin and lacked the inner agreement to let the EU sponsor coalitions of the willing, essentially because EU members watched one another with a wary eye in the phase of creation. Rather, the EU challenge was severe because the ESDP could take off only because frustration with NATO had become widespread enough to sustain an alternative policy track. France alone could not have sponsored the ESDP: other European nations, Great Britain notably among them, needed to change track in order for it to become possible. If this tendency for transatlantic views of the world to drift apart continued, however slowly, NATO would be further undermined, which is why, as the introduction to this chapter stated, the ESDP represented NATO’s hitherto gravest challenge. Worldviews are embedded in national cultures and institutions but individual governments and policy-makers may leave their mark on them and even change them at the margin. The election of George W. Bush and his taking office in January 2001 represented a chance that a new deal might be struck. Candidate Bush had expressed reservations against crisis management in the shape of nation-building and called for a more humble U.S. foreign policy: perhaps he was ready to let such missions be delegated to the EU and thereby put NATO and the EU on parallel but harmonious tracks. Still, such a solution continued to require transatlantic agreement on the first track, NATO: what it was about and how it should go about being it. The Bush administration soon made clear that it was not ready to concede “soft” crisis management operations to the EU and let NATO wither on the vine as a territorial defense organization. If the European allies were looking for a deal, they would have to agree to NATO’s transformation into a new security organization focused on new “challenges.” Donald Rumsfeld, U.S. Secretary of Defense, made the U.S. position clear at a NATO defense ministers’ meeting in June 2001. “We must prepare together for the new and quite different challenges we will face in the new century,” Rumsfeld told his NATO colleagues and went on to identify the nature of these: terrorists exploiting the open societies of NATO democracies; cyber-attacks against information networks; high-tech weapons threatening NATO conventional forces and force projection; and missiles coupled with weapons of mass destruction that might allow adversaries to blackmail NATO. To the allies that might be tempted to stall on this agenda while developing the ESDP, Rumsfeld continued: “Those pursuing a European Security and Defense Policy will


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need to be vigilant to ensure that this project is managed and handled in a way that adds capabilities to NATO, embeds defense planning in NATO, and that activities are arranged so that NATO has the right of first refusal.”110 In some ways Rumsfeld was merely restating the Berlin Plus agreement while drawing attention to the security risks described in the new Strategic Concept. But still, there was little doubt that the signal was a strong one: the European pillar could not move beyond the Berlin Plus confinements and NATO needed to do more to focus on the challenges that in April 1999 had been relegated from the Strategic Concept’s section on “The Purpose and Tasks of the Alliance” to the section on “Strategic Perspectives.” As such it was a demand for change, such as turning NATO’s Strategic Concept on its head in order to promote the agenda originally presented by Secretary of State Albright in December 1998; a demand for hard work from the European allies who must produce more of today’s relevant capabilities; and a demand accompanied by few political concessions, except that the Bush administration in return for hard work would invest in NATO’s continuity. NATO’s objective situation in mid-2001 lay with “coalitions,” but difficult subjective conditions raised questions about the ability of NATO to fulfill this role. NATO’s agony was therefore set to continue into the new century unless radical new developments intervened.


CHAPTER 4


T

he terrorist attacks on the United States on September 11, 2001 changed the security agenda of all NATO allies. The 19 allies declared in the Article 5 declaration of September 12, 2001 that they “stand ready to provide the assistance that may be required as a consequence of these acts of barbarism,” while they and other Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) members, altogether 46 countries, in parallel pledged “to undertake all efforts to combat the scourge of terrorism.”1 The attacks thus brought to the forefront the “strategic perspectives”—focused on terrorism and other threats such as organized crime—that NATO had discussed at the Washington summit in April 1999 but which had been overshadowed by Kosovo and out-of-area crisis management. Although crisis management in 1999 had been labeled a “fundamental security task,” it was instantly apparent in September 2001 that terrorism would be a more fundamental concern: the attacks had come from abroad, had targeted the territory of an ally, and were thus an Article 5 threat—something crisis management as an out-of-area concern cannot aspire to be. Still the question remained whether all allies would consider terrorism a grave threat and devise compatible strategies for dealing with it, and the question therefore touched on the nature of the transatlantic partnership. Terrorism bolstered the position of the Bush administration, which during its first half year in office had argued for a reorientation of the Alliance toward new types of threats but which had also fought to contain the investments European governments were making in an alternative security policy track, the European Union (EU). U.S. policy-makers thus feared prior to the terrorist

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attacks of 2001 that the EU was becoming the decisive sponsor of “coalitions” qua its policy focus on crisis management while NATO increasingly was a relic of past collective defense missions. The Article 5 declaration and the dramatic comeback of collective defense in September 2001 failed to settle the question in NATO’s favor. Uncertainty lingered because of the nature of the threat and the security environment: did the U.S. face an occasion to remake NATO as an alliance, based on a clear threat—with traces of it forever visible in New York City—and unity of purpose? If so, the United States would have to cultivate political unity and European support for continued NATO primacy. If, on the contrary, the threat was unclear, representing risks rather than threats, and if the Alliance was to continue its transformation into a flexible coalition framework, then the United States would have to convince its European allies that NATO would be a better coalition sponsor than the EU while also accepting that in an era of flexibility no one nation can make all critical decisions. This chapter argues that the terrorist attack and perhaps notably the presence of a pervasive network sponsoring the attacks may appear to pose a clear and distinct “threat” to Western societies but that terrorism is in fact a “risk” that is dangerous but also as diffuse and evasive as crisis management proved to be earlier in the 1990s. The challenge has changed but it remains a risk and not a threat. Coupled with a continued political desire for flexible options in security policy, experienced throughout the Alliance, NATO has no option but to pursue the coalition design. This was also the impression created by the United States and its new policy of sponsoring missions and inviting allies and partners to tag on to the best of their ability and also willingness. The national security strategy of September 2001 made clear that change would be dramatic rather than incremental by declaring that “The major institutions of American national security were designed in a different era to meet different requirements. All of them must be transformed.”2 Two subsequent political declarations are noteworthy. First, U.S. Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld outlined a new policy of international, allied cooperation when he in early 2002 argued that either the “mission will shape the coalition” or “the mission will be dumbed down to the lowest common denominator.”3 Next, President Bush in mid-2004 outlined a new policy of force deployment that will move large numbers of troops from traditional allies such as Germany and South Korea to either the United States or a new network of bases closer to regions of concern.4 These declarations herald a new era of flexible security cooperation. NATO’s case has not been closed, however, and part of the confusion stems from the ambiguous use of flexibility in U.S. policy declarations and strategy. U.S. policy-makers repeatedly refer to “threats” and “threatened


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values” that seem to invoke the good old days of the Cold War when a threat to collectively held values inspired unity in alliance. President Bush’s use of the phrase “either you are with us or you are against us” also suggested the emergence of new blocs in world politics, a kind of new alliance formation based on the clash between forces of enlightenment and regression. Sometimes U.S. policy-makers pull in the inverse direction, as we saw in the previous paragraph, and emphasize the need for flexibility in the execution of defense policy. Paradoxically, these same policy-makers then criticize allies that wish to use flexibility to advance their own proper interests. This is at odds with the condition for NATO’s survival as a coalition framework, namely that it must enable diverse coalitions and not merely the leader’s primacy. This chapter therefore offers an assessment of NATO’s future as a coalition framework and of the promise of renewal held out at the Prague summit of October 2002 gathering NATO heads of state and government, a promise repeated at the June 2004 summit in Istanbul. Will these “transformation summits” enable the organization to function effectively or are underlying political differences pointing to a transatlantic divorce? Some people would argue that a string of transformation summits is indicative of symbolic activity but also political paralysis rooted in a clash of European and American worldviews; the greater the clash, the louder the promise of transformation. Still, others would argue that NATO does provide governments with valuable instruments and that NATO’s transformation is for real. The chapter argues that the transformation is for real, albeit also incomplete. Some observers take note of the depth of political disagreement in relation to the war in Iraq—its preparation and aftermath—and conclude that the West has come apart, that the invisible but critical infrastructure of NATO has fractured. NATO, in their view, is only waiting to be hit by the full impact of this subterranean earthquake. These observers may be turning things on their head. The political disagreements reflect the risk environment as well as diverse national motivations but they do not reflect a disinterest in or even neglect of the status quo in world politics. To the contrary, the United States as well as the European allies are obviously aware of the fact that this status quo is under attack and they all want to preserve it. They differ in their view of how this can be done, which was the cause of the agonizing debate over Iraq, but they share the commitment to the liberal world that once was the Western bloc in the Cold War but which now has become wedded to the process of globalization. There are real differences within the old West and in this sense NATO remains an “elective partnership” that could still fail.5 But the forces favoring partnership are strong. Globalization and international terrorism highlight the stakes of current world politics—much can be gained,

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and much can be lost—and represent compelling calls for unity. Unity is not unity as we understood it during the Cold War because the world has changed (cf. table 1.2). Unity today means a basic and similar conception of order; of the risks endangering it; and of the principle that risks must be dealt with through flexible coalitions. This chapter sets out to demonstrate the validity of this argument. It begins with an overview of NATO’s engagement in the fight against terrorism in Afghanistan and Iraq. A distinction is drawn between the engagement of NATO as a whole and that of NATO nations to illustrate that NATO as a whole has been predominantly an auxiliary instrument in this fight. The second section examines the conditions that make “coalitions” the necessary option for NATO in terms of design and why this necessary option was met with reluctance. Change, it seems, is by nature difficult. The remainder of the chapter sets out to demonstrate that change is happening nevertheless and that it could prove durable. The third section explores NATO’s official blueprint for transforming itself out of the crisis and into a viable future— involving issues such as new response forces and a new command structure. The fourth and final section relates this blueprint to NATO’s geopolitical context and asks whether it is viable. The section argues that the West as a force in international politics is evolving rather than fragmenting, and it highlights strengths and weaknesses in the NATO blueprint. NATO’s Fight against Terrorism NATO’s participation in the two main campaigns linked to the attacks of September 11, 2001, Afghanistan and Iraq, evolved gradually to involve the use of the Alliance’s infrastructure for the surveillance and protection of the continental United States, the generation of forces for multinational formations in Afghanistan and Iraq, command support for NATO multinational peacekeeping forces, and operational burden-sharing allowing the United States to withdraw some troops from one theater (the Balkans) and transfer them to another. Still, NATO’s pervasive involvement should not distract observers from the important fact that NATO’s two vital organs, the North Atlantic Council (NAC) making decisions and the integrated command structure commanding operations, have played a negligible role. The NAC has not been responsible for going to war nor designing the strategy to win wars; Washington has. Likewise, the integrated command has not commanded forces of combat; the U.S. Central Command has. That these organs have become less vital testifies to the transformation of the Alliance, albeit not in the image of NATO officials, and also the extent to which NATO has ceased to function as envisaged during the Cold War. This section examines


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NATO’s engagement in the fight against terrorism to set up a discussion of this transformation at the turn of the century. The Afghan campaign began in earnest October 7, 2001, when U.S. bombers and cruise missiles struck at Taleban forces already under observation by special forces operating on the ground, and came to a first conclusion on December 22, 2001, when a new interim government was signed in under the leadership of Hamid Karzai and when an International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) was established to secure Kabul and thus the new government. The campaign was an American one, inspired by President Bush’s interpretation of the events of September 11 and their causes. Speaking to a joint session of Congress nine days after the attacks, President Bush outlined a global and offensive response. “Our response involves far more than instant retaliation and isolated strikes,” the president noted, continuing that “Every nation, in every region, now has a decision to make. Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists. From this day forward, any nation that continues to harbor or support terrorism will be regarded by the United States as a hostile regime.” On October 2, the president identified the Taleban Afghan regime as the principle target given their sponsorship of the Al-Qaeda network that had masterminded the attacks. War became virtually inevitable when the president demanded of the regime the hand-over of all Al-Qaeda leaders, the right of U.S. forces to inspect terrorist camps, and journalists’ and diplomats’ right to work in the country6—inevitable because the Taleban regime was as unlikely to forsake its political-religious order as the United States was to abandon its liberal foundations. The campaign was American but nevertheless widely supported. Britain was the only ally to participate in the launch of the attack given the ability of British submarines to use American Tomahawk cruise missiles and interoperate with U.S. forces, but many more countries offered assistance ranging from Special Forces to shared intelligence. President Bush took note of the level of support, as the campaign began:7 We are joined in this operation by our staunch friend, Great Britain. Other close friends, including Canada, Australia, Germany and France, have pledged forces as the operation unfolds. More than 40 countries in the Middle East, Africa, Europe and across Asia have granted air transit or landing rights. Many more have shared intelligence. In practical terms the United States acted as the lead-nation in a large coalition of willing countries, with the military operation being run from the U.S. Central Command’s headquarters at MacDill Air Force base in Tampa, Florida, to which about 40 out of 70 contributing countries sent military

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delegations. The impressive number of contributing countries signals political support and legitimacy on the one hand but also a visible need for leadership, which the U.S. forces were happy to provide—so much so that the United States appeared as self-sufficient and, in the view of some observers, disregardful of the contributions of its allies and partners. NATO’s formal engagement began with the Article 5 commitment of September 12 which on October 4 blossomed into a series of concrete measures adopted by NATO allies to assist the United States.8 ● ● ●

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Enhanced intelligence sharing, both bilaterally and within NATO; blanket overflight clearances for U.S. and other NATO aircrafts; assistance to allies and other states that might be subject to terrorist threats as a result of their cooperation with the United States; measures to provide increased security for U.S. facilities in Europe; backfilling certain allied assets in the NATO area that might be required elsewhere for the campaign against terrorism; access for the United States and other allies to ports and airfields on NATO territory; the deployment of standing NATO naval forces to the Eastern Mediterranean; and the deployment of NATO airborne early warning and control systems (AWACS) to U.S. airspace so that American AWACS could be used abroad.

The closest that NATO came to operational engagement was thus the deployment of AWACS to the United States and the positioning of a naval force in the Eastern Mediterranean. The deployment of AWACS to the United States began on October 9 and ended half a year later, May 16, 2002, and concretely involved the transfer of the NATO owned and operated multinational AWACS force to the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD). In fact, the freeing up of American resources required that the NATO AWACS forces be freed from their duties in the Balkans where they supported NATO peacekeeping forces, and this became possible when France agreed to backfill “certain allied assets in the NATO area,” according to NATO jargon.9 The AWACS operation, Operation Eagle Assist, ended up involving the deployment of 830 crew members from 13 NATO nations for almost 4,300 hours in more than 360 operational sorties.10 The activation of a naval component was relatively easy because NATO could reassign naval forces participating in an exercise—Destined Glory—off the Spanish coast and commit them to Operation Active Endeavor from October 26 as part of NATO’s engagement in the fight against terrorism. The naval forces—nine ships—belonged to NATO’s Immediate Reaction


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Forces (IRF) that NATO maintained for rapid responses to out-of-area crises, and within a short period of time, by early December 2001, NATO decided to let its two principal naval IRF—a standing naval force in the Mediterranean and the Atlantic, respectively STANAVFORMED and STANAVFORLANT—take charge of Operation Active Endeavor on a three-month rotational basis.11 Unlike the AWACS operation, the naval operation has continued into 2005 and has seen its mission extended to include surveillance and patrols in the Strait of Gibraltar, an extension that took place in February 2003, thus well beyond the Afghan war but in the warm-up to the Iraq war. Operation Active Endeavor involves mainly surveillance and monitoring—more than 1,700 merchant vessels were contacted in the first two months of operations—as well as escort operations—during 2003 about 350 vessels were escorted through the Strait of Gibraltar. Boots on the ground are often considered the hallmark of military engagements. NATO currently has boots on the ground but it occurred only gradually and as part of a process in which it may be difficult to distinguish NATO’s engagement from national engagements enabled by NATO. Boots on the ground in Afghanistan come through the ISAF that was created as part of the Bonn agreement to compose an interim government—entered December 5, 2001—and authorized by a subsequent United Nations (UN) Security Council resolution.12 NATO’s engagement consists of several factors, although ISAF is not a NATO operation as such.13 NATO first of all runs part of the ISAF command: at the level of the theater command NATO provides a “composite headquarters”—which is the core of the theater command—and then runs the operational and strategic levels of command. In theory, if not always in practice, the chain of responsibility is as follows. The theater command is run by a NATO nation and focuses on the day-today business of the ISAF force. The operational command takes care of host nation support, communications, and logistics in order to ensure that all the theater command has to do is focus on the security situation on the ground. The operational command for ISAF is permanently located with NATO’s regional headquarters in Northern Europe, in Brunssum (RHQ AFNORTH), which is also a joint force headquarters: the theater headquarters is single force—land—with an air force component attached to it. The strategic command for ISAF is also permanent and is located at NATO’s sole remaining strategic headquarters (Allied Command Operations, ACO) in Mons, Belgium, and its task is to deal with the political–military interface and enable operational and ultimately theater command, while also being responsible for overall command and control. Second, NATO’s supreme commander, the head of ACO, is formally responsible for designating the rotating commander at the theater level,

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which implies that the theater commander is picked from within the NATO family of nations. Finally, ACO is also responsible for coordination with nonNATO nations that participate in ISAF, which happens via a special coordination cell in Mons. In August 2003, ISAF was made up of 32 nations; in early 2004 of 29. NATO’s ISAF engagement evolved gradually to reach this level, however, and it was only in August 2003 that ISAF in practice became a NATO operation in so far as NATO took command of all three levels of the military operation. This was then NATO’s first out-of-area operation going beyond the Euro-Atlantic confinements specified in the Strategic Concept of April 1999. In Afghanistan, prior to August 2003, NATO had assisted contributing nations with the generation of forces, the sharing of intelligence and information, as well as with communications. This back-up role for NATO came about in October 2002 in response to a German-Dutch request for allied assistance at a time when these two nations were about to take command of ISAF. Before October 2002, NATO’s modest role was to have facilitated the interoperationability that nations relied on to initiate ISAF in the first place, beginning in early 2002. What has happened, then, is that ISAF has moved from a command arrangement by rotating lead-nations to one by a permanent lead-organization, NATO, and it happened as NATO first became involved as back-up for the rotating lead-nations (October 2002) and then replaced these (August 2003). It is not as if NATO nations disappear in the common command structure because they will continue to rotate the burden of theater command among them: in contrast to earlier, however, they now rely on the permanent NATO chain of command, including a “composite headquarters” in Kabul. Rotation in this context has two dimensions: the nucleus of the composite headquarters will be drawn from various commands subordinate to Brunssum operational command; and individual allies will continue to rotate as lead-nations on the ground. The ISAF history of command is therefore: ● ● ●

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ISAF I: December 2001–June 2002, lead-nation ⫽ Great Britain ISAF II: June 2002–January 2003, lead-nation ⫽ Turkey ISAF III: February 2003–August 2003, lead-nations ⫽ Germany and the Netherlands ISAF IV: August 2003: permanent lead by NATO but with — Composite headquarter nucleus from Heidelberg — Lead-nation by Germany (August 2003–February 2004), Canada (February–August 2004), the multinational Eurocorps (August 2004–February 2005), and Turkey (February 2005–).


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The reason for this change of guard is, in the words of NATO itself, the need for stability and leadership continuity as well as the need to move beyond “the growing problem of the continual search every six months for new nations to lead this mission” and to relieve national headquarters of the challenge of having “to get a fresh grip on a complex situation every six months.”14 For instance, prior to August 2003 the lead-nation had to organize the ISAF operation headquarters and international coordination center, its geographical relocation every six months, the scheduling and conducting of force-generation and force-balancing conferences, and naturally also the deployment of a headquarters to Kabul.15 Put in different terms, NATO was running out of obvious candidates for the job—meaning big countries capable of and willing to do it—and the establishment of a permanent NATO infrastructure facilitated the choice of other candidates, such as Canada which took over the theater command in February 2004. Although Canada boosted its presence on the ground for the occasion there is little doubt that Canada could not have assumed this role without the collective backing of the Alliance. Moreover, it is revealing that NATO became involved in October 2002 at the request of Germany and the Netherlands—two allies with very limited experience in commanding outof-area operations. By the fall of 2003, Canada and Germany provided more than half of the ISAF forces (approximately 3,400 of 5,500; with the United States in comparison providing 110). NATO’s boots on the Afghan ground expanded geographically during the fall of 2003 in an effort to bring stability not only to the capital of Kabul but also to other regions of the country. ISAF being a UN-mandated operation, the decision behind this geographical expansion was made in the UN Security Council in early October 2003.16 The logic was one of assisting the interim president, Hamin Karzai, in his efforts to take control of the country and in particular to enable his disarmament program (so-called Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration (DDR) program) launched also in October 2003 with the aim of disarming the country’s many militias. The DDR program was deemed critical to the success of the presidential elections in the fall of 2004 and also legislative elections scheduled––following several delays––for September 2005, all of which followed the adoption of a constitution by a 500-member constitutional council (loya jirga) in January 2004. Stability efforts have been channeled through Provisional Reconstruction Teams (PRT)—small teams of civilian and military personnel working to provide aid and reconstruction in particular regions of Afghanistan. Coalition forces (thus largely American run operations) have sponsored such PRT mainly in southern and eastern Afghanistan, and NATO’s engagement with the PRT came subsequent to that of the coalition forces and initially sought to be

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geographically complementary by focusing on northern and western Afghanistan. NATO’s first PRT command, with Germany acting as a leadnation, began in January 2004 in the northern town of Kunduz in accordance with NATO’s decision to gradually expand the Afghan engagement, announced by the NAC in December 2003:17 We decided on the progressive expansion of ISAF beyond Kabul in accordance with UN Security Council resolutions, including through temporary deployments for specific tasks and limited in size and duration, provided all military conditions, and requirements for the Kabul mission, are met. We will continue to address the scope of such specific tasks. We welcome the German deployment of a pilot Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT), under ISAF, in Kunduz. Expecting that the establishment of additional PRTs will follow, we consider that ISAF could move to assume military command of such PRTs where consistent with military requirements and capabilities. In Istanbul, in June 2004, NATO followed up on this decision with the declaration that “Contributing to peace and stability in Afghanistan is NATO’s key priority.”18 At this point in time the United States was running the majority of PRT—about twelve—but NATO promised to establish five such PRT. By February 2005, with the Afghan parliamentary elections on the horizon, NATO expanded its commitment to eight PRT, and also a Forward Support Base, and NATO heads of state agreed in principle to expanding NATO’s PRT activities to all of Afghanistan and thus to enhance cooperation between the allied reconstruction effort and the military operations— Operation Enduring Freedom—of the coalition forces still operating mainly in southern Afghanistan.19 Summing up in relation to Afghanistan, NATO took part in a number of operations linked to the highly symbolic Article 5 declaration of September 12, 2001, and which drew regular applause within NATO for being “decisive” contributions to the fight against terrorism but which in substance and fact amounted to a secondary role. The case of ISAF is illustrative. ISAF was a creature of postwar stabilization and NATO became involved only in this postwar phase once major nations felt that security affairs could safely be handed to the amorphous setting of Alliance diplomacy. Moreover, and this point is further examined in the subsequent discussion, NATO’s responsibility in leading the PRT comes after a prolonged debate between on the one hand the United States and on the other a significant number of allies in respect to the need for stabilizing Afghanistan beyond the capital of Kabul: U.S. policy was originally to deny ISAF this role, relying instead on coalition


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forces under U.S. command whose primary task is to combat remaining Taleban and Al-Qaeda forces. NATO, in short, was granted a role only where the United States does not fight. The pattern recurs in the fall of 2001 when two operations—Operation Eagle Assist and Active Endeavor—granted the Europeans a role removed from the fighting in Afghanistan.20 NATO’s—and thus ISAF’s—greater involvement in all of Afghanistan has come about, it should be noted, but only in the wake of the Afghan presidential elections and greater political stability. It remains to be seen how well NATO and the coalition forces can coordinate their efforts if the situation on the ground requires heavy military engagements. The next phase in the fight against terrorism took place in Mesopotamia, beginning in March 2003 when U.S.-led coalition forces invaded Iraq, ousted Saddam Hussein and the Baath ruling party, and organized an interim governing authority under coalition supervision with a view to establishing a democratic Iraq. NATO was a victim of the international diplomatic divisions that prevented the regular mechanisms of international order, the UN foremost among them, from playing their usual roles. The UN Security Council did adopt Resolution 1441 on November 8, 2002, under the UN Charter’s chapter VII, which provides for measures, including military action, to restore peace and stability, and it warned Iraq of “serious consequences” if it did not cooperate fully with the inspection regime that was resumed in December 2002.21 Most nations felt that another resolution was needed to legitimize armed intervention but when this resolution proved impossible to obtain following months of hectic diplomatic activity U.S.-led forces invaded Iraq on March 19. Deadlock marked NATO as well. NATO’s most significant contribution to the build-up to the war came on February 19, 2003, when the Alliance decided to dispatch AWACS, Patriot anti-missile batteries, as well as chemical and biological response units to Turkey, the only NATO ally to border Iraq, as part of an operation entitled Display Deterrence. The dispatched AWACS were those of NATO while the Patriot units were predominantly Dutch and American but it was all part of a NATO operation coming under the Washington Treaty’s Article 4 commitment to “consult” whenever the “territorial integrity, political independence or security” of an ally is threatened, and it involved “over 1,000 technically advanced and highly capable forces.”22 Display Deterrence ran while the war in Iraq took place and was terminated only in late April—the operation was phased out during April 16–30—but still it was clear that NATO was a marginal sideshow to the coalition forces operating south of Turkey’s border. As in Afghanistan, NATO reentered the arena of operations only when a NATO ally, Poland, responded to the U.S. call for assistance in the phase of postwar stabilization and asked NATO for

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help in doing so. NATO, once again, functioned as a support for the willingbut-not-so-able. Poland’s task was to take charge of a security sector between Baghdad and Basra, and for this purpose Poland deployed 2,500 soldiers to command a multinational division including, among others, Spain. Poland, a new NATO ally, obviously sought to gain allied support while also maintaining the impression that the new ally was capable. Polish Defense Minister Szmajdzinski thus noted in May 2003 that “NATO help could involve operational plans, intelligence and setting up communications systems” but rejected reports that Poland already at this early stage was considering the gradual ceding of control to NATO due to a lack of experience and resources.23 Still, NATO’s command of the multinational division was on the agenda by early 2004 because Poland was looking for ways to minimize the toll on its troops and explicitly suggested that NATO could step in and redo the experience of taking over from ISAF. The main point in Iraq is that NATO managed to bounce back after severe set-backs in early 2003. An agreement to support Poland was reached on May 21, 2003, on the request of Poland, and involved the decision to let NATO’s military authorities liaise with Polish forces in order to establish planning needs. The NAC stated in early June 2003 that “NATO has agreed to Poland’s request for support to the role it is taking on this summer in the stabilisation of Iraq,”24 and a series of meetings then culminated in a force review conference held on June 30, 2003, during which NATO military authorities drew up plans for “force generation, communications, logistics, and movements” that could be of help to the Polish forces.25 It was to be another year before the first NATO boots hit the Iraqi ground. Following a year’s intense negotiation among the allies, the June 2004 Istanbul summit led to the compromise agreement that NATO should set up a so-called Training Implementation Mission that will help Iraqi authorities establish its Ministry of Defense, military headquarters, and a military academy.26 The Training Implementation Mission subsequently became the Training Mission and is located at the same military base, Al Rustamiyah, in southeastern Baghdad, as the military academy. In February 2005, NATO’s declared level of ambition was to establish around 150 trainers in Baghdad while also training Iraqi security personnel in other Gulf countries as well as in NATO institutions around Europe.27 This mission caused anguish in NATO during the fall of 2004 because some allies declined to invest in it and—in contradiction of NATO procedures—refused to deploy their nationals even if part of a collective NATO asset identified for deployment. The successful Iraqi elections of January 30, 2005, of an intermediary national assembly responsible for drawing up a new constitution and also a range of provincial assemblies, helped ease tensions, however, and pave the


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way for NATO’s February 22, 2005 declaration that “we are united in our commitment to support” Iraq and, moreover, “all 26 Allies are contributing to the NATO mission to assist in training Iraqi security forces.”28 This, then, is the basic outline of NATO’s engagement in the fight against terrorism: a series of indirect measures to facilitate U.S. operations in Afghanistan; an increasingly active role in stabilizing the new Afghanistan; assistance to Turkey during the height of the war in Iraq; and a similar but less developed role in stabilizing the new Iraq. Naturally, any account of NATO’s importance would have to take into account the value of years’ of training and political dialogue—enabling soldiers as well as decision-makers to interact— but it is hardly a moot point that these less concrete signs of cooperation can and will fade if the political willingness to use NATO is absent, or if NATO is calibrated for the wrong type of security environment. It is to this discussion of security environment and political motivation we turn next. The Necessary but Reluctant Coalition Two factors conspire to make “coalitions” (figure 1.2) the only option available for NATO in this new age of international terrorism: first, the elusive nature of terrorism itself; second, the wish of the United States and its allies to maintain flexible security policy options. U.S. policy may be an appropriate starting point for an examination of this assertation and its consequences for NATO. U.S. President George W. Bush in September 2001 gained a political cause that his presidency is often said to have been lacking during the first half of 2001 (he took office in January 2001). It is not that he did not hold political convictions in foreign as well as domestic policy areas but these convictions post–September 11 locked in on a single big issue where they previously tended to be blurred, at least in the foreign policy arena. Bush’s worldview can be said to be hegemonist and conservative, emphasizing that international stability flows from the will and power of major states to shoulder the responsibility for managing international problems. The implications of this view were not always clear, however: on the one hand, the worldview implied alignment with a type of Nixon–Kissinger policy of maintaining order by committing other powers to it; on the other it was imbued with self-confidence to such an extent that the United States began rewriting rules of the game single-handedly— for instance in relation to the Kyoto protocol on global warming, the International Criminal Court, a protocol to the Biological Weapons’ Convention, and the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty.29 The latter dimension nourished speculations that Bush played second fiddle in U.S. foreign policy and that the people really in charge were “neoconservatives” who believed in

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the superiority of both U.S. might and vision and whose founding moments had come in the early 1970s when they derailed Henry Kissinger’s attempt to stabilize relations with the Soviet Union.30 For these people, then as now, diplomatic agreement was secondary to the pursuit of a just order. President Bush did play a major role in shaping U.S. policy in response to terrorism and although he may not belong to the neoconservative school, he held faith in the U.S. power to respond strongly to the attacks and shoulder the costs of initiating international change. In one of his first major speeches summarizing his view of the terrorist attacks and their political implications, President W. Bush sounded distinct and dramatic themes that all were attached to the need for presidential leadership. One concerned the survival of the United States and the American way of life: “Our lives, our way of life, and our every hope for the world depend on a single commitment: The authors of mass murder must be defeated, and never allowed to gain or use the weapons of mass destruction.” Another concerned the opportunity to recast relations among past rivals, including Russia, India, and Pakistan: “We are also beginning to see the possibilities of a world beyond the war on terror. We have a chance, if we take it, to write a hopeful chapter in human history. All at once, a new threat to civilization is erasing old lines of rivalry and resentment between nations.”31 The president’s decision to become forcefully engaged in the making of U.S. foreign policy and to engage the United States in the fight against terrorism was happenstance, in so far as it was made in the wake of the unforeseen September attacks, but it was an engagement that lasted due to the imprint left on the president’s outlook. Thus, in a televised interview in February 2004, President Bush stated, “I’m a war president. I make decisions here in the Oval Office in foreign policy matters with war on my mind.”32 Still, even a very determined president cannot change the elusive nature of terrorism—a “risk” in the vocabulary of this analysis—and the related impact on U.S. policy is apparent: the United States has struggled to maintain and justify its concrete focus in the campaign against terrorism,33 and allies and friends have been willing and able to assert that another course of action might be justified. In short, political determination has not changed the objective need for flexible coalitions (cf. table 1.2). Some illustrations from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, and Iran follow. The discussion then turns to the U.S. designs for Iraq, NATO’s willingness to “transform” itself, and it closes with an overview of how badly NATO was damaged by the events related to the war of 2003. The Elusive Enemy. The initial campaign against the Al-Qaeda network gained a clear focus due to the integration of this network into the Afghan


