Arms and security in the

Anna Matveeva

THE CAUCASUS CONTINUES to be burdened by unresolved conflicts, a lack of regional co-operation and widespread possession of small arms and light weapons (SALW). Arms were acquired at a time when the Soviet system was collapsing and much of the region was descending into ethnic conflict; in areas of continuing in- security, conflicting parties and individuals still keep hold of their weapons. SALW proliferation presents a grave risk, endangering peace and stability, and heightening fears of further conflicts. It also has clear humanitarian consequences. These include higher levels of street crime and an increase in mortality rates as a result of homicide, suicide, accidents and outbreaks of armed violence. Personal disputes are settled by force more often than they would be otherwise. With the increase in crime, private security companies and bodyguards inevitably proliferate, and businesses are forced to pay ‘protection’ money. Yet SALW cannot be seen as an evil per se; rather they need to be treated in the context of wider security issues. Effective disarmament is not feasible until more has been done to address the issues that cause people in the Caucasus to hold on to their weapons. These relate to the weakness of the state and its inability to address its security challenges and reform its security sector. Until the states of the Caucasus provide for their citizens’ security by resolving conflicts between majority and minority populations and creating an environment where there is unlikely to be further conflict, people will continue to feel the need for arms. Although it is widely acknowledged that SALW proliferation in the Caucasus is a serious security concern, there is little detailed analysis of its dimensions.1 Just how many weapons are in circulation? How were these weapons acquired, and which types of guns are widespread? What role do guns play in society? This report seeks to find some answers to these questions by exploring the dynamics of SALW proliferation in the region and looking at it in the context of the local security environment. It is com- prised of six case studies written by local researchers in the Caucasus, complemented by a chapter on the view from Moscow. Each case study aims to provide answers to the following questions:

1 A notable exception is Demetriou S, Politics from the Barrel of a Gun: Small Arms Proliferation and Conflict in the Republic of (1989–2001), (Small Arms Survey, 2002). 2 THE CAUCASUS: ARMED AND DIVIDED · ARMS AND SECURITY IN THE CAUCASUS

How did local groups and individuals acquire arms as conflicts were unfolding, and how has the situation changed up to the present day? Which groups and security structures possess weapons, and how do they relate to the ruling regimes? What are the humanitarian consequences of small arms diffusion for the societies in question? What current trends can be noted regarding weapons circulation: are new weapons flowing into the Caucasus, or is it largely old Soviet/Russian arms that are being recycled across the region? What gun control measures have been taken by the authorities and by international actors? How effective have they been? Have they enjoyed popular support? What are the prospects for the future, and what needs to happen to improve the situation? The chapter on Russia’s policy analyses SALW issues in the context of the closure of Russian military bases and the withdrawal of Russian troops from the South Caucasus, while also considering Russia’s remaining military presence in the region. Although the main focus of the report is on SALW issues,its relevance goes far beyond arms proliferation alone. It suggests a new angle from which to look at the security situation in the region, and raises important questions about the relationship between the level of armament of conflicting parties and the way in which these conflicts developed. It also considers the manner in which new security actors emerged in the Caucasus. The case studies are rich in detail about how their respective societies function and address issues of personal and collective security, and shed light on the development of security structures from new. The authors also demonstrate that there is no single ‘problem’ with SALW in the Caucasus – each area has its own specific ‘problems’. Similarly, they show that there are many causes of SALW proliferation, some or all of which may be present in any given case, including unresolved conflicts, state weakness, individual and organised crime and smuggling networks, as well as a range of external factors. Still, there are factors shared across the South Caucasus. Although every situation is unique in its own right, the common thread is that the region is affected by the same challenges, ie forces of destructive nationalism, intolerance towards diversity, belief in violence as a way to resolve problems, and vulnerability to external influences. An excessive accumulation of armaments also forms a part of the picture. These studies reveal a core dilemma for reformers in the region: the contradiction between the desire of people in the Caucasus to rid their societies of SALW and the appreciation that in reality without these arms violent conflicts against ethnic adversaries would have been lost. The authors, writing from a local perspective, describe with considerable pride the ingenuity with which people managed to acquire SALW from disoriented and unprepared Soviet armies or converted available material into weapons. Irrespective of the outcome or current state of these conflicts, these societies take great pride in their sides’ victories on the battlefield and the way they built up their fighting capabilities; capabilities that form an essential part of their new national identities. While disarmament is seen as a noble aim and a necessary pre- condition for any return to normal life, there is also widespread suspicion that hand- ing in weapons could make societies vulnerable should fighting resume. Recognising the ill effects of SALW proliferation on internal political and social life, the authors of the case studies try to explore how their societies can disarm and control possession of guns.Yet at the same time they recognise that getting rid of arms is not easy, and may not be desirable as long as there is still a profound sense of insecurity. The contradictions embedded in such attitudes towards weapons and the need for dis- armament reflect the wider dilemma over peace in the Caucasus. Whilst both ordinary SAFERWORLD ARMS & SECURITY PROGRAMME 3

