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Email this citationCIAO DATE: 02/02
Questions of Legitimacy in Post-Conflict Peace Building and Arms Control 1
Knut G. Nustad
Norwegian Institute of International Affairs (NUPI)
1999 - 2000
Introduction
Many authors (e.g., Krause 1999, Wezeman 1999) have pointed to the apparent fundamental change that has taken place in the nature of conflicts, the weapons utilised and the corresponding challenges to issues of arms control. This is more a question of perception than of actual change: the rivalry between the superpowers served to order the world into competing blocks consisting of states with allegiances to one of the blocks, and the weapons of mass destruction made the consequences of a conflict so devastating that all attempts centred around containment. As Krause has pointed out, civilian control was assumed to be complete on both sides, which served to make clear with whom one should negotiate disarmament treaties and arms control measures: the representatives of the respective governments.
The western triumphalism which followed in the wake of the demise of the Soviet Union quickly gave way to the discovery of another type of conflicts, fought by other protagonists with other weapons. In Africa and elsewhere bloody conflicts had for a long time raged inside and across national boundaries, fought by rebel groups - often groups organised around a shared idea of ethnicity (but see Braathen, Bøås et al 2000). During the cold war, perceptions of these conflicts were subsumed under the logic of the East/West dichotomy; with its end, they were rediscovered as outcomes of local and regional processes (Eide1997). The weapons deployed in these conflicts were not the ones on the agenda during the arms control negotiations of precious decades - but rifles, machine guns, pistols and mortars - generally known as light weapons or small arms.
Below I will discuss some aspects of the wider questions of legitimacy and state structure in relation to post-conflict peace building and arms control. Key issues include the question of the establishment of a functioning and legitimate state structure with a claim on a monopoly on the use of violence. I will begin by examining recent thinking on the establishment of such state structures, with special emphasis on security sector reform. The work of Eide (1999) and others have stressed the need for approaching arms control, security sector reforms and post conflict peace-building in an integrated manner, and have at length pointed out the pitfalls of concentrating reform efforts on isolated elements of the security sector such as the police. Further, this work has pointed out the necessity of grounding such reform processes in a more general process of democratisation: restructuring the security forces, which sometimes involves increasing their effectiveness, has the potential for worsening the situation one attempts to redress.
Legitimate and effective structures of government is therefore, according to this view, a fundamental precondition for both post conflict peace-building and arms control. The first part of the paper outlines the main argument for this view. I will however take this argument one step further by examining a case where a legitimate government has been established. By using the post-conflict situation in South Africa as an example, which is special in that a legitimate government - as far as the organisation of the state is concerned - is in place, I will argue that the concept of legitimacy needs to be extended. A functioning and legitimate government structure, although a necessary precondition, is not enough. The proliferation of arms and the continuing violence in South Africa is indicative of a lack of legitimacy in another, and wider, sense: many people obviously do not feel that the state, although organised according to internationally recognised criteria, represents an extension of their own interests. The reason for this, I will argue, must be sought in the huge economic inequality that still follows the racial divisions of apartheid.
Security sector reform as a solution
Let us begin by examining the wider context of arms control and post conflict peace building. As several authors have pointed out (e.g., Eide et al. 1999), these processes cannot be seen in isolation but must be seen as part of a wider context of democratisation. One solution has been identified as 'security sector reform'. This strategy sets out establish what is lacking in most post-conflict situations: a representative and functioning state with a monopoly on the use of violence.
In democratic countries (at least in our ideal conception of their forms), the precise remit and functions of the security sector are delineated and circumscribed by statutory and parliamentary controls. The military is supposed to be geared towards external functions while domestic law and order is maintained by police forces, and their activity remain strictly under civilian control and accountability. In many countries, however, this ideal is far from the reality. Either because the state has never functioned according to this ideal, or where it through war or state failure lack the necessary legitimacy to function effectively, the 'security sector' is a much more diffuse and ill-defined sector. The term has been used more as a catch phrase referring to a wide range of elements and actors whose tasks, responsibilities and constitutional roles are unclear. In most cases the basic distinction between regular armed forces and internal security forces has been blurred, while the actual responsibilities of the police have expanded into new, usually more sinister, areas.
The aim of security sector reform is broadly speaking to facilitate an effective introduction of the rule of law. Functioning states requires an effective law and order sector that can replace and marginalise any 'alternative' organisations of the same sort. Advocates of security sector reform nevertheless recognise that civil rights and freedoms of individual citizens need to be respected to make a stable and legitimate society viable. But, the argument goes, strong, legitimate and effective states are the prerequisite for the respects of the rights of the individuals. For example, the international system of human rights standards presupposes the existence of governments that can be held responsible for their behaviour.
