Sarah Smith. Australian Journal of International Affairs. Volume 71, Issue 4, August 2017.
Introduction
From the 1990s, the sexual conduct of peacekeepers has been problematised by numerous reports highlighting, inter alia, the proliferation of brothels and prostitution at peacekeeping sites, peacekeeper involvement in the trafficking of women, and rape and sexual assault committed by peacekeepers against minors and adults (Awori, Lutz, and Thapa 2013; Csáky 2008; Martin 2005; Mendelson 2005). Each time new allegations surface, impunity, lack of accountability and lack of enforcement are cited as major obstacles for both preventing sexual exploitation and abuse (SEA) in peace operations and providing justice to those who do report it. In March 2016, the United Nations (UN) Security Council adopted its first resolution—resolution 2272 (UNSC 2016)—aimed at preventing SEA by those under UN mandate. The development and eventual adoption of this resolution was in response to focused media attention on several allegations made against peacekeepers in the UN’s peace operation in the Central African Republic (United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in the Central African Republic – MINUSCA), as well as evidence that those accused enjoy immunity, facing little if any punitive action (Laville 2015).
While it is not yet possible to evaluate the implementation of resolution 2272, given its recent adoption, it is possible to critically evaluate both the resolution’s text and the mechanism for prevention it established. This article examines resolution 2272 by drawing on past practice and the perspectives of those at mission sites—namely, Timor-Leste—arguing that the mechanism it establishes—repatriation—is limited in its capacity to prevent SEA and provide justice outcomes. The act of repatriation alone as a solution to SEA is not well supported in examination of past practice, nor does it challenge the structures of peacekeeping and the UN more broadly in which SEA transpires. The article does not claim to speak for survivors of SEA; however, the civil-society voices presented here provide an alternative perspective on accountability measures that is sidelined in the resolution’s text, which focuses on the actions, wishes and reputations of the UN and its member states.
This article argues that the text of resolution 2272 characterises SEA as a problem for the legitimacy of the UN, atomising and seeking to remove SEA from a broader institutional culture—one that prioritises militarised and patriarchal forms of security. It does not challenge the status quo that sustains a lack of accountability for SEA. Analysis of Timor-Leste reveals shortcomings in the repatriation mechanism, especially in terms of peace operations’ accountability to the populations they are mandated to serve. Moreover, SEA can be analysed in the context of gendered relations of power and the UN’s broader Women, Peace and Security (WPS) agenda, given that the watershed resolution—resolution 1325—was developed in response to the sexual misconduct of peacekeepers (Harrington 2010, 145). Likewise, ‘gender training’ for peacekeepers, at least in the Australian context, is provided in response to peacekeepers’ SEA and was introduced, foremost, to prevent it (Carson 2016, 278-279). Feminist security and international relations scholars have critically engaged with the WPS agenda, noting that while the transnational activism that gave rise to the adoption of WPS was broad-based and antimilitarist, the actual implementation of it has left much to be desired (Kirby and Shepherd 2016). Similarly, reviews conducted by the UN itself have also noted shortcomings. The UN commissioned a Global Study on the implementation of resolution 1325 to be released in 2015, the 15-year anniversary of the resolution’s adoption. The Global Study report found ‘a crippling gap between the ambition of our [UN] commitments and actual political and financial support’ (Coomaraswamy 2015, 5). Peacekeeping and peacebuilding practices continue to be structured around militarist and patriarchal understandings of security, in which women’s equal access to social and economic resources is obstructed—a structural inequality that, in turn, makes them vulnerable to physical and sexual violence (True 2012, 145-153). Repatriation of those with allegations made against them does nothing to challenge such structural inequalities or recognise how these contribute to SEA to begin with.
This article suggests that resolution 2272 eschews acknowledgement or understanding of the militarised and gendered paradigms that underpin peacekeeping, which frames the context in which SEA occurs. As Karim and Beardsley (2016, 100) argue, while addressing SEA through technical measures such as adding more women to missions as peacekeepers, repatriating peacekeepers or trying to enforce zero tolerance may reduce the frequency of occurrences in some instances, ultimately the ‘cultivation of a value of gender equality’ among all peacekeepers is essential. This is not to say that all peace operations’ personnel—military and civilian—conform to and embody a singular masculine militarised identity, nor that all peacekeepers can or will commit SEA. Rather, the institutional and cultural context within which perpetrators do commit SEA is, at the least, permissive. Technical responses to SEA conform to institutional norms rather than challenge them, yet it is these norms that contribute to the problem of SEA and the ongoing lack of accountability (see also Harrington 2011).