people and political leaders express the same desire for peace, in practice the quest to achieve such peace always comes up against their differing notions of how their conflicts should be resolved. No rapprochement between the two is in sight. There is a chance that violent conflicts may open up again, whether triggered by an internal changeover of power (eg if elderly leaders in Georgia and step down), by a domino effect where one conflict provokes others (as Pankisi could in and ) or by a reconfiguration of external alliances. The risk of a resumption of hostilities is real, and unlike in the Balkans, there are no sizeable international peace-keeping forces on hand to protect the population. Having been caught off guard when the conflicts of the early 1990s first erupted, people do not want to be find them- selves in the same situation again, and generally seek to maintain combat readiness.

Weapons Many people in the Caucasus have long considered owning and handling weapons to proliferation be a traditional part of their culture.Yet it was not until the late 1980s that civilians began to acquire arms on a large scale – one of the many often overlooked effects of the chaos that resulted from the freedom of perestroika. The authors explore this initial period of armament in great detail, as in many ways it is key to the later developments, the consequences of which societies are still struggling with to this day.

‘Gun culture’ A widespread belief exists that Caucasians have a traditional affinity with guns, and that a romantic attachment to weapons as objects of great symbolic value is an inherent feature of the region. The fact that guns are often fired into the air in celebration at weddings or births is given as confirmation of the existence of such a ‘gun culture’. Some of the authors in this report, however, take issue with this notion, arguing that in the Soviet era people in the South Caucasus generally relied on the state to provide security and saw no use for guns. A high degree of urbanisation and the existence of a large professional class meant that the Soviet system was able to penetrate more deeply into local society, and this worked to dilute the traditional fascination with guns. Strict penalties for illegal gun possession also contributed to the decline of this tradition. Hence the authors argue that people in the Caucasus did not acquire arms because of some hypothetical ‘gun culture’, but rather because political conflicts over ethnic identity, territory and survival created a sense that weapons were needed and catalysed the formation of armed groups. By contrast, the situation in the North Caucasus was quite different: in Dagestan, for instance, the Soviet system of control generally affected society to a lesser extent, and people kept weapons despite severe penalties. This boosted a macho culture in the late 1980s when it became ‘cool’ to have a gun. The republic witnessed the creation of new popular icons – powerful individuals from the younger generation who made their way up through personal forcefulness and skilful exploitation of the prevailing economic anarchy. Often with criminal records and from underprivileged back- grounds, many started as famous wrestlers, before making the swift transition from distinguished sportsmen to bodyguards to mafia bosses to legitimate politicians; too often, the final link in this chain was a violent death.2 Even so, groups of their clan followers continue to champion their ‘cause’ and imitate their ‘lifestyle’, generating new heroes in place of the fallen ones. In addition to traditional ‘gun culture’, one should not overlook the Soviet legacy of universal military training and a large conscript army. In the Soviet Union, the armed forces played a much more prominent role in the state and in civilian life than in most Western countries. Most Soviet school children were given basic military training from

2 Matveeva A, The North Caucasus: Russia’s Fragile Borderland, (Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1999), pp 15–16. 4 THE CAUCASUS: ARMED AND DIVIDED · ARMS AND SECURITY IN THE CAUCASUS

the age of fifteen, conscription for males was nearly universal, and university students were trained to become reserve officers. This created a familiarity with weapons and military practices which proved useful in later struggles. Despite this familiarity, in Soviet times weapons were not widely available and did not present a threat to individual security. As a result of over a decade of insecurity, however, weapons have come to play a crucial role in society. Even if people do not hold guns in private possession, there is a general belief that weapons can be obtained quickly if the need arises. As Alan Parastaev notes in his paper on North and South Ossetia, while there is no physical black market, a virtual one exists: if one wants to buy a gun, the message is spread by word of mouth, until a gun appears. The investigation into the murders in the Armenian parliament in 1999 revealed that the attackers did not have a problem obtaining guns.