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Taleban regime and thus the ability of U.S. forces to target a state’s political regime and military forces as a direct response to the September attacks and as a measure of self-defense. However, with the fall of the Afghan capital of Kabul on November 13 and then the fall of the Taleban spiritual center of Kandahar on December 7, the campaign reverted to a new and more difficult phase of tracking down irregular forces hiding either among the local population—as fish in the sea—or in remote regions where armed offensives by allied forces are difficult both to execute and to bring to a successful conclusion. The December 2001 offensive against Al-Qaeda fighters in the mountain complex of Tora Bora is generally believed to have been unsuccessful because the United States relied too heavily on local, proxy forces. The lack of enthusiasm among these forces allowed “hundreds of Al Qaeda fighters, possibly including Osama bin Laden” to get away.34 Months later, in March 2002, U.S. and allied special forces—from Australia, Canada, Germany, Denmark, France, and Norway—engaged more heavily in another attempt to defeat terrorist forces in the Shah-I-Kot valley 50 km north of the Pakistani border, but the VIP targets—Al-Qaeda and Taleban leaders—were neither caught nor found dead. The focus therefore moved to northern Pakistan where a significant number of VIPs and regular forces were thought to have found refuge within the Pashtun community.35 The Pashtun connection also brought Pakistan center stage because of its historical affiliations with this community, its sponsorship of the Talebans, and its, perhaps, limited willingness to call the community to order. The United States decided to invest in a partnership with General Musharraf, the leader of Pakistan, and elevated Pakistan to the significant status as “major non-NATO ally” in March 2004.36 But it was not altogether clear that Pakistan was such a trustworthy ally: the U.S. had sanctioned the country for conducting nuclear tests in May 1998, criticized General Musharraf for staging a coup d’état in October 1999, worried about the close connections between the Pakistani intelligence service and extreme Islamite groups, and openly condemned the business of nuclear weapons export that came to light in early 2004.37 Still, the United States decided to promote a partnership for change with Pakistan where the strategy in Afghanistan had been one of confrontation. A diffuse environment thus calls for flexible strategies. Another case of policy flexibility is apparent in the Middle East where the United States has fought a war in Iraq but is letting its European allies use diplomatic means to constrain Iran. In Iraq, the Bush administration along with the Blair government generally justified the war of March–April 2003 on the grounds that Saddam Hussein’s regime maintained and sought to expand its weapons of mass destruction (WMD) program and that contacts to terrorist networks might be used by the regime to “launch” WMD in

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unconventional ways.38 Neither the weapons nor the links to Al-Qaeda have turned up, and it is clear that a series of political and organizational failures accompanied the preparation for war. Still, the point here is that the United States espoused a new security doctrine located at the crossroads of radicalism and technology—“We cannot let our enemies strike first”39—and acted on it. This doctrine has become a source of flexible alignment in two distinct ways: concrete applications will be controversial and impede “unity” at the level of international politics; moreover, the costs of war can be so great that U.S. policy-makers will seek to deal with cases flexibly. The case for considering Iran an opponent of the current international order is fairly easy to make. After all, Iran’s fundamentalist revolution of 1979 continues to provide the country’s leadership with ideological motivation for pursuing radical policies in opposition to the Western world order; Iran has a history of sponsoring irregular forces—considered terrorist by some—such as the Hezbollah group operating in Lebanon in opposition to Israel; and Iran verifiably seeks to develop a missile capability—Iran’s portfolio of missiles currently includes missiles with a range of approximately 800 miles40—as well as at least the capacity to build nuclear weapons—the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) has reached the conclusion that Iran has pursued both “uranium enrichment related and reprocessing activities” and a “policy of concealment,” although it did not conclude that Iran did have a nuclear weapons program.41 Iran has subsequently signed a protocol to the Non-Proliferation Treaty that allows for “intrusive inspections”42 but has then objected to these, raising the likelihood that the diplomatic track has been exhausted and that Iran may now be set on the development of a nuclear weapons capability. Still, Iran may not sponsor terrorist groups such as Al-Qaeda. Iran actively opposed the Taleban regime in Afghanistan prior to its overthrow, and it has handed over Al-Qaeda refugees from Afghanistan to Saudi Arabia and possibly also other countries, although Iran’s policy toward Al-Qaeda refugees is disputed by the United States.43 In relation to Iran’s nuclear ambitions, it is debatable to what extent they are politically containable. On the one hand, its nuclear ambitions could be a source of internal dispute in Teheran, in which case diplomatic engagement—mostly handled by France, Britain, and Germany—might be the appropriate tool for encouraging domestic reformers and sidetracking their opponents.44 On the other hand, Iran’s ambiguous record on the issue gives cause for pessimism. The best option for coping with Iran may be a broadly based international coalition— involving Europe, the United States, Russia, and China—where each party extends distinct offers to Iran—Europeans offering economic cooperation; the Americans, security talks; the Russians, nuclear fuel supply and so on.45 The raison d’être of this coalition would be Iran’s ambiguous policies


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(i.e., it has not clearly transgressed the red lines of the U.S. security doctrine, WMD, and terrorism) and the need for flexible engagements. U.S. Policy. The necessary coalition turned out to be a reluctant coalition in the case of Iraq, we know, and the question of distributing guilt is a political one. Some would pinpoint Germany and France as the culprits because they resisted U.S. policy toward Iraq in 2002–2003; others would pinpoint the United States because it drove a political campaign that was not only ill-prepared but also insensitive to the needs and interests of its allies. The matter of fact is that all NATO allies were reluctant to engage in coalitionmaking. To be sure, each ally was happy to promote coalitions that would support its political priorities but the heavy diplomatic work of bending policies to arrive at broad compromises was generally not undertaken. The policy design elaborated in Washington DC was, of course, critical to Alliance diplomacy. U.S. policy changes with the context, naturally, but it seems always to include two components. One is the idea that it is the international order itself which is at stake; another is the belief that the United States can go it alone if need be. The preoccupation with the international order is apparent in the Bush administration’s emphasis on a global fight involving good and evil, and most actors in the system fall on the side of good (although they were reminded that they need to make this clear). But the issue of “political inclusion” did not apply to the concrete manifestations of security cooperation (see table 1.2): collective security mechanisms were discarded in favor of the “coalition of the willing” principle so eloquently enunciated by Rumsfeld (see above). When planning the Afghan campaign in September 2001, President Bush thus told his security advisers that “At some point we may be the only ones left. That’s okay with me. We are America.”46 A slightly different version was presented to the public in the president’s first radio address following the attacks, but the emphasis on the uniqueness of America was the same: “Great tragedy has come to us, and we are meeting it with the best that is in our country, with courage and concern for others. Because this is America. This is who we are.This is what our enemies hate and have attacked. And this is why we will prevail.”47 A go-it-alone approach was legitimate not only from this political perspective but also from the perspective of international common law, according to which states have the right to self-defense.48 Although a Security Council resolution was not needed to enable American self-defense, such a resolution was offered on September 12 when the Council “unequivocally” condemned the attacks and expressed “its readiness to take all necessary steps to respond to the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001.”49 There can be little doubt that the U.S. response to terrorism, the desire to take the lead and let others join if they were capable and willing, resulted

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from a particular outlook in the Bush administration. The critical question from NATO’s perspective, and from the perspective of this analysis, is whether the desire for national flexibility ran so deep that international agreements were bound to clash with the American national interest. Put differently, was the Bush administration so focused on America’s needs that there was no room for “international morality”—a shared sense of purpose linked to the West and thus the underlying infrastructure of NATO?50 The role of the UN is important to consider in this context because while the United States decided to by-pass the organization in the end, it also did make the effort to gain UN approval. This happened as President Bush took the American case against Iraq to the UN General Assembly where he spoke on September 12, 2002. Some observers note that the president’s speech was “received with great relief by many countries. The United States had decided to work through the United Nations rather than to act alone.”51 Still, Bush’s plea for collective action should not be confused with established conceptions of collective security because Bush outlined a new type of multilateral engagement designed to a new structure of power. The structure of power refers to the general preference of the Bush camp to entrust questions of order to great powers, and it just so happened that there was only one really great power in the international arena, the United States. The conservatism of “realist” power balances was thus turned into an activist “neoconservative” agenda for American-led change. President Bush challenged the UN to act— or declare itself irrelevant—on the alleged grounds that Iraq represented a direct menace and that the era of sanctions must come to an end. Iraq had been contained for more than a decade, a policy defended by most “realists” in the Washington foreign policy environment, but Bush had made clear that the battle against terrorism could not be limited to the fight against Al-Qaeda and that the containment of Iraq fuelled anti-American sentiment in the Middle East.52 The question of containing or confronting Iraq had marked foreign policy debates since the end of the 1991 war. Now, beginning likely in the immediate aftermath of September 11, 2001, Bush opted for confrontation53 and used the UN track, from September 2002 and on, as a means to test the proponents of the old multilateral regime of containment. Bush essentially offered a new multilateral platform, which focused on confrontation with Iraq and U.S. leadership. The burden of selling it passed mainly to Secretary of State Powell who was a known supporter of containment over confrontation. Powell publicly acknowledged that the administration had serious internal divides on the issue,54 and the appeal to the UN therefore also helped Bush buy time domestically and use the UN case to sort out the internal threads. On the one hand, the president had met the challenge defined by


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one observer, that to convince the world he would have to convince Powell first;55 on the other he had defined multilateralism “American style” as consisting of “getting allies on board” rather than the supposedly European habit of thinking of UN Security Council agreement as an end in itself rather than a means. In the words of an advocate of Bush’s security policy, “Americans prefer to act with the sanction and support of other countries if they can. But they’re strong enough to act alone if they must.”56 This was a policy of coalitions whose purpose flowed from power—American power—and whose size varied with tactical diplomacy but without interfering with the purpose. Powell failed to rally the UN, as we know, and the United States went to war in Iraq without explicit UN authorization, provoking a great debate within the United States and among allies on the unilateralist—or simply “unbound”57—nature of U.S. foreign policy. Still, it was a matter of fact that Bush did make an appeal to the UN, challenging other nations to support the United States. For NATO this represented a glimmer of hope because if multilateralism is put forth in one version or the other, it implies that there is room for negotiation based on a common understanding of power’s purpose. Maybe the West still made sense, and maybe NATO as its manifestation could capitalize on it, after all. NATO’s Commitment to Transformation. The NATO heads of state and government met for a summit in Prague, November 21, 2002, which naturally had been scheduled far in advance. The summit was initially thought of as an enlargement summit because the question of whom to include as new members had aroused much suspense. However, in the long run-up to the Prague summit, through 2002, the enlargement issue lost significance as it became obvious to most observers that the United States would favor a large enlargement with seven countries—Bulgaria and Romania, Slovenia and Slovakia, and the three Baltic states—and that NATO as a whole would back this policy.58 Instead Prague became known as the “transformation” summit, providing an occasion for NATO members to do away with the very broad and multifaceted organization that had developed through the 1990s, and which had come to dominate the Strategic Concept from April 1999, and instead focus the organization on the combat against new asymmetrical threats, terrorism notable among them. At Prague, NATO was about to broaden its geographical scope but more importantly, it was about to transform itself from a blunt to a sharp military instrument. The specific items on the menu for change is examined in the discussion below; here we simply focus on the fact that NATO managed to muster the political will to endorse the transformation agenda. The first paragraph of the Prague Declaration contains the following: “Bound by our common vision

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embodied in the Washington Treaty, we commit ourselves to transforming NATO with new members, new capabilities and new relationships with our partners.” The three aspects of transformation were more specifically:59 1. New members: this consisted of inviting the seven aforementioned countries to join the Alliance. They were all participants in the Membership Action Plan (MAP) for potential candidates that NATO had established in 1999 as part of its “open door policy” although, naturally, decisions to enlarge would be made by consensus and on a case-by-case basis. 2. New capabilities: this was the key to transformation, and the transformation agenda consisted of seven items (which will be enumerated here and assessed further below): ● ● ●

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A rapid and advanced NATO Response Force (NRF); A streamlined command structure; A new force planning mechanism, the Prague Capabilities Commitment (PCC); A military concept for defense against terrorism; Nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons initiatives; Strengthened capabilities against cyber attacks; Missile defense.

3. New partners: this was an invitation to a range of countries—from Albania, Macedonia, and Croatia to the Ukraine and Central Asian states—to cooperate closely with NATO. Of critical importance was the relationship to Russia, which in May 2002 was upgraded with the creation of a NATO-Russia Council that replaced the Permanent Joint Council (PJC) of 1997 and in which Russia would be seated among NATO nations (“NATO at 20”), rather than at the other side of the table (“19 plus 1”), and in which NATO nations would deliberate with Russia rather than presenting it with an already agreed-to NATO position. The new Council did not have competences to examine territorial defense issues and issues related to NATO’s military structure but its competences were broad and more substantial than those of the PJC.60 In relation to its full range of partners, NATO decided to strengthen the EAPC, adopting recommendations following a “comprehensive review” presented at Prague. The renewed EAPC now includes, in addition to the instruments enumerated in chapter 3, Partnership Action Plans (PAP), the first two of which focus on terrorism (PAP-T) and defense institution building (PAP-DIB). These issues, as well as the effort to emphasize liaisons and individual partnership programs, reflect the changing geographical focus of NATO’s partnership program: away from Eastern Europe (now NATO members) and toward the diverse nations of the Caucuses and Central Asia.61


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The Prague summit was meant to display political unity and the United States did manage to obtain a substantial endorsement of its tranformation policy—because no one could be in doubt that the agenda was an American one and that European allies militarily were challenged to catch up in terms of budgets, organizational reform, and political focus. However, the Prague summit did not efface an underlying concern about whether the United States really wanted to invest in the alliance—whether it believed it was worthwhile to invest in European reforms—and whether the endorsement of it was serious or symbolic. Some in Europe feared that Washington was marginalizing NATO politically and that the reforms introduced in fact would make it easier for the United States to pick-and-choose military assistance in Europe, again undermining the cohesion of NATO; others believed that the transformation agenda represented Europe’s only chance of securing Washington’s serious interest in the Alliance because in the absence of transformation, Washington would consider NATO irrelevant.62 Prague was therefore above all a promise of unity and it was left to the future to show whether the will to unite was strong enough to anchor coalitions in a common political and organizational framework in which national decisions are guided by common visions and operational implementation take place via renewed (transformed) collective mechanisms for action. In other words, the promise of Prague was not so much that NATO would act in unison but that coalitions would be tied into a common framework. The Prague promise could be seen optimistically to involve a change of track in U.S. policy: that the United States henceforth would act as a “framework nation” rather than as a “lead-nation”—providing the muscle in terms of troops and command infrastructures to implement collectively arrived at policies and to substantiate important but insufficient collective capabilities (such as command structures or relief agencies). However, the United States has preferred the lead-nation model, making decisions in Washington63 and using a U.S. military infrastructure that willing allies could plug into—and sometimes they could not plug into it even when they tried to.64 This conception of cooperation tended to clash with the conception espoused by some allies, France and Germany notable among them. These countries defined flexibility in tactical terms, thus granting that the execution of policy could take place in coalitions, but insisted on unity at the strategic level where decisions were made. Thus, the United States should work through the UN Security Council and the NAC before its unrivaled military might could be legitimately unleashed. It was, as Robert Kagan noted, a clash of multilateral conceptions, and it harmed NATO in several ways. The Damage of the Iraq War. The phase during which the NATO allies knew that they differed but probably did not realize the depth of disagreement

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began in the wake of the NATO Prague summit and continued for about four months, until Britain and the United States abandoned the search for a new UN resolution on Iraq and began the invasion. The contrast between the beginning and the end of the story is stark. In September 2002, French president Chirac came out in support of a UN approach to the issue days before President Bush spoke to the General Assembly, and Chirac was instrumental in securing unanimous approval by the Security Council for the resolution (1441) that would support the policy of Bush.65 In February–March 2003, four of the Council members, the United States and Britain (both permanent members) with Spain and Bulgaria, were opposed by five, France, Russia, and China (all permanent) along with Germany and Syria, and although each camp could veto the other, a diplomatic fight opened to gain a moral victory in terms of obtaining a numerical majority within the Council. Six undecided members, Pakistan, Cameroon, Angola, Guinea, Chile, and Mexico were therefore subjected to “unbearable pressure” that lasted for weeks. The drama ended as the United States and Britain abandoned their hope of obtaining a second resolution authorizing war.66 The process leading to the acknowledged UN split damaged Western diplomatic relations in several ways, and the reader will be familiar with the most significant of these. France and Germany cultivated a particular vision of Europe—notably in the context of the fortieth anniversary of the FrancoGerman Elysée Treaty, in January 2003—that contained the ambition to see the EU “impose itself as an international actor.”67 The vision of an Atlanticist Europe was then brought forth by eight NATO members (Britain, Spain, Italy, Portugal, Hungary, the Czech Republic, Poland, and Denmark)—in an open letter published in the Wall Street Journal, January 30—and also ten Eastern European countries (Albania, Bulgaria, Croatia, Estonia, Macedonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Romania, Slovakia, and Slovenia). The United States had an interest in furthering the Atlanticist vision but did not do so very elegantly: U.S. Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld divided Europe into two, an “old”—and irrelevant—Europe and a “new” Europe supporting U.S. policy, and even went as far as labeling French-German policy a “disgrace” and likening Germany to Libya and Cuba.68 The fall-out from a NATO perspective was distinctively negative and visible in three respects, the first of which concerns the American and Turkish requests to NATO for indirect military assistance including AWACS radar planes and Patriot missile defenses. The United States formally made this request on January 15, 2003, having raised the issue informally the previous December, and Turkey followed suit in February by invoking the right of allies to call for consultations when they feel their security threatened, according to NATO’s Article 4. Germany, France, and Belgium blocked the political


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guidance that would have allowed NATO military authorities to plan for the assistance, however, citing the danger of preempting UN discussions on Iraq. NATO was in a bind: the questioning of three members of the worth of Article 4 naturally raised questions about the value of Article 5, the commitment to mutual defense, while the request for assistance in the first place— placed by the United States—de facto would involve NATO in a conflict that touched on the most sensitive issues in NATO’s strategic raison d’être, whether to fight preventive wars and whether to operate outside the EuroAtlantic region. A technical solution was found to let NATO move on with the planning of indirect military assistance, but the stand-off had lasted long enough to make clear that although the United States might not want to use NATO in particular campaigns, which was bad enough for NATO as an operational alliance, a graver danger existed in the shape of political fragmentation.69 A second respect in which we see the negative fall-out for NATO concerns Afghanistan and the gradual implication of NATO in the stabilization effort. The United States was initially opposed to the German wish for drawing NATO into the operational planning of the peacekeeping effort but then later conceded that NATO would be the proper mechanism for providing continuity to this mission (see previous section for an overview).70 More fundamental was a disagreement over NATO’s involvement in peacekeeping efforts outside of the capital of Kabul. The United States now supports this involvement—via PRT—but it long hesitated, through 2002 and 2003. The United States willingly supported the ISAF Kabul operation—providing logistical support and acting as a back-up force—but the general U.S. policy (of confining international peacekeeping to Kabul) was justified on several grounds: to let U.S. forces focus on fighting wars and in particular get local assistance in the hunt for Al-Qaeda and Taleban leaders; to preserve operational flexibility with minimal outside interference; and finally also to create structures of governance with sustainable local roots that would not be dependent on outside support.71 These assumptions could be contested depending on one’s assessment of the need to continue combat operations in Afghanistan and to rely on, instead of confronting, Afghanistan’s local governments—often headed by warlords and financed by heroin production. Assessments did vary among the allies in late 2003 and early 2004 when NATO decided to expand its presence in Afghanistan through the PRT: the United States, heading PRT in the troubled Pashtun region in southeastern Afghanistan, preferred to integrate U.S. infantry detachments in the PRT and also to sway local warlords to obtain assistance in the hunt for Taleban and Al-Qaeda leaders; Germany and other European allies, operating in the northwestern regions, preferred to put the emphasis on the involvement of

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civilian reconstruction experts. In consequence, the Alliance failed to come up with a “one-size-fits-all” PRT concept that tied in with a coherent strategy for the whole of Afghanistan, and this, along with concerns over resources, probably accounts for NATO’s slow pace in fulfilling its PRT promises, in spite of the gradual and explicit promise to expand first in northern, then subsequently in western Afghanistan, and now in all of Afghanistan.72 A third and final respect concerns NATO’s role in Iraq, which was bound to be negligible due to the diplomatic divisions that had opened up earlier. Still, it is notable that NATO’s gradual involvement in postwar stabilization is hampered by the transatlantic dispute over the role of the UN and Middle Eastern policy more generally. In January–February 2004, the U.S. administration began to call for greater NATO involvement via the Polish-led division and regional security zone. The reason was not only that Poland was feeling overstretched but that the United States needed greater assistance in shouldering the stabilization burden. However, NATO’s official position— stated by NATO Secretary General Scheffer but inspired by France and Germany and the need to act by consensus—was that NATO could be involved only if “a legitimate Iraqi government asks for our assistance, and if we have the support of the UN.”73 To this the French minister of defense added that any NATO operation would have to be run by NATO as a whole and not by a single member of the Alliance, which was to say that U.S. forces in Iraq could not be in command of NATO contributions.74 Although demanding, these conditions were eventually met, it should be noted. In June 2004, the UN, which had previously (in resolution 1483 of May 2003) recognized the authority of the American-led forces in the shape of the Coalition Provisional Authority, now endorsed the interim Iraqi government as the successor to this Provisional Authority and as the legitimate and sovereign authority of Iraq.75 It was insignificant that sovereignty would take effect only on June 30 when the new interim prime minister, Ayad Allawi, on June 22 requested assistance from NATO: the week would soon pass, and two out of three conditions had thus been met. The final condition was satisfied when, days later, the United States in the context of the Istanbul summit agreed to let the NATO Training Implementation Mission operate outside U.S. command. NATO thus moved into Iraq. But these conditions were met only through tortuous negotiations and the outcome, a very limited NATO engagement, reveals how difficult it was for the allies to overcome previous disputes. NATO’s transition to a coalition framework geared to fight terrorism has thus not been an easy one. There is ground for optimism when looking at the Balkans where the Berlin Plus agreement now is working fairly well and NATO is transferring responsibilities to the EU. Still, the fact of the matter


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remains that the Afghan engagement is NATO’s primary out-of-area focus. One might find grounds for optimism here because NATO has managed to come this far and remain intact. Moreover, the focus now on PRT should satisfy both the allies who prefer to emphasize security assistance for civilian reconstruction and also the allies who prefer simply to see NATO engaged— if they can agree to pay for it, of course.76 An overall compromise will have to build on a mutual understanding between the proponents of the two types of multilateralism, notably the United States and France. Both continue to be wary of the danger that simple practical measures of enhanced cooperation might be a backdoor through which the opponent’s political worldview is confirmed.77 Whether NATO can become host to “willing” rather than “reluctant” coalitions is examined in the remained of the chapter: we look first at NATO’s blueprint, then at underlying political dynamics. NATO’s Blueprint NATO’s military infrastructure consists of forces and commands and both are subject to ongoing reform processes, a type of continuous adaptation, which sometimes are punctuated by the announcement of great reforms. We saw in the previous chapter that NATO’s military authorities in July 2001 recommended to NATO decision-makers a NATO force structure (NFS) reform giving greater emphasis to high-reaction forces (HRF), and also that NATO back in 1997 reformed the command structure (NCS) so that it from that point on consisted of four levels (one strategic, two operational (regional and sub-regional), and one tactical). By early 2004, the command structure had been subjected to yet another round of reform that greatly reduced the size of it and also saw the remaking of one strategic command (ACLANT) into a so-called transformation command focused on modernization and concepts of warfare. The force structure continued according to the 2001 plan, which was approved politically on July 1, 2002, but with an added new component in the shape of a NRF that emerged in 2003–2004 to cap off the hierarchy of rapid reaction forces. Table 4.1 presents an overview of the key components in NATO’s ongoing adaptation. The following discussion focuses first on high readiness and deployability, a theme that relates both to the organization of forces and the new component of the command structure, and then on the organization of command options that involve drastic cut-backs in the collective command structure and instead the transfer of resources to the headquarters of the force structure. High Readiness and Deployability. High readiness has since the early 1990s provided the context for NFS reforms but the concept was implemented only

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Table 4.1

NATO: dimensions of Military change, 2004

NATO force structure High readiness Tactical and deployability; headquarters NATO Response Force.

NATO command structure Transformation command to promote high readiness and deployability

Strategic and operational headquarters

gradually. For most of the 1990s European allies tended to dedicate only part of their military organization to high-readiness reform, producing reaction units for Balkan peacekeeping and crisis management elsewhere but also maintaining the remainder of their military organizations focused on conscription and mass warfare as during the Cold War. Individual allies took on the task of reforming these legacy forces at different paces, with some allies taking the step in the mid-1990s to fully professionalize their forces and also create smaller and more flexible modules (i.e., brigades) where previously there were heavy formations (i.e., divisions), other allies going at a slower pace. By the turn of the century there was at least a consensus that everyone should focus more stringently on high readiness, which was reflected in the force structure of 2001–2002. The experience of September 11 as well as the ability of U.S. forces to rapidly strike down a regime half way around the globe impressed the point of high readiness even further on NATO decisionmakers who at the “transformation” summit in Prague, November 2002, tied high readiness to geographical distance and new capabilities:78 In order to carry out the full range of its missions, NATO must be able to field forces that can move quickly to wherever they are needed, upon decision by the North Atlantic Council, to sustain operations over distance and time, including in an environment where they might be faced with nuclear, biological and chemical threats, and to achieve their objectives. There are several ways in which the allies intend to reach this goal: adjusting the regular force planning process and creating new headquarters and also a new response force. The force planning process runs in two-year cycles, as mentioned earlier, and represents a permanent opportunity to coordinate and implement defense plans. Problems of coordination, vested interests, and fleeting political interest caused NATO to launch the extraordinary initiative, Defense Capabilities Initiative—(DCI), at the Washington summit in April 1999. In an apparent


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recognition of the durability of these problems, NATO in Prague terminated DCI, launched a new investment program, the PCC, and tagged it to the regular force planning process. The PCC distinguishes itself from the DCI in three ways.79 First of all, its focus is narrower: DCI covered five main topics (mobility and deployability; sustainability; effective engagement; survivability; and interoperable communications); PCC covers just four (defense against chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear attacks; command communications and information superiority; interoperationability and combat effectiveness; and rapid deployment and sustainment). In the words of NATO defense ministers, DCI had achieved some results but “a greater and more focused effort is now necessary.”80 Second, PCC supposedly builds on a more solid foundation of national commitments because the force goals of the program have been defined “bottom-up”—by nations reporting to NATO in the run-up to the Prague summit the capabilities they were willing to invest in. In contrast, DCI was more of a “top-down” program derived from planners’ assessment of out-of-area requirements. The contrast should not be stretched because central planning and coordination did play a role in the making of the PCC, but still the point is valid: nations have already committed to the items on the PCC agenda where the DCI agenda, once established, had to be sold in the national capitals. Finally, PCC incorporates a stronger multinational dimension by virtue of its 43 multinational projects (DCI had none). In addition, a number of the other—approximately 400— force goals of PCC could be transformed into multinational projects because nations have already indicated their willingness to consider this option. Of the current 43 projects 4 are considered vital to NATO because of their operational importance and also their cost: sealift, air lift, air-to-air refueling, and alliance ground surveillance. Each of these four projects has been assigned to a lead-nation. The second reinforcement of NATO’s rapid reaction capability relates to the headquarters that shall command these new slimmer and more lethal forces. NATO has introduced a sharp distinction between the strategic and operational levels of command on the one hand and tactical levels on the other: the former fall within the integrated command structure, the latter within the force structure. Here we look at the latter. As part of the force review process that led to the new force structure of 2001–2002, NATO concluded that it needed more high-readiness headquarters at corps level (thus headquarters commanding several divisions) such as the ARRC HQ that had done initial-entry operations in Bosnia in 1996 and Kosovo in 1999, and which by 2002 was NATO’s only corps headquarters capable of deploying in 15 days and of commanding all types of operations, from crisis management to regular warfare. In 2001, NATO authorities decided that the greater

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number of such corps HQ would have to be of graduated readiness—high and low readiness—so that not all HQ would be on high-readiness alert status all the time. The military logic was that if you want to be able to deploy up to three corps simultaneously—NATO’s high-end ambition—then identify nine and maintain a smooth cycle of rotation. This logic thus resulted in a blueprint for nine land HQ, three of which should be high-readiness forces headquarters (HRF(L) HQ) and six forces of lower readiness HQ (FLR(L) HQ). However, by a twist of political logic, to which we shall return, NATO ended up having six HRF(L) HQ and two FLR(L) HQ. The ARRC HQ was the first to go through a rigorous certification process, beginning in November 2001, and the new Italian HRF(L) HQ was the last to complete the process in December 2002.81 Britain and Italy thus lead two of the six HQ; Turkey and Spain each leads another; Germany and the Netherlands share one lead qua their bi-national corps; and France, Germany, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Spain share the final lead qua their Eurocorps. The two FLR(L) HQ are sponsored by Denmark, Germany, and Poland on the one hand (qua their multinational corps North-East) and Greece on the other. The high-readiness concept also applied to maritime forces where three ships will be certified as HRF HQ: the Italian Garibaldi, the Spanish LPD Castilla, and the British HMS Ark Royal. The high-readiness HQ concept, in contrast, does not impact on air forces because they rely either on the integrated command structure (see more below) or component commands attached to these other deployed headquarters. With regular forces being supported by a new investment initiative (PCC) and new force structure headquarters coming into being, one might think that NATO would be prepared for high-readiness operations. This was not the view among some allies, the United States in particular, and an American proposal tabled in September 2002 at an informal NATO’s defense ministers’ meeting therefore led to the creation of a NRF to top off the high-readiness hierarchy. In NATO’s regular force structure, preceding the NRF, the highreadiness forces must be ready for operations in “0 to 90 days” (with 91 to 180 days for forces of lower readiness): the NRF reflects a suspicion that it will likely take at least one month to deploy most of these high-readiness forces. The NRF is consequently designed as a smaller, lighter force capable of deploying within 5 to 30 days. Moreover, the NRF is a rotational force— first force in, first force out—which is to say that it will deploy rapidly but also leave once the regular high-readiness forces are ready to move in: in fact, it will have a capacity as a “stand-alone” force of just 30 days. This “first in, first out” capacity represents just one of two dimensions of the new force. The other dimension concerns transformation: in the words of the Prague summit declaration, “The NRF will also be a catalyst for focusing and


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promoting improvements in the Alliance’s military capabilities.”82 The NRF is thus at one time a new operational tool (of initial entry) and a new force planning mechanism (to create new ways of war for high-readiness forces). The track of initial entry has already led to the organization of a “prototype” NRF, an “initial operational capability,” that came about subsequent to a first NRF force generation conference held in July 2003 and which was first exercised in November 2003. The full rapid reaction operational capability with a troop size of 21,000 is set to be reached by October 2006 at the latest.83 The other track of transformation is a permanent, ongoing feature of the force, consisting of the continuous rotation of national units through the NRF and also a continuous focus on new ways of fighting wars, including notably jointness between the services. The idea is that various national units learn by preparing for NRF participation (the certification process will last 18 months) and by working in the NRF (for 6 months), and then that the units provide lessons-learned within the national framework once they go back home. The NRF thus adds up to quite a challenge to the European forces that will rotate in and out of it: they must be flexible, fast, and willing to learn.84 The challenge of learning was underscored by SACEUR General Jones at his press conference following the first NRF exercise in November 2003. The NRF is the “hallmark of an expeditionary force” because of its “special capabilities”—jointness—but its achievements will be hard fought for: “coordinating air, land, and sea operations to impact on a specific point at a designated time simultaneously is not easy; it is not easy at all.”85 A Slimmer Command Structure Focused on Transformation. At Prague, the NATO heads of state and government approved of a defense ministers’ report outlining a blueprint for the creation “of a leaner, more efficient, effective and deployable command structure, with a view to meeting the operational requirements for the full range of Alliance missions.”86 The report then gave way to the defense ministers’ approval of a new command structure in June 2003.87 In essence, NATO reduced the integrated command structure (NCS) in terms of numbers but expanded it thematically: the regular command structure was reduced at all levels while the strategic command Atlantic (ACLANT) was changed into Allied Command Transformation (ACT), established on June 19, 2003 and focusing on new ways of war and the transformation of existing capabilities. We examine first ACT and then the regular command structure. ACT represents both comfort and anxiety: comfort because the allies no longer feel the need for Atlantic commands such as Strike Fleet Atlantic and Submarine force Atlantic; anxiety because they know that varying paces of military change are threatening NATO’s military cohesion. Modernization is

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especially an American phenomenon, not so much in terms of budgets (because big budgets can be used for paying for yesterday’s weapons programs) but more so in terms of the intellectual effort to fight in new ways and achieve “full spectrum dominance”—the ability to defeat any opponent in any given situation. The ambition is high and may never be attained but, importantly, it gives birth to new thinking on such issues as maneuver, engagement, and logistics. To revolutionize these dimensions of warfare and thus enable “full spectrum dominance,” U.S. forces are seeking to “be fully joint: intellectually, operationally, organizationally, doctrinally, and technically.”88 One might emphasize two factors in this process as being particularly important, although the process is a complex one involving a broad range of factors such as new equipment, planning, and decision-making.89 The first factor concerns information technology and its integration into a seamless whole, or “netcentric warfare.” Information technology can create a “system of systems”90 in which inputs—derived from increasingly complex sensors and reporting technologies (known as Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance (ISR))—are processed by complex but also fast “command, control, communication, computers, and intelligence processing” units (so-called C4I) and turned into output—in the shape of precision guided munitions. All this can be done in compressed time-frames, making time a separate dimension of warfare and in fact a dimension of U.S. superiority.91 The second factor concerns the organization that must use the technology intelligently, which is to say that “full spectrum dominance” requires an adaptive organization that continuously experiments and feeds new thinking into regular units. The primary vehicle for promoting and steering this process is the U.S. Joint Forces Command (USJFCOM). The USJFCOM is located in Norfolk, the United States, where NATO’s Atlantic Command (ACLANT) used to be and where the new transformation command is now located and conveniently mirrors the work of American “parent” command. Most input in terms of technology and ideas will be American, symbolized by the Norfolk location, but still, the traffic is not all one way—from USJFCOM to ACT—because ACT can provide the U.S. command with valuable lessons in respect to multinational operations. These are drawn mostly from the European infrastructure of ACT, including a Joint Warfare Center in Norway, a Joint Force Training Center in Poland, and a Joint Analysis and Lessons Learned Center in Portugal.92 In its practical work ACT will focus predominantly on the new Response Force, already heralded as a vehicle of modernization, and also the NATO headquarters most involved in the command of troops (such as CJTF [Combined Joint Task Force]). The regular command structure is now headed by just one strategic command, ACO (formerly ACE), with the general in charge still being an


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American and entitled SACEUR. Below the strategic level, at the operational level, we find a more stringent structure with three headquarters and, significantly, without the joint sub-regional command level (the former third level of command, now abandoned). The three headquarters must enable tactical command—the movement of forces—by taking charge of the “operational context,” which is how the operational level of command is defined. They do so in different ways, though. Two of the three operational headquarters are Joint Force Commands (JFC), the previous CINC North and South (Brunssum and Naples) and they each have, as their name indicates (i.e., joint force) three service components (land, sea, and maritime) attached to them. The two JFC can command operationally from Brunssum or Naples, or they can mobilize the mobile operational headquarters—CJTF—for which they are parents. A CJTF consists of containers with equipment for setting up a headquarters in far-away places and also, and crucially, of people trained for the task: the two JFC each train approximately 120 people of their regular staff who form a CJTF nucleus. The third and final headquarters at the operational level is located in Lisbon, Portugal, and distinguishes itself compared with Brunssum and Naples by being a single-force headquarters. Hence, the Lisbon headquarters is labeled just Joint Headquarters (JHQ) and its function is solely to be a parent headquarters to the sea-based CJTF (the U.S. ship Mount Whitney). Finally, below the operational level we find a number of combined air operations centers (CAOC)—four static and two deployable— that plan and coordinate air operations. An overview follows: ● ●

Strategic level, ACO, (SHAPE) Operational level 䊊

䊊

JFC in Brunssum and Naples 䊏 An air component command to each 䊏 A maritime component command to each 䊏 A land component command to each JHQ in Lisbon, solely to support the sea-based CJTF

The discussion stated earlier that NATO had drawn a sharp distinction between the strategic and operational level of command on the one hand and the tactical on the other; to the effect that a “NATO command” now is part command structure (the NCS provides strategic and operational command), part force structure (the force headquarters, the NFS HQ, provide the tactical command). This image is accurate for the most conceivable NATO operations, which is also to say that it leaves out something. In theory, we might call it, tactical command could take place in the NATO command structure (NCS)

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through the land component commands, but the circumstances would have to be particular. The land component commands are made “for the big one”—a major invasion of NATO territory against which NATO would mobilize several corps (up to three corps simultaneously). In this case, the land component of the NCS would direct the corps, and the headquarters of the corps, the HRF(L) HQ (located in the force structure, NFS) would direct subordinate divisions and support units. Therefore, in practice, most if not all out-of-area operations will be smaller than corps-sized operations and the fairly neat distinction between NCS and NFS within the line of command will apply. This discussion has emphasized five dimensions of NATO’s blueprint for transformation: ● ● ● ● ●

New investments in capabilities (PCC); Graduated readiness force headquarters (HRF HQ and FLR HQ); NATO Response Force (NRF); Allied Command Transformation (ACT); Allied Command Operations (ACO).