Proponents of security sector reform argue that an integrated approach to security sector reform is vital for its success. The security sector comprises three components: the national police, the judiciary and the penal system. Past experiences have shown the fruitlessness of approaching this issue piecemeal. Given a due process of law, these components of the security sector are connected chronologically, and a missing or inadequate chain endangers the whole system. Below I will examine the main issues involved in reforming each of these three components, according to a security sector reform perspective.
National Police Forces
In the countries where security sector reform is sought implemented, the police has frequently become an instrument of power in the hands of one of the parties to a conflict. In other cases, it may even - in co-operation with the other security functions or on its own - take on an entirely separate identity and be driven by the desire to expand its power and sphere of influence. In such cases, the task of reforming the security sector is especially challenging, as the government bodies that have expressed their consent to the international involvement have no control over their security sector.
Police forces may be ineffective and not credible, due to the fact that the police itself do not abide by the rule of law. Sometimes, bad practices may be a result of inappropriate levels of training and discipline within the force. In other cases, uneven implementation of the law may be politically intended. Particularly in the aftermath of a conflict, the war is often continued by other means, such as by systematic violations of human rights. In the attempt to build a new social contract between the population and the government - and in particular its security functions - convincing the citizens that the police force and justice system is indeed credible and serves the public, requires substantial assistance.
Where the lack of financial resources affects the ability to pay police salaries, a likely outcome is the development of alternative procurement practices that, once established, may prove difficult to eradicate. The destabilising effect of a government's inability to pay its police force enormous, as it robs the application of the law of its consistency and predictability. A police force may also be organised inefficiently, either geographically or functionally, for example with an excessive concentration around urban areas that leaves more remote areas unsupervised. This will often have been influenced by the past conflict.
Judiciaries
The judicial system that is to be reformed can be in various degrees of disarray: illegitimate, corrupt or devastated. What measures the reform needs to include in this area of security sector reform, depends on the precise circumstances of each case. The most fundamental aspect of a legitimate and effective judicial system is the independence of courts. The most fundamental principle of the rule of law is a fair trial by an independent judiciary. Other aspects are the requirement of due process and the right of appeal.
Societies that wish to review past atrocities have to choose between the 'Truth Commission' approach and the establishment of a Tribunal authorised to prosecute war criminals. In the former case, an independent and impartial body researches violations of law and human rights and presents a report, but does not prosecute the violators who are often given an amnesty. The Tribunal alternative attempts to put a representative selection of alleged perpetrators on trial. The discussion of the various benefits and drawbacks of each alternative and of letting bygones be bygones, is virtually endless and outside the scope of this report. Although strategies for dealing with the past is not part of the security sector reform, it does impact the population's perception of how the legal system that they are asked to confide in, functions. Non-action with respect to grave human rights violations may undermine the credibility of a system that tries to prevent more ordinary crimes. On the other hand, what is believed to be an excessive and unbalanced targeting of a particular group may create doubts about whether the new system has room for everyone.
Except in those cases where the judicial system is devastated, a body of criminal law usually exists which does not necessarily require significant adjustments. It is much more often the application and interpretations of the laws than the actual wording that represents the problem. Still, an illegitimate system may include laws that are not generally recognised by the population and may warrant a comprehensive review of its legal provisions. Unless there has been a change in government, however, it may be difficult for the international community to carry out substantial alterations that undermine the leadership's vested interests that are sure to be reflected in the set of rules they have chosen to govern by. This points back to the need for sustained political commitment from the host authorities to execute the recommended reform measures. In most cases, what is required are adjustments to the constitution in order to consolidate in legal terms the changed balance of power, and specifically the independence of the institutions of the triad.
Penal Systems
An inadequate penal system suffers from two major sets of flaws. Firstly, there is the physical incapacity, i.e. overcrowded, inhumane or non-existent prisons. This is an important aspect of a security sector reform, its proponents argue, although donors hardly see this as a popular target of development aid. Secondly, the penal system must be independent from the security forces and specifically from the police. There need to be limitations on the amount of time the police may hold alleged perpetrators before they need to have a court-authorised arrest warrant or a verdict from an independent judiciary. Without a court's authorisation, prisons should not be allowed to accept responsibility for prisoners. Similarly, upon court orders, a penal institution has to release a prisoner. In addition to being separate from the security forces, not only functionally but also with respect to location, the penal system should be under direct civilian control. Although it is also subject to indirect control through its subordination to the courts, there should also be a separate civilian authority that has the responsibility for issues related to the penal system.