Political conflicts and The ethno-political conflicts of the late 1980s engendered a culture of respect for the demand for SALW violence as a solution3 which persists to this day. As tension mounted and societies began to mobilise politically in preparation for war, people looked to existing sources in the region to acquire arms. This generally meant Soviet arms stores. The case studies describe the high degree of ingenuity exhibited by local people in their attempts to obtain, convert or produce weapons using whatever they had at hand. SALW proliferation was fuelled by a political demand for weapons, and this was only facilitated by poor stockpile security. It became clear that Moscow had little idea how vulnerable its military stores were, since during the Soviet period there had been very little civilian demand for weapons. In the new, unstable atmosphere, however, it was quite easy to acquire weapons by bribing those responsible for their storage or by violent seizure of the weapons directly from military personnel. The unclear legal situation did not help either: since theoretically the weapons and military equipment of the Soviet Army were the property of the entire Soviet people rather than belonging exclusively to the Russian Federation, national authorities in the South Caucasus were obviously entitled to their share. What this share should have been, however, was unclear, and there was no time to negotiate a ‘civilised division’ of military property whilst conflicts were unfolding. Moreover, it was not always certain how much legitimacy the new national authorities had, nor how responsible they would be with respect to the weapons in their possession. Hence Soviet weapons stocks were divided between Russia and local actors more by default than design, through a combination of legal and illegal means. Although these arms did not in themselves cause wars, there is an appreciation in the Caucasus that these conflicts might not have turned out to be so violent had Moscow not effectively been arming all sides. Eventually, this failure to guarantee the safe withdrawal of troops and weapons to Russia and to ensure stockpile security backfired on Russia itself. In 1992, Russian troops left behind large quantities of SALW during their withdrawal from Chechnya which they were unable or unwilling to protect. Whilst these stockpiles of arms did not lead to immediate conflict, they fuelled the growth in criminality and violence in the region ahead of the conflict that began in 1994.Furthermore, some of these arms found their way towards conflicts that had already erupted elsewhere in the Caucasus. The direct and indirect consequences of such proliferation were disastrous. Subsequently, in the late 1990s, the Russian Military Prosecutor’s Office launched investigations into the ways in which parties to conflicts in the South Caucasus obtained weapons from the Soviet/Russian military.4 It still remains to be seen, however, whether lessons have been learnt from that experience and applied to current Russian operations in the North Caucasus, where uncontrolled arms proliferation continues to be a problem.

3 de Waal T, ‘(In) security in the Caucasus’, opening presentation at the Rose Roth NATO Parliamentary Assembly Seminar in Tbilisi, 27 September 2002. 4 Reitor K, ‘SALW and Stockpile Security’, presentation at the seminar ‘SALW Proliferation in the Caucasus: International Norms and Caucasian Realities’, Yerevan, 4–5 November 2002. SAFERWORLD ARMS & SECURITY PROGRAMME 5

The authors also note that one of the reasons why conflicts turned so violent was a lack of parity in armament between sides, especially in cases such as the Georgian-South Ossetian and Georgian-Abkhaz conflicts, where one side initially managed to acquire heavy weapons and the other did not. This led some to believe that an easy victory could be achieved over their ethnic adversaries providing they had sufficient superiority in arms. This was proved wrong in the end, with the initial easy victories leading to brutal fighting and massive destruction of life and property.