The article begins with an overview of SEA in peace operations and details previous UN responses to the issue, as well as feminist analysis of impunity and lack of accountability. This discussion demonstrates that SEA has been a continuing problem—one that has been attributed to the gendered nature of (in)security in post-conflict contexts. This section also examines and problematises concepts such as ‘allegation’ and ‘zero tolerance’, which appear frequently in UN and academic analyses of SEA. The article then moves on to examine SEA specifically in the case of Timor-Leste, drawing on interviews conducted by the author in Timor-Leste in 2012 and 2013 with national civil-society representatives and international UN and non-governmental organisation (NGO) staff members. Thirty-six semi-structured interviews were conducted as part of a broader research project on how a ‘gender perspective’, as mandated by resolution 1325, was implemented in successive peace operations in Timor-Leste. SEA was not the focus of all the interviews; all of the participants made reference to unintended consequences of a peacekeeping presence, yet a number of participants discussed its occurrence in more detail, citing it as a significant issue in relation to peace operations, and in particular relation to gender and women’s equality in peace operations. The empirical interview material was triangulated with reports and other documents where available. The data was examined and analysed ‘through the lens of feminist theory’, employing a feminist research ethic, which demands the application of the ‘same criteria to analysis of documents from institutional or elite sources as those from lower-status organisations, groups or individuals’ (Ackerly and True 2010, 163, 179). The interview data presented here demonstrates a sense of powerlessness regarding SEA and the perception of impunity enjoyed by those who perpetrate it, which is connected to the removal (or repatriation) of those with allegations made against them. This problematises the mechanism established by resolution 2272 which removes uniformed contingents from mission sites.
The final section of the article examines the text and mechanisms of resolution 2272, highlighting the limitations it embodies in light of the perspectives presented from the Timor-Leste case study—specifically, that it does not explicitly address institutional accountability to victims or to the populations that peace operations are mandated to protect. The resolution’s text is ambiguous at best. The removal of perpetrators in and of itself is not sufficient and is challenged by the perspectives presented here from Timor-Leste. Indeed, the examination of Timor-Leste demonstrates that removal alone does little for those at mission sites. Therefore, the mechanism of repatriation that resolution 2272 establishes has the potential to compound a sense of injustice, especially as it fails to delineate any further accountability measures, particularly within the UN. In this regard, the Global Study on the implementation of resolution 1325 made more far-reaching recommendations—and did so after consultation with a range of experts at mission sites and within the UN—which would speak more to institutional accountability, such as hybrid courts and shared jurisdiction between host states and member states (Coomaraswamy 2015, 149).
SEA and UN Responses
The UN’s response to cases of SEA by peacekeepers coalesces around three pillars: prevention, enforcement and remedial action (Awori, Lutz, and Thapa 2013). In 2003, the Secretary-General released a report, known as ‘the Bulletin’, which instituted a ‘zerotolerance’ mandate for SEA in peace operations (UN 2003), and which continues to frame responses to SEA. Zero tolerance refers to the explicit prohibition of civilian- peacekeeper relations—specifically, sexual relations between UN staff and beneficiaries of assistance; exchange of money, employment, goods or services for sex; and sexual relations with persons less than 18 years of age (ibid.). Although it is continually emphasised, zero tolerance has neither improved accountability nor reduced the number of allegations of SEA—judged in terms of reported numbers of allegations and punitive measures meted out by either the UN or troop-contributing countries. Zero tolerance has proved to be an imprecise tool, and the definitions within the Bulletin contain no spectrum of either exploitation or agency in sexual encounters between peacekeepers and civilians (Grady 2016; Otto 2007). These limitations are coupled with the endemic nature of under-reporting by victims and a culture of not reporting incidences of abuse among personnel. Otto (2007) has argued that zero tolerance is more consistent with the ‘institutional survival’ of the UN rather than women’s rights and gender equity; it is reactive and seeks to remove outlier elements, without further internal reflection on how institutional structures may contribute to an enabling and silencing culture around SEA.