Returning to the links between the three components of the triad, the effectiveness of the prison system has a clear effect on both the police and the courts. The credibility of the legal system as a whole suffers both when arrested and convicted people can evade their punishment or when innocent people are held without due cause or process. As a result, the population's trust in the system will be weakened and its long-term viability undermined.
The object of legitimacy: the state
This sketchy review of the security sector reform approach illustrates that it is essentially aimed at creating states that are modelled on the Euro-American liberal nation states. This aim, as I have argued, must be an intrinsic part of any attempts at peace building and arms control. But, as has hinted, the establishment of legitimate and functioning state structures may in itself not be sufficient. I will explore this argument by examining what at first sight appears to be a clear-cut case where arms control measures could be implemented: South Africa. The aim to which security sector reform is directed is to a large degree already in place after the democratic elections of 1994. The South African government must be said to be one of the most legitimate in office anywhere, representing as it does the outcome of decades of popular struggles. Further, contrary to the typical cases of the new security context, there is no challenging of the territorial boarders of the state. But present-day South Africa is haunted by some of the highest crime rates in the world, and a part of this picture is the huge number of fire-arms among the population. Because the country fulfils so many of the preconditions that I have argued must be in place before arms control measures can usefully be implemented, examining the obstacles to arms control faced by South Africa can help illuminate more general problems concerning post conflict peace building and arms control.
The historical roots of violence in South Africa
The following case study consists of two parts: first, the historical background to the violence in South Africa, rooted in the repression of the apartheid regime and the resistance to it; second, one of the present-day expressions of criminal violence: the taxi wars.
The years leading up to the first democratic elections in South Africa were marked by an upsurge in violence, both in rural areas and in the urban townships. This violence was in part a result of the apartheid regime's policy of destabilisation. When the apartheid state granted 'self-determination' to black townships in the early 1980s they set up a system of Black Local Authorities (Coovadia 1991:335). In 1982 the Black Local Authorities were given the power to control local affairs such as housing, rent and services. But the economic crisis which had sparked the reform process continued and there was a huge number of unemployed people in the urban black townships. The Black Local Authorities sought to balance their books by increasing taxation, which only escalated the crisis. Resistance to these new structures was strong. In 1983, the United Democratic Front (UDF) was formed to oppose the tri-cameral constitution of which the Black Local Authorities were a part. The campaign was effective and the turnout for the elections to the Indian and coloured parliaments was low (Tsenoli 1994:32).
In the townships a new type of institutional arrangement, the civics, emerged as an alternative to the Black Local Authorities. The civics were, together with other organisations, instrumental in launching the UDF. The first civic organisations emerged in South Africa in the late 1970s, but they became prominent in the mid-1980s. Somewhat idealistically, they can be defined as 'localised grassroots organisational structures that are accountable to local constituencies, seek to address the local grievances that residents have with their conditions of daily living, and are located outside formal governmental, party-political or development agency institutions' (Swilling 1993:16). They tend to have formal constitutions and an elected executive. Local street-level branches are also common, as are forums which bring together representatives from these branches.
The issues around which they organise are 'civic' issues, as opposed to party issues, such as housing, services, land, education, health, transport and community facilities (Swilling, Cobett et al. 1991:187). But in the mid-1980s they took on a more political role and became important local structures in the resistance against apartheid. An important factor in the growth of the civic movement was the banning of the ANC. Local civics became a focal point of the political struggle, organising resistance campaigns, mobilising for the release of political prisoners and the lifting of the state of emergency (Heymans 1993:5). During the mid-1980s, civic organisations were targeted by the state, which believed that they were attempting to make South Africa ungovernable (Heymans 1993:6).
The civics, then, played an instrumental role in the struggle against apartheid in the mid-1980s. Also, from late 1984, school pupils commenced a nation-wide campaign against inadequate education which was met by harsh police brutality. In this climate, with increasing popular support for organisations resisting apartheid, and discredited Black Local Authorities, a sinister force emerged: the right-wing vigilantes. Haysom (1986) has written a report for the Catholic Institute for International Relations which documents the emergence of vigilantes in the townships from late 1985. From the evidence of the report, which is packed with gruesome case studies, it seems clear that the emergence of vigilantes was linked to the role of the Black Local Authorities. They emerged at a time when civic organisations had succeeded in marginalising the Black Local Authorities, and prominent leaders in civics and the UDF were targeted (Haysom 1986). This conclusion is supported by other writers, such as Morris and Hindson (1992), Aitchison (1992), and de Haas and Zulu (1994).