The blueprint radiates transformation and we should have been surprised had it been otherwise: after all, the blueprint is the product of a transformation summit. The blueprint is thus intended to signal that the NATO allies are opting for joint operations in war as well as crisis management and also a continued strengthening of NATO as an institution. Trends analyzed earlier in this chapter—the U.S. inclination to operate in ad hoc coalitions of the willing and the clash of multilateral conceptions within NATO—are causes for concern, however. In the final section, we look at the attitude of NATO allies toward the agenda for change in order to assess whether the allies agree on a path for future cooperation or whether they run on separate tracks that are about to collide. Is NATO’s Blueprint Viable? NATO’s blueprint will be realized only if the allies share a sense of purpose and thus are willing to invest in the Alliance. As mentioned earlier, and due to geopolitical conditions, this shared sense of purpose must result in a framework of flexibility. NATO is in fact doing fairly well in this respect. It is of course possible to identify cases of redundant investments or political controversies, but NATO is in general matching its organization to underlying political conditions and is therefore viable. The flexibility is visible in two notable respects: high intensity war, and lower intensity operations. Distinct


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recipes for organizing coalitions have been found for each dimension and they indicate a political settlement that can be described as a multiple track framework in which allies play to their strength and in which responsibilities are shared and thus not divided. The discussion examines each of these tracks below. The discussion ends with an assessment of the Alliance’s political glue—the underlying visions of the world. High Intensity War. The U.S. ground war in Iraq in 2003—the conventional phase of the conflict—revealed the scope of U.S. military power in terms of force projection, precision firepower, and mobile warfare, and it also underscored the gap separating the United States from its European allies. It is doubtful that the U.S. Department of Defense sees in the Iraqi experience any significant benefit of bringing allies into such a campaign as central components. Allies can be valuable for a host of reasons but militarily speaking they will be limited to making niche contributions, perhaps to the extent of fighting in a particular (and less central) part of the theater, as the British forces in Iraq. This said, U.S. policy-makers and defense officials are by now aware of the intimate links between high intensity war and various forms of low intensity wars—witnessed by the on-going fighting in Iraq and also Afghanistan—and the need to develop new doctrines and flexible organizations to match volatile environments. In the words of one observer, the lines between hard and soft operations are rapidly dissolving.93 This is not to say that it is in the U.S. interest to fight wars alongside less capable allies. Rather, it is in the American interest to build more bridges between its high intensive capability and allied forces capable of assisting in or directing a series of other military operations. The NRF is the critical link in this respect: it is comprised of European forces only and it teaches American lessons-learned in high intensity joint warfare. The NRF is officially designed to conduct a string of operations but the fact of the matter is that it is supposed to bring greater intensity into the European high end forces: the focus is on “punch” in terms of speed, mobility, and integrated arms. In short, the NRF’s operational purpose is to enable European niche contributions to U.S.-led high intensity operations and to cover the growing gray area between high and low intensity war. The NRF thus has operational potential for high-end flexibility but, crucially, it will be realized only if NATO can make the NRF a success: if they can fulfill both the goals attached to the new force, to serve as an initial entry strike force and to modernize European forces by rotating them in and out of the NRF. Clearly the two are related and it would not be unreasonable to argue, as do NRF proponents, that tomorrow’s force is built by focusing on today’s spearhead forces. Press reports from 2002 likewise underscored the

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integrated nature of these ambitions.94 However, NRF skeptics turn the logic on its head: yes, they argue, the two dimensions are connected, but, viciously, long-term transformation will be inhibited by today’s operational demands. Moreover, skeptics are apt to point out, transformation is both costly and difficult, and a number of allies is likely to resist it on a variety of political, financial, and organizational grounds. In short, skeptics argue that tomorrow’s force not only will be built on the one of today but will also resemble it. The NRF could still be lethal—after all, the cream of European forces is quite powerful—but the force will not be transformative. By implication, and if true, the lack of transformation will make it difficult for NATO to become a vehicle—a tool—in the making of high-end coalitions. The fact of the matter is that the NRF is unlikely to fulfill its promise of transformation across the board but, still, it will be an important mechanism of modernization for those allies who are willing to invest in the ability to fight high intensity operations alongside the United States. And, significantly, many allies are. The point is best illustrated if we begin with the assumption of transformation and then look at the reasons why it will not happen in full. The first reason relates to U.S. policy, which is an irony in some ways because the United States fathered the NRF proposal in the first place and also because it fits the overall security strategy of the United States— published in September 2002. In its words, echoing those of Defense Secretary Rumsfeld on the eve of the launch of the NRF, “NATO must build a capability to field, at a short notice, highly mobile, specially trained forces whenever they are needed to respond to a threat against any member of the Alliance,” and NATO must generally enable “mission-based coalitions.”95 We know that the NRF proposal normally is traced back to the policy proposal crafted by two researchers at the National Defense University;96 but we also know that these two researchers had worked within the Pentagon framework of military reform, and thus that the researchers and the NRF idea were closely linked to the argument that the United States should avoid overstretch and that allies could help it do so.97 In the words of another researcher, global leadership requires “command of the commons” and the wisdom to “avoid lengthy military operations that require a large number of ground troops.”98 The NRF also makes sense from an American perspective when compared with another NATO initiative originating in the United States, the creation of the new transformation command (ACT). The reason why an NRF proponent such as the United States may undermine the new force relates to the implementation of this enthusiasm, and specifically to the eagerness to deploy the NRF at an early stage in its development. This eagerness has been channeled through the Commander of the


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United States European Command (USEUCOM) who is also NATO’s Supreme Commander (SACEUR) and thus the key person driving the NRF toward realization, General Jones. Jones was made SACEUR in January 2003 and thus became the first U.S. Marine ever to occupy the post. It was not coincidental that the U.S. Secretary of Defense chose a representative from the core expeditionary unit of the U.S. forces to head the Alliance at this moment and, in the words of a European national defense official, Jones has proven “very user-friendly.”99 In other words, where Rumsfeld seeks to implement a blitz-krieg concept in the United States, Jones seeks to implement it in NATO. When in mid-October 2003 General Jones presented the first NRF colors to the commander of the new force, he said:100 In a few minutes, the passing of the colors of the NATO Response Force to General Sir Jack Deverell will mark what I consider to be one of the most important changes in the NATO Alliance since the signing of the Washington Treaty over 50 years ago. . . . [The] NRF represents more to the Alliance than just a new military capability—it is also the vehicle that will drive the full transformation of the Alliance from an organization designed for territorial defense to one that can confront today’s multiple threats. SACEUR’s NRF enthusiasm has in fact become a source of worry among notably the pro-reform allies: they fear that SACEUR’s compressed schedule of implementation (the first prototypes were up and running from 2003 as a precursor to the Initial Operating Capability set for October 2004) as well as his advocacy of an early deployment to Afghanistan (a first NRF-certified force—an Italian—is among the NATO forces that were committed in July 2004 to a reinforcement of the Afghan mission) amounts to a strategy of “rushing to failure.”101 It is at this point that we encounter the other reasons why the NRF may not be as fully transformative as the Prague summit promised. It would be a mistake to think that European skepticism is rooted in conservatism writ large. Rather, the pro-reformers are worried for other good reasons. The early implication of the NRF in operations increases the likelihood that forces will rotate in and out of the NRF not to “modernize” but to “fight” and, in consequence, allies will begin to worry about the overall coherence of their force structure. It will be too dangerous to let a gap grow between the spearhead forces and the bulk of the forces, a gap that otherwise might have served the goal of long-term transformation, and which over time would be destined to disappear as NRF lessons trickled down into the entire force structure. Big force contributors to operations will not want to stake survival for transformation, and their key word will likely be the creation of a “seamless

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force.” Critically, France and Great Britain are sure to be among the big force contributors. Allies are also likely to focus on the political-institutional ramifications of an active NRF under SACEUR’s guidance and the authority that SACEUR stands to gain vis-à-vis the allies themselves. By a strict NRF logic, SACEUR should gain the authority to set common training standards, certify forces, conduct operational planning, and tailor force packages to the mission at hand. The problems stemming from this logic are obvious: nations are unlikely to let SACEUR make decisions with far-reaching implications for their national training structures—large and rigid, we might presuppose—and to let him do operational planning outside of fairly strict political directions; and the international staff at NATO’s Brussels headquarters, along with the allies who believe they gain political weight through this staff, will no doubt resist SACEUR’s encroaching into the domain of force planning.102 Some allies, particularly the allies having entered the Alliance in 1999 and 2004, argue that it is important for reasons of domestic defense policy to tie their defense reforms to common Alliance blueprints that come with the fingerprint of the international staff and the commitment of the NAC: it simply heightens the likelihood that they can get money and support back home for the defense programs. This wider question of the politics of reform is an important impediment to the making of a strong SACEUR, which the NRF blueprint demands, and which should come sooner rather than later if the NRF is to realize its full potential. The key to a settlement may not so much be the smaller allies— who are likely to get some concessions in relation to the capability force goals that the NATO defense planners can define—but France on the one hand and Great Britain and the United States on the other. The NRF corresponds to French military thinking in the sense that France since 1996 has begun a domestic transformation process to construct a professional and flexible military instrument for out-of-area operations. France is also among the heavy NRF contributors both in terms of money and manpower, and in March 2004 it thus gained a greater presence at both ACO and ACT. However, France is by tradition and outlook hostile to SACEUR. A French–British compromise on SACEUR’s position vis-à-vis their desire to maintain seamless forces will likely be decisive in the NRF design contest. This implies that the NRF will be less transformative than originally planned, but this is in the nature of alliance politics, and widespread allied support for the force as well as the combined French–British investments in it augur fairly well. Operations of Lower Intensity. If the NRF can become a NATO tool in the organization of U.S.-led high intensity operations, the question remains


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whether the allies can agree to plan for and organize other types of operations. It would seem so on a number of accounts. First of all because too much is being made of the distinct characters of the United States and the EU, respectively: allegedly, their views of the world clash. While it is true that the views from Washington and Brussels are distinctively different, it is not the end of the story. The EU is after all just an institutional layer that expresses that which the European member states agree to, and it happens to be an agenda intimately related to 50 years of European integration. As the EU was built according to liberal designs—emphasizing interdependence, democracy, and low over high politics—it is no surprise to find this liberal impulse in the EU’s external policies. Put crudely: if the EU member states agree to common action, it is because the action is tied to a liberal agenda of development, reconciliation, and hope; if the agenda is different, linked to a situation of confrontation and possible combat, the EU will not act. To illustrate: the EU members managed to agree to a common security strategy—European Security Strategy—in the wake of the Iraq war in 2003, which was a feat in and of itself, but only because problems such as terrorism and WMD were tied to the prospect of progress—a “better world,” according to the title of the document––and thus a benevolent view of the EU itself. The EU seeks to “contribute to an effective multilateral system leading to a fairer, safer and more united world.”103 Likewise, in December 2004, when the EU took over the peacekeeping operation in Bosnia from NATO—replacing SFOR with EUFOR-Althea—the collective engagement happened in a permissive context of civilian reconstruction rather than military risk.104 The EU like NATO is host to the same phenomenon of political flexibility in cases of “hard” security: nations know that agreement at 26 (NATO) or 25 (the EU) is unlikely in these cases, and they therefore seek to maintain the framework (NATO and the EU) while creating flexible options within it. In lower intensity operations the question is not whether but how these organizations should provide tools for coalitions. In the following I assess this question, arguing that NATO and the EU are complementary in terms of military capacities and command facilities and on track for an integrated approach to force planning. Military capacities are multifaceted, naturally, but we should focus on deployable forces because this is where important changes are taking place. To understand why NATO and the EU are complementary in this respect we must match the logic of the NRF with that of battle groups—a new concept for EU deployable forces.105 The NRF is focused on operational flexibility, and thus suggests the enhancement of SACEUR’s authority to put together varying force packages (a big and heavy one for Afghanistan; a small and light one for Macedonia; and so on). Moreover, these forces will most likely

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operate in hostile environments, perhaps in outright wars. The NRF therefore works notably if the United States, with all its military muscle, is there to support it and fill in gaps. The United States is not there in the EU where the political logic is one of creating forces for EU policies. The EU can pursue its goals in partnership with the United States, for sure, so goes the argument, but the EU should be ready to assume the responsibility of its proper ambitions and not ask the United States to come to its rescue. This is why the EU is developing distinct EU capabilities. In practical terms it means that the EU plans for forces that are small (smaller than the NRF, for instance: a battle group consists of 1,500 soldiers) and self-contained: the sponsors of EU policy (nations supplying battle groups) must be able to supply capable forces that do not demand back-up. This point was made quite clear in the draft constitutional treaty adopted in 2004, and irrespective of whether the treaty is ratified the demand for self-contained forces will continue. To promote the making of new forces, the EU has on agreed to allow “structured cooperation” among those states that fulfill “higher military capability criteria and which have made more binding commitments in this matter with a view to the most demanding missions.”106 Given the usual drama of exclusion and inclusion in the EU negotiations, the EU member states agreed to leave “structured cooperation” open to anyone interested but then added the important qualifier that prospective participants must: have the capacity to supply by 2007 at the latest, either at national level or as a component of multinational force groups, targeted combat units for the missions planned, structured at a tactical level as a battle group, with support elements including transport and logistics, capable of carrying out the tasks referred to in Article III-309, within a period of 5 to 30 days, in particular in response to requests from the United Nations Organisation, and which can be sustained for an initial period of 30 days and be extended up to at least 120 days.107 The sources of structured cooperation and combat units are notably two: on the one hand the Franco-German wish to advance political integration, also in the domain of defense, and these two countries were thus the authors of proposals in late 2002 to create a defense “core” or a type of “enhanced cooperation” with an integrative dimension; on the other hand the FrancoBritish wish to build a capable EU security and defense policy (ESDP), with capability referring to new defense capabilities for out-of-area missions.108 The 2003 war in Iraq and the concomitant political disputes did not derail this process as much as clarify issues and prepare a new Franco-British understanding resulting in the battle group concept. The two countries had by then


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realized that the previous Headline Goal of a reaction force of 60,000 soldiers (shaped according to the Kosovo war) was too ambitious, and France took the lead in writing a new Headline Goal. Fittingly, France acted as the EU’s “framework nation” in the first autonomous military operation of the EU (Operation Artemis), which took place in the Congolese town of Bunia and lasted for three months during the summer of 2003. Britain, France, and Germany then met in Berlin for a tripartite summit, September 20, 2003— their first meeting since the war in Iraq—and the meeting put in motion a process resulting by November in an agreement on European defense issues. In essence, the three countries agreed to take out the integrative dimension of “structured cooperation” and instead focus on capabilities, and it is from November and onwards that French-British planning on the new battle groups takes shape. Germany was associated with this work but decided to co-sponsor it only in early February 2004 when the plan was presented to the combined group of EU countries.109 It was thus Britain and France, two countries with military traditions and an awareness of the political influence to be gained via possession of the forces that the EU would have to call upon to execute policy, who drove the new force planning ambition. In May 2004, the EU endorsed the battle group concept as part of the new Headline Goal 2010.110 In November 2004, the EU stated the goal of being able by 2007 to conduct two concurrent battle group missions (Full Operational Capacity), and they noted that 13 battle groups were in the making (four national ones; nine multinational).111 The question of battle group or NRF is not one of “the EU or NATO” but one of how to do force projection in distinct contexts: the NRF is heavier and more tied in with U.S. global policy; the battle groups are lighter and an appendix, however important, to EU crisis management policies. In practical terms the forces committed to the two will often be the same: after all, nations have only one set of forces. Still, differences in doctrine and political context make the distinction between the two real. There is thus a distinct EU flavor to the question of military force, but, critically, it is an “EU flavor”: individual European nations are investing in both toolboxes—the EU and NATO. Battle group investments make sense because the EU is an integral part of these countries’ politics; NRF investments make sense because they result in high-end capabilities and, notably, grant influence in Washington. It is no coincidence that Britain and France are at the forefront of both: they both seek influence in both Brussels and Washington. Battle groups and NRF are tools with which it can be gained. This brings us to the other issues mentioned earlier, command facilities and the approach to force planning. In relation to command facilities there is little doubt that NATO has an advantage qua its integrated command

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structure and also the Berlin Plus agreement according to which the EU will not develop operational headquarters but instead rely on NATO. Still, NATO needs to rethink its command structure and notably its celebrated CJTF concept, and it is not unlikely that the allies can find a durable compromise at the level of operational headquarters. The real vehicle for gaining influence will then be force structure headquarters. The CJTF was modeled on the 1991 Gulf War and it may be outdated. We noted in chapter 3 how the allies for reasons of alliance politics ended up with an investment scheme so ambitious that they had to postpone it. Here we should take note of an operational issue, namely that the CJTF may be unnecessary. NATO has had no need for a CJTF to run operations in Afghanistan—NATO’s most ambitious operation ever—because the ability of forces to “reach-back” to (communicate with) the parent headquarters (Brunssum or Naples) has changed significantly since the introduction of the CJTF concept in 1996. One might therefore question whether NATO will ever need a large CJTF, partly because its deployment would demand significant resources (cf. the bare base concept discussed in chapter 3), partly because technology is surpassing it. Moreover, as Charles S. Barry argues, NATO exercises reveal operational problems because the deployment of the CJTF nucleus staff tends to “decimate” the parent headquarters, at least for a while, and the CJTF is not receiving enough training to qualify for the high readiness missions that dominate current military thinking.112 Thus, in Barry’s lens, NATO should consider “merging” the CJTF and the parent headquarters concepts into “a single standing headquarters along the lines of U.S. combatant commands.” This might happen in one shape or another but first the allies must ponder the problem of France, which participates in all aspects of NATO’s command structure that is not integrated, effectively the CJTF. The NRF, it might be noted, will be commanded by a small CJTF. We saw in chapter 3 that France originally sought to downgrade the integrated command by raising the institutional weight and prestige of the CJTF components: while this attempt largely failed, it would be surprising if France today would be ready to agree to a type of merger at the operational level of command and thus be drawn into the integrated command structure. The urgency of pondering this problem was underscored by events in 2003. Passions, having hardly settled after the crisis over Iraq, were aroused by the April 29 four-way defense summit between France, Germany, Belgium, and Luxembourg and in particular by their proposal to establish an EU operational planning staff in the Brussels suburb of Tervuren. At this stage the United States perceived not only a coming violation of the Berlin Plus agreement but also the first step in the making of a European defense core akin to the ideas


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launched earlier by France and Germany. The United States became particularly worried following the September Berlin summit between France, Germany, and Britain and Britain’s formal endorsement of the French-German concept of “structured cooperation.” At this stage it was not quite clear that the integrative dimension of structured cooperation had been abandoned,113 and the U.S. ambassador to NATO, Nicholas Burns, therefore reacted by calling for special consultations in NATO in the belief that he had recognized “the most serious threat to the future of NATO.” Subsequent meetings calmed passions, however, as it became clear that the French-German-British understanding involved the abandonment of the operational planning staff and as the EU as a whole sought to reassure the United States on the EU defense dimension.114 The Tervuren planning headquarters was thus dropped in favor of a split deal between NATO and the EU according to which the “European” ability to do operational planning would be enhanced first in terms of a new European unit within NATO’s strategic headquarters, SHAPE, bolstering the Berlin Plus option, and also in terms of a new civil-military planning unit within the EU’s Military Staff in Brussels. The EU countries thus agreed that the EU Military Staff will not be transformed into an operational headquarters but will be organized to assist national headquarters—notably French and British ones—that might be on offer for “autonomous” EU missions. At the operational level of command, therefore, both organizations are in need of reforms: NATO might not be building the appropriate capacity; the EU does not have one. It would make sense to coordinate the reforms and create just one set of common institutions for allied use, but this then requires the bending of national symbols, a notoriously slow and painful process. For the foreseeable future the allies are likely to muddle through—relying on current NATO assets, notably the two stationary Joint Force Head Quarters (JFHQ) and the option of reach-back, or, in the case of EU autonomy, on national headquarters. The politics of prestige are important, as we have seen in relation to the force structure headquarters now central to NATO out-of-area operations. These force structure headquarters will plug into the (mostly) immobile command structure, and NATO originally asked to have three high readiness land headquarters (HRF(L) HQ) and six forces of lower readiness headquarters (FLR(L) HQ). However, NATO ended up with six of the former and two of the latter. This development was driven by symbolic politics because it did not make military sense to spend resources on the maintenance of such a large high-readiness capability when rotations would provide the same capability. NATO nations simply wanted to be represented in the most prestigious category of “high” readiness as opposed to the less prestigious category of “lower” readiness.

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This might be a cause for worry because it is obviously troubling that nations spend more money on headquarters than they need to, by a military logic, and that symbolic politics matter as much, if not more, than real capabilities.115 For instance, as a force planner of NATO’s International Staff lamented, there are too many chiefs and too few Indians in the Alliance: too many invest in the capacity to lead and too few in the forces—the boots on the ground—that must be led.116 In principle, the new headquarters have troops of varying nationality assigned to them; in reality, most of the troops carry multiple hats and suffer from a lack of investments. The problem applies not only to the relationship between command structures and forces but also to the composition of forces: money for forces is invested primarily in the combat forces that conduct daring operations and capture headlines, too few invest in the combat support units that are increasingly important because out-of-area operations are demanding in terms of back-up infrastructure but which also lack in prestige. Still, the situation may not be that serious, and it has partly to do with the CJTF predicament. As it becomes possible to reach back to existing operational headquarters, there is less reason to seek influence and prestige via the CJTF, and there is concomitantly greater reason to seek it in the force structure. Thus, the nations investing in high-readiness headquarters have no doubt been motivated by leadership responsibilities and were looking to obtain in the new command components of the force structure (NFS) that which they no longer could obtain in the reformed command structure (NCS).117 To maximize their political gain, nations must supply capable troops to the headquarters, which is to say that new headquarter responsibilities may have positive spin-off effects on force planning. The illustrative case here is Great Britain.118 Perhaps, then, the command situation incites the allies to invest in the forces prescribed by NATO and the EU. The point brings us to the final aspect mentioned earlier, the approach to force planning. Of course, one might note that approach does not matter as long as the money is short: Barry Posen has calculated the cost of realizing the original NRF design using the British level of spending per soldier, which is less than the American but the highest in Europe, and comes up with a daunting figure of $4.5 billion.119 Still, European allies could undertake significant reforms within existing budgets if they are determined to cut troop numbers and invest in new capabilities.120 We saw earlier that one dimension of NATO’s overall blueprint for change concerns force planning decentralization: the intention is to ensure that force planning is based on real national purpose and willingness rather than abstract goals set by collective bodies far removed from national capitals. Decentralization thus reflects the drive to create the options for national flexibility emphasized in this and the previous


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chapter. It also reflects a growing skepticism toward the elaborate planning regime that NATO erected during the Cold War: some allies simply feel that the regime is too ineffective in the new strategic era; others, as the NRF discussion indicated, feel that it still has political purpose, notably in the domestic arena. Some might argue that NATO is doing too little too late, that the EU’s decentralized planning mechanism (see the previous chapter) overtook the one of NATO in 1999–2000 and will continue to do so. This would be inaccurate. The fact of the matter is that the EU planning mechanism did start out with a very decentralized concept but now is experiencing a certain degree of centralization; NATO, in contrast, is decentralizing, and it might be a question of time before the two planning systems are integrated into one overall framework, which was also the idea put forth by U.S. Secretary of Defense Cohen in 2000. The EU’s approach was conceived of in contrast to NATO: it deliberately sought to be bottom-up where NATO was top-down.121 The original approach was to compose force catalogues and see how far the collective will carried. To be sure, the EU sought to establish a type of planning regime—a Capability Development Mechanism (CDM)—but the key concerned “political will and commitment.”122 Centralization has come about, nevertheless. The EU first structured the force planning in so-called European Capability Action Panels (ECAP), beginning in November 2001, and then realized that these “panels” needed greater leadership.123 In 2003, the panels thus became “project groups” headed by lead-nations, and subsequently the groups were tied to the CDM via semiannual Progress Reports. Finally, the EU has decided to establish a European Defence Agency (EDA) that will provide permanent institutional leadership in the planning process, tying capability development to an emerging European defense equipment market and research and technology programs.124 The EDA thus represents an acknowledgment that collective force planning must involve a “center” capable of providing focus and setting the agenda. The EU process has the advantage that it ties in with the broad European wish to gain greater capabilities in the domain of crisis management—thus, operations of lower intensity. There is consequently no reason to expect the EU planning process to disappear or weaken. The question is what NATO can do. In essence, NATO can align its defense planning process to the EU process, tapping into the political potential of it, and then it can focus on what it is good at—preparing forces for high intensity operations. As a matter of fact, this is what NATO is doing. NATO has replaced DCI with the decentralized PCC (akin to ECAP) and caps it off with its regular planning mechanism (akin to CDM), and NATO, moreover, decided at the June 2004

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Istanbul summit to streamline its planning mechanism (with new work routines) and attune it to national circumstances (such as national budgetary and political cycles).125 NATO’s competitive edge concerns the “force generation concept” introduced in relation to the NRF. This concept is supported notably not only by the United States and SACEUR but also by some allies, and in some instances particularly by the military authorities within some nations. The concept is based on the view that it makes no sense to plan for the entire force structure—in principle, due to the broad nature of NATO’s Strategic Concept and Ministerial Guidance, the Alliance must at present plan for 27 divisions!—but that planning must focus on the deployable components that the allies might actually use—in Afghanistan or somewhere else. If pushed to its extreme, the concept would leave force planning to SHAPE, the military headquarters and thus SACEUR, and national military authorities, cutting out most of the planning bodies in the political headquarters in Brussels, notably the International Staff. There is a lot of politics involved in this issue and it is too early to tell what a compromise might look like. Still, it is clear that the EU and NATO are converging in force planning and also that NATO, prodded notably by the United States, is preparing to upgrade its capacity for planning and preparing high intensity force packages. Visions of the World. The discussion so far has indicated that NATO can be renewed on the basis of a transatlantic bargain according to which NATO will be a tool for the European allies wishing to gain high intensity competences and the ability to work with the United States in high intensity operations, and a tool also for operations of lower intensity, particularly as it offers command elements and standards for the development of force structure headquarters. All this is secondary and NATO will come apart if skeptics are accurate in their assessment that external events, notably related to the Middle East, are dividing the allies. The argument is composed of a combination of social and geopolitical factors. Niall Ferguson, professor of history at Harvard University, argues that Europe is demographically, politically, and religiously vulnerable in ways that the United States is not: presumably, immigration makes European leaders reluctant to confront the “gradual Islamicization of Europe” (confrontation would consist of halting immigration and declining Turkey’s bid to join the EU) and the decline of Christianity makes conservative policy, a typical response to these developments, different from the conservatism of the George W. Bush presidency.126 Donald Puchala, like Niall Ferguson, believes that such a difference in outlook is not a question of personality but enduring social change.127 And Tony Judt, like Niall Ferguson, emphasizes how differences in vulnerability and outlook combine in an explosive cocktail: “To the Bush administration ‘Islam’ is an abstraction,


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the politically serviceable object of what Washington insiders now call the GWOT: the Global War on Terror. For the US, the Middle East is a faraway land, a convenient place to export America’s troubles so that they won’t have to be addressed in the ‘homeland.’ But the Middle East is Europe’s ‘near abroad.’ . . . America’s strategy of global confrontation with Islam is not an option for Europe. It is a catastrophe.”128 The preceding discussion in this chapter has underscored a number of points on which the allies are in agreement and where positions converge in spite of sometimes tense political exchanges. By this measure, the NATO coalition design is on track. It would be impossible to argue that the Atlantic allies shared the same view of the world in early 2003 when the war in Iraq took place, but this matter of fact does not detract from the conclusion. The reason is that as long as the two sides of the Atlantic do not directly harm each others’ interests, then it is in the nature of things that they disagree on some issues, sometimes even passionately so. This is because the new NATO is built on two pillars: an abstract sense of shared fate, and a concrete sense of what needs to be done. These two pillars stand further apart in a risk environment compared with yesterday’s threat environment. Tony Judt and other skeptics will be right if the Atlantic divide on Iraq reflects a divide in the first of these pillars, the shared sense of fate. However, this is not obviously the case and, as this chapter has underscored, there are indications that the disagreements mostly concern that which needs to be done. In other words, Iraq was a first and severe test of the ability of the allies to handle the connection between shared fate and political action. Unity in flexibility, as one might label the challenge, is a difficult diplomatic balancing act. The “neoconservative” outlook of the Bush administration is an important factor when we look to account for the poor balancing act of 2002–2003. Critics find in the Iraq debacle a root cause in the administration’s new approach to security affairs—involving a greater willingness to use military force, a lack of interest in international organizations and rules, and notably the belief that “If the United States led, others would follow.”129 However, it is important to distinguish between the policy principle and its execution: the Bush administration was essentially right when it argued that security policy must be carried out by coalitions, but it executed this policy poorly in 2002–2003. The preceding discussion has emphasized both the need for coalitions and the Atlantic controversies of these years, and there is no reason to enlarge on these issues here. The point to bear in mind is that the original coalition design of the Bush administration was too flexible in the sense that it was detached from institutions such as NATO. Revealingly, Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld’s 2002 article on “military transformation” contains several references to the principle of coalition warfare but not a single reference

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to NATO.130 Coalitions are more effective if they emerge from a particular group of state sharing a sense of purpose, and the Bush administration failed to understand this adequately in 2002–2003. However, the outlook of the Bush administration should not be made the sole culprit of the Iraq dispute within the Alliance. First of all, the Bush administration did not mastermind the Atlantic crisis single-handedly. Champions of a stronger Europe, notably France, joined the fray and contributed to the diplomatic misery, not only by outlining plans for a European defense union at a particularly sensitive time but also by participating in a subtle “battle for Britain” that evolved around British Prime Minister Blair’s decision to support President Bush on the understanding that Blair and Britain needed a UN mandate for the coming war.131 Second, the Bush administration was too cynical for its own good because it did possess the tools to give institutions such as NATO a more prominent role in its security policy: after all, when Rumsfeld wrote about coalitions and chose to ignore NATO, he was simultaneously developing a new means—the NRF—for making NATO an effective coalition-enabler. Diplomacy and concerted action can be restored if the damage was limited to the second of the pillars mentioned earlier—if the dispute concerned means rather than purpose. There are signs that restoration is taking place and thus that the damage was less deep than skeptics claim. The signs emerge from the case of Iraq but also the general Western approach to the Middle East. Consider first the case of Iraq. In late 2003 and early 2004, it seemed unlikely that the United States would consent to European demands for NATO’s involvement in Iraq: a request for assistance by a sovereign Iraqi government; a UN mandate; and a chain of command independent of the one of the U.S. forces in Iraq. Yet, within a year an agreement was in place, testifying to a collective desire to settle the issue. This observation needs to be put into perspective because the allied agreement is to restore NATO’s unity but also largely let the U.S.-led coalition handle the security situation in Iraq. The United States is no longer hoping to get large force contributions from friends and allies for the Iraq mission: instead, its strategy is to “nationalize” the situation and let the Iraqi government rely on its legitimacy and proper forces—trained by the United States—for stabilizing the country. NATO contributes to this strategy because it trains Iraqi security forces, and it may be that the contribution is mostly symbolic (NATO training will not make much of an impact in Iraq) but it does reflect an agreement among the allies that NATO now must stand united on the Iraqi issue. Symptomatically for the era of “unity in flexibility,” different allies carry out NATO’s assistance at different levels of engagements and at different geographical locations. Can the allies preserve this agreement, particularly in light of the need to address terrorism in the larger context of Middle Eastern politics?