In turn, because of the legal framework set out by the status of forces agreement—an agreement between the host government and the UN concerning the privileges, immunities and criminal accountability of UN personnel and peacekeepers—close cooperation between troop-contributing countries, which are responsible for prosecuting their personnel, and the UN is required. Rather than come under the jurisdiction of the host nation, the UN’s model status of forces agreement maintains troop-contributing countries’ exclusive jurisdiction over their personnel throughout their deployment (Miller 2006; Murray 2003, 508-510). UN teams may conduct initial investigations but criminal jurisdiction lies with the troop-contributing country. The principles of most status of forces agreements are based on those provided in the Convention on the Privileges and Immunities of the United Nations. This convention provides immunity from arrest or detention to ‘experts on missions for the United Nations’ relating to any acts or words ‘spoke or written’ (UNGA 1946).
Where allegations of SEA are made, the UN’s Office of Internal Oversight Services is responsible for initial investigations. If the allegations are substantiated (which is itself problematic—see Donovan 2015), the UN may choose to repatriate the individual or ban them from future peacekeeping operations but any further disciplinary or juridical process is solely the responsibility of the troop-contributing country. The UN has strongly urged troop-contributors to try domestically those who are repatriated for SEA in order to make good on what many view as only a rhetorical commitment to accountability (Ferstman 2013). Troop-contributing countries have, however, proven reluctant to prosecute those who return with allegations of SEA made against them. One shortcoming has been the capacities of the UN investigating teams, who are frequently not experts in criminal investigation (Miller 2006, 83-84). Initial UN investigations occur to ‘substantiate’ SEA allegations, prior to the matter being referred to the member state or for further investigation by the Office of Internal Oversight Services and/or the mission in question. The poor investigative capacities of mission teams if further investigation is conducted means that the resulting materials often do not meet the requirements of the troop contributing countries (Miller 2006, 84), nor, it seems, the demand for high standards of materials from the UN headquarters (Awori, Lutz, and Thapa 2013, 3-4). This has resulted in troop-contributing countries stating their unwillingness to pursue criminal cases against returned peacekeepers (Miller 2006, 84).
Following the release of the Bulletin, the UN launched an internal review in 2004 after reports of SEA by peacekeepers in the Democratic Republic of Congo again made international headlines (BBC 2005; United Nations News Centre 2005). The resultant report—the Zeid Report—acknowledged the interplay of the UN’s culture and organisation with the personal perspectives of some peacekeepers, which could exacerbate the occurrence of SEA (UN 2005). The Zeid Report made recommendations reflecting key institutional weaknesses in preventing SEA: creating a common set of rules to govern SEA; the professionalisation of the UN’s investigative capacities; enforcing accountability at senior and command levels; and establishing procedures for individual disciplinary, financial and criminal accountability (Miller 2006, 73). Demonstrating the slow pace of change in these areas, an internal report from 2013 made almost identical recommendations, noting the need to considerably strengthen enforcement of SEA policy—such as providing missions with investigative capacities via a fully resourced independent investigative unit —and to provide assistance to victims of SEA (Awori, Lutz, and Thapa 2013, 3).
Institutional barriers to preventing SEA also remain pervasive. An internal report leaked in 2015 suggests that the culture of the UN—the lack of enforcement and the resultant impunity for SEA—has changed little since the release of the Secretary-General’s Bulletin in 2003 and the Zeid Report in 2005 (Awori, Lutz, and Thapa 2013). The NGO Aids Free World (2015) leaked the internal report when the Secretary-General’s February report on SEA to the General Assembly ignored—and in some cases contradicted—most of the findings and recommendations contained within it. Paula Donovan (2015), who co-founded the NGO, also established the Code Blue campaign to end immunity for SEA by peacekeepers, and cites the misapplication of the 1946 Convention on the Privileges and Immunities, via status of forces agreements, as a major obstacle. Those who commit SEA in post-conflict contexts do so in a climate of weak justice mechanisms, disorder and disadvantage. This is compounded by inaction on behalf of the UN, which lacks jurisdiction over peacekeepers under its mandates, meaning that the task of criminal accountability falls to troop-contributing countries (ibid.). This does not mean that the UN is absolved of responsibility, however, and the Global Study on the implementation of the WPS agenda found that allegations of SEA in peace operations are very often ‘not properly investigated by member states, are considered unsubstantiated, or are resolved with very lenient disciplinary measures or criminal sentences’ (Coomaraswamy 2015, 147).