A famous example of vigilante activity, is the destruction of Crossroads outside Cape Town in 1986. Since the mid-1970s, Crossroads had been a symbol of resistance to apartheid, and the government had been forced to extend partial recognition to the squatter community (Cole 1987). When the UDF was formed in 1983, Crossroads was one of their strongholds. The Black Local Authorities divided the community, as did the government's extension of right of residence to some residents (Cole 1987). In May and June 1986, one of the most brutal forced removals of squatters took place, and more than seventy thousand people were removed. Instrumental in this was a vigilante group, called the 'witdoeke' after the bits of white cloth they wore to identify themselves, aided by the South African Police and the South African Defence Force. Cole (1987) describes the contradictory processes behind the emergence of the vigilantes, such as the fact that the person who was later to control the Black Local Authority had at first been affiliated to the UDF. In Crossroads, as in the other areas where the vigilantes operated, the areas that were targeted were those controlled by the UDF.
The form that the violence took varied with local conditions. In KwaZulu/Natal it was shaped by the strong position of Inkatha. Formed in 1928 2 as a cultural movement to preserve Zulu heritage and mobilise support for the King, it was revived in 1975 as a powerful ethnic-based political organisation in Natal with branches in the Transvaal among migrant workers (Harris 1989:3). Under the leadership of former senior ANC member Chief Buthelezi, the movement became embedded in the homeland government of KwaZulu. Some sources maintain that migrant workers had to produce Inkatha membership cards to obtain passes and jobs (Haysom 1986:81), and others have reported forced recruitment to the organisation (CIIR 1988). Inkatha claimed to work for the abolition of apartheid, albeit from within the system. Buthelezi, for instance, refused to recognise KwaZulu as an independent nation state (Haysom 1986). When the UDF began its campaign of boycotting local government structures in Natal, they were therefore pitched against Inkatha. In KwaMashu, the largest township outside Durban, the vigilantes emerged in 1980 when some schoolchildren joined a national school boycott (Haysom 1986:83). As in the rest of the country, there was an upsurge in killings from 1985 onwards. In that year, car-loads of Inkatha supporters from various parts of KwaZulu/Natal arrived in the townships and embarked on house-to-house searches for UDF supporters (Haysom 1986:83). In 1987 and 1988, the conflict moved to the black townships around Pietermaritzburg, where Cosatu and UDF supporters were targeted (Harris 1989:4). Mamdani (1996) points to another process that accelerated the violence in Natal. From the early 1990s much of the struggle was polarised between hostel dwellers and township residents. The trade unions moved from a strategy aimed at uniting residents and migrants around workplace issues to one based on community issues. They thereby came to embrace township-based, often UDF-affiliated organisations, to the exclusion of migrant hostel dwellers. With the unbanning and return of the ANC, that alliance put forward a series of suggestions, from closing down hostels to transforming them into family accommodation, which further threatened the migrants' urban support base (Mamdani 1996). The result was a conflict that the media both in South Africa and abroad labelled 'black-on-black violence'. The period from 1987 to the unbanning of political organisations saw around four thousand people killed in political violence in the province, and from that time to 1997 more than eight thousand have been killed (Johnston 1997:78). At the time of writing, information about so called 'third force activity' is becoming available through the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. It has long been suspected that the apartheid government was directly involved in the violence in the black residential areas in the 1908s, and this is now in the process of being proven.
Taxi violence in South Africa
The violence in South Africa, then, has roots in the apartheid government's repression of the liberation movement. One of the sad legacies of this struggle is the continuing and increasing criminal violence in post-apartheid South Africa. Criminal violence affects all aspects of present-day South Africa, but one of the sectors that have been worst hit, and that has received much press coverage, is the black minibus-taxi industry. These taxis are minibus taxis that operate out of the black residential areas and for many South Africans' they are the main means of transportation. The violence in this sector has had enormous consequences: the conflict between rival taxi organisations in the Cape, for example, lasted for three years (1990 to 1993), claimed more than sixty-six lives and caused R 3.6 million of property damage (Dugard 1996).