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We know that the effort has been made: the G8 countries adopted in June 2004 a partnership program for the Middle East and North Africa in order to encourage “democratic, social and economic reform.”132 Likewise, later in June 2004, NATO agreed to enhance its Mediterranean Dialogue and also launch a sister-program for the Persian Gulf countries, the Istanbul Cooperation Initiative.133 The fact that these projects were adopted is in itself significant. They came about in the spring of 2004 when the agreement to involve NATO in Iraq on certain conditions also emerged. Moreover, the fate of the projects seemed bleak given European as well as Arab protests against the American “Greater Middle East” plan that the United States launched in January–February 2004 and with a view to crafting initiatives in the G8 (the United States presided over the G8 at this time and also the June 2004 summit) and in NATO (later in June). The opposition reflected concerns that the countries of North Africa and the Middle East were too heterogeneous to be treated as one category; relatedly, that national identities needed to be respected; that democracy cannot be imposed from the outside; that rapid change could open the way for greater radicalism; and finally that the plan ignored the Israel-Palestine question. These concerns were voiced up to and during the June 2004 summits, notably by observers, but decision-makers had by early March 2004 worked out the contours of a compromise. This happened notably as Germany’s enthusiasm was wedded to France’s skepticism—the two countries reached agreement on a common approach March 2—and as the United States underscored its commitment to reform from within and peace between Israel and Palestine.134 The dialogue between Europeans, Americans, Arabs, and also Israelis continued and resulted in a project based more on dialogue than prescription. Critics claim that the program thus lost its potential for change— sometimes likened to the Helsinki process of the Cold War—and is likely to reproduce the status quo. Still, the project is a living one, which implies that it can grow more important with time. Moreover, its achievements from the perspective of transatlantic cooperation are noteworthy: it has committed the United States and Europe to a partnership for reform in this broad region, and it will happen multilaterally, making use of existing institutions such as NATO, the EU, the G8, and the UN. The Helsinki analogue has caught on and is unlikely to disappear. To be sure, different political actors will read different lessons into it,135 but the fact of the matter is that we do not know how democracy is promoted. That is, we know that economic growth, civil society, and open institutions spur democracy but we do not have firm knowledge about how these factors combine: must democratization begin with institutions or trade, for instance, and how does trade liberalization interact with civil society activism?

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We should therefore not be surprised if different political actors emphasize distinct approaches to democratization, and in this sense the Helsinki analogue merely reinforces the point made earlier about “unity in flexibility.” The important point is that the allies are reaching an understanding on the subject matter of the Middle East, and that this understanding can prevent the Alliance from breaking apart as skeptics claim will happen. It may not be the integrated vision and blueprint for action that Paul Berman has in mind when he advocates a “new radicalism” rooted in liberalism and international solidarity, but it will be a shared sense of urgency related to what Berman calls a “clash of ideologies”—a “war between liberalism and the apocalyptic and phantasmagorical movements that have risen up against liberal civilization ever since the calamities of the First World War,” and which today are represented by “Muslim totalitarianism.”136 The Atlantic allies’ political and social systems are rooted in liberalism, and they are all vulnerable to this threat and its origins in the Middle East: the so-called first pillar of the Alliance—shared fate—is therefore intact. The allies agree that terrorists must be countered and the Middle East reformed but they will go about doing so differently: the so-called second pillar of the Alliance—concerning the making of policy—must therefore encourage and enable coalitions, and of this NATO is increasingly capable. Conclusion This chapter began with the observation that making NATO a viable framework for coalitions of the willing will demand careful political craftsmanship and organizational flexibility—and then added that this challenge was made tougher by the skewed distribution of power. Were U.S. policymakers, when they espoused the coalition concept, willing to invest in NATO as a sponsor of coalitions, or did they mainly refer to NATO as a mechanism for ensuring support for U.S.-led operations? In other words, to what extent was the United States ready to let European coalitions form and engage in operations that the United States did not plan for or participate in? The distribution of power in the favor of the United States implied that it was not in the U.S. interest to let coalitions get out of U.S. control because there was only one actor of the last resort, the United States. The election of George W. Bush and the terrorist attacks in September 2001 brought these underlying interests to the forefront of U.S. policy. The United States reacted with remarkable indifference to NATO’s Article 5 declaration of September 12, conducted the campaign in Afghanistan without the use of NATO, a pattern that repeated itself in the case of Iraq in the spring of 2003. NATO, as the


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first section of the chapter outlined, entered the Afghan and Iraqi campaigns in the phase of stabilization and then only hesitantly. U.S. policy-makers could rightly point out that a number of European allies have been unwilling to follow the American lead and that NATO therefore has become a coalition of the reluctant rather than the willing. If only these allies would back U.S. policy, NATO would regain its cohesion. This may be so but the point is also a political one. From an analytical point of view we note that NATO cohesion was challenged, politically as well as militarily. The reason is partly the skewed distribution of power, partly the diffuse security environment—the presence of risks and the absence of threats—that invites disagreement on risk assessments and probable causes. NATO has outlined an agenda for transformation designed to make the Alliance more relevant politically and capable militarily. Prague was the first transformation summit; Istanbul the second; and others will follow. The agenda will likely succeed in renewing the allies’ commitment to NATO. This is so because there is a growing match between that which is happening in NATO and to NATO: internal reforms match external challenges. The internal reforms focus notably on the creation of flexible force options composed of reaction forces capable of high as well as low intensity missions and with appropriate command structures to back them up. These reforms are difficult and the analysis duly pointed to key obstacles such as the lack of combat support units, an ill-defined design for operational command, and an inordinate level of investment in high-readiness headquarters. Still, NATO is the only organization that can create military interoperationability across the Atlantic, and NATO is the only venue for connecting the modest punch of European force projection to the heavier American one. The connection is critical because it prevents a division of labor and thus a division of responsibilities and risks, which in the end would divide the allies politically. NATO reforms may thus be difficult and slow but such reforms were never easy to implement internationally, and NATO remains the venue for advancing transatlantic security cooperation. Moreover, NATO is a key component in the allies’ effort to meet external challenges, notably international terrorism and its underlying causes in the Middle East. NATO is just one component and in a number of contexts it will not be the most important one, but NATO is part of a broad institutional set-up that the allies can draw on as they articulate and implement a range of policies toward this region. The new coalition design contains potential for contention because the making of coalitions by definition excludes some states and gives emphasis to the political agenda of others. This chapter has outlined a number of reasons

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why this potential could be confined and why NATO also has the potential to secure for itself a meaningful future: in essence, NATO’s only option for security cooperation is the coalition framework and NATO allies are working toward it. NATO is likely to experience repeated crises, it always has, but the crises are unlikely to do fundamental damage because the objective and subjective conditions for the Alliance’s existence continue to come into alignment.

CHAPTER 5

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ATO has outlived the Cold War and is well on its way to celebrate its sixtieth birthday—a remarkable event in the history of international relations. This analysis has argued that NATO’s continuity is made possible not because NATO happens to be an institution with particular features or because the United States wants to control European security affairs via NATO: rather, NATO’s core is a political commitment to transatlantic cooperation generated by geopolitical interests. In the following I first summarize the argument in relation to NATO’s development from 1989 to 2004, and then I look at some wider implications for NATO and the research agenda generated by it. NATO: From Alliance to Coalition Framework

The overall argument of the book falls in two parts: one that the objective conditions underpinning NATO as an “alliance” disappeared in the early 1990s and that the only viable option for continued security cooperation in the course of the 1990s proved to be the one of “coalitions”; another that NATO governments subjectively came to recognize this state of affairs around the turn of the century. Thus, objective and subjective conditions are coming into alignment and NATO’s future appears more secure than snapshots of crises, such as the one over Iraq in 2003, indicate. Changes to the world out there, the objective conditions of security cooperation, have been analyzed along two dimensions: the security environment as well as the collective set of motivations for security cooperation. The environment is no longer a strategic one, defined by identifiable threats in the shape of particular actors with the motive and ability to mobilize resources for the purpose of harming the other, NATO, but an environment

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dominated by a range of risks—such as terrorism but also civil war and organized crime—that are virtually impossible to identify a priori and therefore inherently difficult to interact with in a traditional strategic mode. Strategy is predicated on a particular clash of opposing willpowers and concerns the effort to prevent defeat and secure victory. With ever-changing clashes, large and small, at home and in remote locations, strategy is transformed into security management. The second dimension of motivation concerns the collective outlook of the allies. It is not a question of any particular state’s foreign policy but of pattern: what do the foreign policies add up to—unity or flexibility? Threats are normally invoked as a factor generating unity, yet it is conceivable that some states, especially the larger ones, wish to be first among equals, de facto generating a degree of flexibility in their favor (i.e., a “concert”). Similarly, the disappearance of a threat does not mean that unity must disappear (in that case the dimension of motivation would not be independent of the environment). What matters is the degree to which states share an interest in the status quo or, in contrast, revisions to the existing order. It is thus conceivable that states in a risk environment stand united and support a type of collective security arrangement. The analysis of subjective conditions, the policies of NATO allies and their impact on NATO, revealed the way in which NATO hesitantly responded to changes in objective conditions, at one time longing for the comfortable cohesion of the past and adding wishful thinking to the design for future cooperation. The result was a discrepancy between what the world demanded of NATO and what NATO was ready to do, which in turn threw NATO into a series of crises in the 1990s, related to the fighting in Bosnia, relations to Russia, the United Nations (UN), and the European Union (EU). It was only at the turn of the century, beginning in 1999, that the streamlining of security thinking began. NATO allies were on track to recognize that they perceived the world differently and did not necessarily face the same risks, which led to the emergence of blueprints for Atlantic divisions of labor. September 2001 convinced most allies that some risks are shared and that cooperation must be anchored within an overarching institutional framework, which then set the stage for an embrace of the coalition-design—in fact the essence of NATO’s heralded “transformation”—and an alignment with the objective conditions for cooperation. Chapter 2 traced the opportunities offered by the end of the Cold War as well as the difficulties in adapting to it. Most striking was the discrepancy between on the one hand NATO’s commitment to European unification, amounting to a promise of “collective security,” and on the other its desire to direct European security affairs, amounting to a wish to maintain the “alliance”

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within the organization of collective security. The combination could not work—and it did not, as the analysis demonstrated with reference to NATO’s incrementally increasing engagement in the Yugoslav wars—but still it did not prevent policy-makers from making the attempt. The result of this combination of realist and wishful thinking was a de facto organization of core and periphery in the new Europe, with NATO located in the core and Eastern European countries in the periphery. Realist observers of European affairs would not be surprised by the fact that power confers benefits to core countries, but the asymmetry clashed at the time with the discourse prevalent not only in NATO but also in the EU and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) that an era of division had been overtaken by an era of democratic unity. The core’s wish to remain a core was indicative of the power of interests over identities: in name all were equal; in practice the resourceful had interests and wanted to safeguard their ability to defend and promote them. A conflict erupted within the core, it should be noted, between the United States and France and thus between NATO and EU designs (the German emphasis on the OSCE made an impact but the emphasis faded once unification had been agreed to). This conflict only confirms the point, however, because it was a conflict of primacy—of who should dominate the core and thus be leader of the peripheries. The French leadership knew that their claim to primacy could not be realized in NATO where the United States naturally dominated; they therefore hoped to relegate NATO to a background security guarantee and propel the EU onto center stage. Revealingly, President Mitterrand’s vision for Europe resembled that of a layered structure: at the center was the Franco-German couple, then a political union for Western Europe, and then a confederacy for all of Europe. The American policy was no different in character: hence President Bush’ stark warning in 1991 to the European allies not to go too far down the European track, the eagerness to secure a united Germany’s inclusion in NATO, and the reluctance to tie the hands on subsequent NATO enlargements in the face of Soviet insistence that this happen. The United States largely won the debate with France, and the debate within the core was settled with the formula for NATO’s Europeanization agreed to in Brussels, January 1994, and in Berlin, June 1996, involving notably the organization of mobile operational Combined Joint Task Force—headquarters (CJTF) and the creation of a greater number of flexible forces for out-of-area operations. Flexible forces and headquarters could reinforce both NATO and the EU, which is to say that their impact depended on politics. Politics seemed momentarily to favor the EU, when the United States failed to take the lead in out-of-area operations in 1992–1993, but the European allies did not respond forcefully to this opportunity to

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substantiate the European pillar. Some rapid reaction forces were created in Europe but inordinate amounts of political energy were channeled into symbolic politics, such as the “star wars” of headquarters’ reforms and also notably the question of political leadership among the Europeans themselves. NATO thus retained its primacy within the core. The periphery was kept in orbit during this time through the North Atlantic Cooperation Council and the Partnership for Peace (PfP). The latter, PfP, represented a compromise between proponents and opponents of enlargement, and in due course the proponents gained the upper hand, leading to NATO’s decision in 1997 to enlarge with three Eastern European countries. The process revealed that the idea of enlargement was opposed but by actors ultimately unable to turn the tide of continental unity: the opponents included the Pentagon that worried that it would be too constrained by fanciful political designs when the chips came down; some European allies, Britain notable among them, who shared the same concern; and Russia who grew increasingly concerned with its location in the periphery of NATO. Chapter 3 opened with an examination of NATO’s intervention in Kosovo. It was the closest NATO had come to fulfilling the promise of collective security: NATO intervened not on behalf of national interests but universal human rights; NATO refused to be blocked by the vetoes of Russia and China and therefore decided on the intervention with just a UN Article 39 resolution as its foundation, effectively substituting itself for the UN; and NATO’s intervention was subsequently supported by the vast majority of European countries. No wonder that some observers saw in this event a glimpse of NATO as the future collective security mechanism in Europe. It was not to be, however. NATO lacked the political determination that arises from the involvement of vital national interests, and NATO forces proved unable to lift the fog of war, which was otherwise the promise held out by the proponents of a technologically inspired revolution in military affairs. The result was a drawn-out campaign that failed to halt the flow of refugees—instead it contributed to it—and which tested the political coherence of the Alliance. The wake of Kosovo and the first ever war fought by NATO therefore challenged to raison d’être of the Alliance. Most allies did not wish to repeat the experience, although their reactions differed. The American reaction was generally one of rejecting this type of war, inviting a type of division of labor across the Atlantic. This was true of the Clinton administration as such, although the Pentagon seemed to be most vocal in its opposition to “war by committee,” and the opposition was sharpened by candidate George W. Bush and, upon his election, by his administration’s political focus: nationbuilding was off the agenda. In France, the new emphasis on “defense capabilities”—both at the national and European level—was confirmed by

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these events and France saw in the emerging division of labor an opportunity for creating a more cohesive European pillar. Britain, in contrast, continued to labor for transatlantic ties and Prime Minister Blair enunciated a doctrine of humanitarian intervention that revealingly sought to tie the concern for human rights to national interests: Blair knew that in cases of armed interventions the former would not work without the latter. Blair’s emphasis on robustness can have caused no raised eyebrows in Paris but must in contrast have been food for thought in other European capitals where national policy traditionally had been anchored in neutrality or “civilian power” policy. The analysis traced these tensions particularly in relation to NATO’s new Strategic Concept that was agreed to at the April 1999 Washington summit. The Concept was built on compromises rather than a unified vision: first in relation to the Alliance’s essential purpose; next in relation to its relation to the UN; finally in relation to the scope and purpose of the European pillar. A division of labor was therefore likely by early to mid-2001 but it was not a done deal, as the conclusion to chapter 3 noted. The reasons were mainly political, and the fact of the matter is that political disagreements caused problems in the engine room where the organization was under reform. The section on the command structure took note of the difficulties of implementing the CJTF, particularly in light of the plan to create three CJTF, a level of ambition driven by symbolic politics. Issues of command revealed in two notable respects that greater flexibility and thus coalition-inspired politics were central to the Alliance. First, the CJTF was increasingly portrayed as tools of crisis management, as opposed to collective defense, and crisis management is by nature agreed to on a case-by-case basis. Second, tactical headquarters located in the force structure proved particularly useful for Kosovo-type operations, indicating that at this level of command nations would not be able to rely on collective structures (i.e., the integrated command structure) but increasingly be forced to resort to national (or multinational) means. The section on force planning likewise noted the way in which responsibility was pushed downwards toward the national level: to the extent that allies wished to gain political influence they had to acquire new military means. The section then also examined the way in which this increased emphasis on new national capabilities provoked a political crisis because, to the consternation of U.S. policy-makers, a majority of European countries felt that the EU might be better able to promote European capabilities. They thus endorsed the capability-focused European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) and rejected the NATO-EU integrated planning model proposed by U.S. Secretary of Defense Cohen in 2000. NATO was thus drifting organizationally toward coalition-type operations but was politically undecided. Relations to Eastern European countries,

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Russia included, did little to clarify the situation: most Eastern European countries supported NATO’s central role in European security but Russia was particularly opposed to NATO’s decision in 1998–1999 to assume collective security responsibilities and Russia’s policy on the EU’s ESDP was deliberately crafted to favor the emergence of a European counterweight to NATO. Chapter 4 argued that NATO’s objective and subjective situations are coming into alignment, although problems persist. In light of the security environment dominated by risks and the collective desire for flexibility, NATO’s only option for the future is one of coalition-making. NATO allies are beginning to support this policy and, to substantiate it, they agreed to a “transformation” agenda at the Prague summit of November 2002, which they confirmed at their summit in Istanbul, June 2004. The agenda is wide-ranging, although the overarching theme is the production of new capabilities for outof-area operations: a new force planning initiative seeks to generate greater political commitments through a type of planning decentralization; several new force headquarters for tactical command are under development; a new response force for very fast reaction-operations is in the making; part of the command structure is now focused on the transformation of capabilities, leaving NATO with just one strategic command headquarters. If implemented, NATO will be slimmer, faster, and more lethal. Moreover, NATO will not necessarily operate as in the past—with decisions being made in the North Atlantic Council and the operation run through the integrated command. Rather, NATO will hover in the background of lead-nation operations, having enabled interoperationability and actively facilitating agreements to support particular missions (i.e., over-flight rights, shared intelligence, back-filling deployments, etc.). The analysis underscored that this transformation is unlikely to be realized in full: nations promise more than they can keep. It is clear that the United States is outspending the European allies and that the aforementioned revolution in military affairs is largely American. The challenge for NATO is therefore to serve as a bridge between the two sides of the Atlantic, which may be possible, and not only because the U.S. defense budget probably has a lot of redundancy built into it and thus because the budget gap might be less alarming than it appears at first sight. A particular cause for optimism is the new and general European concern for defense capabilities, which began at the time of the Kosovo intervention, and the desire of both American and European policy-makers to build national forces that can be meaningfully connected in multinational force packages. Several of NATO’s new force planning initiatives thus dovetail with the EU’s approach to force planning. The EU has had to revise its goal, moving from the ambitious European Rapid Reaction Force (ERRF) of 1999 to the new force goal defined by

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Britain, France, and also Germany—so-called battle groups. Moreover, NATO’s supreme commander (SACEUR) is actively pursuing the realization of the new NATO Response Force (NRF) that notably will upgrade European forces for American-type operations. These two force goals are not identical and tie in with different political visions characteristic of NATO and the EU respectively, but the goals represent the same idea of force generation and packaging and also a desire to bridge the Atlantic rather than creating a clear-cut Atlantic division of labor. The analysis concluded that coalition-making in NATO often will be reluctant, a cause of political stress and a source of media attention and renewed speculation about the foretold death of the Alliance. Still, the analysis also emphasized that these divergences will occur within a design that can contain them: NATO will be organized both to support high intensity U.S. lead-nation operations, which is where the European high-end capabilities become crucial, and to organize European response operations that target conflicts of lower intensity and which play to the strengths of EU foreign policy instruments. To be sure, problems abound. The political and philosophical contentions aroused by the war in Iraq in 2003 and beyond will die hard; European governments continue to care about futile but symbolically important investments—which is the case with the new reaction force headquarters and also the lack of investments in combat support units; SACEUR may be rushing to failure with the NRF, at least in its most modernizing version; and American planners in the Pentagon probably do not go to great lengths to incorporate European participation in war plans and force planning concepts. The reason why continued cooperation nevertheless is the likely scenario is partly that cooperation can happen only in coalitions (i.e. the objective conditions) and that allies are coming to agree that they must cooperate and allow room for disagreement (cf. the subjective conditions). In particular, the United States has found in both Afghanistan and Iraq that nation-building cannot be done unilaterally, and the most buoyant phase of American unilateralism may be about to come to an end. In Europe, governments are coming to realize how difficult it is to build even modest reaction forces, and they are generally cognizant of the limits to an autonomous EU defense: the EU is fragile in terms of cohesion, particularly in the wake of the institution’s enlargement and the uncertain fate of the Constitutional Treaty, it is weak in terms of military capabilities, and it could provoke U.S. hostility. The EU’s defense policy will therefore no doubt have to be carried out by coalitions, which is to say that the EU is subject to the same geopolitical conditions as NATO. NATO may be able to exploit the potential for cooperation inherent in the coalition framework design, which brings us to the wider implications of

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this study. We begin by addressing some issues that touch on the power gap in the NATO debate. The Power Gap The first issue concerns the general realist claim that NATO is either finished or has become a mere instrument in American foreign policy. Apart from the obvious observation that NATO is not finished and that the United States always played a dominant role within NATO and thus always could consider NATO an instrument, the question is whether we have reason to move beyond this view of things. Did we observe a NATO that is more than simply a U.S. instrument? If we did not, then there is no power gap in the literature, and much of the raison d’être of this study falls apart. In the following I synthesize the case for thinking in broader terms within the realist tradition when it comes to analyzing NATO. Proponents of the instrumental power thesis generally come from the American academic environment and while this shared sociological background should be irrelevant compared with the substance of their argument, it is remarkable that the instrumental power thesis finds so few adherents in Europe. It seems both in Europe and the United States that the national context of analysis makes an impact on the analytical argument. Be that as it may, the question is really whether NATO’s continued being can be explained with reference to U.S. unipolarity and thus power asymmetry. To answer in the negative is to argue that the European allies have something the United States needs: the European assets could be political, economic, or military, and the United States could need them for a variety of reasons. The argument could also be that the Europeans have sufficient means to undertake policies that force their way on the U.S. policy agenda, or simply that the United States does not have sufficient power to control European foreign policies. The case has already been made that the United States discovered in Afghanistan and Iraq that it lacks the means to go it alone—or to go it in narrow coalitions: other illustrations of greater symmetry than that allowed by the instrumental power thesis can be found in this analysis. The point is valid both in terms of structural and coercive power. First of all, in terms of structural power, the collective whole of European states possesses considerable power qua their ability to shape the transitions from communism to liberal democracy in the former Soviet bloc. This power is exercised structurally, which is to say that Eastern European states willingly engage in reforms in order to obtain greater access to the EU, ultimately to become members of it. This power matters also within NATO where Turkey is undertaking significant reforms domestically in order to make the case for EU membership and

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uses its NATO position to bargain with European allies. It also matters in relation to the United States because American policy-makers know well that problems in the Balkans, notably in the former Yugoslavia, ultimately must find a political solution. NATO could step in at critical moments to settle violent confrontations, no doubt, but the EU has greater means to undertake a diverse and continuous engagement. U.S. policy-makers are naturally right to argue that the EU should not overlook the importance of maintaining NATO in the background as a credible security option, thus emphasizing the EU’s need to coordinate policy with Washington, but the structural power of the EU in these questions mean, quite simply, that transatlantic bargains are not made as asymmetrically as the instrumental power thesis suggests. In other words, the structural power of the EU is an important factor in the explanation of the turbulence NATO has experienced in relation to the making of its European pillar. It is also key to consider in light of the December 2004 handover of operations from NATO to the EU in Bosnia. In terms of coercive power, the United States is normally cited as a fully fledged power, with the ability to coerce other states by military means, where the EU is described as a military pygmy. This is a fairly accurate description but also one that compares an institution (the EU) that was never designed to do military policy, to a country (the United States) that always did: the impression changes slightly when the focus is moved to NATO where European military means—the instruments of coercion—can make a difference to the United States in two ways, by adding mass in phases of stabilization, and by adding legitimacy by virtue of their participation in high intensity operations. Both aspects are visible in Iraq. Europeans have no structural power in Iraq but they do have means of coercion that can be sent there, and the United States has called for their deployment since American policy-makers discovered that Iraq will tie down a large number of U.S. troops—more than 100,000—also in the long run. European participation at a greater scale than at present would also multinationalize the operation and help prepare the greater involvement of the UN. Europeans do not have coercive means that the United States needs for high intensity combat: as the discussion noted, high intensity in NATO has become a question of Europeans adopting American ways of war and the United States letting Europeans into high intensity coalitions shaped by the overall exigencies of U.S. strategy. In contrast, European coercive means provide leverage in the periphery of high intensity operations—in the preceding phase of dissuasion and deterrence or the subsequent phase of stabilization. High intensity operations are by definition sandwiched between these two phases and it would be inaccurate, therefore, to argue that U.S. military might is the beginning and end of the transatlantic relationship. In fact, Afghanistan and Iraq indicate that these

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distinct phases must be more closely coordinated to increase the likelihood of fairly smooth transitions to a new peace, and with this need the European weight increases. In sum, from the view of structural as well as coercive power, European power and purpose matter, at least more than proponents of the instrumental power thesis are ready to concede. NATO is therefore bound to be an arena of negotiated power, as opposed to an area of imposed U.S. power, and the next question to be addressed here concerns the coherence of the realist argument in light of the challenge of notably constructivist theory: if NATO survives because the purpose of power is interpreted similarly in Europe and the United States, does this not imply that ideas—related to purpose—trump power in the analysis of the Alliance? In other words, can realists study ideas and still be realists? Ideas are important to realism, it should be noted, even if critics tend to argue otherwise in the mistaken belief that realists study only material power. The question is how we go about analyzing ideas: constructivists believe that ideas determine interests; realists believe that ideas interact with interests related to material power. True, some realists leave preciously little scope for ideas to guide security policy: to survive, states must balance each other, according to Kenneth Waltz, or they must go on the offensive, according to John Mearsheimer. But these realist frameworks (defensive and offensive realism, respectively) focus almost exclusively on structure and then deduct policy imperatives from it. Classical realism in contrast builds on the contrast between objective and subjective factors, contending that policy is heavily influenced by national culture and tradition and the collective consciousness that follows from it.1 In the analysis of ideas, classical realism suffers no handicaps. Where classical realism differs from constructivism is in relation to the potential of ideas to transform world politics: anarchy is not simply what states make of it. Anarchy is a fundamental condition because ideas differ and because social groups organize politically—in states, for instance—to protect and promote these ideas, and because world politics thus will be made up of disparate groups motivated by disparate ideas. Classical realism represents at bottom a pluralist view of the world, and classical realists proceed from this founding view to claim that international dynamics will be shaped by the nature of ideas contained in different centers of power: if imperial ambitions are present somewhere, the system will be dominated by clashes between the status quo and imperial revisionism; if such imperial ambitions are absent, the system can be organized around status quo balances of power that may be so widely supported that they become “constitutionalist forms of globalization.”2 In the classical realist lens, therefore, NATO continues to exist because it gathers states sharing a particular status quo conception of the world and who have a geopolitical interest in protecting it. From this simple condition one

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can trace the main debates within the Alliance. For instance, the reason why transatlantic disagreements, vivid as they have been at times, have not resulted in NATO’s demise is the fundamental shared interest in the status quo. France has been the most ardent advocate of internal change and of the EU’s autonomy of NATO, which might indicate that France is a revisionist, albeit a moderate one. A more accurate reading of French policy would be to compare it with that of the United States: both are claiming to advance a pluralist design for the Atlantic area while advancing their national influence. American ideas often prevail for the simple reason that American ideas are backed by more power: but this power and the ability of the United States to sometimes insist on its ideas also fuels the French criticism that U.S. policy in fact in not pluralist but imperialist. We know other European states share the pluralist concern because France alone would not have been able to establish the EU’s ESDP: in fact, the ESDP came about because a significant number of NATO allies agreed, in their capacity as EU members, that new initiatives should be taken outside the NATO framework. Another source of great debate within NATO has been the question of identifying the principal threats to the status quo. In the early 1990s, NATO mostly found cause for concern in Eastern Europe and Russia, fearing the return of these countries to dictatorship and confrontation, and all allies generally agreed that Western engagements in partnership and association programs were desirable (the French-American debate over the relative weight of the EU and NATO in these programs did not concern the idea of engagement as such). However, toward the end of the 1990s disagreements emerged in relation to new asymmetrical threats. The September 11, 2001 attacks produced a clear decision to engage NATO in the fight against international terrorism but still the disagreement remains: the allies are not in agreement on the manifestations of terrorism, their relationship to supposedly revisionist or rogue states, or the most effective strategy for uprooting terrorism. This is to say that “risks” condemn status quo states to experience disagreements, and thus that a coalition design—a design of pluralism—is the only option available to NATO today. This conclusion can and indeed should be reached through an analysis of deeply rooted ideas and national traditions as well as geopolitics. NATO’s Future NATO is on solid ground as long as NATO nations are Western status quo powers; this is the optimistic message to adherents of NATO. However, the message has a warning built into it: status quo powers will constantly be challenged to shape responses to risks, and NATO will prosper only if efforts

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are continuously made to bridge the general desire for the status quo with specific interests related to specific risks. In this final section of the conclusion I outline two general implications of the analysis for NATO’s ability to survive in the years ahead. The first implication concerns the internal organization of the Alliance: NATO must be pluralist or it will not be. A fundamental premise of NATO is American power but the history of NATO since 1989 demonstrates that this power is insufficient to steer the Alliance. NATO is not the mere instrument of U.S. foreign policy and it would be dangerous for the Alliance to pretend it could be. The allied friction over Bosnia in 1992–1993 was rooted in the inability of any one ally to determine allied policy, the United States included: the United States had the power to shape events but, as chapter 2 argued, the United States missed an opportunity to shape events by encouraging the European allies to take the lead in the former Yugoslavia, and their presence on the ground in the Balkans subsequently put strings on the American power. In Kosovo in 1998–1999, NATO allies had consumed the lesson from Bosnia that they should act in unison but when the Milosevic regime did not bow to the onset of the air war, NATO was thrown into a new crisis of leadership: disputes erupted between adherents of tactical and strategic bombing, graduated and massive bombing, while the bombing campaign was poorly coordinated with a threat of a land invasion, and the purpose of the war—to alleviate suffering—proved too vague to guide the subsequent peacekeeping engagement. In Iraq, in 2003, when the United States decided to press ahead with an invasion, thus breaking the past pattern of collective leadership, NATO simply ceased to be of importance to the conflict. The lesson is not that NATO lacks a strong leader (as Republican critics of the Clinton administration were prone to argue)—or the right kind of strong leader (as European critics of President W. Bush would put it): it is that NATO still has not consummated the pluralist idea behind the coalition design. For this to happen, NATO must think of itself as an organization that sponsors operations but does not decide on them or control them. In relation to the Afghan war of late 2001, and in spite of the Alliance’s Article 5 declaration, the United States did not make use of NATO’s lieu of decisionmaking, the North Atlantic Council, nor its means of command, the integrated command structure. This type of reaction is bound to become more frequent and NATO should prepare for it, not least to counter expectations that some allies might have that NATO will act in unison as in the past. NATO’s sponsoring role, in contrast, is visible in the range of NATO activities that make coalition operations possible: these include a dense agenda of political summitry that eases political communication; a force planning