The lack of accountability that exists for the perpetration of SEA at all levels within the UN has been linked to gendered security ideals that see (masculine) militarised security dominate over critical and feminist readings of insecurity in post-conflict settings (Harrington 2011; Higate and Henry 2004; Jennings 2014). Those accused of SEA are predominantly male, and the victims are overwhelmingly women, girls and boys, and this has also been true in the Timor-Leste case (Koyama and Myrttinen 2007). Its occurrence is a direct challenge to the rhetoric of women’s security in resolution 1325, incorporated throughout the UN’s broader discourse of civilian protection, which also serves to legitimise intervention (Harrington 2011). Indeed, prior to the adoption of resolution 2272, reference by the Security Council to SEA and zero tolerance is found in WPS resolutions. Critical feminist scholars have argued that impunity and the institutional silence on SEA that has pervaded the preceding decades are integrally linked to gendered relations of power, and demonstrative of militarised and patriarchal notions of security that marginalise gendered forms of insecurity, such as sexual and gender-based violence (Higate and Henry 2004; Whitworth 2009). Peace operations remain overtly characterised by gendered and militarised understandings of establishing peace, including in its civilian dimensions; as Enloe (2000, 3) argues, the more militarised a state, society or institution, the more military ideals and solutions are valued, and even normalised.
Public attention to SEA again peaked in 2015 and 2016, thanks in part to the leaking of the internal report discussed above. Further to this, in April 2015, UN aid worker Anders Kompass was suspended for disclosing to the French authorities reports of French troops’ involvement in the sexual abuse of children in the Central African Republic (Laville 2015). While he was eventually exonerated and reinstated, Kompass announced his resignation in June 2016, citing systemic impunity for those who were found to be abusing their authority and lack of accountability at all levels for SEA by peacekeepers (Anyadike 2016). As a result of consistent allegations and the public attention they were receiving, the UN established an inquiry into SEA by peacekeepers in the Central African Republic, the results of which are yet to be made public; however, early reports indicate a widespread problem of sexual misconduct, including allegations of rape of minors, sex for money and food, and forced bestiality (Code Blue Campaign 2016). In late 2015, Secretary-General Ban Kimoon requested the resignation of the Special Representative of the Secretary-General for MINUSCA, Babacar Gaye (United Nations News Centre 2015).
Another precursor to the adoption of resolution 2272 was the release in March 2016 of the Secretary-General’s report on SEA. Since the release of the Bulletin in 2003, the Secretary-General has been obliged to report to the General Assembly on the number of allegations of SEA for each mission in the previous year, and the status of investigations into those allegations. The 2016 report, as well as noting that allegations had increased, listed for the first time the nationalities of those peacekeepers who had had allegations made against them (UNGA 2016). It is worth examining here what is meant by ‘allegation’, as it is the only way that progress with regard to SEA is measured by the UN (Grady 2016). Beyond issues of under-reporting, the word ‘allegation’ obscures a clear picture of the nature and scope of SEA, as it does not provide accurate figures on the number of perpetrators or victims, leading Donovan to describe ‘allegation’ as ‘an absurd non-indicator’. Donovan explains that:
In the case of [SEA], one allegation can include 23 soldiers … and 15 minors that they have been demanding sex from, or it can be one soldier and one minor, or it can be one soldier that has abused the same child over the course of a year twice-weekly. So allegation is completely useless (Donovan 2015, 412).