It is perhaps not surprising that a means of transport should be surrounded by so much conflict in South Africa. The transport facilities offered by the apartheid state had long been targets of resistance, such as the bus boycotts in the 1940s, 1950s and 1980s (Khosa 1995). The apartheid policy distributed the racial groups according to its grand plan and one consequence was that poor people were forced to live on the urban fringes. Coupled with the need to travel to white areas to seek employment, transport costs constituted a large part of most black South Africans' budgets (McCaul 1990:vi).
The removal of black settlements to the urban fringes also created conditions for the emergence of a black taxi industry, and the sector has grown rapidly since deregulation in 1987 (Khosa 1990). A transport survey conducted in 1988, the year after deregulation, showed that only 9 per cent relied on taxis as their main means of transport (Khosa 1989). Four years later, in 1992, another survey found that 46 per cent of black people in metropolitan areas typically travelled by taxi, whereas 20 per cent relied on buses and 13 per cent on trains (Khosa 1996:24). By 1996 the number of people relying on taxis had risen to more than 50 per cent (Khosa 1996:24). This expanding sector has had a huge impact on the South African economy; in 1994 it was estimated that the industry provided four motor manufacturing companies with a turnover of about R 3 billion a year, capital investments of R 3.5 billion, and that it had created some three hundred thousand jobs (Khosa 1994:56).
Until 1930, there was no control over transport of passengers or goods by road in South Africa, because the volume of traffic was too small to warrant legislative intervention (McCaul 1990:36). But from 1930 the government used regulation as a means of upholding the racial segregation of transport (Dugard 1996:29). The Le Roux Commission, set up in 1929, recommended that no transportation of goods or persons for reward should be permitted unless authorised by the National Transport Commission (McCaul 1990:37). This was done, according to Khosa, to protect the government-controlled railways from competition (1994:234). The Le Roux Commission's recommendations were passed into law the following year. Some black taxi operators conducted business, mainly using American-style saloon cars, but permits were difficult to obtain and the sector was limited.
The next phase in the history of the black taxi business began in 1977 when the Road Transportation Act was passed. The black taxi industry was given a boost through a loophole in this Act. The Act failed to legally define taxis, but defined buses as motor vehicles designed or adapted for the transportation of more than nine passengers. Black taxis could therefore operate legally as long as they conveyed no more than eight passengers (McCaul 1990:38). However, to operate legally, taxi operators still had to apply for a public carrier's permit. Even though regulations were relaxed, they still remained restrictive and the expansion of the sector was limited.
In the 1980s the situation changed dramatically. A series of reforms were introduced by the apartheid government to fend off the political unrest. Influx regulations were relaxed in 1986 and there was a growing influx of black people to the urban townships. The following year, in 1987, there was a de facto deregulation of the taxi industry. At first this policy met with resistance, not least from the established taxi operators. The National Transport Policy Study, established in 1982, advocated a compromise between the bus companies and the existing black taxi operators. Had the recommendations been turned into law, it would have made it difficult for new operators to gain entry to the market (McCaul 1990:vii). However, the Competition Board, established by the government in 1986 to review the position of illegal operators, believed that 'pirate taxis' could not be kept out of the market and recommended a total deregulation of the industry (Dugard 1996:34). This was, in the end, agreed; even though permits were needed to operate legally until 1990, since 1987 there has been a de facto deregulation of the market. 3
At first the black taxi industry was seen as one of the success stories of the new liberal economic policy of the apartheid government, and former President P.W. Botha, commenting on the benefits of transport deregulation, spoke warmly about the 'astounding success of the black taxi industry' (Dugard 1996:17). But this was the decade of the rise of right-wing vigilantes, often connected to the state, and it was the decade of taxi wars. Since 1987 more than twenty thousand people have been killed in violent conflict in South Africa and many of those deaths have been attributed to taxi wars. The official explanation, given by the press and the Goldstone Commission, 4 and supported by writers such as McCaul (1990), is that cut-throat competition is the cause of the violence. This is undoubtedly an important factor. Deregulation has led to an increase in the number of operators and to falling profits, and most of the conflicts seem to arise over rights to control certain routes (McCaul 1990). The organisation of the industry has also changed; whereas before deregulation most taxis were driven by their owners, it is now most common for the driver to be employed by a taxi owner who owns more than one car (Khosa 1994:62). Other factors have also contributed to the taxi wars. In addition to cut-throat competition, Dugard (1996) has pointed to factors such as internal rivalry in taxi associations, conflicts between drivers and owners, and police complacency - in the Cape conflict there is evidence that what started as a conflict between rival groups was fuelled by police and vigilante actions.