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system that enhances interoperationability and, if it is unlikely to create a seamless force, then informs allies of the strengths and weaknesses of each other and thus the opportunities for choosing useful coalition partners; and regular exercises that ensures a degree of compatibility between doctrines and ways of war. If this was all that there was to NATO’s role as a sponsor, it would be fairly easy to let NATO operate by consensus somewhere in the background while the controversial decision to undertake operations is delegated to coalitions of the willing, but things are not that simple. It is true that decisionmaking power effectively has moved to coalitions but bridges must be built to NATO as a whole for a couple of reasons. First of all because European coalitions are likely to draw on NATO assets whose activation require NATO consensus: it could be the use of CJTF headquarters or of SHAPE for force generation or operational planning. Second, because coalitions can use the NATO label—which continues to be a sign of political solidarity and thus an instrument of deterrence or coercion—only if the collective body of allies agree to it. NATO’s consensus rule has for these reasons become the object of debate within the Alliance. It is too early to tell at what point this debate will reach a conclusion—NATO may indeed manage to introduce measures that allow some degree of force or operational planning to move ahead without a collectively agreed-to political guidance, and interestingly, NATO may adopt a measure of coalition-making known from the EU, a committee of contributors, that takes control of the operation once the collective organization has agreed to this committee’s constitution. These possible reforms should be placed in context, however. NATO nations are not about to renounce on their obligation to act in their national interest, and NATO is not about to adopt decisions by majority. Reforms of the consensus rule will be limited to ensuring the smooth link between NATO and coalitions: fully in line with the distribution of power among the allies, the United States is likely to engage in coalitions that ask for permission to use the NATO brand only, while European allies are likely to ask for more than that, the use of NATO assets, and these allies are therefore also the allies most likely to make use of a committee of contributors scheme. Such a development will reinforce the two-pronged development suggested in chapter 4: NATO sponsoring the ability of individual allies to participate in U.S.-led high intensity operations, and NATO organizing mainly European operations of lower intensity with ties to U.S. operations. The European need for new decision-making rules, such as the committee of contributors, can build on an identical move toward coalition-making within the EU’s ESDP, the latest development of which concerns the making of joint battle groups

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and the recognition of structured cooperation within the EU. The key to this whole process of internal organization is that NATO allies remain cognizant of the pluralist goal: the coalition option applies to all allies, and NATO as a whole can be engaged only if all national perspectives are brought into the decision-making process. In other words, NATO allies must be ready to negotiate over power and purpose within the Alliance, and they should not necessarily see the formation of autonomous coalitions as a diplomatic defeat because NATO will, in many ways, have made the coalition possible in the first instance. European allies have few options except to operate in coalitions: the United States does, and it also has the power to obstruct European coalition-making. By implication, a special burden of leadership responsibilities lies on the shoulders of U.S. policy-makers: they must recognize that a pluralist Alliance is a critical tool in the management of world politics and that stringently unipolar policies will harm the US position in the West and cause the organization of two distinct pillars, one European, the other American. There is another implication for NATO that must be touched upon here, and it concerns the relationship between NATO and its environment, both in terms of enlargement and the fight against terrorism. These two aspects can be said to provide NATO with a new raison d’être: NATO is enlarging the zone of democratic peace and protecting it against new enemies. And one might add that enlargement enables an expanded range of NATO coalitions to ensure protection, bringing the coalition framework full circle. Still, NATO should consider the limits of these engagements. NATO is based on a constellation of objective and subjective factors, and since objective factors favor a coalition-framework organization it is important for the allies to keep subjective factors in line with them. On the one hand this implies, as the preceding discussion underscored, a greater recognition of pluralism within the Alliance; on the other hand it implies that the boundaries of subjective agreement should be carefully guarded. These boundaries are Western, which is to say that the enlargement of NATO should not go beyond the geographical limits that coincide with those of the West. NATO leaders should therefore reflect on the limits of the Western zone because enlargement will soon reach a turning point: it will no longer be the West enlarging but the West merging with the non-West. What is so particular about the West, and why can it not meet and merge with such a country as Russia? The West is perhaps the region in the world most committed to the status quo, more so than other self-declared status quo regions or powers in the world. The reason is straightforward: the global status quo is “the logical culmination of the political history of the West.” The idea of democratizing states comes from recent European

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and American experience; the practice of states entering into contractual relationships, maintaining rules and conventions related to diplomacy, comes from medieval European society; the preference for “verbal imaginary and legal abstractions” comes from the Roman Empire.3 Western states, more than other states from other regions, understand and support the infrastructure of the status quo. Bringing Russia, the Ukraine, or China, or African or Middle Eastern states for that matter into NATO would dilute this understanding and support. Some constructivists and liberalists may hope that continued cooperation and interaction with these countries one day will commit them to the same liberal creed as the Western one: the pluralist, classical realist perspective objects to this thought. States can support the same goal—the status quo— but they cannot be made to replace the concepts that have been shaped over centuries of historical development and which inform current political thinking. It is not that culture determines policy: NATO and Russia might indeed agree to join forces in specific operations and maybe also in a common organization. But culture will limit the extent to which they can agree on the purpose of policy and the incorporation of this purpose in a framework of flexible cooperation (see the analytical dimensions of table 1.2). Instead they would slowly empty a common NATO of meaningful cooperation at practical, military levels and they would politically demand the strict application of equal rules for everyone. NATO would become a collective security organization in name, therefore, but it would be void of an operational sense of purpose and the real lieu of security cooperation would reappear in new “pillars”—for instance, in a Russian/Eastern European, a Western European, and an American.4 With the exception of some small Balkan states that may still make it into the Alliance, NATO has therefore reached the geographical limits within which it can nourish the “directional ethos” that has been found to be critical to the stability of international systems.5 This is also to say that it might be too early to announce the death or demise of the West as a unit in world politics, as skeptics otherwise do with particular reference to the debacle over Iraq in 2003. This debacle was caused by the elusive nature of the terrorist risk. Still, terrorism, at least in the shape of international terrorism inspired by Islamism, targets Western society and thereby contributes to the shared sense of values within it. For NATO, the implication comes in two layers: terrorism can reinforce the commitment to maintaining a common forum sponsoring coalition-making; but the geopolitical interests of nations will drive the making of specific coalitions. Flexible cooperation, it should be recalled, is a type of commitment and needs to be renewed as do all commitments. NATO can do this, but it

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should not hype the terrorist danger because the vague nature of terrorism will then increase the potential for agonizing disputes among allies. NATO’s recipe for realizing the objective potential for coalition-making is to acknowledge terrorism as a risk and then let a geographically limited but pluralist organization become the launching pad for operations initiated by the able and willing.

Notes

Chapter 1 Alliances and Change 1. House of Commons Hansard Debates for April 12, 1994, http://www. parliament.the-stationery-office.co.uk/pa/cm199394/cmhansrd/1994-04-12/ Debate-1.html. 2. The Guardian, “The UN Decides Against New Strikes on Serbs,” April 16, 1994, p. 12. 3. NATO, Prague Summit Declaration: Issued by the Heads of State and Government participating in the meeting of the North Atlantic Council in Prague on 21 November 2002, NATO Press Release (2002)127, November 21, 2002, paragraphs 1 and 3. This and other NATO documents are available at http://www.nato.int 4. Speech by NATO Secretary General Lord Robertson to the NATO Parliamentary Assembly, Prague, May 26, 2003. 5. A New Atlanticism for the 21st Century, Istanbul, June 27, 2004. 6. NATO, Study on NATO Enlargement (Brussels: NATO, 1995), paragraph 2 (emphasis added). 7. Thomas Risse-Kappen, Cooperation Among Democracies: The European Influence on U.S. Foreign Policy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), and “Collective Identity in a Democratic Community: The Case of NATO” in The Culture of National Security: Norms and Identity in World Politics, ed. Peter J. Katzenstein (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), pp. 357–399. 8. Thomas Risse, “US Power in a Liberal Security Community” in America Unrivaled: The Future of the Balance of Power, ed. G. John Ikenberry (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2002), pp. 260–283. 9. Steve Weber, “Shaping the Postwar Balance of Power: Multilateralism in NATO,” International Organization 46/3 (Summer 1992), pp. 633–681, at p. 679. 10. Mark Webber, Stuart Croft, Jolyon Howorth, Terry Terriff, and Elke Krahmann, “The Governance of European Security,” Review of International Studies 30/1 (January 2004), pp. 3–26. 11. See Samuel P. Huntington, “Response: If Not Civilizations, What?,” Foreign Affairs 72/5 (November/December 1993), pp. 186–195, at p. 188. This followed an exchange of views concerning his earlier article, “The Clash of Civilizations?,” Foreign Affairs 72/3 (Summer 1993), pp. 22–49.

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12. James Gow, Defending the West (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005), p. 79. 13. Henry A. Kissinger and Lawrence H. Summers, chairs, Renewing the Atlantic Partnership: Report of an Independent Task Force Sponsored by the Council on Foreign Relations (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 2004), p. 4. The latter citation used here is in italics in the report. 14. John S. Duffield, “NATO’s Functions after the Cold War,” Political Science Quarterly 109/5 (Winter 1994–1995), pp. 763–787. 15. Robert B. McCalla, “NATO’s Persistence after the Cold War,” International Organization 50/3 (Summer 1996), pp. 445–475. 16. See the introduction and conclusion by Mark R. Brawley and Pierre Martin in their edited work, Alliance Politics, Kosovo, and NATO’s War: Allied Force or Forced Allies? (New York: Palgrave, 2000). 17. Wallace J. Thies, Friendly Rivals: Bargaining and Burden-Shifting in NATO (Armonk, NY: M.E.Sharpe, 2003), pp. xiv and 282–284. 18. Celeste A. Wallander, “Institutional Assets and Adaptability: NATO after the Cold War,” International Organization 54/4 (Autumn 2000), pp. 705–735. 19. Celeste A. Wallander and Robert O. Keohane, “Risk, Threat, and Security Institutions” in Imperfect Unions: Security Institutions over Time and Space, ed. Helga Haftendorn, Robert O. Keohane, and Celeste A. Wallander (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 21–47. 20. G. John Ikenberry, After Victory: Institutions, Strategic Restraint, and the Rebuilding of Order after Major Wars (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001). The theoretical points emphasized here are found on pp. 16–17; the citations concerning NATO on pp. 248–249. 21. David P. Calleo, “The Broken West,” Survival 46/3 (Autumn 2004) pp. 29–38; see also his “Transatlantic Folly: NATO vs. the EU,” World Policy Journal 20/3 (Fall 2003), pp. 17–24. 22. Ivo H. Daalder, “The End of Atlanticism,” Survival 45/2 (Summer 2003), pp. 147–166. 23. Philip H. Gordon, “NATO After 11 September,” Survival 43/4 (Winter 2001–2002), pp. 1–18. 24. James B. Steinberg, “An Elective Partnership: Salvaging Transatlantic Relations,” Survival 45/2 (Summer 2003), pp. 113–146. 25. Richard Lugar, “Nation-Building is a Role for Nato,” Financial Times, May 29, 2003, p. 19. 26. Steinberg, “An Elective Partnership,” pp. 113–146. 27. Paula J. Dobriansky, “NATO in the Twenty-First Century: Challenges and Opportunities” in NATO at Fifty: Perspectives on the Future of the Atlantic Alliance, ed. Susan Eisenhower (Washington: Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1999), pp. 51–59, at p. 52. 28. John J. Mearsheimer, “Back to the Future: Instability in Europe after the Cold War,” International Security 15/1 (Summer 1990), pp. 5–56. 29. Kenneth N. Waltz, “The Emerging Structure of International Politics,” International Security 18/2 (Fall 1993), p. 75.

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30. Kenneth N. Waltz, “Structural Realism after the Cold War,” International Security 25/1 (Summer 2000), p. 20; John J. Mearsheimer, The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (New York: W.W. Norton, 2001), pp. 379–380. 31. Mearsheimer also advocates this policy, as long as Europe does not seem to be breeding a new hegemon that over time could become an American rival. The Tragedy of Great Power Politics, note 30, pp. 390–396. 32. See Ted Galen Carpenter, “Kosovo as an Omen: The Perils of the ‘New NATO,’ ” pp. 171–183, at p. 174, and Jonathan G. Clarke, “Silver Lining: Renewed Interests in European-Run Security Institutions,” pp. 155–169, at p. 160, in NATO’s Empty Victory: A Postmortem on the Balkan War, ed. Ted Galen Carpenter (Washington: Cato Institute, 2000). 33. Stephen M. Walt, “The Ties that Fray,” The National Interest no. 54 (Winter 1998–1999), pp. 3–11. 34. Stephen M. Walt, “Additional View,” pp. 29–30 in Kissinger, Renewing the Atlantic Partnership. 35. Stephen M. Walt, “Why Alliances Endure or Collapse,” Survival 39/1 (Spring 1997), p. 173. 36. François L. J. Heisbourg, “A New Division of Labor for a New NATO” in NATO at Fifty: Perspectives on the Future of the Atlantic Alliance, note 27, pp. 171–177, and ABC Online, March 12, 2003, http://www.abc.net.au/pm/ content/s805539.htm. 37. Peter Van Ham, “Security and Culture: or, Why NATO Won’t Last,” Security Dialogue 32/4 (December 2001), pp. 393–406. 38. Dominique Moïsi, “Response: The Real Crisis Over the Atlantic, Foreign Affairs 80/4 (July/August 2001), pp. 149–153. 39. Donald J. Puchala, “The Atlantic Community in the Age of International Terrorism,” Journal of Transatlantic Studies, special issue 3/1 (Spring 2005), pp. 89–105. 40. Robert Kagan, Paradise and Power: America and Europe in the New World Order (London: Atlantic Books, 2003), pp. 11 and 82. This book builds on Kagan’s earlier article, “Power and Weakness,” Policy Review no. 113 (June 2002). 41. Robert Kagan, “Renewing US Legitimacy,” Foreign Affairs 83/2 (March/April 2004), pp. 65–87. 42. Charles A. Kupchan, The End of the American Era: U.S. Foreign Policy and the Geopolitics of the Twenty-First Century (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2002), p. 268. 43. Charles A. Kupchan, “Reviving the West,” Foreign Affairs 75/3 (May/June 1996), pp. 92–104. 44. Kenneth N. Waltz, Theory of International Politics (Reading, MA: AddisonWesley, 1979), p. 121. 45. Paul Cornish, Partnership in Crisis: The US, Europe and the Fall and Rise of NATO (London: RIIA, 1997), p. 10. 46. Hans Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace (Boston: McGraw Hill, 1993), revised by Kenneth W. Thompson, pp. 188–192.

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47. Arnold Wolfers, “The Pole of Power and the Pole of Indifference,” World Politics 4/1 (October 1951), pp. 39–63, at p. 44. Raymond Aron speaks likewise of the indeterminacy of politico-strategic affairs, Paix et guerre entre les nations (Paris: Clamann-Lévy, 1984), p. 97 ff. Morgenthau also noted that revisionism has many causes and did not elaborate a theory of revisionism, Politics Among Nations, pp. 65–67. 48. For an assessment of the theoretical state of affairs, see Gideon Rose, “Neoclassical Realism and Theories of Foreign Policy,” World Politics 51/1 (October 1998), p. 165. For a recent attempt to theorize the roots of revisionism, nevertheless, see Jason W. Davidson, “The Roots of Revisionism: Fascist Italy, 1922–39,” Security Studies 11/4 (Summer 2002) p. 125–159. 49. Randall L. Schweller, “Bandwagoning for Profit: Bringing the Revisionist State Back In,” International Security no. 19 (Summer 1994), pp. 72–107; “Neorealism’s Status-Quo Bias: What Security Dilemma?,” Security Studies no. 5 (Spring 1996), pp. 90–121; Deadly Imbalances: Tripolarity and Hitler’s Strategy of World Conquest (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998). 50. Schweller, “Bandwagoning for Profit,” p. 100. 51. For a wider examination of the problem see Stefano Guzzini and Sten Rynning, “Réalisme et analyse de la politique étrangère” in Politique Étrangère: Nouveaux regards ed. Frédéric Charillon (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 2002), pp. 33–63. The recognition that sources of revisionism or satisfaction are difficult if not impossible to theorize does not preclude the effort to theorize what happens within a given distribution of revisionist and satisfied states. For this positivist approach, see power transition theory, especially A. F. K. Organski, World Politics (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1968); Woosang Kim, “Alliance Transitions and Great Power War,” American Journal of Political Science 35/4 (November 1991), pp. 833–850; Douglas Lemke and William Reed, “Regime Types and Status Quo Evaluations: Power Transition Theory and the Democratic Peace,” International Interactions 22/2 (1996), pp. 143–164. Still, power transition’s theoretical efforts have been criticized for failing to properly identify state satisfaction and thus to theorize satisfaction and revisionism. See Indra de Soysa, John R. Oneal, and Yong-Hee Park, “Testing Power Transition Theory Using Alternative Measures of National Capabilities,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 41/4 (1997), pp. 171–184; and the exchange provoked by this article: Douglas Lemke and William Reed, “Power is Not Satisfaction,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 42/4 (August 1998), pp. 511–516, and John R. Oneal, Indra de Soysa, and Yong-Hee Park, “But Power and Wealth Are Satisfying,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 42/4 (August 1998), pp. 517–520. 52. Osgood, NATO, The Entangling Alliance (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1962) p. 354. 53. Colin Gray, Modern Strategy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 17. 54. In the post–World War II era, strategic studies went through a golden age based on sensitivity to politics, but the field then abandoned this sensitivity and resorted to theoretical modeling and abstraction to capture the Cold War nuclear stand-off. Critics of strategic studies therefore argued that strategic studies was a narrow field, and they found cause for alternative theorizing first in détente and then with

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57. 58.

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the end of the Cold War. Critics today argue that strategy should be conceived of as an art of choosing security objectives, reducing the choice of means, including military ones, to the level of tactics. See, e.g., Charles-Philippe David, La guerre et la paix. Approches contemporaines de la sécurité et de la stratégie (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 2000). A new field of “critical” security studies therefore defines security not only in military but also societal, economic, and environmental terms. See, e.g., Barry Buzan, Ole Wæver, and Jaap de Wilde, Security: A New Framework for Analysis (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1998). However, there is no reason to go this far in the effort to revive strategic studies’ past sensitivity to politics because important insights in relation to the core—the study of the use of military force— will be lost. Stephen Walt warns of the postmodern temptation to criticize at the expense of comprehension, and instead urges scholars in the field to investigate, among other things, grand strategies in order to examine the conditions under which states should employ military force in the post–Cold War era. Richard Betts warns that international peace does not render the study of military force obsolete and he makes the case for a new International Political-Military academic discipline founded on strategic studies. Stephen Walt, “The Renaissance of Security Studies,” International Studies Quarterly 35/2 (June 1991), pp. 211–239, at pp. 223 and 226; Richard Betts, “Should Strategic Studies Survive?,” World Politics 50/1 (October 1997), pp. 7–33, at p. 28. André Beaufre, Introduction à la stratégie (Pluriel: Paris, 1998), pp. 32–36. Christopher Coker, “Risk Management Goes Global,” Spiked Politics April 29, 2002, http://www.spiked-online.co.uk/Articles/00000006D8BB.htm; also “Globalisation and Insecurity in the Twenty-first Century: NATO and the Management of Risk,” Adelphi Paper no. 345 (London: The International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2002). Wallander and Keohane, “Risk, Threat, and Security Institutions,” pp. 24–27. Hans Morgenthau distinguished between policies of the status quo, of imperialism— designed to overthrow the status quo, and of prestige—designed to impress other states with one’s own power. Raymond Aron likewise operated with three basic motives: a conservative status quo policy, an expansionist power policy, and a jealous policy of glory. Finally, Arnold Wolfers used “self-preservation” to describe status quo policies, “self-extension” to describe the ambition, ultimately, of “world domination,” and finally “self-abnegation” to describe situations in which universal and global values take precedence over national interests. In modern classical realism three have become four: Randall Schweller uses “lions” and “lambs” to describe respectively strong and weak status quo players, and “wolves” and “jackals” likewise for revisionist players. Hans Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations, pp. 27 ff.; Raymond Aron, Paix et guerre pp. 81–102; Arnold Wolfers, “The Pole of Power and the Pole of Indifference,” pp. 50–53; Schweller, “Bandwagoning for Profit,” p. 100. Schweller, Deadly Imbalances, p. 22. This classical realist statement may sound more obvious than it is. A neorealist, like Kenneth Waltz, would disagree because the glue of an alliance is said to be power: once the power to be balanced disappears so the alliance disappears, irrespective of other state goals. A realist like

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Stephen Walt, inspired by neorealism, would also disagree because the glue of an alliance is said to be threats: once the external threat disappears so the alliance disappears, again irrespective of other state goals. Balance-of-interest theory tells us that alliances can survive changes in power or threat. It also tells us that diverging motives can undermine an alliance, even if there is no change in power or threat. In between these two extremes of success and failure we find a number of shocks diverging interests may generate. For instance, a military guidance can be undermined if allies disagree over the extent to which the Alliance should take on an extraterritorial role. Some allies may strongly advocate this role on the ground that certain values and interests should be “extended,” and call for an offensive doctrine with concomitant military missions. Other allies may agree on “extension” but only in the context of universal principles—inspired by “selfabnegation”—and may therefore call for a different doctrinal blend of offensive and deterrent missions. Yet other allies may conceivably be interested primarily in territorial defense and doctrines based on defense and deterrence. Neorealists argue that status quo powers will “balance” because balances confer the security status quo powers seek. Stephen Walt, working within neorealism, actually did introduce another alliance option, bandwagoning, which was later exploited further by Schweller. In propagating balance-of-interest theory, Schweller criticizes Walt for confusing bandwagoning with strategic surrender and extends the framework of alliance dynamics by introducing the revisionist motive of profit. Schweller, “Bandwagoning for Profit,” p. 105. Randall L. Schweller, “New Realist Research on Alliances: Refining, Not Refuting, Waltz’s Balancing Proposition,” American Political Science Review 91/4 (December 1997), pp. 927–930, at p. 929. Wallander and Keohane, “Risk, Threat, and Security Institutions,” p. 26. Inclusion in this text refers to a very cohesive instance of cooperation (all states agree) where “inclusive participation” refers to a difficult balancing act (potentially hostile states seeking to get along). As noted above in relation to threats and risks, Wallander and Keohane’s definitions are tied to their argument that institutions make a difference—for instance by increasing information flows between these potentially hostile states seeking to get along. By a strict logic of military cooperation or confrontation, such a loose form of cooperation is unlikely because it falls in between basic options. However, “Today, many other factors aside from military strength and ideological appeal have become the means of achieving international status and winning respect,” the implication of which is that we must avoid a “military, brute-force” view of international politics. See Randall Schweller, “Realism and the Present Great Power System: Growth and Positional Conflict over Scarce Resources” in Unipolar Politics: Realism and State Strategies After the Cold War ed. Ethan B. Kapstein and Michael Mastanduno (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), pp. 28–68. Schweller does not address alliances in this article but his point is applicable. For instance, states may face a difficult challenge of continuing cooperation in the face of a threat that is not fully shared by all of them but still agree to continue security cooperation because it is perceived to confer a range of

Notes

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65.

66. 67.

68. 69. 70. 71.

72. 73.

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positional goods that secure the position of these states in the stratification of power and prestige internationally. See the discussion of the guarded optimism of some realists on pp. 3–5; especially Calleo, “The Broken West” and “Transatlantic Folly;” and Kissinger and Summers, Renewing the Atlantic Partnership. See for instance Brian Efird, Jacek Kugler, and Gaspare M. Genna, “From War to Integration: Generalizing Power Transition Theory,” International Interactions 29/4 (2003), pp. 293–313. It follows that friendly competition will be reduced—and conceivably even result in integration—if the power hierarchy is ordered; if “the dominant nation is at least twenty percent stronger than any contender.” Ibid., p. 295. Other dynamics than friendly competition and integration enter the analysis if the basic adherence to the status quo disappears: this possibility of conflict is captured in this framework with reference to deep splits among national motives. Wallander and Keohane, “Risk, Threat, and Security Institutions,” figure 1.1, p. 27. Some might argue that the Cold War had both alliances (NATO and the Warsaw Pact) and collective security (the UN). This would muddle the debate because it is either one or the other. Put differently, if a single case (such as the Cold War) can fall into several analytical categories in a matrix, then the matrix is flawed. The argument is therefore be that there are instances of states threatening each other and of these states deciding to place their trust not in alliance but in collective security mechanisms. Hence the “neo–neo” debate between neorealists and neoliberals on the impact of anarchy and institutions on states and state cooperation. Robert E. Osgood, NATO, p. 7. John S. Duffield, Power Rules: The Evolution of NATO’s Conventional Force Posture (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995), p. 10. One might note that the public aspect mentioned by Osgood is similar to Morgenthau’s policy of “prestige” whose purpose is to “impress other nations with the power one’s own nation actually possesses, or with the power it believes, or wants the other nations to believe, it possesses.” Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations, p. 85. All quotes in the following sentences are from Osgood, NATO, p. 7. Barry Posen distinguishes between three military doctrines—“military methods”: offensive, defensive, and deterrent. The Sources of Military Doctrine: France, Britain, and Germany between the World Wars (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1984). John Duffield’s approach to an alliance’s strategic components is slightly different because he discards Osgood’s fourth component, “public declarations,” and maintains a stringent focus on the internal logic of allied planning. Duffield’s four dimensions, which are comprised in Osgood’s first three, are: identification of the objectives of military strategy; assessment of the military threat; identification of likely military responses; and planning for the acquisition of needed weapons and forces. Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), pp. 218–220.

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76. Robert Jervis, “From Balance to Concert: A Study of International Security Cooperation,” World Politics 38/1 (October 1985), pp. 58–79, at p. 61. 77. Kissinger thus writes that a concert—or, in his analysis of nineteenth-century Europe, a Conference system—cannot be based solely on a “desire for peace”— i.e., status quo motives. He criticizes the British foreign secretary, Castlereagh, for falling prey to this tempting thought and overlooking the fact that concerts build on specific and explicit threats. The European Conference system emerged in reaction to the forces unleashed by the French Revolution. See Henry Kissinger, A World Restored: Metternich, Castlereagh and the Problems of Peace, 1812–1822 (London: Phoenix Press, 2000), pp. 186–187. 78. In Kissinger’s account of nineteenth-century Europe, a decisive difference developed between Britain’s preference for limiting the scope of physical aggression and the continental powers’ preference for preventing aggression from taking place at all. A World Restored, p. 228. 79. Stephen M. Walt, “Multilateral Collective Security Arrangements” in Security Studies for the 1990s ed. Richard Shultz, Roy Godson, and Ted Greenwood (Washington: Brassey’s, 1993), pp. 241–269. 80. Walt, “Multilateral Collective Security Arrangements,” p. 254. 81. This is where Wallander and Keohane’s classification becomes problematic: they tie collective security to “inclusive participation” but also “threat.” 82. Charles A. Kupchan and Clifford A. Kupchan, “Concerts, Collective Security, and the Future of Europe,” International Security 16/1 (Summer 1991), pp. 114–161, at p. 124. Kupchan and Kupchan present collective security and concerts as alternatives to realist-type security cooperation, such as balances of power. Still, the argument of these authors that the size and motivation of great powers represent the key to order is certainly compatible with classical realism and balance-of-interest theory. 83. Part of the discussion here reflects the alliance literature concerned with the distinction between tightly integrated and pluralistic alliances. Some scholars working with this question have argued that pluralistic alliances have greater vitality. The concern with pluralism is similar but the focus on alliances is not: these scholars continue to operate within a context of “threats” whereas the coalition concept developed here places pluralism within a different context of “risks,” and the hypothesized relationships of the “pluralist alliances” literature are thus not directly applicable. Finally, it should be noted also that the use of “coalition” here is unrelated to the literature arguing that coalitions form during wars and increase in size only to the point where they are big enough to win. For an overview of both literatures, see Ole R. Holsti, P. Terrence Hopmann, and John D. Sullivan, Unity and Disintegration in International Alliances: Comparative Studies (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1973). 84. Studies inspired by liberal theory often posit that organizations significantly affect alliance continuity and change. Thus, Robert McCalla outlines a typical behavioral pattern of organizations faced with turbulence in their environment. Organization officials will first meet such external change with a denial that the organization needs to change. Then, if the pressure continues, the organization may “affirm” the value of the organization to new audiences before finally engaging

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in the task of modifying roles or generating new ones. Robert B. McCalla, “NATO’s Persistence after the Cold War,” International Organization 50/3 (Summer 1996), pp. 445–476, at p. 458. 85. David Yost, NATO Transformed: The Alliance’s New Roles in International Security (Washington DC: United States Institute of Peace, 1998). 86. This method of comparing instances of NATO evolution corresponds to the “heuristic” case study approach commended by Alexander L. George in “Case Studies and Theory Development: The Method of Structured, Focused Comparison” in Diplomacy: New Approaches in History, Theory, and Policy ed. Paul Gordon Lauren (New York: Free Press, 1979), pp. 43–68. A heuristic case study falls between the explanation of a unique case in idiosyncratic terms and the explanation of cases in terms of general variables. It goes beyond idiosyncrasy and does not merely seek to explain particular outcomes: it aims “to discern important new general problems, identify possible theoretical solutions, and formulate potentially generalizable relations that were not previously apparent.” George, ibid., p. 51, italics in original. In terms of this study, the ambition is to discern the interaction of dimensions of strategy and the implications for alliances.

Chapter 2 The Ambiguous Alliance, 1989–1997 1. Cited by Hubert Védrine in Les Mondes de François Mitterrand: À l’Elysée 1981–1995 (Paris: Fayard, 1996), p. 641. 2. Richard Holbrook, To End A War (New York: Random House, 1998), p. 358. 3. The North Atlantic Treaty’s Article 6 defines this area essentially as the national territories north of the Tropic of Cancer. Forces, vessels, or aircraft in the Mediterranean and the North Atlantic are included as well. 4. Frode Liland, “NATO’s Non-Policy on Out-Of-Area Issues” in A History of NATO: The First Fifty Years, ed. Gustav Schmidt, vol. 1 (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 173–189, at p. 176. 5. PBS Frontline, “Interview with Secretary of State James Baker,” published January 1996 and updated July 2001, http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/ gulf/oral/baker/1.html. 6. See for instance Joyce P. Kaufman, NATO and the Former Yugoslavia: Crisis, Conflict, and the Atlantic Alliance (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002), pp. 79–81. 7. Ibid., p. 81. 8. Mats Bredal, “From Operation ‘Maritime Monitor’ to ‘Allied Force’: Reflections on Relations Between NATO and the United Nations in the 1990s” in A History of NATO, pp. 57–69, at p. 59. 9. United Nations Security Council, Resolution 816 (1993), March 31, 1993, and Resolution 836 (1993), June 4, 1993. These and other resolutions are available at http://www.un.org/Docs/sc/unsc_resolutions.html. 10. Ibid., p. 60. UNPROFOR, United Nations Protection Force, was initially established, in early 1992, to stabilize Croatia but was during the course of that year drawn into BH and ended up being responsible for the delivery of humanitarian aid throughout BH.

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11. NATO, Press Statement by the Secretary General, August 2, 1993. 12. The Netherlands Institute for War Documentation in April 2002 published a government-commissioned report on the Srebrenica affair, which was subsequently translated into English: Srebrenica a ‘Safe’ Area: Reconstruction, Background, Consequences and Analyses of the Fall of a Safe Area. http://www.srebrenica.nl/en/ a_index.htm. See especially Part III. 13. Kaufman, NATO and the Former Yugoslavia, p. 104. 14. Richard Holbrooke recounts how President Clinton reacted with surprise when he was told of the implications of these NATO plans (and thus commitments) in June 1995. Holbrooke was backed by Secretary of State Christopher who simply stated that “we have a problem.” Holbrooke, To End a War, p. 68. 15. Douglas T. Stuart, “The United States and NATO Out-Of-Area Disputes: Does the Cold War Provide Precedents, or Merely Prologue?” in A History of NATO, pp. 126–127. 16. NATO see London Declaration on a Transformed Atlantic Alliance, July 5–6, 1990, paragraph 3, Rome Declaration on Peace and Cooperation, November 8, 1991, paragraph 6, Declaration of the Heads of State and Government Participating in the North Atlantic Council, Brussels, 10–11 January 1994, paragraph 4. 17. NATO Ministerial Meeting of the North Atlantic Council, Berlin, 3 June 1996, Final Communiqué, paragraph 7. 18. This phrase also found its way into the ministerial conclusion, ibid. 19. Capabilities refer to services such as air lift, intelligence gathering, or surveillance, while assets refer to the physical resources that are needed to carry these out. 20. For this discussion, see Rachel Anne Lutz, Military Capabilities for a European Defence (Copenhagen: DUPI, 2001), pp. 18–22. 21. NATO Declaration of the Heads of State and Government, Brussels, 10–11 January 1994. 22. See the article by Anthony Cragg, then NATO’s Assistant Secretary General for Defence Planning and Policy, “The Combined Joint Task Force Concept: A Key Component in the Alliance’s Adaptation,” NATO Review 44/4 (July 1996), pp. 7–10. 23. See Stanley Sloan, NATO, The European Union, and the Atlantic Community: The Transatlantic Bargain Rediscovered (Lanham, ML: Rowman and Littlefield, 2003), p. 170. 24. See paragraph 20 of NATO’s London Declaration on a Transformed Atlantic Alliance, July 5–6, 1990. 25. See in particular paragraph 9 of NATO’s Final Communiqué of the Defence Planning Committee and Nuclear Planning Group, Brussels, 28–29 May 1991. 26. Frank Boland, “Force-planning in the new NATO,” NATO Review 46/3 (1998), pp. 32–35. 27. The issue of force planning in the context of NATO—EU/WEU relations is more thoroughly analyzed in Sten Rynning, The Transatlantic Link and European Security: Defense Capabilities in Old or New Bottles? NATO-EAPC Fellowship Report, October 2002.