Present risk factors The lesson parties to conflict have taken from the recent past is that they cannot afford to lose an arms race with their adversaries, which might once again disrupt the balance of power against them. Following such thinking, in the absence of lasting solutions to these conflicts, governments in charge of state budgets have tended to prioritise arms purchases and defence needs over social and economic investment. All sides in conflict with each other insist that their armament is purely defensive. However, the distinc- tion between what constitutes an offensive or a defensive doctrine is often blurred, and the accumulation of arms in itself can be easily interpreted by others as a confirmation of evil intentions. In the Javakheti region of Georgia, for example, the overwhelming majority of the ethnic Armenian population own weapons. The Armenians insist that they possess these arms as a precaution against potential Turkish aggression or any attempts to deploy Georgian troops on their territory. The Georgian majority, on the other hand, perceives the armament of the Armenian population as a Russian ploy to ignite separatism and encourage the area to break away from Georgia. State control or monopoly over weapons acquisitions is probably strongest in . However, as Gagik Avagyan points in his chapter on Armenia, no national doctrines exist to determine at which point arms purchases are sufficient for defence needs, and it is only budgetary constraints that prevent further armament. The danger is that as such arms purchases continue – often by-passing normal budgetary channels – they might work to undermine the living standards of the already impoverished nations of the Caucasus, whilst in the long term they do little to make the region more secure. Another key risk in the region is that conflicts in close geographical proximity tend to influence one another. Currently, the on-going war in Chechnya has serious implica- tions for the situation in both Azerbaijan and Georgia. Operations by Georgian troops in the Pankisi Gorge backed by the US and UK,5 and Russian military advances from the north have created new fears in the breakaway republics of Abkhazia and South Ossetia that hostilities with the Georgian side may resume. The Abkhaz and the Ossetians have a number of worries: they fear that US-trained Georgian special forces may try to retake the breakaway territories instead of fighting Islamic fundamentalists in Pankisi; that the Georgians might move Chechen and Arab fighters to areas border- ing Abkhazia or South Ossetia in order to escape attacks and to make these fighters somebody else’s problem; and, finally, they fear that Russia may overreact if it suspects that Abkhazia and South Ossetia are harbouring terrorists (some Chechens helped the Abkhaz to fight their war with Georgians in 1992–93) and might deal out harsh retribution. In conditions where conflicts remain unresolved, every escalation or fear of escalation leads to new waves of SALW proliferation and to weapons again becoming increasingly visible. This happened in Abkhazia after clashes in the Gal(i) region in October 2001, and in South Ossetia in 2002 after operations started in Pankisi. In both breakaway republics, the authorities and general public regard weapons proliferation as a destabilising factor, but at the same time see arms in the hands of reservists and families in border areas as being necessary to defend themselves against a possible

5 On UK aid see Paton Walsh N, ‘British Anti-terror Units to Train Georgian Army’, The Guardian, 21 November 2002. 6 THE CAUCASUS: ARMED AND DIVIDED · ARMS AND SECURITY IN THE CAUCASUS

attack from across the border. Recently,‘bearded men’– believed to be fighters who had been forced out of Pankisi – have started to appear in remote areas of South Ossetia. This caused a great deal of apprehension: the population fears both the ‘bearded men’ and Georgian troops. Such fears quickly led to the reappearance of armed groups of locals – ‘war veterans’ and ‘self-defence units’– which used to dominate the scene during the violent stage of the conflict but were generally believed to have disbanded. However, they seem to be able to mobilise quickly, and their return resurrects the guerrilla culture of the early 1990s, undermining the efforts of the authorities towards normalisation and disarmament. While states and societies were coping with the initial effects of the conflicts, ie the population displacement and violent territorial changes of the early 1990s, the persistence of unresolved conflicts throughout the past decade has started to create secondary security effects.‘Grey zones’, ie areas controlled neither by recognised states nor by the authorities of the breakaway republics, have emerged on the fringes of some of these unresolved conflicts. In Gal(i) and Pankisi, for instance, law and order is largely absent, with neither side able to gain a firm grip on the situation. Criminality flourishes in such areas, and illegal trade in various commodities, including arms, is rampant. Nor can outsiders – either Russia or the West – impose order on these areas, both because this would constitute a breach of sovereignty (even where it is unclear whose sovereignty) and because they are reluctant to ‘get their hands dirty’.

