52 International The EconomistJanuary 20th 2018
2 war the following year, many rearmed.
Modern DDR programmes were de-
signed in the 1980s and early 1990s for the
aftermath of independence wars in south-
ern Africa and civil conflicts in Central
America. The belligerent groups were rela-
tively disciplined and hierarchical. More
recent schemes have often had to deal with
loosely structured outfits. That compli-
catesthe most basic task: deciding who
should be allowed to take part.
If a weapon must be handed in, fighters
who do not have their own will be exclud-
ed. Ask only for small arms or some am-
munition, and chancers will try their luck.
Sometimes, leaders are called upon to
identify their underlings. This does not
necessarily help. “Nearly every command-
er I’ve come across had an interest in mak-
ing the numberbigger,” saysPaul Jackson
of Birmingham University.
Only 150 rounds of small-arms ammu-
nition were needed to take part in Liberia’s
second DDR programme. The UN had ex-
pected to demobilise 38,000 fighters. In the
end the number was more than 100,000—
four times as many as the number of weap-
ons handed in. Men were bussed in from
Sierra Leone. Children who had not fought
were signed up, with commanders taking
a cut of the $300 payout. A police ammuni-
tion store in Freetown, Sierra Leone’s capi-
tal, was raided for ammunition to hand in
in Liberia, says Desmond Molloy, who
worked on Sierra Leone’sDDRscheme. Ri-
ots broke out when at least 12,000 people
demanding payment turned up at a centre
outside Monrovia. The programme had to
be suspended for four months and money
flown in from a UN mission in Freetown.
Though DDR is more likely to succeed if
the fighting has already stopped, in Colom-
bia it was used with some success as a mil-
itary tactic. Alvaro Uribe, the president
from 2002 to 2010, made a big push against
the FARC, a left-wing guerrilla army that
had been fighting state forces since 1964.
His government encouraged deserters, re-
alising they could provide valuable intelli-
gence. Captured fighters could choose be-
tween prison and DDR. But the continuing
fighting complicated matters. Some former
guerrillas returned to the FARC after failing
to find jobs at the end of their programme.
A weakened FARCnegotiated a peace
deal, which took effect in December 2016.
Last AugustFARC leaders stood with the
president, Juan Manuel Santos, and UN
representatives, under the scorching sun of
the arid north-eastern province of La Gua-
jira, watching the last oftheir arsenal being
carted away. Under the terms of the agree-
ment, the FARC was allowed to organise
the reintegration of its fighters collectively.
That has helped it transform into a political
party: it is putting forward candidates for
elections this year.
Many ordinary citizens resent seeing
former fighters transformed into politicalleaders. Butthe evidence suggests that,
when they are, the peace is more likely to
hold. Conflict breaks out again in just 21%
of cases where peace deals contain provi-
sions for participation in elections, com-
pared with 56% where there are none, ac-
cording to Aila Matanock of the University
of Berkeley, California.
One reason is that politicking may en-
able mid-level commanders to find an in-
fluential role. Individual DDR programmes
often lump them in with the rank and file.
(The top brass will have ensured special
treatment for themselves.) In Liberia An-
ders Themner of the Nordic Africa Insti-
tute, a think-tank based in Uppsala, Swe-
den, met two ex-commanders with similar
backgrounds, both of whom had the
chance to mobilise their former fighters as
mercenaries in Ivory Coast in 2011. Only
one did so. The other saw no need, having
become a political power-broker.
The FARC has set up a co-operative to
handle the 8m pesos($2,900) available to
each member as startup capital. But its
leaders complain they need land to start
suitable projects, for example ecotourism
ventures, even as the government is confis-
cating land thatFARC leaders held illegally.
The impasse, and frustration with the slow
pace of reintegration, mean many former
guerrillas are leaving the transition camps.
According to some estimatesonly half of
the former combatants once living in the
camps in Antioquia province remain.
Many have moved to areas with avail-
able land to farm. Others have returned to
their families. They may not be a problem:
research elsewhere shows that former
fighters who maintain links with their
communities find it easier to reintegrate.
But around 1,000 have either refused to
disarm or abandoned DDR to join gangs,
some of which reportedly offer triple thetwo-year government stipend of $5,400.
In Sri Lanka, the biggest problem has
been that the government did not really
care much about reintegration. In 2009 its
army defeated the Liberation Tigers of
Tamil Eelam (LTTE; also known as the Tam-
il Tigers). It was the brutal culmination of
26 years of civil war. The Tigers were
trapped in designated no-fire zones, where
they were bombed with the civilians they
had taken as human shields. The 11,000
surviving fighters, and another 1,000 or so
who had surrendered, were forced into re-
habilitation, beginning in 2010.
But the programme mainly consisted of
a year of internment and indoctrination.
Still constantly monitored, the former
fighters are isolated from their communi-
ties and struggle to find work, since poten-
tial employers fear attracting attention
from the authorities. Though the army
claims it provided training and psycholog-
ical help, former Tigers say that these most-
ly focused on attempts to end their devo-
tion to the LTTE. “We were not treated like
normal human beings,” saysone, who
lives in Kilinochchi, a former stronghold of
the Tigers in the north of Sri Lanka. “They
tried to make us regret having been with
the LTTE. But they couldn’t do it.”
The training was often pointless or in-
appropriate. “Someone [who] used to farm
ten or 11 acres, they teach to make handi-
crafts with coconut shells,” says Vettichelli,
who spent 18 years in the Tamil Tigers. She
is now studying to become a counsellor
and is scathing about the gender stereo-
types in the Sri Lankan army’s vocational
programmes. “For a woman who has the
courage and stamina to keep a gun on her
shoulders and shoot enemies, they try to
teach her beauty culture and make-up.”
Many ex-fighters clearly require long-
term support. ButDDR schemes can rarely
give it. They are generally run by ex-mili-
tary types, not specialistsin economic de-
velopment or counselling. And a long-run-
ning programme risks turning into a
protection racket. In 2009 the Nigerian gov-
ernment offered militants sabotaging oil
production in the Niger Delta a monthly
stipend of 60,000 naira (about $400 at the
time) to disarm. But when payments were
slashed in 2016 they returned to blowing
up pipelines and other infrastructure. The
cut was reversed and attacks subsided.Bribery or death
At the heart of anyDDR programme is a
bargain: disarm, cause no more trouble—
and you will benefit. Sometimes combat-
ants will pocket the cash and hold them-
selves ready to remobilise at a moment’s
notice. Those who do stand down may be
unfit to aid in their country’s reconstruc-
tion. Civilians may resent the fighters at
whose hands they suffered being paid off.
But even a very grubby deal is worth strik-
Surplus to requirements ing if it helps secure lasting peace. 7