Reforms and security
The complicated background to the violence in South Africa highlights some of the potential problems that post-conflict peace building and arms control face. The first prerequisite, a government that has the backing of the majority of the people is in place with the democratic election of 1994, but attempts at controlling the illicit use of arms have so far been unsuccessful. As the above makes clear, there are several reasons for this. The proliferation of arms in South Africa is in part a consequence of the destabilisation policy of the apartheid regime. Crime statistics for the period 1990 to 1995 show a sharp decrease in political violence but a large increase in other forms of crime. Murder rates have stabilised at an enormously high rate (about 35/100,100 (Klasen and Zulu 1999)).
The reason for the failure to control arms point to the necessity for grounding notions of security in a wider definition of legitimacy. Security sector reform sets the functioning of the state according to Euro-American accepted standards as the ideal to which efforts are put, but the high crime clearly points to a lack of legitimacy of sorts: a huge part of the population does not recognise legal codes nor the police as legitimate expressions of their interests.
An explanation for this is to be found in the extreme inequality that still characterises South Africa. The country has one of the highest levels of inequality in the world; the government's Reconstruction and Development Programme shows that the richest 10 per cent spend about 42 per cent of the national expenditure, despite comprising only 6 per cent of the population (Klasen and Zulu 1999). These divisions still follow the racial lines of apartheid, with rural Africans making up 80 per cent of the poorest quintile, and urban Africans another 17 per cent.
The reason for the proliferation of arms in South Africa has roots in the apartheid past, but the problems of controlling them must be sought in the present. There is no reason to believe that arms control measures will be effective until crime levels decrease: many people are too frightened for their lives to render their security in the hands of an ineffective police force that still has unfortunate roots in its past function as an instrument of oppression. Further, there is no reason to believe that crime levels will plummet until the extreme gaps between the haves and the have-nots is decreased.
The wider context of peace-building and arms control
Over the last years, various donor countries have taken a interest in combating the international spread of small arms. The importance of reducing the availability of arms among the public should be remembered when designing disarmament strategies, as surplus weapons from the military or guerrilla organisations have a tendency to reappear on the private market when decommissioned. Still, it must also be kept in mind that arms are symptoms of conflicts and unstable societies rather than their cause. In lawless societies, people keep arms for defence just as much as for assault, and are often unwilling to give them up if not in the context of a reestablishment of public order and safety.
The South African case points to the necessity for a wider definition of the context of arms control. Not only is a functioning and legitimate state a necessary precondition for arms control, there is a need for a wider conception of legitimacy; one in which the majority of the people feel that the state is an legitimate expression of their interest. This is indeed difficult to achieve when a huge majority is excluded from all the formal workings of the state: from the opportunity to obtain a formally regulated job and earn a stable income. Instead, the majority of South Africans have to carve out a living at the margins of the state, relying on informal income opportunities. In a setting such as this, the state becomes something to be avoided; its representatives, police and tax collectors, more likely to add to ones problem than to solve them. Establishing the necessary legitimacy of a peace-building and arms control process must involve a wider perspective than that of reforming the apparatus of the state. Albeit a necessary an integrated part of the reform process, there is little help in reforming government bodies as long as people continue to feel alienated from them.
This has repercussions for arms control in other established democracies as well. The case from South Africa should prompt one to look for causes of widespread crime in the wider political system, and to examine the extent to which subsections of the population feel alienated from the state and its structured. In post-conflict peace building and arms control initiatives, the case points to the necessity for adopting wider definitions of 'democracy' and 'legitimacy' than the formal structuring and workings of the state. A functioning state is democratic and legitimate to the extent that it includes the majority of its citizens; this is difficult to combine with huge discrepancies in access to opportunities and resources.
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Note 1: Espen Bart Eide was consulted extensively for the first draft, especially with reference to the sections on Security Sector Reform. The views expressed are however those of the author. Back.
Note 2: Haysom traces the origin of Inkatha to 1922 (1986:80). Back.
Note 3: In Johannesburg alone, the number of permits issued rose from 401 in 1984/85 to 15,160 in 1989/90 (Khosa 1992:235) Back.
Note 4: Between 1990 and 1994 the National Party Government set up a number of commissions to examine violence in South Africa. These commissions, of which seven dealt with taxi-violence, are collectively known as the Goldstone Commission (Dugard 1996). Back.
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