Individual security and Political tensions between ethnic groups and fears that hostilities may flare up again lack of police are not the only reasons why ordinary people wish to keep their weapons. Fear of protection crime, although diminished in Armenia and Azerbaijan, continues to be a pre- occupation. In many areas of the Caucasus there is still a profound lack of individual security and this also makes people want to hold on to their guns, as well as a lack of trust in the police. The latter is to some extent a legacy of Soviet times, when the police were seen as part of the repressive machinery of the authoritarian state. As David Darchiashvili describes in his chapter on Georgia, ordinary people tend to see the police as being at best incapable of protecting them from various armed groups with a criminal agenda, whom they suspect of being connected to individuals within the state system. More pessimistically, the police and other law-enforcement agencies are often regarded with great suspicion as instruments of violence, torture and corruption which are de facto beyond any civilian political control and above the law. As memories of ethnic adversaries in conflicts are getting more distant in some areas, there is a perception that the greatest immediate danger stems from law-enforcement officials rather than from groups across the border. In a climate where those vested with responsibility to enforce the law behave like a dominant mafia group suppressing weaker mafias, many ordinary people feel it would be unwise to give up their weapons if this would make them unable to protect themselves.

Security actors In order to combat SALW proliferation it is important to understand who are the in the Caucasus groups and individuals possessing weapons and why they have them, ie to analyse the composition and profile of the local security actors. These include a very wide spectrum, varying from country to country, of armed forces, police and security services, border guards, informal armed groupings (such as guerrilla groups with a political agenda), significant criminal communities, radical religious groups and external actors. The case studies describe the emergence of the main security actors in their respective areas, their profiles, the way they operate in reality, and their aims and capabilities. Some general themes can be drawn from these. SAFERWORLD ARMS & SECURITY PROGRAMME 7

Weak political order Weak political order6 is a profound concern with many implications, not least for the proliferation of security actors. One normally distinguishes between state actors with, in Max Weber’s terminology, a ‘monopoly on violence’, and illegal paramilitary groups challenging them. It is not always easy to make such a distinction in the Caucasus, as in practice groups that are not part of the official security system quite often seem to have links with individual politicians or factions. Firstly, weak political order means that the leaderships tend to rely on groups of warriors personally loyal to them, such as the officially non-existent Nakhichevan OMON in Azerbaijan, rather than to the state. The ruling elite often regards national security as being the same thing as the security of the regime. It seldom seeks to create a genuine national security system, as this could potentially undermine its own personal power. This, in turn, makes its political opponents seek to preserve informal groups which can be quickly armed and mobilised should a threat or an opportunity appear. Secondly, these leaderships tend to prioritise one agency for the survival of the regime over the others: for example, the Ministry of the Interior (MOI) in Georgia, the Ministry of Defence in Armenia, and the Ministry of National Security in Azerbaijan. Those vast parts of the security sector which are not valuable to individual politicians suffer from profound neglect on the part of the state: salaries are often not paid, no proper training or facilities exist, nor is there any punishment for corruption or mismanagement. Given their plight, it is no wonder that servicemen engage in independent economic activities. Trading arms may be one of them. Thirdly, a weak political order allows crime and politics more freedom to interact, and it becomes harder and harder to draw a clear line between the two. The White Legion and the Forest Brothers in Mingrelia, for example, may wish to be seen as freedom fighters struggling for the rights of the displaced Georgian population of Abkhazia, but the fact remains that they are making money out of crime and smuggling. In the countries of the South Caucasus the official security forces still reflect a legacy of politicisation.7 They emerged out of the armed conflicts of the early 1990s and were often associated with the political regimes that were in power at the time. Still, since the early 1990s armed forces in the region have not interfered directly in politics. Army protests, when they have occurred, such as an army mutiny in Georgia in May 2001 and a revolt at the military college in Azerbaijan in 2002, were driven by social and economic demands, and had more in common with strike actions than with military juntas. This, however, is no cause for complacency: there is a real danger that if these regimes continue to decay there will be more appetite for military coups as ways of ‘saving the nation’. There is little civilian control over the security sector. There are a number of reasons for this, including weakness of the state (as in Georgia), the perceived need to channel all resources towards defence leading to a militarisation of the state (Armenia), the authoritarian nature of the regime (Azerbaijan), and the very narrow circle of the political elite making all important decisions (the breakaway republics). Moreover, although in most places a façade of democracy is maintained, in reality the institutions of democratic society, such as parliaments, civil society actors and an independent media have little leverage over political, let alone security developments, and have limited public resonance. In such conditions it is easy for the armed forces and law- enforcement agencies to avoid control by a political authority, and this is further rein- forced by public attitudes, which are generally fatalistic about the (im)possibility of enacting change by public action. There is also another question that needs to be asked relating to civilian control over the armed forces: if the state does not provide for its