In 2015, there were 99 allegations in total, 69 of which were made against staff attached to peace operations—that is, peacekeeping missions and special political missions supported by the Department of Field Support; the remaining 30 allegations came from across the agencies, funds and programs (UNGA 2016, 2). Nationalities have been disclosed only for allegations made against uniformed personnel (military, police and ‘other government provided staff’) in peace operations, which is 46 allegations of the 99 total or just under half of the total number recorded. The nationalities of the remaining 53 allegations—civilian personnel in peace operations and from the agencies, funds and programs—have not been disclosed. Beyond the fact that ‘allegation’ has little objective meaning, then, having only partial data on a section of the population that allegations are made against further obfuscates conclusive analysis of the scope and nature of SEA across the UN system. It is also worth noting that naming only uniformed allegations has differential impacts for different states—the majority troop donors are overwhelmingly from the global South: Ethiopia, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh and Rwanda currently contribute the largest numbers of uniformed peacekeepers. While ‘naming and shaming’ may be a powerful tool, at this stage it appears to be wielded only partially, with the nationalities of non-uniformed allegations unknown.
Another issue is the structure and nature of peace operations themselves, and this too is unchallenged by resolution 2272. In October 2016, a peacekeeping ministerial meeting was held in London, where ministers and chiefs of defence pledged to improve the practice of peace operations. The twin commitments made with regard to WPS were the need for more female peacekeepers and the need to reduce SEA. Indeed, these two points are connected, as it is argued that women reduce the sexually exploitative behaviour of their male counterparts (Dharmapuri 2013, 7). The commitments to reduce SEA made at the London meeting restate zero tolerance but are noticeably silent on the concrete recommendations made in the Global Study on WPS in terms of accountability and justice. The Global Study stated the need to overcome impunity, rather than merely SEA prevention, and made recommendations such as the establishment of hybrid courts or an international tribunal, as well as the possibility of shared jurisdiction between host states and other states to try those alleged to have perpetrated SEA. The communiqué of the ministerial meeting also made these commitments as part of an overwhelmingly militarised and technical summit outcome—one that eschewed a broader narrative of localising peace operations and recent recommendations on the need for political, as well as military, reconstruction tools (HIPPO 2015). The nature of peace operations, then, is such that military security is prioritised. Feminist scholars have routinely demonstrated the ways in which prioritising military security can, and does, undermine the security of particular individuals and groups (Enloe 2000; Rehn and Sirleaf 2002; Shepherd 2010; True 2012).
SEA in Timor-Leste
Gaining formal independence in 2002 after the UN Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET, 1999-2002), Timor-Leste has been host to three peace operations with significant military, police and civilian staff. Following UNTAET, the UN Mission of Support in East Timor (UNMISET, 2002-5) was established, which was then followed by a small political mission with no peacekeeping mandate. However, crisis in 2006 led to the re-establishment of a peacekeeping presence in the UN Integrated Mission in Timor Leste (UNMIT, 2006-12), which again took control of the national police force and sought to institute security sector reform in Timor-Leste’s police. Before turning to examine resolution 2272, this section sets out the issue of SEA by peacekeepers in Timor-Leste, drawing on interviews conducted by the author in Timor-Leste in 2012 and 2013 with national civil-society representatives, particularly women’s organisations, and international UN and NGO staff. The SEA discussed in this section occurred prior to the adoption of resolution 2272. The perspectives on SEA in Timor-Leste discussed here demonstrate the shortfalls of the resolution in terms of ensuring accountability and victim support.
Sexual violence was prevalent throughout the Indonesian military occupation period (1975-99) and although it was perpetrated against both men and women, women were predominantly the targets of such violence. The Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in Timor-Leste documented gendered violence that occurred during occupation, noting that sexual harassment, sexual torture in detention, sexual slavery and public sexual humiliation were all prevalent (CAVR 2005, section 7.7.4). Many children were born as a result of rape and sexual slavery, which has led to both those women who bore them and the children themselves being marginalised from their communities (Harris-Rimmer 2007). During the occupation period, these acts were carried out with impunity, ‘without fear of any form of sanction … There were no practical steps that could be taken by an East Timorese victim of rape or sexual violence to seek a legal remedy for such crimes’ (CAVR 2005, section 7.7.6). These reports of lack of access to justice systems during Timor-Leste’s occupation period have synergies with the perspectives on SEA by peacekeepers discussed below—in particular, parallels can be drawn in terms of violence occurring in a climate of militarism and impunity, albeit in starkly different contexts. Absent in both situations were accessible justice and protection mechanisms which people were knowledgeable about and kept the public informed of progress on cases.