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28. Western European Union, WEU Ostend Declaration, November 19, 1996, http://www.weu.int/documents/961119en.pdf, paragraphs 14 and 15. 29. Western European Union, WEU Rhodos Declaration, May 11–12, 1998, http://www.weu.int/documents/980511.en.pdf, paragraph 14. 30. NATO London Declaration on a Transformed Atlantic Alliance, July 5–6, 1990. 31. See Sloan, NATO, The European Union, pp. 134–135. 32. NATO Partnership with the Countries of Eastern and Central Europe, Statement issued by the North Atlantic Council Meeting in Ministerial Session in Copenhagen, June 6–7, 1991. 33. NATO Rome Declaration on Peace and Cooperation, November 8, 1991. 34. Allen G. Sens, “From Collective Defense to Cooperative Security? The New NATO and Nontraditional Challenges and Mission” in NATO After Fifty Years, ed. S. Victor Papacosma et al. (Wilmington, DL: SR Books, 2001), pp. 165–189, at pp. 172–173. 35. NATO Partnership for Peace: Framework Document, Annex to Communiqué M1(94)2, January 10, 1994, paragraph 3. 36. NATO Partnership for Peace: Invitation, Press Communiqué M-1(94)2, January 10, 1994, citations are from the first two paragraphs. 37. Sloan, NATO, The European Union, p. 140. 38. James M. Goldgeier, Not Whether but When: The U.S. Decision to Enlarge NATO (Washington: Brookings, 1999). 39. See Sten Rynning, “A Balancing Act: Russia and the Partnership for Peace,” Cooperation and Conflict 31/2 (June 1996), pp. 211–234. 40. Financial Times, “Old Enemies Make Tricky Friends,” June 9, 1994. 41. Rynning, “A Balancing Act,” p. 219. 42. See The Independent, “Russia and NATO Enter New Détente,” May 28, 1997. 43. For a discussion of the role of Article 5 and 1 during the founding negotiations, see Dean Acheson, Present at the Creation: My Years in the State Department (New York: W.W. Norton, 1987), pp. 280–281. 44. Lord Ismay, NATO: The First Five Years, 1949–1954 (Netherlands: Utrecht, 1954), pp. 23–28. 45. NATO The Alliance’s New Strategic Concept, November 7–8, 1991. Past strategic documents have since been made available by NATO: Gregory W. Pedlow, The Evolution of NATO Strategy, 1949–1969, http://www.nato.int/archives/ strategy.htm. 46. “The Construction of NATO’s Medium Term Defence Plan and the Diplomacy of Conventional Strategy, 1949–50,” Diplomacy & Statecraft 22/2(June 2001), pp. 79–124. 47. Rob de Wijk, NATO on the Brink of the New Millennium: The Battle for Consensus (London: Brassey’s, 1997), p. 32. 48. Paragraph 15 of the Strategic Concept. 49. The quotations are from the Rome Declaration issued in parallel to the Strategic Concept in November 1991. 50. The quotation is from paragraph 42 of the Strategic Concept.

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51. De Wijk, NATO on the Brink, p. 23. 52. For Mitterrand’s policy, see chapter 6 in Ronald Tiersky, François Mitterrand: The Last French President (New York: St. Martin’s, 2000) as well as Jacques Rupnik, “La France de Mitterrand et les pays de l’Europe du Centre-Est” in Mitterrand et la sortie de la guerre froide, ed. Samy Cohen (Paris: PUF, 1998), pp. 189–216. Tiersky notes that Mitterrand the realist during “a notorious unguarded moment” argued that it would be “decades and decades” before the Eastern European countries would qualify for membership in the core, p. 165. 53. One could argue that Mitterrand’s design consisted of a Franco-German core within a European federation within a European confederation. 54. De Wijk, NATO on the Brink, p. 41. 55. Gabriel Robin, “To the Editor,” Survival 38/2 (1996), pp. 188–189. 56. François Mitterrand, De l’Allemagne, de la France (Paris: Odile Jacob, 1996), p. 138. 57. See for instance William E. Paterson, “Germany and Europe” in The New Europe, ed. Johanthan Story (London: Blackwell, 1993), pp. 165–184, at p. 179. 58. Lawrence Freedman, “Germany: New Frontline State,” The Independent, October 3, 1990. 59. The Guardian, “NATO will scrap ‘cold war relics,’ ” September 13, 1991; The Financial Times, “France Questions Plan for NATO Link with East,” November 7, 1991. 60. George Bush and Brent Scowcroft, A World Transformed (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1998), p. 236. 61. Ibid., pp. 237–240. 62. See e.g., The Guardian, “Germany Pushes NATO Further East,” January 8, 1992. 63. The Independent, “EC Ambitions Threaten NATO, Bush Warns,” November 8, 1991. 64. Hubert Védrine, Les mondes de François Mitterrand (Paris: Fayard, 1998), p. 467. 65. Douglas T. Stuart, “The United States and NATO Out-Of-Area Disputes: Does the Cold War Provide Precedents, or Merely Prologue?” in A History of NATO, p. 133. 66. Hall Gardner, “NATO and the UN: The Contemporary Relevance of the 1949 North Atlantic Treaty” in A History of NATO, pp. 42–43. 67. Ibid., p. 340 (note 10). 68. Bush and Scowcroft, A World Transformed, p. 457. 69. Sloan, NATO, the European Union, pp. 93–94. 70. Financial Times, “Still Divided Over Calling the Shots: Nato’s Credibility is at Stake in Sarajevo, but Internal Uncertainty Remains,” August 14, 1993. 71. Johanthan Dean, Ending Europe’s Wars: The Continuing Search for Peace and Security (New York: Twentieth Century Fund, 1994), p. 255. 72. North Atlantic Council, Final Communiqué, June 4, 1992, paragraph 11. 73. Ibid., p. 229. 74. North Atlantic Council, Final Communiqué, December 17, 1992, paragraph 4. 75. On the negotiation positions, see Mats Berdal, “From Operation ‘Maritime Monitor,’ ” 63–64, as well as the Financial Times, ibid.

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76. See Kaufman, NATO and the Former Yugoslavia, pp. 100–102. 77. This section draws on Sten Rynning, The Transatlantic Link and European Security, pp. 10–19. 78. NATO Defense Planning Committee, Final Communiqué, Brussels, November 28–29, 1989. 79. Martin A. Smith, NATO in the First Decade after the Cold War (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2000), p. 88. 80. Jan Willem Honig, “The ‘Renationalization’ of Western European Defense,” Security Studies 2/1 (Autumn 1992), pp. 122–138. 81. Smith, NATO in the First Decade, pp. 68–69. 82. Michel Fortmann, “NATO Defense Planning in a Post-CFE Environment: Assessing the Alliance Strategy Review (1990–1991),” in Homeward Bound? Allied Forces in the New Germany, ed. David G. Haglund and Olaf Mager (Boulder: Westview Press, 1992), pp. 41–62. 83. De Wijk, NATO on the Brink, pp. 13–17. 84. NATO The Alliance’s New Strategic Concept, paragraph 51. 85. Smith, NATO in the First Decade, pp. 68–70. 86. NATO had extended experience with multinational formations, including the Mobile Forces for Allied Command Europe (ACE), Standing Naval Forces, and an Airborne Early Warning force. Moreover, the DPC had already in 1989 tasked NATO military authorities to study the formation of a new multinational division for the Northern Army Group Sector. However, these past experiences of multinationality conflicted with the new and strong pressures of renationalization, examined earlier, and therefore required new political endorsement. See Karl Lowe and Thomas-Durrell Young, “Multinational Corps in NATO,” Survival 33 (January–February 1991), pp. 66–77; Dierk Meyer and Allen Sens, “Multinational Formations in NATO: From Forward Defense to Rapid Reaction,” in Homeward Bound? Allied Forces in the New Germany, ed. David G. Haglund and Olaf Mager, (Boulder: Westview Press, 1992), pp. 91–111. 87. Frank Boland, “Force-Planning in the New NATO,” NATO Review 46/3 (1998), pp. 32–35. 88. NATO, Defense Planning Committee, Final Communiqué, Brussels, May 24, 1994, M-DPC/NPG-1(94)38, paragraph 1. 89. Charles Barry, “NATO’s Combined Joint Task Forces in Theory and Practice,” Survival 38/1 (Spring 1996), pp. 81–97; Rafael Estrella, CJTF and the Reform of NATO, North Atlantic Assembly Report AN 230 DSC(96) 10, October 24, 1996. 90. Smith, NATO in the First Decade, pp. 74–84. 91. Michael O’Hanlon, “Transforming NATO: The Role of European Forces,” Survival 39/3 (Autumn 1997), pp. 5–15, at p. 5. 92. Interviewed by author, June 2003. 93. Interviewed by author, May 2002. 94. De Wijk, NATO on the Brink, p. 119. 95. De Wijk, NATO on the Brink, pp. 98–99.

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96. Rob de Wijk indicates that the LTS was the result of “the military bureaucracy of NATO” taking the lead and thus spearheading reforms that policy-makers failed to inspire. NATO on the Brink, pp. 101–103. An officer centrally located in this bureaucracy in the mid-1990s contests this view of things, however, and argues that military planning behind the LTS followed from the military bureaucracy’s close involvement in the preparation of the Brussels January 1994 summit. Interviewed by author in June 2003. 97. NATO, Final Communiqué of the North Atlantic Council meeting in Defense Ministers’ Session, M-NAC-D-2(97)149, December 2, 1997, paragraph 17. 98. See also David S. Yost, NATO Transformed: The Alliance’s New Role in International Security (Washington: United States Institute of Peace Press, 1998), pp. 202–203. 99. France and the allies did reach agreement that the CCC should steer CJTF operations, although operations of course were controlled politically by the NAC. See de Wijk, NATO on the Brink, p. 127. The CCC continues to develop planning guidance that, upon the approval of the Military Committee, is forwarded to the strategic commands. 100. DSACEUR was given command authority following reforms at the senior command level in NATO in 1993 and also following the Berlin summit of June 1996 when the allies agreed to create an explicit link between the CJTF, which was originally envisaged by the United States as a NATO collective defense measure, noted above, and the European pillar in the shape of the WEU. In 1993, the United States agreed to relinquish its right to appoint an American as Chief of Staff to the Supreme Commander, and Britain and Germany henceforth shared on a rotational basis the post of Chief of Staff and Deputy SACEUR. Britain and Germany had previously each had a Deputy SACEUR position but outside the chain of command—as add-ons to the SACEUR. Now the single DSACEUR gained command authority and established liaisons with the WEU for whom DSACEUR would act as strategic commander. See National Defense University, Allied Command Structures in the New NATO, http://www.ndu.edu/inss/books (consulted October 28, 2003), chapter 1. In Berlin the allies noted that they were ready to assist the development of the ESDI in part by elaborating “appropriate multinational European command arrangements within NATO.” NATO, Final Communiqué, M-NAC-1(96)63, June 3, 1996, paragraph 7. 101. The multinational aspect of SHAPE is important because France argued at some stages that a separated European command option did not have to plug into the collective defense option (SHAPE) because national headquarters could back the former up. Back-up from national headquarters might work at a practical level but the organization is then not multinational. 102. Rob de Wijk, NATO on the Brink, p. 135. 103. NATO Final Communiqué, M-NAC-2(94)116, December 1, 1994, paragraph 5. 104. See James M. Goldgeier, Not Whether but When. 105. The first analyst is Goldgeier, ibid., the second Ryan C. Hendrickson, “The Enlargement of NATO: The Theory and Politics of NATO Expansion,”

Notes

106. 107.

108. 109. 110. 111.

112.

113.

114. 115. 116. 117.

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European Security 8/4 (1999), pp. 84–99. The person later involved in policymaking is Ronald D. Asmus who has written his account of the process: Opening NATO’s Door: How the Alliance Remade Itself for a New Era (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003). Asmus addresses the initial phases of the U.S. debate, including the role of Senator Lugar, in “Book II,” pp. 18–57. The policy community in which Asmus took part gained an agenda in mid-1993 when Asmus with Richard L. Kugler and F. Stephen Larrabee published their case for enlargement: “Building a New NATO,” Foreign Affairs 72/4 (September–October 1993), pp. 28–40. Johanthan Haslam, “Russia’s Seat at the Table: A Place Denied or a Place Delayed?,” International Affairs 74/1 (1998), pp. 119–130 at p. 123. For a scathing criticism of the enlargement decision from this point of view, see John Lewis Gaddis, “History, Grand Strategy, and Enlargement,” Survival 40/1 (Spring 1998), pp. 145–151. Asumus, Opening NATO’s Door, pp. 101–103. The British division was the I Armoured Division; the other was the I U.S. Armored Division. See Martin Smith, NATO in the First Decade, pp. 77–84. See Lawrence Freedman, The Politics of British Defence, 1979–98 (London: Macmillan, 1999), chapter 4. Kaufman writes that “France and Britain were especially wary of enlarging the Alliance, partly because of the ways in which they believed expanded membership would alter the already-delicate decision-making apparatus of the organization.” NATO and the Former Yugoslavia, p. 35. For an overview of the British debate and the government’s position see Jane Sharp, British Views on NATO Enlargement, October 7, 1997, http://www.nato. int/acad/conf/enlarg97/sharp.htm. Matthew Evangelista argues that Britain made an “easy” decision: “NATO Stay Away From My Door,” The Nation 260/22 (May 1995), pp. 795–796. Michael MccGwire argues that Great Britain “conceded” on the issue: “NATO Expansion: ‘A Policy Error of Historic Importance,’ ” Review of International Studies no. 24 (1998), pp. 23–42. Sloan, NATO, the European Union, p. 140. Asmus, Opening NATO’s Door, p. 88. See Anne-Marie Le Gloannec, “Europe by Other Means?,” International Affairs 73/1 (January 1997), pp. 83–98. See especially the discussion on p. 88. NATO, Madrid Declaration on Euro-Atlantic Security and Cooperation, Issued by the Heads of State and Government, M-1 (97)81, July 8, 1997. See paragraph 19 for the Strategic Concept.

Chapter 3 The Demise of Collective Security, 1997–2001 1. Douglas T. Stuart, “The United States and NATO Out-Of-Area Disputes,” in A History of NATO: The First Fifty Years, ed. Gustav Schmidt, vol. 1 (London: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 123–140, at pp. 136 and 140.

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2. United Nations Security Council, Resolution 1199 (1998), S/RES 1199 (1998), September 23, 1998. 3. Wesley K. Clark, Waging Modern War (New York: PublicAffairs, 2001), pp. 131–145. 4. See notably NATO, Statement by the North Atlantic Council on Kosovo, Press Release 99(12), January 30, 1999. 5. Kofi A. Annan, “Two Concepts of Sovereignty,” reprinted in The Economist, September 18, 1999, http://www.un.org/News/ossg/sg/stories/kaecon.html. 6. Ryan C. Hendrickson, “NATO’s Secretary General Javier Solana and the Kosovo Crisis,” Journal of International Relations and Development 5/3 (2002), pp. 240–257, at p. 244. 7. Christopher Greenwood, “Has Nato the Right to Intervene?,” The Observer, March 28, 1999. For the Blair doctrine, see PBS, “The Blair Doctrine,” April 22, 1999, www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/international/jan-june99/ blair_doctrine4-23.html. For general background and a discussion of the Blair doctrine of April 1999 see chapter 5 of Gwyn Prins, The Heart of War (London: Routledge, 2002). 8. Ivo H. Daalder and Michael E. O’Hanlon, Winning Ugly: NATO’s War to Save Kosovo (Washington: Brookings, 2000), pp. 49–62. 9. Joyce P. Kaufman, NATO and the Former Yugoslavia: Crisis, Conflict, and the Atlantic Alliance (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002), p. 178. 10. Daalder and O’Hanlon argue that a focus on a final solution to the conflict might have made diplomacy easier to sell but they also conclude more generally that diplomacy most likely had run its course by the time of the Rambouillet conference and that the military option imposed itself. Winning Ugly, pp. 66–69. 11. New York Times, “U.N. Chief in Kosovo Takes Stock of Tough Year,” July 17, 2000. 12. Martin van Creveld, “Technology and War II: Postmodern War?” in The Oxford History of Modern War, ed. Charles Townsend (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 352. 13. William A. Owens and Ed Offley, Lifting the Fog of War (New York: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), p. 7. 14. NATO conducted two bombing campaigns: a tactical one against Serb forces in Kosovo and a strategic one against critical assets in Serbia. The controversy surrounding the success of NATO’s bombing campaign relates notably to the former. NATO initially claimed to have destroyed 110 Yugoslav tanks and 253 armored personnel carriers. Yugoslav forces, however, claimed to have lost only 13 tanks, and observers could subsequently not find the military debris that destruction on the scale that NATO claimed had taken place would have entailed. A few months after the conflict NATO conceded that fewer targets had been hit but also added that some targets may not have been destroyed but only damaged, allowing Serb forces to withdraw the vehicles at the end of the war. See The Financial Times, “NATO Hails Precision of Bombing,” July 19, 1999; The Guardian, “ Fewer Targets Hit in Kosovo, NATO Admits,” September 17,

Notes

15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24.

25. 26. 27. 28. 29.

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1999. These disputed figures nourish the controversy between proponents of strategic bombing, which allegedly was more successful in applying pressure on the Serb leadership, and proponents of tactical bombing. Proponents of strategic bombing, including U.S. General Michael Short, who led the Kosovo air campaign, maintain that strategic bombing works but also argues that problems arise from civilian leadership, which does not understand air power, and alliance cooperation (i.e., war by committee), which slows down the pace of war and reduces the portfolio of targets to tiny ones with no strategic importance. See BBC News, “Nato Leadership Splits Revealed,” March 9, 2000, http://news. bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/671420.stm; Daalder and O’Hanlon, Winning Ugly, pp. 200–203. For the argument that General Short has it wrong and that air power is a myth, see Daryl G. Press, “The Myth of Air Power in the Persian Gulf War and the Future of Warfare,” International Security 26/2 (Fall 2001), pp. 5–44. One part of Press’ analysis is a comparison of the Persian Gulf War and the air war over Kosovo: see pp. 40–43. Clark, Waging Modern War, pp. 432–433. Daalder and O’Hanlon, Winning Ugly, p. 224. The Observer, “Kosovo—The Untold Story: How the War was Won,” July 18, 1999. NATO, Statement on Kosovo, Press release M-NAC-D 1(98)77, June 11, 1998; Daalder and O’Hanlon, Winning Ugly, p. 34. Pentagon, Report to Congress: Kosovo After Action Report (Washington: Pentagon, 2000), p. xxi. Clark, Waging Modern War. The citation is from page 306 but see chapter 11 for his view on the ground option controversy. Allegedly the reason was that Ralston’s current position was expiring and that regulations stipulated that two appointments could be separated by a maximum of 60 days. The Independent, “Kosovo Reckoning: Premature Exit for Top NATO General,” July 29, 1999. Lawrence Freedman, “An Unwelcome General,” Financial Times, August 15, 2001. Robert Kagan, Paradise and Power: America and Europe in the New World Order (London: Atlantic Books, 2003), pp. 50–51. Ted Galen Carpenter, “NATO’s Search for Relevance” in NATO After Fifty Years, ed. S. Victor Papacosma, Sean Kay and Mark R. Rubin (Wilmington, DE: SR Books, 2001), pp. 25–41, at p. 37. NATO, The Alliance’s Strategic Concept, Press Release NAC-S(99)65, April 24, 1999. The two citations are from paragraphs 6 and 12. NATO, Madrid Declaration on Euro-Atlantic Security Cooperation, Press Release M-1(97)81, July 8, 1997, paragraph 19. Italics added. NATO, Final Communiqué, Press Release M-NAC-D-2(97)149, December 2, 1997, paragraph 25. Klaus Wittmann, “The Road to NATO’s New Strategic Concept” in A History of NATO, vol. 3, pp. 219–237. Ibid., p. 236.

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30. For a discussion of the Rumsfeld Commission and its political impact see Bradley Graham, Hit to Kill: The New Battle over Shielding American from Missile Attack (New York: PublicAffairs, 2001). The citations are from pages 47 and 67. 31. NATO, Final Communiqué, Press Release M-NAC-2(98)140, December 8, 1998, paragraph 5, and Washington Post, “Albright Says it’s ‘Hogwash’ US Pushing NATO to be Global Force,” December 9, 1998. 32. Madeleine K. Albright, “The Right Balance will Secure Nato’s Future,” Financial Times, December 7, 1998. 33. William V. Roth, Jr., NATO in the 21st Century, Special publication of the NATO Parliamentary Assembly, October 2, 1998, http://www.nato-pa.int/ default.asp?TAB=340#T0-3. The two concluding points are found in paragraphs 122 and 125 of the report. The section on terrorism is found in paragraphs 59–63; the one on flexible geographical limits in 74–80. 34. NATO, The Alliance’s Strategic Concept, paragraphs 22 and 24. 35. Albright cited by the New York Times, “Europe Looks Quizzically at US Proposal for NATO Strategy,” December 9, 1998. 36. France and Great Britain, Joint Declaration, December 3–4, 1998, reprinted in From St. Malo to Nice: European Defence: Core Documents, ed. Maartje Rutten (Paris: ISS, 2001). 37. New York Times, “Germany Irks US on NATO Atom Policy,” November 24, 1998, “Germany Drops Call to NATO on Nuclear Use,” November 25, 1998. 38. New York Times, “US to Propose NATO Take on Increased Roles,” December 7, 1998. 39. David S. Yost, NATO Transformed: The Alliance’s New Roles in International Security (Washington: United States Institute of Peace, 1998), pp. 278–286. 40. NATO, The Alliance’s New Strategic Concept, November 7–8, 1991, paragraphs 32–33. 41. See the discussion in chapter 2 but also Rob de Wijk, NATO on the Brink of the New Millennium (London: Brassey’s, 1997), pp. 52–58. 42. Toronto Star, “NATO Snubs Challenge on Nuclear Weapons,” December 9, 1998. 43. New York Times, “US to Propose NATO Take on Increased Roles.” 44. NATO, The Alliance’s Strategic Concept. 45. Jacques Chirac, Conférence de presse de Monsieur Jacques Chirac, président de la république, à l’occasion du sommet de l’OTAN, April 24, 1999, www.elysee.fr. 46. La Croix, “Vraie victoire” (editorial) April 26, 1999. 47. Washington Post, “Clinton Coaxes Allies To Fragile Consensus,” April 26, 1999. 48. USIS Washington File, Remarks by the President at the Close of the Washington Summit, EPF108, April 26, 1999. 49. The former quote is from Blair’s Chicago speech that contains his doctrine, PBS, “The Blair Doctrine.” The latter is from Jim Lehrer’s interview with Tony Blair on the NewsHour, “Prime Minister Tony Blair,” April 23, 1999, www.pbs.org/ newshour/bb/europe/jan-june99/blair_4-23.html. 50. See also Paul Cornish’s discussion of the “unfinished business” of the new Strategic Concept, “A Strategic Concept for the Twenty-first Century,” Defense Analysis 15/3 (1999), pp. 241–260, at pp. 255–257.

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51. For this argument, see Sean Kay, “From Operation Alba to Allied Force: Institutional Implications of Balkan Interventions,” Mediterranean Quarterly 10/4 (Fall 1999), pp. 72–89. 52. NATO, Washington Summit Communiqué, Press Release NAC-S(99)64, April 24, 1999. 53. European Union, Presidency report to the Helsinki European Council on Strengthening the Common European Policy on Security and Defence, and on NonMilitary Crisis Management of the European Union, annex IV to the Helsinki Presidency Conclusions, December 10–11, 1999, see especially annex I to annex IV. These institutions were established on an interim basis in the spring of 2000 and made permanent in December 2000. EU documents can be found at http://ue.eu.int/newsroom 54. When queried by journalists on this case of controversy in relation to the final communiqué, U.S. Secretary of State Albright replied that “. . . the issue revolved around basically how non-EU countries would work along with the European pillar,” and, when pushed to clarify the issue further, stated, “Well, there were a number of non-EU countries that this issue revolved around. Turkey was obviously one of them.” USIS Washington File, “Transcript: Albright, Cohen, Berger Brief at End of Summit,” April 26, 1999. 55. See Charles S. Cogan, The Third Option: The Emancipation of European Defense, 1989–2000 (Westport: Praeger, 2001), p. 129. 56. Albright, “The Right Balance will Secure Nato’s Future.” 57. Paragraph 9 of the Washington Summit Communiqué. 58. European Union, European Council Declaration on Strengthening the Common European Policy on Security and Defence, see paragraph 1 of this annex III to the Presidency Conclusions from the Cologne summit, June 3–4, 1999. 59. Strobe Talbott, “America’s Stake in a Strong Europe,” Remarks at a conference on the future of NATO, The Royal Institute of International Affairs, London, October 7, 1999, www.riia.org/conferences/strobe.zip. 60. Robert E. Hunter, The European Security and Defense Policy: NATO’s Companion—or Competitor? (Santa Monica, CA: Rand, 2002), p. 30. 61. See for instance Le Monde, “Pourquoi la France n’ose pas afficher ses divergences avec les Etats-Unis,” December 20–21, 1998. 62. Hubert Védrine, “France: le piano ou le tabouret?,” Le Débat. no. 95 (May–August), pp. 165–182. 63. Tony Blair, Prime Minister’s Speech at the NATO 50th Anniversary Conference, March 8, 1999. 64. Cogan, The Third Option, 119 and 134. 65. For this argument, see Joseph Lepgold, “NATO’s Post-Cold War Collective Problem,” International Security 23/1 (Summer 1998), pp. 78–106. 66. NATO, Final Communiqué, M-NAC(DM)-3(96)172, December 18, 1996, paragraph 15. 67. Lt. General Mario da Silva, “Implementing the Combined Joint Task Force concept,” NATO Review 46/4 (Winter 1998), pp. 16–19; see also NATO, “Focus on NATO: Exercise Strong Resolve 98,” NATO Review 46/2 (Summer 1998), p. 11.

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68. Da Silva, “Implementing the Combined Joint Task Force Concept.” 69. NATO, Washington Summit Communiqé, paragraph 41. 70. This information is based on background interviews with various NATO officials. 71. NATO officer interviewed by author, June 2003. 72. NATO Military Staff officer interviewed by author, June 2003. 73. Guido Venturoni, The Military Preparedness of the Alliance’s Forces in the light of various Defence Reviews and Reforms, Presentation at the international NATO Conference in Budapest, on November 8, 2001, on the Future of Hungarian Defence and Security policy, http://www.empaonline.com/ c000000006.htm. 74. U.S. official interviewed by author, November 1999. 75. Great Britain, Defence Capabilities Initiative, http://www.mod.uk/policy/nato/ natoat50/dci.htm. 76. As one national official put it during an interview with author, October 1999. 77. U.S. Department of Defense, Quadrennial Defense Review 2001, http:// www.defenselink.mil/pubs/qdr2001.pdf. The QDR was published in the immediate wake of September 11 but the main points and planning assumptions had been established and written before the attack. The citation is from page 17. 78. The information presented in this and the following paragraph was obtained in interviews with defense officials from various NATO nations. 79. See Part IV of the Strategic Concept and in particular paragraph 53. 80. European Union, EU Presidency Conclusions, Cologne European Council, June 3–4, 1999, annex III. 81. European Union, EU Presidency Conclusions, Helsinki European Council, December 10–11, 1999, annex I to annex IV. 82. Western European Union, Audit of Assets and Capabilities for European Crisis Management Operations, November 22–23, 1998, http://www.weu.int/documents/ 991122en.pdf. 83. European Union, EU Presidency Conclusions, Santa Maria de Feira European Council, June 19–20, 2000, annex I. 84. See Sten Rynning, “Why Not NATO? Military Planning in the European Union,” Journal of Strategic Studies 26/1 (March 2003), pp. 53–72. 85. William S. Cohen, Meeting the Challenges to Transatlantic Security in the 21st Century: A Way Ahead for NATO and the EU, Remarks at the Informal Defense Ministerial Meeting, Birmingham, UK, October 10, 2000. 86. Interviewed by author in June 2001. 87. See Jolyon Howorth, “Britain, NATO, and the CESDP: Fixed Strategy, Changing Tactics,” European Foreign Affairs Review 5/3 (2000), pp. 377–397. 88. Geoff Hoon, European Defence—The Facts and the Myths, February 15, 2001, Government’s Press Office, London. 89. For this argument, see Rynning, “Why Not NATO?” For the history of the French argument, see André Beaufre, NATO and Europe (London: Faber, 1967).

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90. Financial Times, “Bush and Blair in Tune on Vital Defence Issues,” February 24, 2001. Kori Schake, an analyst who in 2002 became a member of Bush’s National Security Council, argues likewise that the Bush administration took a positive view of the ESDP, albeit on the stated conditions that it did not challenge NATO’s right of first refusal and moreover was limited to peacekeeping and crisis management operations. Kori Schake, “Constructive Duplication: Reducing European Reliance on US Military Assets,” CER Working Paper, January 2002. 91. The Observer, “Doubts over Blair deal on defence,” February 25, 2001. 92. Leading article in The Independent, “Britain will have to Choose Whether to Side with the US or its Allies in Europe,” February 6, 2001. 93. The Observer, “Doubts over Blair deal on Defence.” Also Le Monde, “Washington ne cache pas son hostilité à la politique de défense européenne,” February 6, 2001. 94. President Chirac aired the operational planning idea in the run-up to the Nice summit of December 2000, which formally launched the ESDP. The idea was withdrawn after a short but intense round of criticism. Chirac then criticized U.S. missile defense policy in February 2001 when he and Prime Minister Blair met for a one-day summit in the French city of Cahors, arguing that the policy was dangerous because it would incite proliferation and in any case was unlikely to succeed because “never in history has the shield won” in the age-old struggle between the sword and the shield. See The Guardian, “France Backs Blair on EU force,” February 10, 2001. 95. Philip Stephens, “Shadows over NATO’s Unity,” Financial Times, February 8, 2001. 96. An unofficial translation of this Russian strategy can be found at the website of the European Commission, Medium-term Strategy for Development of Relations between the Russian Federation and the European Union (2000–2010), June 4, 1999, http:// europa.eu.int/comm/external_relations/russia/russian_medium_term_strategy/. 97. See Clelia Rontoyanni, “So Far, So Good? Russia and the ESDP,” International Affairs 78/4 (2002), pp. 813–830. 98. Rontoyanni, “So Far, So Good?,” p. 815. 99. The Guardian, “War in Europe: The Talking Failed, Now it was the Turn of Military Might,” March 25, 1999. 100. See Le Figaro, “La Russie, mediateur en chef entre la Yugoslavie et l’OTAN: La Russie obligée de composer,” May 8, 1999. 101. Rontoyanni, “So Far, So Good?,” p. 817. 102. Daalder and O’Hanlon, Winning Ugly, p. 169. 103. The Russian initiative almost resulted in an armed clash between Russia and NATO. NATO’s Supreme Commander, General Clark, ordered the British theater commander, General Jackson, to send in NATO forces to block the runways and prevent Russian reinforcements from flying in—reinforcements that Russia were preparing to fly in through the airspace of Hungary, Romania, or Bulgaria. Although this airspace had been closed, General Clark, who went to

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104.

105. 106. 107. 108.

109.

110.

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see General Jackson at his headquarters, ordered the NATO intervention. The British commander refused on the grounds that it could open a World War III. General Clark claimed subsequently that NATO leaders had been aware of the danger and that he as SACEUR had “NATO support” for moving into the airport. See Financial Times, “Nato ‘Knew of Russian Plan to Seize Airport,’ ” July 2, 1999; Clark, Waging Modern War, p. 379. Jackson maintained that he was using a well-known “red card” within the Alliance—allowing an officer to consult his national commander before obeying an order. See International Herald Tribune, “Disobeying Orders: NATO Veil Lifted,” September 11–12, 1999. Russia, meanwhile, maintained that it had had no intentions of flying in reinforcements. Mark Webber, “Third-Party Inclusion in European Security and Defence Policy: A Case Study of Russia,” European Foreign Affairs Review 6/4 (2001), pp. 407–426; Dieter Mahncke, “Russia’s Attitude to the European Security and Defence Policy,” European Foreign Affairs Review 6/4 (2001), pp. 427–436. An EU official working for the Council of Ministers noted in an interview with author (June 2003) that Russia is a difficult partner and continues to be so in spite of common declarations and formal strategies of cooperation. Russia is “always pushing issues and demanding new things” and seeks to exploit the rotating EU presidency, playing one presidency off against the other. NATO, Washington Summit Communiqué, paragraph 7. NATO, Membership Action Program, NAC-S(99)66, April 24, 1999. NATO later blurred the issue by treating enlargement as a subset of questions in the “opening up of the Alliance.” The information contained in this overview comes from NATO open sources, such as the NATO Handbook, but also from author’s interviews with various NATO and national officials. Ted Galen Carpenter, “Kosovo as an Omen: Perils of the ‘New’ NATO” in NATO’s Empty Victory: A Postmortem on the Balkan War, ed. Ted Galen Carpenter (Washington: CATO Institute, 2000), pp. 171–183, at p. 174. Donald H. Rumsfeld, Prepared Remarks, North Atlantic Council (NAC-D), June 7, 2001, http://www.defenselink.mil/speeches/2001/s20010607-secdef.html.