6 Huntington S, Political Order in Changing Societies, (Yale University Press, 1968). 7 Timothy Edmunds outlines a similar process in relation to the Balkans: Edmunds T, ‘Themes, Issues and Comparisons’, in Edmunds T (ed) Challenges of Security Sector Reform in Croatia and Yugoslavia, 2000–03, (: IISS and DCAF, forthcoming 2003). 8 THE CAUCASUS: ARMED AND DIVIDED · ARMS AND SECURITY IN THE CAUCASUS

armed forces and law-enforcement agencies, leaving them to look after their needs, does it have a moral and political right to control them?

Emergence of new The new security institutions tend to reflect the mix of old and new people who make institutions them up. When conflicts started to fester, most of the Soviet power structures and their personnel were sidelined and left in disarray. Many initial groups of fighters and their commanders were non-professionals drawn from the national movements, seen as pro-democracy forces at the time. Though they had the right nationalist credentials, many had little idea of how to fight effectively. Other newcomers to the security sector at this time included small-town black-market businessmen, petty criminals or body- guards of important people seeking a wider role. Amazingly, despite their different backgrounds, these groups often managed to find common ground. However, power struggles and internal political battles undermined the position of the newcomers, and many of the old guard staged a comeback in the mid-1990s. It is worth noting that although each of the Union Republics had its own MOI and KGB departments in Soviet times (albeit with very different lines of authority and recruitment to their independent successors), defence ministries had to be created from scratch. Therefore the role of politics and political personalities was greatest in these defence ministries, since they played a crucial role in the unfolding conflicts. The role of personalities and generation change will continue to matter in the future. The question is, what kind of commanders are replacing the old Soviet officers who are gradually leaving the scene? In what way will they be different? Will their professional capabilities and corporate morale be better or worse compared to their Soviet predecessors? In Armenia such change has already occurred, while in Azerbaijan and Georgia the situation is still evolving, and uncertainty prevails over the future of the armed and security forces. The authors show that where there is a real threat of conflict, the commanders who are best placed to deal with this threat do not necessarily come from the official security sector. This may be worth bearing in mind for the future, should there be a new wave of insecurity and a renewed belief in the necessity of conflict. On the one hand, the armed forces in Georgia and Azerbaijan are ill-adapted to new security challenges such as the instability in Pankisi. On the other, informal groups proliferate who may be better suited to address such non-conventional threats, but are often a law unto themselves. Were the level of security in the region to deteriorate sharply, such ‘field commanders’, who currently remain in the shadows, may well come to the fore, surprising those who would prefer to see graduates of Western military academies in control of national security agencies. Public trust in official security institutions reflects the degree to which people identify with the new states. The popularity of the armed forces, or the lack of it, is a measure of how much people trust their governments. In Armenia, for instance, the army is gradually becoming a part of the Armenian national identity. In Georgia, by contrast, a profound lack of public trust in the security sector persists.

Efforts to control SALW The case studies highlight some of the initiatives that have been undertaken to control proliferation arms proliferation. For example, in the early 1990s the Armenian National Movement (ANM) government made the disarmament of informal paramilitary structures and the civilian population a priority. This led to a vast reduction in levels of SALW possession, though this was often done by fairly brutal means. In comparison to the early 1990s, when armed people could walk around freely in most parts of the South Caucasus, the situation has improved considerably. In urban areas, popular pressure has to some extent played a role, as populations were shocked by the experience of living in conditions where arms were widespread and armed groups proliferated. SAFERWORLD ARMS & SECURITY PROGRAMME 9

A degree of progress has also been made in establishing laws and regulations, but these frequently lack consistency and, most importantly, implementation lags behind. Often, efforts to control SALW proliferation were not regarded by governments as a priority, as other issues were seen as being more pressing. Though donor intervention in the fields of security and disarmament has so far been limited, some steps have been undertaken by governments, Russian peacekeepers and the Organisation for Co- operation and Security in (OSCE) (such as the weapons collection programme in South Ossetia). There have also been some improvements in the field of border controls. In some areas, especially along certain sections of the border with Russia, effective border controls have been established. However, this success is seriously undermined by a lack of control over other sections of the border, most notably the region where Georgia borders Chechnya. This has led the Russian and Georgian authorities to swap mutual accusations about SALW freely crossing the border in either direction. In other areas, formal border controls have been set up, but a lack of co-operation on the ground between security officials and law-enforcement agencies handicaps efforts to combat smuggling. Furthermore, the political consequences of unresolved conflicts hamper efforts to improve regional co-operation between law-enforcement agencies. Though organised crime and smuggling thrive across borders and criminals seem to have no problem co-operating with their ethnic adversaries, the same cannot be said of law-enforcement officials, who are subject to political constraints imposed by their governments. For example, due to the unresolved dispute over Nagorno Karabakh, Azerbaijan refuses to participate in any undertaking which would include Armenia. Georgia, which does not recognise the legitimacy of institutions in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, objects to representatives from these breakaway structures being included in regional efforts. Both Azerbaijan and Georgia fear that including un- recognised entities into regional initiatives would provide legitimacy to actors which they would rather did not exist, and would help to preserve the current situation, which they find unacceptable.

External actors In comparison to the Balkans, which attracted considerable resources and attention and influences from the international community, the engagement of international actors other than Russia in the South Caucasus has been much more modest. External actors have largely counterbalanced each other’s influence. Russia formed alliances with some parties, while others turned to the US; Turkey rendered support to Azerbaijan, while Armenia could rely on support from its diaspora in the West.As a result, no single external influence could enforce a security system exclusively on its terms, placing limitations on how far external powers could impose their own agendas on the South Caucasus. Caucasians largely had to fight their own battles, though they could often draw on external resources, depending on their ability to attract them. Unlike in Eastern Europe, little international pressure for disarmament and has been brought to bear, largely due to the absence of effective tools and aspirations, such as the realistic prospect of EU integration or NATO membership, which have played an important role elsewhere. Development aid also failed to act as effective leverage, as it was mainly allocated for political reasons and virtually no conditionality was attached. On the whole, donors made little effort to hold the recipient governments to account on how the money was spent and whether this financial aid is likely to support the achievement of their strategic goals of peace and prosperity. However, there are indications that this may be changing. In January 2003, the World Bank informed Tbilisi that loans for the next three years were to be cut from $210m to $91m because of concerns over corruption.8

8 Oxford Analytica Daily Brief, Eastern Europe Region, 27 January 2003. 10 THE CAUCASUS: ARMED AND DIVIDED · ARMS AND SECURITY IN THE CAUCASUS

The actions of Russia and the US are often perceived by actors within the region as causing profound insecurity, though they are not intended as such by either Moscow or Washington. The deployment of US military advisers to Georgia on a ‘Train and Equip’ operation in April 2002 provoked security concerns among the Abkhaz and the South Ossetians, as changes in the black market for arms in South Ossetia indicate: prices for machine-guns rose while prices for pistols fell, implying that people were expecting an armed confrontation for which military weapons would be needed. The authorities also started to buy new SALW to re-equip the army. In fact, both Moscow and Washington regard their policies in the Caucasus as a valuable contribution to peace and stability in the region. Caucasian perceptions – for instance, that Turkish troops will replace Russian forces, should they withdraw from the Armenian-populated region of Javakheti in Georgia9 – are often dismissed too lightly as conspiracy theories and paranoia. Russia is often judged not by its actions, but by the aspirations it allegedly harbours. In this context it is impossible to discuss pragmatically what Russian security concerns may be: seen through a historical prism of imperial domination and the assertion of new ethnic identities, any Russian concerns are regarded as illegitimate by definition. However, the most powerful international states do not always realise the messages that their actions and the lack of clarity over their intentions can send to the Caucasians. At times they are guilty of a lack of understanding of the regional context, display a short-sighted preoccupation with certain topics, and are split by divisions between different agencies. This plays into the hands of those forces which under- standably try to use these powerful states to their own political advantage. It is often assumed that large states exploit the small and weak ones, but in the current world of ‘humanitarian intervention’, the dynamic may be the opposite: small states can skilfully use the lack of a clear policy rationale and divisions within the most important actors to promote their own interests. A new external factor both for regional security and for weapons proliferation is the threat presented by small cells of Islamic fundamentalists in the South Caucasus which have a network of world-wide ties. The threat of potential terrorist acts associated with Islamic radicalism can be more destabilising than broad-based Islamic protest move- ments that have a genuine social and economic agenda. The two differ considerably and require different responses. There is little knowledge either of the nature of the phenomenon of Islamic radicalism in the South Caucasus, nor of how to find remedies to address it, but the authorities are very worried.10 The perception of a common threat may serve as an impetus for co-operation in the region, as it did to an extent for Russia/US relations. However, it can also become another dividing factor, with different groups accusing the others of harbouring Islamic terrorist groups.