Chapter 4 Toward a Coalition Framework, 2001–2005 1. NATO, Statement by the North Atlantic Council, Press Release (2001)124, September 12, 2001; EAPC, Statement by the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council, Press Release (2001)123, September 12, 2001. 2. This is the opening statement in the concluding chapter IX in the National Security Strategy of the United States of America, September 2001, http:// www.whitehouse.gov/nsc/nss.html. 3. Donald Rumsfeld, “Transforming the Military,” Foreign Affairs 81/3 (May/June 2002), pp. 20–32.

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4. President Bush unveiled the plan when speaking to Veterans from Foreign Wars Convention, August 16, 2004. The plan is presented in a fact sheet released by the White House on the same date: http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/ 2004/08/20040816-5.html. See also Michael A. Weinstein, “US Troop Redeployment Addresses Altered Threats,” ISN network, September 1, 2004, http://www.isn.ethz.ch/infoservice/secwatch/index.cfm?service⫽cwn&parent⫽ detail&menu⫽8&sNewsID⫽9566. 5. James B. Steinberg, “An Elective Partnership: Salvaging Transatlantic Relations,” Survival 45/2 (Summer 2003), pp. 113–146. 6. George W. Bush, Address to a Joint Session of Congress and the American People, September 20, 2001, http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/ 09/20010920-8.html. 7. George W. Bush, Presidential Address to the Nation, October 7, 2001, http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/10/20011007-8.html. 8. Phlip Gordon, “NATO after September 11,” Survival 43/4 (Winter 2001–2002), pp. 1–18, at p. 5. 9. See Tom Lansford, All for One: Terrorism, NATO, and the United States (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2002), pp. 113–114. 10. NATO, Statement by the Secretary General on the Conclusion of Operation Eagle Assist, April 30, 2002. 11. Lansford, All for One, 116; also NATO, Operation Active Endeavour, no date, http://www.afsouth.nato.int/operations/Endeavour/Endeavour.htm. 12. United Nations Security Council, Resolution 1386, December 20, 2001. ISAF’s formal tasks in Afghanistan were to secure Kabul and surrounding areas, assist the interim administration in the development of security structures, reconstruction, and training of new security forces, and also to liaise with various political, social, and religious leaders to “ensure that religious, ethnic and cultural sensitivities in Afghanistan are appropriately respected by the ISAF.” See the Military Technical Agreement entered by ISAF and the interim Afghan authority in December 2001, http://www.operations.mod.uk/isafmta.pdf, especially Article V, “Illustrative Tasks of the ISAF.” 13. For an overview see the briefing by NATO spokesman Yves Brodeur, April 16, 2003, http://www.nato.int/docu/speech/2003/s030416a.htm. 14. Cited from the NATO ISAF website, “NATO Takes the Helm: Why NATO Now?,” Updated August 28, 2003, http://www.afnorth.nato.int/ISAF/ structure/structure_NATOISAF.htm; see also NATO, NATO Briefing: Working to Bring Peace and Stability to Afghanistan, August 2003. 15. Diego A. Ruiz Palmer, “The Road to Kabul,” NATO Review (Summer 2003), pp. 9–12. 16. United Nations Security Council, Resolution 1510, October 13, 2003. The motive for extending the mission was to allow ISAF “to support the Afghan Transitional Authority and its successors in the maintenance of security in areas of Afghanistan outside of Kabul and its environs, so that the Afghan Authorities as well as the personnel of the United Nations and other international civilian

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17.

18. 19.

20.

21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26.

27. 28.

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Notes

personnel engaged, in particular, in reconstruction and humanitarian efforts, can operate in a secure environment, and to provide security assistance for the performance of other tasks in support of the Bonn agreement.” North Atlantic Council, Final Communiqué, Press Release (2003)152, December 4, 2003, paragraph 4. This NATO decision was preceded by a UN Security Council resolution (1510) of October 2003, which authorized ISAF expansion beyond Kabul. NATO, Istanbul Summit Communiqué, Press Release (2004)096, June 28, 2004, paragraph 4. For the PRT expansion, see NATO Secretary General Jaap de Hoop Scheffer, Statement, Press Release (2005)014, February 10, 2005; for the decision to expand NATO’s area of operation to all of Afghanistan, see Statement Issued by the Heads of State and Government Participating in a Meeting of the North Atlantic Council in Brussels on 22 February 2005, Press Release (2005)022. Revealingly, the website of AFSHOUTH, the NATO command responsible for Operation Active Endeavor, lists a couple of “significant events” in the history of the operation: rescuing civilians off a stricken oil rig in December 2001 and providing life-saving support to passengers of a sinking ship in January 2002. Although worthy humanitarian missions, they have hardly been central to the overall fight against terrorism. NATO, Operation Active Endeavour. United Nations Security Council, Resolution 1441, November 8, 2002, paragraph 13. NATO, Operation Display Deterrence, http://www.afsouth.nato.int/operations/ NATOTurkey/DisplayDeterrence.htm, updated September 2, 2003. Cited in SHAPE News Summary and Analysis, May 12, 2003. North Atlantic Council, Final Communiqué, Press release (2003)059, June 3, 2003, paragraph 5. NATO, “Plans for NATO Support to Poland’s Iraq Mission Finalized,” NATO Update, June 30, 2003, and SHAPE, “SHAPE Actively Helps Poland in Preparation of its Operation in Iraq,” SHAPE News, June 30, 2003. This decision was carefully prepared. It followed a request for assistance by Iraq’s newly formed sovereign authority, in mid-June 2004, which then gave birth to a common declaration of good faith at the Istanbul summit, June 28–29, and which then led the North Atlantic Council, June 30, to translate the good faith into a specific training mission. Le Monde, “La contribution de l’OTAN à la formation de militaires irakiens reste limitée,” February 22, 2005. NATO, Statement Issued by the Heads of State and Government, February 22, 2005. The key problem in getting to this point again concerned France and the United States. France resisted involvement in the training mission given its reservations about U.S. policy in Iraq in general: when France did agree to move ahead with an Iraqi training program, it did so following a bilateral agreement with the Iraqi government, effectively by-passing NATO, and by setting up a training shop in Qatar. Germany is training Iraqi troops in the United Arab Emirates. The key issue for NATO as a whole is that all allies are backing the

Notes

29. 30.

31. 32. 33.

34.

35.

36.

37.

38.

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mission, while the key issue for Iraq is that its troops are being trained according to similar (NATO) standards, irrespective of the symbolic politics involved. See Ivo H. Daalder and James M. Lindsay, America Unbound: The Bush Revolution in Foreign Policy (Washington: Brookings, 2003), p. 65. James Mann, author of Rise of the Vulcans: The History of Bush’s War Cabinet (New York: Viking, 2004), argues that the neoconservatives took over the Bush foreign policy agenda, in part because Bush did not know the domain, in part because they held so strong beliefs about it. Critics of Bush’s policy are less willing to absolve him of primary responsibility: see especially John Newhouse, Imperial America: The Bush Assault on the World Order (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2003). Daalder and Lindsay, America Unbound, argue that Bush has been and remains in control. George W. Bush, Remarks by the President at the Citadel, Charleston, South Carolina, December 11, 2001. New York Times, “Transcript from Bush’s Television Interview,” February 8, 2004. The cited statement comes early in the interview. The uncertainty surrounding terrorism was summed up also by Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld, “As we know, There are known knowns. There are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns. That is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns, the ones we don’t know we don’t know.” New York Times, “New Plan—Join the Fray,” March 4, 2002. Seymour M. Hersh argues in addition that a lessons-learned report commissioned by the Pentagon on the role of U.S. Special Forces concludes that the United States has relied too much on air power in the Afghan campaign and too little on Special Forces capable of unconventional warfare. “The Other War: Why Bush’s Afghanistan Problem Won’t Go Away,” The New Yorker, April 12, 2004, http://www. newyorker.com/printable/?fact/040412fa_fact. U.S. Commander Franks thus flew into Pakistan for an unscheduled meeting in the immediate wake of Operation Anaconda. See Online Asia Times, “Operation Anaconda: Win-Win, Lose-Lose,” March 22, 2002. Pakistan thus joins a select group of non-NATO countries such as Japan, Australia, and Israel and can henceforth participate in sensitive defense research, purchase a greater range of defense material, and benefit from special loan guarantees. The father of the Pakistani bomb Dr. Abdul Qadeer Khan confessed in early 2004 to exporting the know-how and technology, although it remains unclear how well organized the business of nuclear export was within Pakistan. The coverage of the issue is wide but see for instance, International Herald Tribune, “Rogue Nuclear Projects: Tangle of Global Clues has Pakistan at Center,” January 5, 2004, and “Trails of Rogue Nuclear Projects Lead to Pakistan,” January 6, 2004; The Guardian, “Nuclear Expert ‘Admits Selling Secrets,’ ” February 3, 2004; BBC News Online, “On the Trail of the Black Market Bombs,” February 12, 2004. See the statement of President Bush before the UN General Assembly, President’s Remarks at the United Nations General Assembly, September 2002, http://www. whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2002/09/20020912-1.html, as well as his statement

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39.

40.

41.

42.

43.

44.

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to the American public in the opening stage of the war, President Bush Addresses the Nation, March 19, 2003, http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2003/03/ 20030319-17.html; see also U.S. Secretary of State Powell’s testimony before the Security Council, Remarks to the United Nations Security Council, February 5, 2003, http://www.state.gov/secretary/rm/2003/ 17300.htm. Citation from the section of the Bush national security strategy outlining the doctrine of preemption and defining the context in which it may be applicable, the National Security Strategy of the United States of America, September 2002, pp. 13–16. Some doubts exist in relation to the latest developments in Iran’s missile programs. Iran’s government claims that its missiles have a range of 1,000 miles. Several countries have supported Iran’s missile program—including China, Pakistan, and Russia—but the most far reaching assistance has come from North Korea. For background information see Federation of American Scientists (FAS) webpage on Iranian missile developments, http://www.fas.org/nuke/guide/iran/ missile/overview.html. International Atomic Energy Agency, Implementation of the NPT Safeguards Agreement in the Islamic Republic of Iran, November 10, 2003, p. 10. The accusation of concealment related notably to the December 2002 discovery of two secret nuclear fuel facilities at Natanz and Arak, allegedly a uranium enrichment plant and a heavy-water reactor, respectively. Financial Times, “Nuclear Watchdog Set for Iran Resolution,” November 26, 2003. Iran signed the NPT in 1968. The additional protocol signed by Iran in December 2003 is a generic protocol outlining an inspection regime that individual countries can adhere to. The protocol has 79 signatories but just 38 contracting parties. Sixteen suspects were handed over in August 2002 and Iran has later claimed it had extradited more than 500 Al-Qaeda members to their countries of origin—including Arab, European, and African countries. CBS News, “Iran Will Hand Over Al Qaeda,” June 24, 2003. The United States maintains that Iran harbors Al-Qaeda operatives, including the organizers of a terrorist bombing in Saudi Arabia in May 2003, and insists on their release, although U.S. authorities doubt that Iran will ever relinquish custody of Al-Qaeda VIPs because “they could then reveal long-standing connections between Iran and Al Qaeda.” Iran has in response assured the United States that all Al-Qaeda operatives are in prison and will be put on trial in Iran. Washington Post, “Iran Says it Will Try Al Qaeda Suspects,” January 24, 2004. For an argument in favor of engagement over confrontation, see Newhouse, Imperial America, chapter 3. France, Britain, and Germany reached an agreement with Iran in November 2004 to the effect that Iran must suspend the enrichment of uranium and the separation of plutonium. In return, Iran gained negotiations concerning a broad range of economic, technological, and security issues. The deal has since then lingered and outside observers are looking for clues as to the level of ambition among Iranian decision-makers. However, the clues are

Notes

45.

46. 47. 48.

49. 50. 51. 52.

53.

54.

55. 56. 57. 58. 59.

60.

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indecisive. For instance, the June 2005 election of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to the Iranian presidency put the conservatives in control of every institution of government; but Ahmadinejad is also the first non-clerical president in 24 years. The need for a broadly based international coalition is emphasized by Christopher de Bellaigue, “Bush, Iran, and the Bomb,” The New York Review of Books 52/3 (February 24, 2005). Bob Woodward and Dan Balz of the Washington Post, “At Camp David, Advice and Dissent,” January 31, 2002. George W. Bush, President Addresses Nation in Radio Address, September 15, 2001, http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/09/20010915.html. Article 51 of the UN Charter begins, “Nothing in the present Charter shall impair the inherent right of individual or collective self-defence if an armed attack occurs against a Member of the United Nations, until the Security Council has taken measures necessary to maintain international peace and security.” United Nations Security Council, Resolution 1368, September 12, 2001. The concept of “international morality” comes from Hans Morgenthau, p. 267. Daalder and Lindsay, America Unbound, p. 139. For a clear statement of the “realist” argument concerning Iraq and in support of the containment regime, see Gideon Rose, “Present Laughter or Utopian Bliss?,” The National Interest (Winter 1999/2000), pp. 41–47. According to Bob Woodward, President Bush asked Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld on November 21, 2001 to review the U.S. war plans for Iraq. Woodward, Plan of Attack (London: Pocket Books, 2004), p. 1. Bush’s thinking on the Iraq issue must therefore have begun earlier, in parallel to the unfolding of the Afghan campaign. See for instance Washington Post, “Powell Cites ‘Real’ Divide Internally on Iraq Policy,” September 3, 2002. See also Woodward, ibid., especially Chapters 14 and 15 where Woodward recounts how Powell, against the advice of Cheney, convinced Bush about the virtues of involving the UN. Jim Hoagland, “Is He Up to It?,” Washington Post, August 25, 2002. Robert Kagan, “Multilateralism: American Style,” Washington Post, September 13, 2002. Daalder and Lindsay, America Unbound; see also Newhouse, Imperial America. Naturally, the enlargement question continued to be important to policy-makers and foreign policy establishments, especially in the applicant countries. NATO, Prague Summit Declaration, Press Release (2002)127, November 21, 2002. The declaration deals with new members in paragraphs 2 and 5, new capabilities in paragraph 4, and new partnerships in paragraphs 6–10. NATO and Russia gave birth to this new Council May 29, 2002, when they signed a Rome Declaration to this effect. The Council is chaired by NATO’s secretary general and meets twice a year, and its agenda is adopted from the 1997 Founding Act behind the Permanent Joint Council (PJC) and includes cooperation in relation to “terrorism, crisis management, non-proliferation, arms control and confidence-building measures, theatre missile defence, search and rescue

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61. 62. 63.

64.

65.

66.

67.

68.

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Notes

at sea, military-to-military cooperation, and civil emergencies.” See NATO’s NATO-Russia Council: Rome Summit 2002, May 28, 2002, p. 7. See also Washington Post, “Russia and NATO Go Back to Start,” May 25, 2002. NATO, Report on the Comprehensive Review of the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council and the Partnership for Peace, Prague, November 21, 2002. See for instance Financial Times, “If Bush Does Not make Clear that NATO can be Involved in Critical Issues, the Alliance will Atrophy,” November 20, 2002. Britain was the only ally closely involved in the decision-making phase, although it is unclear how big a role Prime Minister Blair played in the U.S. decision to go to war. We do know, however, that Britain was more closely involved in the preparations for war than any other ally. The U.S. central command in Florida, which planned the Afghan campaign, had British officers attached to give advice and establish rules of engagement for British forces, and a secure link was also established between the central command and the British ministry of defense. See The Observer, special supplement, “Battle for Afghanistan: The Rout of the Taliban,” November 18, 2001. Of about 70 contributing nations to the Afghan campaign a little more than 40 sent national military contingents to the central command headquarters but none gained the access granted the British forces. The French newspaper Le Monde notes that the question of interoperable communications was a problem in respect to air commands and encrypted communication. “En Afghanistan, le Pentagone a géré seul l’opération Liberté immuable,” October 23, 2003. Jacques Chirac outlined his position in an interview with the New York Times, September 8, and then worked behind the scenes to secure Syria’s backing for the resolution (Syria being a rotating member of the Security Council at the time). The last frantic days of diplomacy focused particularly on Chile and Mexico, which the United States and Britain hoped to sway, but which ended up coordinating their refusal to authorize the use of force with France where President Chirac solidified their stance by his willingness to take some of the diplomatic heat that inevitably would follow, which became clear on March 10 when Chirac said he would oppose (i.e., veto) a resolution no matter the circumstances. Chirac’s declaration followed a French-German-Russian meeting on March 5 at which the three agreed to oppose a second resolution. For insights into the diplomatic hustles, see the four-part series by the Financial Times, “The Divided West,” May 27–30, 2003. The citation in the main text as well as the story on Chile, Mexico, and Chirac is from part III, May 29. See also Le Monde, “Paris-Washington: les dessous d’une rupture,” March 27, 2003. The citation is from President Chirac’s speech before the gathered German and French parliamentarians, Discours de Monsieur Jacques Chirac, Président de la République, devant les députes allemands et français, January 22, 2003, http:// www.elysee.fr/cgi-bin/auracom/aurweb/search/file?aur_file⫽discours/ 2003/D030122.html. Financial Times, “The Alliance Comes Apart at the Seams: The Iraq Crisis is Causing Wider Collateral Damage to Nato,” February 11, 2003.

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69. The solution consisted of moving decision-making one level down, from the North Atlantic Council to the Defense Planning Committee where France is not represented. The DPC’s announcement of assistance to Turkey was carefully worded and contained language to satisfy both camps in the debate. NATO, “Decision Sheet of the Defence Planning Committee: NATO to Support Turkey within the Framework of Article 4 of the North Atlantic Treaty,” Press Release, February 16, 2003. 70. Elizabeth Pond, Friendly Fire: The Near-Death of the Transatlantic Alliance (Pittsburgh: European Union Studies Association, 2004), p. 71. 71. Kimberly Zisk Marten, “Defending against Anarchy: From War to Peacekeeping in Afghanistan,” Washington Quarterly 26/1 (Winter 2002–03), pp. 35–52; see also Seymor M. Hersh, “The Other War: Why Bush’s Afghanistan problem Won’t Go Away,” The New Yorker, April 12, 2004, http://www.newyorker.com/ printable/?fact/040412fa_fact 72. For accounts of the NATO decision to expand its engagement see PakTribune, “NATO Quickens Drive to Expand Afghanistan Operation,” January 21, 2004, http://www.paktribune.com/news/index.php?id⫽52422; Financial Times, “Nato Ready to Take Wider Role in Afghanistan Command Structure,” March 11, 2004; Radio Free Europe, “Afghanistan: US Pushes NATO Allies for Greater Involvement,” March 18, 2004, http://www.rferl.org/featuresarticle/2004/03/ 3acc5024-6f72-4f9d-be0d-cc59fd50ed69.html. For an overview of NATO’s slow realization of its PRT promises, as well as the argument that NATO thus reveals itself to be an ineffectual alliance, see Richard E. Rupp, “Aspirations Versus Capabilities and Will: NATO’s Dilemma,” paper presented at the annual conference of the International Studies Association, Honolulu, Hawaii, March 2–5, 2005. 73. Scheffer cited in The Guardian, “UK to Join Rapid Reaction Force,” February 11, 2004. 74. See Le Monde, “Paris et Berlin ne s’opposeront pas à un rôle accru de l’OTAN en Irak,” February 10, 2004. 75. United Nations, Resolution 1546, June 8, 2004. 76. The expanded PRT engagement was a cause of concern in this context; ideally, the allies would provide an infrastructure of helicopter capabilities to link the PRT and provide a means of rapid reinforcement if need be; in practice, the allies had hardly been able to provide helicopters for the Kabul ISAF mission. Belgium, the Netherlands, and Turkey had offered to provide helicopters but then delayed their delivery due to concerns over costs. The issue was solved only because the United States stepped in and shipped the helicopters to Kabul; but Luxembourg had to foot the bill. Financial Times, “Nato Slow to Deliver Promised Equipment,” March 31, 2004. 77. France was thus simultaneously supporting the Eurocorps’ candidacy to take over the ISAF command but resisting its extension of authority to include the new PRT. The Eurocorps’ headquarters would focus on Kabul only, declared the French minister of defense, Michèle Alliot-Marie, while NATO’s Secretary General Scheffer

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78. 79.

80. 81.

82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89.

90.

91.

92. 93.

94.

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Notes

argued that the mission dictated the capabilities that one must engage. In other words, France feared that the deployment of the Eurocorps would involve a heavy commitment in a notoriously difficult-to-rule country and moreover an engagement that would reinforce the U.S. policy on NATO and Afghanistan. Le Monde, “Donald Rumsfeld appelle l’OTAN à s’engager en Afghanistan,” February 9, 2004. NATO, Prague Summit Declaration, paragraph 4. Edgar Buckley, assistant secretary general in NATO’s Defence Planning and Operations Division, points to these three differences in “Attainable Targets,” NATO Review (Autumn 2002), pp. 5–6. NATO, Statement on Capabilities, Press Release (2002)074, June 6, 2002, paragraph 5. SHAPE, NATO High Readiness HQ, January 20, 2003. The certification process involves the demonstration of “capabilities in 50 areas, both in the barracks and in the field.” Moreover, it “consisted of testing command and control compatibility, ability to affiliate multinational forces, HQ combat and command support, exercise participation etc. and 377 sub-criteria, which were evaluated to include a Deployed Location Inspection as part of the Full Operational Capability Evaluation.” NATO, Prague Summit Declaration, paragraph 4a. SHAPE, The NATO Response Force—NRF, July 28, 2005. This information on the NRF has been obtained in background interviews. “Press Conference by SACEUR Gen. Jones,” audio link available at SHAPE, Response Force Demonstrates Capability in First Exercise, November 21, 2003. NATO, Prague Summit Declaration, paragraph 4b. NATO, Ministerial Meeting of the Defense Planning Committee and Nuclear Planning Group, Press Release (2003)64, June 12, 2003, paragraph 5. U.S. Department of Defense, Joint Vision 2020, 2. The two dimensions are singled out in Joint Vision 2020, pp. 3–4 but have also been the concern of observers of military change. See for instance Joseph S. Nye and William A. Owens, “America’s Information Edge,” Foreign Affairs 75/2 (March–April 1996), pp. 20–37. Admiral William A. Owens is the father of this concept, “The Emerging Systemof-Systems,” Strategic Forum, no. 63 (1996); see also Owens with Edward Offley, Lifting the Fog of War (New York: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001). See Sten Rynning, “High or Low Intensity Warfare? Toward a New Transatlantic Bargain” in New Roles of Military Forces: Global and Local Implications of the Revolution in Military Affairs, eds. Bertel Heurlin, Kristian Søby Kristensen, Mikkel Vedby Rasmussen, and Sten Rynning (Copenhagen: DIIS, 2003), pp. 93–118. NATO, New NATO Command Structure, February 18, 2005. Julian Lindley-French, “The Revolution in Security Affairs: Hard and Soft Security Dynamics in the 21st Century,” European Security 13/1–2 (Spring 2004), pp. 1–16. For instance, the NRF concerns NATO’s “ability to change and respond,” wrote the Financial Times, while the Washington Post referred to U.S. policy-makers

Notes

95. 96. 97.

98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107.

108.

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and their hope that the NRF would “provide a focus that past modernization efforts have lacked.” Financial Times, “Rumsfeld Presses for New Nato Force,” September 25, 2002; Washington Post, “NATO Ministers Back U.S. Plan for Rapid Reaction Force,” September 25, 2002. White House, National Security Strategy of the United States of America, September 2002, p. 25. Hans Binnendijk and Richard Kugler, “Transforming European Forces,” Survival 44/3 (Autumn 2002), pp. 117–132. On the origins of the NRF idea, see Sten Rynning, “A New Military Ethos? NATO’s Response Force,” The Journal of Transatlantic Studies. Vol. 3 (Spring 2005), pp. 5–22. Within NATO, U.S. officials played a key role, as The Washington Post reports. The NRF idea “caught on with surprising speed since the United States first floated the proposal through diplomatic channels last spring” (the spring of 2002)—and the United States wanted the proposal to be prepared outside the capricious setting of public transatlantic affairs in the runup to the Prague summit—“The backstage diplomacy that laid the groundwork for the Prague summit and for a new NATO has been conducted by a small group of officials here and in the capitals of NATO members.” “NATO Looking Ahead to a Mission Makeover,” November 5, 2002. Barry Posen, “Command of the Commons: The Military Foundation of U.S. Hegemony,” International Security 28/1 (Summer 2003), pp. 5–47, at p. 32. Interviewed by author, August 2004. General James L. Jones, Address by General James L. Jones, SACEUR, at the NRF Standup RHQ Allied Forces, North Brunssum, Netherlands, October 15, 2003. In the words of one national defense official, interviewed in June 2003. A thorough discussion of these issues is found in Rynning, “A New Military Ethos?” European Union, A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy, Brussels, December 12, 2003. The citation is from the document’s conclusion. Althea is also a Berlin Plus operation, and NATO maintains a headquarters in the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo. My thoughts on this were aided enormously by discussions with a Brusselsbased national defense official in June and August 2004. Article I-41(6) of the new draft treaty. European Union, Treaty establishing a Constitution for Europe, August 6, 2004. This demand is found in Protocol 23 attached to the Treaty, and the demand is in fact just one of two that member states must meet to join Structured Cooperation: the other demand is for participation in the new European Defense Agency. See the European Union, Protocols annexed to the Treaty establishing a Constitution for Europe, August 6, 2004. Britain and France were thus decisive in the creation of the ESDP in this first place, in 1998–1999. They were in agreement that a European defense policy (the ESDP) should emerge from new capabilities, as opposed to institutions or symbolic policy, which is why the ESDP in 1999 was organized around a so-called Headline Goal, the European rapid reaction force (ERRF) of 60,000 soldiers.

216

109.

110.

111. 112. 113.

114.

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Notes

Significantly, the two were also largely in agreement on the need to restructure defense capabilities in the run-up to NATO’s Prague summit in November 2002. Britain had articulated an agenda for reform with Spain in the summer of 2002; most of the reforms corresponded to changes already taking place within the French armed forces and French President Chirac also endorsed the major objectives of the agenda. See Jolyon Howorth, “France, Britain, and the EuroAtlantic Crisis,” Survival, 45/4 (Winter 2003–04), pp. 173–192, at pp. 180–181. The Franco-German couple, and thus the vision of a defense core, has entered the process subsequent to the making of the ESDP. It became particularly prominent during the making of a constitutional treaty for the EU, a process that began in 2002 with a Convention writing an outline that the governments later revised. See for instance Jolyon Howorth, “The European Draft Constitutional Treaty and the Future of the European Defence Initiative: A Question of Flexibility,” European Foreign Affairs Review 9 (2004), pp. 483–508, notably the section on “Structured Cooperation,” pp. 486–492. Le Monde, “Paris, Londres et Berlin annoncent la création d’une force de réaction européenne,” February 11, 2004; Financial Times, “UK and France Join Forces on Combat Units” and “Berlin to Join UK and France in ‘Battle Groups,’ ” February 10 and 11, 2003. European Union, Headline Goal 2010, approved by General Affairs and External Relations Council on 17 May 2004, Endorsed by the European Council of 17 and 18 June 2004. EU Military Capability Commitment Conference, Declaration on European Military Capabilities, Brussels, November 22, 2004. Charles S. Barry, “Transforming NATO Command and Control for Future Missions,” Defense Horizons 28 (June 2003), p. 5. The reaction in the British press to Blair’s change of policy was one of surprise. See for instance, The Guardian, “UK Backs Down on European Defence,” September 23, 2003; Financial Times, “Surprise at London’s Alignment with Paris and Berlin,” October 3, 2003; “EU Leaders at Odds with Ministers of Defence,” October 15, 2003. The French minister of defense indicated that the Berlin September summit had created a new consensus and allowed European defense to move forward in partnership with NATO, which was no doubt a British objective: Financial Times, “France Seeks to Reassure US over Nato Commitment,” October 18, 2003. Nicholas Burns is cited in The Independent, “US Drives Wedge between EU Leaders over Defence Plans Cooperation” and “NATO Calms US Fear of European Defence HQ,” October 18 and 21, 2003. The EU sought to ameliorate transatlantic relations by attaching an annex to their presidency conclusions of December 2003, announcing that “The operational capability of the EU, a key objective of the overall development of the ESDP, is enhanced by the permanent arrangements, in particular Berlin Plus, which provide the framework for the strategic partnership between the two organizations in crisis management.” This emphasis on the Berlin Plus agreement was intended to efface the Tervuren headquarters issue. The annex ends with the observation that “Now

Notes

115.

116. 117.

118.

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more than ever, the transatlantic link is essential if we want to create a better world.” See the European Union, Presidency Conclusions, Brussels European Council, 12 December 2003, annex. The search for prestige is motivated not only by the symbols themselves, it should be noted, but also by a number of practical considerations related to budgets and budgetary problems. Significant numbers of high-readiness combat troops and support units require considerable financial means, which is a challenge to all European governments already beset by problems of welfare reform. Moreover, for reasons of readiness, deployability, training, and skill in an increasingly high-tech world of military affairs, troops must be professional and nations are therefore challenged to fundamentally revise and perhaps abolish the institution of conscription. Some NATO allies have long maintained fully professionalized forces (such as the United States and Britain), others have turned to full professionalization in the 1990s (such as France and the Netherlands), and still others wrestle with the issue in order to secure the continuation of some type of conscription regime, perhaps basing it on the argument that the regime is ideally suited to recruit people for a professional army (such as Germany, Denmark, and Norway). In any case, there is ample reason for nations to focus on less comprehensive but symbolically important military reforms. Background interview, June 2003. The old third level of the command structure contained seven sub-regional headquarters as well as four component commands, thus altogether eleven headquarters to distribute among the allies (Germany had two in the northern region, Denmark, Norway, and Britain one; Italy had three in the southern region, Spain, Greece, and Turkey one). The new command structure maintains component commands at the third level, altogether six, as well as four static and two deployable CAOC. Thus, there are in fact twelve headquarters to distribute (four are in Germany, three in Italy, and one in each of the following: Britain, Turkey, Spain, Denmark, and Greece). (An additional bonus was thrown in to please Spain, in fact, as the Torrejon air base was identified as a training site for the CAOC). Still, these new headquarters are small and prepared for unlikely contingencies (such as an invasion of NATO territory) and the most challenging— and interesting—leadership responsibilities lie with the force structure commands (land), which is also why Britain, Germany along with the Netherlands, Italy, Turkey, Spain, and France along with Germany, Belgium, and Luxembourg invest in them. In the run-up to the certification of the ARRC HQ as the first of NATO’s new HRF(L) HQ—a prestigious event—Britain decided to “reassign” its sixteenth air assault brigade from the Multinational Division Central (MND(C)) directly to the Corps HQ as part of Corps Troops. The argument of the British government was that the new corps HQ needed to draw on a full spectrum of capabilities and that the brigade could better exploit its air maneuvers at the operational level through this reassignment; unofficially, however, it was clear also that the ARRC HQ (as a HRF(L) HQ) now would be facing competition

218

119. 120.

121. 122.

123.

124.

125. 126. 127.

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Notes

from the other emerging HRF(L) HQs and that Britain sought to safeguard its leading position by making changes to the underlying force structure. The changes, along with the overall shift to small but more rapid forces, led to the closure of the Multinational Division Central by December 31, 2002. See the website of the MND(C) where its “legacy” is presented, www.hqmndc.org/ history.htm. Cited in Paul Cornish, “NATO: The Practice and Politics of Transformation,” International Affairs 80/1 (2004), pp. 63–74, at pp. 71–72. See Mihael O’Hanlon, “The American Way of War: The Lessons for Europe” in A European Way of War ed. Steven Everts et al. (Brussels: Centre for European Reform, 2004), pp. 41–53. See Sten Rynning, “Why Not NATO? Military Planning in the European Union,” Journal of Strategic Studies 26/1 (March 2003), pp. 53–72. This “capability development mechanism” initially appeared, in December 1999, in EU documents simply as a “method of consultation” but then grew into a more permanent mechanism. The EU initially wrote: “It will develop a method of consultation through which these goals can be met and maintained, and through which national contributions reflecting Member States’ political will and commitment towards these goals can be defined by each Member State, with a regular review of progress made.” See the Helsinki European Council Presidency Conclusion of the EU, December 11, 1999, annex I to annex IV, Presidency Progress Report of the Helsinki European Council on Strengthening the European Policy on Security and Defence. The implementation of the CDM is reviewed in the European Council ESDP Presidency Report December 9, 2003, section II. For a presentation and updated overview of the ECAP see Burkhard Schmitt, European Capabilities Action Plan (ECAP), published through the EU Institute for Security Studies. The consulted version was last updated January 2005: http://www.iss-eu.org/esdp/06-bsecap.pdf. This Agency emerged from the 2002–2003 debate over a new EU constitution. The Convention preparing the constitution explicitly called for such an Agency, and the call tied in with the European Commission’s standing plea for greater cooperation in questions of armaments. The EU governments decided in late 2003 to act, irrespective of the fact that the Agency really was part of the constitution that has yet to be ratified, and thus organized an Agency Establishment Team that spearheaded the Defense Agency. It was officially created—by a so-called Joint Action—July 12, 2004. See particularly paragraph 21 of the June 2004 Istanbul Declaration. NATO, Istanbul Summit Declaration. Niall Ferguson, “The Widening Atlantic,” The Atlantic Monthly 295/1 (January–February 2005), pp. 40–44. Donald J. Puchala, “The Atlantic Community in the Age of International Terrorism,” Journal of Transatlantic Studies, Vol. 3 special issue (Spring 2005), pp. 89–105.

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128. Tony Judt, “Europe vs. America,” The New York Review of Books 52/2 (February 10, 2005). 129. Daalder and Lindsay, America Unbound, p. 196. See also Stefan Halper and Jonathan Clarke, America Alone: The Neo-Conservatives and the Global Order (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 130. Donald Rumsfeld, “Transforming the Military,” Foreign Affairs 81/3 (May–June 2002), pp. 20–33. 131. France suggested clandestinely to the United States in early 2003 that they should abandon the search for a second UN resolution because, as France stated, it was better to avoid a divisive debate across the Atlantic on this issue. However, left unspoken was the purpose of undermining Blair’s position, which was intimately tied to the second resolution, and thus encouraging the British opposition’s view that the alliance with the United States had gone too far. In other words, France was hoping not only to avoid a dispute with the United States but also to draw Britain further into the making of a European defense option. See Financial Times, “Blair’s Mission Impossible,” May 29, 2003. 132. The G8 comprises six NATO members (the United States, Great Britain, France, Germany, Italy, and Canada) in addition to Japan and Russia. See the G8 document, Partnership for Progress and a Common Future with the Region of the Broader Middle East and North Africa, Sea Island, Georgia, June 9, 2004. http://www.g8usa.gov/d_060904c.htm. 133. Both programs aim to enhance practical cooperation between NATO and the involved partners in respect to defense reform, border security, interoperationability, and civil-military relations. These initiatives follow from the Istanbul summit, June 28, 2004. Information is available on the NATO website dedicated to these two programs: http://www.nato.int/med-dial/home.htm. 134. See Financial Times, “Nato Moulds Strategy aimed at Tightening Security in Mideast and North Africa,” March 3, 2004; Le Monde, “Paris et Berlin se mettent d’accord sur une réponse au plan américain de ‘Grand Moyen-Orient,’ ” “March 4, 2004; Le Monde, “Washington veut convaincre les pays arabes,” March 4, 2004. 135. Daniel Vernet, “Helsinki au Moyen-Orient,” Le Monde, March 29, 2004. 136. Paul Berman, Terror and Liberalism (New York: W. W. Norton, 2003), pp. 183 and 189.

Chapter 5 Conclusion 1. See for instance Stanley Hoffmann, “Obstinate or Obsolete? The Fate of the Nation-State and the Case of Western Europe,” Daedalus 95 (Summer 1966), pp. 862–915. 2. For this argument and a convincing presentation of the pluralist view of the world, see David P. Calleo, Rethinking Europe’s Future (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), in particular chapter 15.

220

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3. Adda B. Bozeman, Politics and Culture in International History (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1994), p. 520. 4. See for instance David P. Calleo’s discussion of “tri-polar Pan-Europe” in Rethinking Europe’s Future, pp. 348–353. 5. See Richard N. Rosecrance, Action and Reaction in World Politics: International Systems in Perspective (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1963), especially the discussion in chapter twelve of “direction” and three other determinants of stability. For Rosecrance’s continued emphasis on ideology as a distinct source of policy compared with power, see his critical review of John Mearsheimer’s theory of offensive realism, “Review Article: War and Peace,” World Politics 55/1 (October 2002), pp. 137–166.

Index

Active Endeavor, Operation, xi, 124–125, 129, 208n20 Afghanistan, 122, 155, 162 postwar stabilization, 125–129, 131, 141–142, 153, 158, 175–178, 213n77 war of 2001, xi–xii, 123–124, 132–133, 166, 209n34, 212n63, 212n64 Ahmadinejad, Mahmoud, 210n44 Ahtisaari, Martti, 110 Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS), 26, 124–125, 129, 140 Akashi, Yashushi, 27 Alba, Operation, 88 Albania, 88, 97, 114, 138, 140 Albright, Madeleine, 76, 81, 84, 117, 203n54 and three D’s, 90 Allawi, Ayad, 142 Alliance NATO nostalgy, 22, 28–29, 170–171 theory, 11–13, 14–15 Allied Command Europe (ACE), see NATO Command Structure: European Strategic Command Allied Command Operations (ACO), see NATO Command Structure: European Strategic Command Allied Effort, Exercise, 94 Allied Force, Operation, 72

Allied Rapid Reaction Corps (ARRC), see NATO Force Structure: Allied Rapid Reaction Corps Alliot-Marie, Michèle, 213n77 Al-Qaeda, 123, 136 and Iran, 134, 210n43 and Iraq, 134 and post–September 11 combat, 129, 131, 132–133 Althea, Operation, 155, 215n104 Anaconda, Operation, 209n35 Angola, 140 Annan, Kofi, 73 Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty (ABM), 10 Aron, Raymond, 188n47, 189n58 Artemis, Operation, 157 Asmus, Ronald, 61, 198n105 Asymmetrical threats, see NATO: risks; Risks; Terrorism Atlanticism, xiii, 5, 21 Australia, 123, 133, 209n36 AWACS, see Airborne Warning and Control System Baker, James, 25, 44–45, 48, 61 Balance-of-interest theory, 11–13 flexibility, 12–13 inclusion, 12–13 Balance-of-power bandwagoning, 12 off-shore balancing, 6 theory of, 8–9

222

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Index

Ballistic Missile Defense Act, 80 BAOR, see British Army of the Rhine Beaufre, André, 10–11 Belgium, 47, 125, 140, 146, 158, 213n76, 217117 Berdal, Mats, 26 Berlin summit (1996), 29, 198n100 Betts, Richard, 188n54 Biological Weapons Convention, 131 Blair, Tony, 73, 77 Blair doctrine, 87, 173 Iraq war, 133, 164, 212n63, 219n131 vision of European Security and Defence Policy, 91, 107–108, 205n94 Bosnia-Herzegovina, 1–2, 24–27, 50, 78, 88, 97, 110, 145, 155, 170, 177, 180, 215n104 referendum on and recognition of independence, 25 safe areas, 2, 26–27 Brawley, Mark, 4 British Army of the Rhine (BAOR), 61 Brunssum command, see NATO Command Structure: operational command Brussels summit (1994), 35, 52, 198n96 Brzezinski, Zbigniew, 60 Bulgaria, 114, 137, 140, 205n103 Burden-sharing, 4, 52, 122, 142 Burns, Nicholas, 159 Bush, George H. W., 25, 44–45, 47, 65, 171 Bush, George W. European Security and Defence Policy, 107 Iraq war, 131–137, 140, 211n53, 211n54 nation-building, 116, 172 new threats and terrorism, 119, 120–121, 123 worldview, 131, 162–164, 209n30 Byelorussia, 110

Calleo, David P., 5, 8 Cameroon, 140 Canada, 54, 84, 123, 126–127, 133 Capabilities Coordination Cell, 198n99 Capability Development Mechanism (CDM), 161, 218n122; see also European Union: Helsinki Headline Goal Carpenter, Ted Galen, 78, 115 CDM, see Capability Development Mechanism Central Command, U.S., 93, 122–123, 212n63 CFE, see Conventional Armed Forces in Europe Treaty Chechnya, 110 Cheney, Richard, 107–108, 211n54 Chernomyrdin, Viktor, 110 Chile, 140, 212n66 China, 98, 183 Iran, 134, 210n40 Iraq, 140 Kosovo, 72, 75, 115, 172 missile defense, 107, 110 Chirac, Jacques, 63 European Security and Defence Policy, 108, 205n94, 215n108 Iraq war, 190, 212n65, 212n66 United Nations, 86, 87 CJTF, see Combined Joint Task Forces Clark, Wesley, 63, 76, 77, 205n103 Clinton, William J., 5, 180 Bosnia intervention, 28, 47, 49–50, 194n14 Kosovo intervention, 76–77, 109, 172 NATO enlargement, 36, 59–60, 65 strategic policy, 80, 83, 86 Coalitions, 14, 16–17, 19, 192n83 means to hollow out NATO, 63, 66, 88, 92, 108 means to tie WEU/EU to NATO, 30, 53–54, 88, 107–108 NATO’s acceptance, 70, 75, 94, 137–139, 144–150, 169–170

Index NATO’s reluctance, 38–39, 50, 63–64, 117, 131–137, 167, 173, 180 United States’ ambiguity, 91, 120–121, 163–164 Cohen, William, 105–106, 161, 173 Coker, Christopher, 10–11 Collective Security, 14, 16–18, 191n67, 192n81, 192n82 inspiration from end of Cold War and spread of democracy, 21, 41, 60–61, 170–171 NATO attracted to policy of CS, 23, 28, 39, 64–65, 70–78, 172 Cologne summit of European Union, 89, 104 Combined Joint Planning Staff, 58 Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF) CJTF Concept Implementation Plan and timetable, 94–96 French view, 57–58, 63, 66, 94 need of reform, 158, 160 origins, 31–32, 35, 53, 99, 171 relationship to NATO Command Structure, 32, 58, 93, 95, 96–99, 148–149, 198n100 split focus, 56, 93–94, 173 Committee of Contributors, 181 Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), see European Union: Common Foreign and Security Policy Commonwealth of Independent States, 35, 110 Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), 131 Concerts, 14, 15–16, 17, 18, 170, 192n77, 192n82 Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), 34, 36–37, 43–45, 48, 65, 165–166; see also Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) Charter of Paris, 34, 44, 64

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223

Congress, U.S., 40, 60, 62, 76, 77, 123 Conscription, 55, 99, 101, 144, 217n115 Constructivism, 178, 183 Contact Group, 28, 37 Conventional Armed Forces in Europe, Treaty (CFE), 34, 51 Cornish, Paul, 8 Creveld, Martin van, 75 Crisis Management Combined Joint Task Forces, 93–94, 95, 98–99, 173 European Union role, 48, 83, 91–92, 107, 157, 161, 216n114 George W. Bush, 116, 205n90 NATO’s engagement, 1, 42, 64, 71–72, 79–80, 82, 87–88, 90, 101–102, 150 new demands on military forces, 33, 105, 144–145 partnership for Peace, 97, 113, 211n60 Petersberg agenda, 53 terrorism, 119 Croatia, 25, 28, 138, 140, 193n10 Croft, Stuart, 3 La Croix, 86 CSBM, see Vienna Document on Confidence and Security Building Measures CSCE, see Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe CTBT, see Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty Czech Republic, 36, 69, 111, 140 Daalder, Ivo, 5, 74, 200n10, 209n30 Dayton Accords, 23–24, 27, 73, 109 DDR, see Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration program Defense Capabilities Initiative (DCI), see NATO Force Planning: Defense Capabilities Initiative Deliberate Effort, Operation, 28

224

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Index

Democratic peace proposition, 22, 60 Denmark, 29, 49, 57, 97, 133, 140, 146, 217n115, 217n117 Department of Defense, U.S. allied participation in war, 151, 175 Kosovo and strategic outlook, 77–78, 92, 103, 172 partnership for Peace and NATO enlargement, 62–63, 65–66, 172 Destined Glory, Exercise, 124 Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration program (DDR), 127 Display Deterrence, Operation, 129 Dobriansky, Paula, 5 DSACEUR, see Supreme Allied Commander Europe: European Deputy Duffield, John, 4, 15, 191n74 Eagle Assist, Operation, 124, 129 EAPC, see Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council ESDI, see European Security and Defense Identity Estonia, 114, 137, 140 EU, see European Union Euro-Atlantic area, 30, 70, 76, 79–87, 126, 141 Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC), 35, 37, 70, 112, 114, 119, 138 Eurocorps, 126, 146, 213n77 European Community, see European Union (EU) European Rapid Reaction Force, see European Union: Helsinki Headline Goal European Security and Defense Identity (ESDI), 35, 67, 63 Berlin agreement, 29–31, 38, 53, 70, 198n100 Berlin Plus agreement, 29, 87–90, 105, 107–108, 117, 142, 158–159, 215n104, 216n114

connection to Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF), 31–33, 56, 171 European Security and Defense Planning System (ESDPS), 106 European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP), see European Union: European Security and Defence Policy European Union (EU), 29, 45, 63, 88, 119–120, 140, 155–156, 165, 170–171, 176–179 The Balkans, 25, 64, 142 battle groups, 155–157, 175, 181 Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), 25, 29–30, 43, 53, 65–66 constitutional treaty, 156, 175, 215n108, 218n124 European Capability Action Panels, 161 European Defence Agency, 161, 215n107, 218n124 European Security and Defense Policy (ESDP), 70, 83–84, 89–92, 107–109, 114, 116–117, 156–159 European Union Military Committee, 89 European Union Military Staff, 89, 105 Headline Goal 2010, 157 Helsinki Headline Goal, 99–100, 104–108, 161–162, 173–174, 218n122 Political and Security Committee, 89 Russia, 108–111, 114, 174 structured cooperation, 156–157, 159, 182, 215n107, 215n108 Tervuren operational staff project, 158–159, 216n114 treaty on European Union, 25 Ferguson, Niall, 162 Financial Times, 37, 47, 81, 108

Index France Afghanistan, 123–124, 133, 213n77 The Balkans, 28, 74, 77, 83, 97 Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF), 57–59, 66, 93–94, 98–99, 198n99, 198n101 Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), 43, 48 defense spending, 54 European Union policy, 45, 83, 90–92, 100, 104, 116, 157–159, 172–173, 175, 215n108, 216n113 German unification, 43 Iraq war, 135, 139–140, 142–143, 164, 208n28, 212n66, 213n69, 219n131 The Middle East, 134, 165, 210n44 NATO enlargement, 59, 63, 199n111 NATO reform, 29–30, 42–43, 57–59, 63, 66, 87, 146, 154, 158, 217n117 opposition to the United States, 21, 23, 45, 171, 179, 205n94 United Nations mandates, 49, 84–86, 139–140 Freedman, Lawrence, 44, 77 G8, 165, 219n132 Galvin, John R., 51 Gaullism, 43, 86, 107 GDR, see German Democratic Republic Genscher, Hans-Dietrich, 43–45 German Democratic Republic (GDR), 45, 61 Germany Afghanistan, 123, 126–128, 133, 141 The Balkans, 88, 97, 110 Conference and Organisation on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE and OSCE), 43–44, 65, 171

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225

European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP), 156–159, 175, 215n108 European Union, 45, 63, 140 Gulf War of 1991, 47 Iraq, 135, 140–141, 142, 208n28, 212n66 The Middle East, 134, 165, 210n44 NATO Command Structure, 57, 146, 198n100, 217n117 NATO enlargement, 65 NATO reform, 23, 42, 83, 120, 139 North Atlantic Cooperation Council, 45 unification, 24–25, 29, 43–45 United Nations, 85 Goldgeier, James, 37 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 25, 35 Gordon, Philip, 5 Gow, James, 4 Great Britain Afghanistan, 123, 126 Atlanticist policy, 29, 49, 66, 107, 140 The Balkans, 28, 49, 88, 97 battle groups, 157–159, 175 Defense spending and reforms, 54, 61–62, 160 Doctrine of intervention, 73, 87, 173 European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP), 83, 90, 91–92, 100, 104, 106, 116, 215n108 Iraq, 140, 212n63, 219n131 The Middle East, 134, 210n44 NATO Command Structure, 57, 146, 198n100, 217n117, 217n118 NATO enlargement, 62–63, 172, 199n111, 199n113 NATO reforms, 102, 154 United Nations, 84, 140, 164, 212n66 Greece, 54, 57, 146, 217n117 The Guardian, 2

226

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Index

Guinea, 140 Gulf War 1991, 24–25, 45–47, 52, 56, 93, 158 2003, see Iraq Ham, Peter Van, 7 Harmel Doctrine, 34 Heisbourg, François, 6 Helsinki Headline Goal, see European Union: Helsinki Headline Goal Helsinki summit of European Union, 89–90, 104 Hill, Christopher, 74 Holbrooke, Richard, 24, 62–63, 73, 76, 194n14 Hoon, Geoff, 107 Howorth, Jolyon, 3 Hungary, 36, 69, 111, 140, 205n103 Hunter, Robert, 61–62, 90, 105 Huntington, Samuel, 4 Hurd, Douglas, 2 Hussein, Saddam, 129, 133 IAEA, see International Atomic Energy Agency IFOR, see Implementation Force Ikenberry, G. John, 4 Implementation Force (IFOR), 24, 28, 50, 62 India, 80, 132 Inter-American Treaty of Reciprocal Assistance, see Rio de Janeiro Treaty International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), 134, 210n41 International Criminal Court, 73, 131 International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), 123, 125–130, 141, 207n12, 207n16, 213n76, 213n77 Iran, 80, 132, 133–134, 210n40, 210n41, 210n42, 210n43, 210n44 Iraq, 56, 75, 157–158, 169 invasion of Kuwait 1990 and Gulf War 1991, 24–25, 47

postwar stabilization, 5, 7, 130–131, 140–143, 163–165, 208n26, 208n28 war of 2003 and its causes, xi, 4, 121–122, 125, 129, 132–133, 135–137, 151, 156, 166–167, 175–177, 180, 183, 211n52, 211n53 ISAF, see International Security Assistance Force Israel, 47, 134, 165, 209n36 Istanbul Cooperation Initiative (ICI), 165 Istanbul summit (2004), 121, 130, 142, 162, 165, 167, 174, 208n26, 219n133 Italy Gulf War, 47 Iraq, 140 Kosovo, 77, 97 NATO Command Structure, 57–59, 95, 146, 217n117 NATO enlargement, 59 Operation Alba, 88 Jackson, Michael, 205n103 Janvier, Bernard, 27 Johnston, Andrew, 41 Joint Analysis and Lessons Learned Center, 148 Joint Force Training Center, 148 Joint Warfare Center, 148 Jones, James L., 147, 153 Joulwan, George, 32 Judt, Tony, 162–163 Kagan, Robert, 7, 8, 77, 139 Kant, Immanuel, 60 Karzai, Hamid, 123, 127 Kaufman, Joyce, 27, 74, 199n111 Kennan, George, 29 Keohane, Robert O., 4, 10–11, 12, 14, 190n62, 192n81 KFOR, see Kosovo Force

Index Khan, Abdul Qadeer, 209n37 Kissinger, Henry, 4, 8, 131–132, 192n77, 192n78 Kohl, Helmut, 47 Korean War, 24 Kosovo Force (KFOR), 70, 96–97 Kosovo War allied debate over United Nations mandates, 83–87, 115 European Union crisis management ambition, 157, 174 NATO Command Structure, 96–98, 145, 173 NATO intervention, 4, 22, 67, 92, 99, 109, 114 NATO’s collective security ambition, 70–79, 172 Russia, 109–110, 145 strategic bombing controversy, 180, 200n14 Washington summit (1999), 67, 119 Kouchner, Bernard, 24, 75 Krahmann, Elke, 3 Kupchan, Charles, 7, 8, 192n82 Latvia, 114, 137, 140 Lithuania, 114, 137, 140 London summit (1990), 29, 35, 51 Long-Term Study (LTS), 56, 101, 198n96 LTS, see Long-Term Study Lugar, Richard, 5, 60 Luxembourg, 146, 158, 213n76, 217n117 Macedonia, 97, 114, 138, 140, 155 Madrid summit (1997), 23, 59, 67 MAP, see Membership Action Plan Maritime Guard, Operation, 26 Maritime Monitor, Operation, 26 Martin, Pierre, 4 McCalla, Robert, 4, 192n84 Mearsheimer, John, 5–6, 8, 178, 187n31

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227

Mediterranean Dialogue, 1, 165 Membership Action Plan (MAP), 70, 112, 114, 138 Mexico, 140, 212n66 Military Strategy Working Group, 43 Milosevic, Slobodan, 73, 75–77, 180 Mitterrand, François, 24, 43, 45, 63, 171, 196n52, 196n53 Moïsi, Dominique, 7 Morgenthau, Hans, 8, 188n47, 189n58, 191n71 Multinational Division Central, 54, 62, 217n118 Musharraf, Pervez, 133 Mutual Defense Assistance Pact, 40 NAC, see North Atlantic Council NACC, see North Atlantic Cooperation Council Naples command, see NATO Command Structure: operational command NATO Article 4 consultations, xi, 46–47, 81, 129, 140–141, 213n69 Article 5 commitment and declaration, xi-xii, 39–40, 42, 81, 119–120, 124, 128, 141, 166, 180, 195n43 Cold War, 1, 8, 21–23, 46, 71, 121 future prospects, xii–xiii, 3–7, 179–184 geographical limits, 23, 24, 40, 46, 81–83, 115, 193n3 International Military Staff, 51, 56, 57–58, 66, 95 International Staff, 55, 66, 154, 160, 162 Military Committee, 32–33, 51, 53, 57, 94–96, 102, 198n99 risks, xi, 37, 42, 64–65, 82–83, 92, 111, 115, 117, 120–121, 132, 163, 167, 170, 174, 179–184 Yugoslavia, 1–2, 22, 26–28

228

●

Index

NATO Command Structure, 18–19, 31–32, 55–59, 93–99, 101, 122, 138, 143–144, 147–149, 158–160, 167, 173 Allied Command Atlantic (ACLANT), 58, 95, 104, 143, 147–148 Allied Command Transformation (ACT), 147–148, 150 Combined Air Operations Centers (CAOC), 149, 217n117 Component Commands, 57, 93, 146, 149–150, 217n117 European Strategic Command (ACE and ACO), 51, 57–58, 93, 95, 104, 125–126, 148–150, 159, 162, 181, 198n101 Joint Sub-Regional Headquarters (JSRHQ), 57–58, 97 operational command, 56–59, 93, 96–97, 125–126, 149, 158; see also Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF) Sub-Principal Subordinate Command, 56 tactical command, 32, 57, 93–94, 98, 144, 149–150, 173 NATO Enlargement, 1, 34, 182 1995 declaration, 3 first round (1997–1999), 36, 49, 59–64, 65–66, 69, 172 second round (2002), 137 future, see Membership Action Plan (MAP) NATO Force Planning, 40–41, 50–59, 99–108, 143–147, 155–162 Conventional Defense Improvement (CDI) program, 50 Defense Capabilities Initiative (DCI), 102–106, 144–145, 161 Essential Operating Capabilities (EOC), 104 force goals, 33, 40–41, 52–55, 104, 113, 145, 154, 175 Medium Term Defense Plan, 40

Military Functions, 53, 104 Ministerial Guidance, 33, 52–53, 55, 101, 113, 162, 189n59 Prague Capabilities Commitment (PCC), 138, 145–146, 150, 161 Regional Planning Groups, 40 Western European Union (WEU), 30–33 NATO Force Structure, 18–19, 32–33, 51, 55, 100–106, 143–147, 160, 162 Allied Rapid Reaction Corps (ARRC), 54, 62, 97–98, 145–146, 217n118 Forces of lower readiness headquarters (FLR HQ), 146, 150, 159 High-readiness forces headquarters (HRF HQ), 146, 150, 159, 217n118 Main Defense and Augmentation Forces, 33, 51, 54, 100–101 NATO Response Force (NRF), 138, 143, 146–147, 150–158, 160–162, 164, 175, 215n97 reaction forces, 33, 51, 54–55, 100–103, 143–144, 167 standing naval forces, 125 NATO Response Force (NRF), see NATO Force Structure: NATO Response Force NATO-Russia Council, 138, 211n60 Neoconservative doctrine, 131–132, 136, 163, 209n30 Neorealism, see Realism: structural Realism Netherlands, 27, 28, 48–49, 126–127, 129, 146, 213n76, 217n115, 217n117 Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), 134, 210n42 North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC), 48 Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC), 35, 37 origins, 35, 45

Index North Atlantic Council (NAC), 18, 122, 139 NATO enlargement, 59 NATO interventions, 1, 72, 128, 130 NATO reform, 56, 78–79, 84, 154 North Atlantic Treaty; see also NATO: geographical limits; NATO: Article 4 consultations; NATO: Article 5 commitment and declaration commitments, 41, 82, 129 enlargement, 112 geographical scope, 24, 46, 81, 193n3 values, 3, 41, 78–79, 137–138 North Korea, 80, 210n40 Norway, 29, 57, 95, 97, 133, 148, 217n115, 217n117 NPT, see Non-Proliferation Treaty Nuclear weapons NATO strategy, 83 as new threat, 81, 138, 144–145 post–Cold War deployment, 38 U.S. strategy, 41 O’Hanlon, Michael, 54, 74, 200n10 Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), 37, 38, 64, 73–74, 84, 85, 109–111, 114, 171 Osgood, Robert, 9, 15, 191n71, 191n74 Out-of-area, see Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF); Euro-Atlantic area; NATO: geographical limits Pakistan, 80, 132–133, 140, 209n35, 209n36, 209n37, 210n40 Partnership for Peace (PfP), 1, 35–36, 49, 62, 112, 114, 172 framework document, 35–37 in the spirit of PfP, 113 Individual Partnership Program (IPP), 112–113 Operational Capabilities Concept (OCC), 113

●

229

Partnership Coordination Cell (PCC), 36 Partnership Work Program (PWP), 112–113 Planning and Review Process (PARP), 53, 113 Political Military Framework (PMF), 113 Russia, 37, 61 Pentagon, see Department of Defense, U.S. Permanent Joint Council (PJC), 37, 61, 138, 211n60 Petersberg Tasks, 48, 53, 89, 104–105 PfP, see Partnership for Peace PJC, see Permanent Joint Council Poland, 36, 69, 111, 129–130, 140, 142, 146, 148 Policy Coordination Group, 78–79 Portugal, 29, 49, 105, 140, 148–149 Posen, Barry, 160, 191n73 Powell, Colin, 136–137, 211n54 Prague Capabilities Commitment (PCC), see NATO Force Planning: Prague Capabilities Commitment Prague summit (2002), 3, 121, 137–140, 144–145, 153, 167, 174, 215n97, 215n108 Primakov, Yevgeny, 109 Provisional Reconstruction Teams (PRT), 127–128, 141–143, 213n76, 213n77 Puchala, Donald J., 7, 162 Putin, Vladimir, 110 Quadrennial Defense Review (QDR), 103, 204n77 Ralston, Joseph, 77, 201n21 Rambouillet Conference, 73–74, 200n10 Realism classical realism, xiii, 8, 10–17, 19, 178 NATO, xiii, 178–179 structural realism, xiii, 5–6, 11, 178

230

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Index

Revisionism, 9, 11–14, 15, 17, 64, 73, 178–179, 188n47, 188n48, 188n51, 189n58, 190n60 Rio de Janeiro Treaty, 40 Risks, 10–14, 16, 17 Risse, Thomas, 3 Robertson, George, 3 Romania, 63, 114, 137, 205n103 Rome summit (1991), 35, 43, 44–45, 47, 51 Roth, William, 81 Rumsfeld, Donald, 108, 116–117, 140, 209n33 coalition warfare, 120, 135, 163–164 Commission on missile threats, 80, 82 military modernization, 152–153 Russia, 7, 22, 29, 34, 63, 71, 83, 98, 107–108, 170, 172, 174, 179, 210n40, 219n132 The Balkans, 49, 72, 85, 109–110, 115, 205n103 campaign against terrorism, 132, 134, 140, 212n66 The European Union, 108–111, 206n104 Missile defense, 107, 110 NATO enlargement, 36–37, 59–61, 111–112 NATO partnership, 38–39, 84, 114, 138, 182–183, 211n60 SACEUR, see Supreme Allied Commander Europe Saudi Arabia, 80, 93, 134, 210n43 Scheffer, Jaap de Hoop, 3, 142, 213n77 Schwarzkopf, H. Norman, 93 Schweller, Randall, 9, 11–12, 189n58, 190n60, 190n63 Security Cooperation, 13–17; see also Alliance; Coalitions; Collective Security; Concerts; NATO Security Management, 11, 22 Serbia, 69, 84, 109–110, 200n14 SFOR, see Stabilization Force

Shah-I-Kot valley, 133 Shalikashvili, John, 62 Short, Michael, 200n14 Sloan, Stanley, 36, 47, 62 Slovakia, 114, 137, 140 Slovenia, 63, 114, 137, 140 Smith, Martin, 51 Smith, Rupert, 27 Solana, Javier, 73 South Korea, 120 Soviet Union, 22, 24, 34–35, 39, 42, 44, 61, 75, 132 Spain, 57, 130, 140, 146, 215n108, 217n117 Stabilization Force (SFOR), 24, 155 Status Quo, 9, 11–16, 21, 64, 73, 121, 170, 178–183, 189n58, 190n60, 191n65, 192n77 Steinberg, James, 5 Stephens, Philip, 108 St. Malo Declaration, 83, 88–91 Strategic Concept 1991, 23, 39–45, 51, 61–62 1999, 67, 69, 78–93, 107–108, 114–117, 126, 127, 173 force planning, 101, 104, 162 NATO partners, 111–114 Strategy logic of, 9 strategic environment, 10–11 strategic challenge, 11 Strategy Review Group, 43 Strong Resolve, Exercise, 95–96 Summers, Lawrence, 4 Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR) Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF), 32, 58, 149 European Deputy, 58, 88–89, 198n100 European Security and Defense Identity (ESDI), 31, 88 military strategy, 51 NATO Response Force, 147, 153–155, 162, 175

Index Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE), see NATO Command Structure: European Strategic Command Sweden, 105 Syria, 140, 212n65 Szmajdzinski, Jerzy, 130 Talbott, Strobe, 61, 90 Taleban regime and forces, 123, 129, 133, 134, 141 Terriff, Terry, 3 Terrorism European Union strategy, 155 NATO agenda, 1, 81–82, 92, 122–131, 135, 138, 164–170 September 11, 2001 attacks, xi, xii, 3, 8, 119 United States focus on, 80, 82, 116, 132, 135–136, 163 Thies, Wallace, 4 Tora Bora mountains, 133 Travemünde informal meeting, 32, 35 Turkey, xi Afghanistan, 126, 213n76 European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) and European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP), 89–90, 162, 203n54 European Union membership, 176 Gulf War, 47, 56 Iraq, 129, 131, 140, 213n69 NATO reform, 54, 57, 103, 146, 217n117 Ukraine, 110, 113, 138, 183 United Nations, 36, 170 Afghanistan, 125, 207n16 Charter, 34, 40–41, 46, 48, 71, 75, 84–87, 129 right of self-defense (Article 51), 25, 40, 46, 71, 211n48 Security Council and mandates to use force, 26, 71, 85, 156, 139–140

●

231

United Nations Protection Force (UNPROFOR), 1–2, 25–28, 49, 193n10 United States Afghanistan, 123–124, 127–131, 133, 141–142, 180, 209n34, 213n76 The Balkans, 25–27, 28–29, 47–50, 75–76, 97, 180 Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF), 32, 56–57, 98–99, 198n100 Conference and Organization on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE and OSCE), 48, 65 entry into NATO, 40 European Security and Defense Identity (ESDI), 30–31, 90 European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP), 91–93, 155–159, 175–178 German unification, 24–25 Greater Middle East, 133–134, 165–166, 210n43 Iraq, 133–134, 135, 139–141, 142–143, 164, 180, 208n28 National security strategy, 60, 86, 120, 134, 210n39 NATO enlargement and partnerships, 45, 60–63, 109–110, 114, 137 NATO’s primacy, 21, 25, 31–32, 35, 39, 42, 57, 100, 102, 105, 139, 146, 151–154, 162, 171, 215n97 out-of-area operations, 46, 82–83 September 11, 2001 attacks, 3, 119–121, 122, 132 Strategic Concept and new threats, 80–82 United Nations, 25, 48, 86–88, 115, 136–137, 140–141, 212n66 United States Joint Forces Command, 148

232

●

Index

UNPROFOR, see United Nations Protection Force Vance-Owen Plan, 26 Védrine, Hubert, 45, 91 Venturoni, Guido, 102 Vienna Document on Confidence and Security Building Measures (CSBM), 34 Vietnam War, 24, 46 Wallander, Celeste, 4, 10–11, 12, 14, 190n62, 192n81 Wall Street Journal, 140 Walt, Stephen, 6, 8, 188n54, 189n59, 190n60 Waltz, Kenneth, 5–6, 8, 14, 178, 189n59 Warsaw Pact, see Warsaw Treaty Organization Warsaw Treaty Organization, 1, 33–34, 36, 44–45, 50–51, 109, 191n67 Washington summit (1999), 67, 69, 77, 79, 80, 82, 85–86, 89, 95, 102–103, 111–113, 119, 144, 173 Washington Treaty, see North Atlantic Treaty Weapons of Mass Destruction European Union strategy, 155 Iran, 134–135

new threat and preemptive strikes, 133 Webber, Mark, 3 Weber, Steve, 3 The West as political unit, xiii, 4, 5, 7, 13, 19, 137, 179–184 Western European Union (WEU) European Security and Defense Identity (ESDI), 30–33, 53, 84, 89, 198n100 European Union (EU), 30, 43, 45, 105 Operation Alba, 88 Petersberg tasks, 48, 53 Yugoslavia, 1, 26, 49 Western Union, 40 WEU, see Western European Union Wijk, Rob de, 41, 55, 198n96 Wittmann, Klaus, 80 Wolfers, Arnold, 9, 189n58 Wolfowitz, Paul, 108 Yalta order, 61 Yeltsin, Boris, 37, 59, 109–110 Yost, David, 18, 83 Yugoslavia; see also Bosnia-Herzegovina; Croatia; Kosovo; Serbia; individual countries Kosovo war (1999), 74, 180 war of 1991–1995, 1–2, 23–27, 47, 72

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