Future Improving human security in the South Caucasus is essential, and reducing weapons prospects proliferation is a vital component of any such improvement. However, the absence of political settlements in the region acts as an impediment to tackling many aspects of the security agenda, including disarmament and gun control. Encouraging people in the region to bid a ‘farewell to arms’ is easier said than done, as gun control measures need to go hand-in-hand with political steps to address the root causes of the demand for arms. This requires peace settlements, implementing a development agenda, and, in Georgia, the strengthening of the state. While conflicts remain unresolved, in- security will prevail in the affected places. People will keep arms to protect themselves,

9 Matveeva A, ‘Javakheti, Georgia: Why Conflict Prevention?’, in Sriram C and Wermester K (eds), From Promise to Practice: Strengthening UN Capacities for the Prevention of Violent Conflict, (Lynne Rienner, forthcoming 2003). 10 ‘Could “Alternative” Islam Become a Force in Mainstream Azerbaijani Politics?’, RFE/RL Caucasus Report 14 March 2002, Volume 5, Number 10. SAFERWORLD ARMS & SECURITY PROGRAMME 11 their families and their land from the possibility of a cross-border attack, even if they are law-abiding citizens and would prefer life without guns. However, there appears to be little political will on any side for a serious compromise. It is quite understandable that after a decade of frustrated efforts, the international community has started to lose appetite for further conflict resolution initiatives. At the current juncture, it may be more useful to focus on a more modest objective of preventing things from getting worse and seeking to improve the situation where there is a reasonable chance of success, rather than trying to resolve all the problems of the South Caucasus at once. This might mean concentrating on a conflict prevention agenda in areas where tensions exist, but a degree of stability is being maintained, and where modest, but realistic progress towards disarmament and control over weapons proliferation can be made. Taking weapons out of the equation – if done in a way that is fair to all communities, not just minorities – can improve security and contribute to better inter-ethnic relations. SALW initiatives can act as an entry point for further confidence-building measures, ultimately creating a more secure environment. In effect, it could trigger a virtuous circle: the more secure people feel, the lower the demand for weapons, and as weapons are handed in, people will feel even more secure. Finally, for the states of the South Caucasus, co-operation with Russia over security matters is vital, even if some aspects of its policy are not comfortable or benign. Russia is a powerful neighbour with genuine security concerns in the region, and will remain so. Under Putin, Moscow has finally acquired a clearer policy in the Caucasus, after the years of uncertainty and struggle between competing interests of the Yeltsin era. It is not imperial ambition that lies at the heart of this policy, but Russia’s security needs, and the Russian policy-making process is defined by finding the best way to maintain security. The Caucasian states should become an integral part of this debate.

About the author Anna Matveeva is Head of Saferworld’s Arms & Security Programme for Eastern Europe.

Saferworld's research project on arms and security in the Caucasus This chapter is part of a wider Saferworld report, entitled The Caucasus: Armed and Divided – Small arms and light weapons proliferation and humanitarian consequences in the Caucasus, which collects together case studies from local experts on the situation in their particular geographical region. The report focuses on the conflicts in the region, the relationship between conflict and levels of arms possession, and the effects of small arms proliferation since the break-up of the Soviet Union. It also includes a chapter on Russia’s policy towards the small arms issues in the Caucasus. To obtain a copy of the complete report, please contact Saferworld at: [email protected] or visit www.saferworld.org.uk