None of the establishing or continuing mandates adopted by the Security Council for UNTAET and UNMISET made reference to SEA perpetrated by personnel. Reports from the Secretary-General detailing allegations only began in 2005, and it was not until 2007 that these figures were broken down by mission. Other evidence suggests that both UNMISET and UNTAET had issues with SEA (see, inter alia, Ferguson 2011; Murdoch 2007; Ospina 2006). Following a six-month period with no gender advisor, UNMISET established briefing sessions specifically on SEA, with international staff attending (Ospina 2006, 11). The second UNMISET Special Representative of the Secretary General, Sukehiro Hasegawa, established a commission to investigate claims of SEA (Koyama and Myrttinen 2007, 29). In 2006, the establishing mandate for UNMIT requested the Secretary-General to achieve ‘actual compliance … with the [UN] zero tolerance policy on [SEA]’ (UNSC 2006) and urged troop-contributing countries to adopt preventative measures such as pre-deployment training and disciplinary action. UNMIT is reported as having 13 allegations of SEA, but given the opaqueness of ‘allegation’, discussed above, this figure does not illuminate an understanding of the nature of SEA or the frequency of its occurrence in Timor-Leste. Moreover, as one of these allegations was reported in 2015, three years after the mission closed, the fact that peacekeeping has finished in Timor-Leste does not mean that this number of allegations is fixed, and points to the ongoing impacts of SEA, which are discussed in more detail below.
The national participants in this research often lacked knowledge about what happened to those accused of SEA or the avenues available for legal redress. As the director of one national NGO stated: ‘Timorese people don’t know where to go to make complaints, to which institutions. And then what can be done anyway?’ (Interview with author, 12 July 2012, Dili). This section also raises issue with the repatriation of those accused as an end in itself, as ‘removal’ can be connected with lack of access to justice mechanisms and lack of information on ongoing investigations and any subsequent punitive measures; for example, one participant explained that, after SEA was reported, ‘then guess what? These people are shifted out of the country as soon as … So they don’t face justice’ (Previous national NGO director, interview with author, 13 August 2013, Dili). ‘Justice’ here refers to formal justice mechanisms and prosecution.
The increased visibility of prostitution associated with the UN presence was a concern in Timor-Leste. This included the increase in the number of both East Timorese and international sex workers in the country. In 2004, a report on trafficking in Timor-Leste found that foreign sex workers were concentrated in Dili, while in the outer districts and rural areas sex workers were exclusively East Timorese (Caron 2004, 15). Koyama and Myrttinen (2007) claim that the end of UNMISET, which effectively ended the large peacekeeper presence established from UNTAET, is associated with a dramatic decrease in ‘business’ and the number of sex workers in Timor-Leste. In turn, when UNMIT was established, brothel numbers were seen to increase, again in response to the demand brought on by the return of a large UN presence. There were reports of peacekeepers frequenting brothels, and UN vehicles could be seen outside brothels and picking up women outside popular bars and nightspots (UN agency staff member, interview with author, 4 September 2012, Dili; Murdoch 2007). At the same time, an internal UN report had just been submitted to UN headquarters that detailed the exploitation of some UNTAET and UNMISET staff, noting a ‘culture that covered up perverted and outrageous behaviour by UN staff in [Timor-Leste] over years’ (Murdoch 2007).
One prominent concern was the issue of ‘peacekeeper babies’—children fathered by UN peacekeepers who subsequently leave the country. It is argued that the issue of peacekeeper babies came to public attention in large part due to the UN presence in Timor-Leste during UNTAET (Simić and O’Brien 2014, 348). How to respond to peacekeeper babies has often eluded UN leadership, but cases have been reported in a number of missions. For example, between 1990 and 1998 in Liberia it was reported that 6600 babies had been registered as being fathered by peacekeepers (Rehn and Sirleaf 2002, 71), and the internal report—mentioned above—documented that at least 20 peacekeepers had fathered babies to East Timorese women during UNTAET and UNMISET (Barker 2006). There is little systematic research on the issue of peacekeeper babies and the relationships that produce them, with more attention given to trafficking, prostitution and sexual abuse— arguably because peacekeeper babies are not inherently from abuse or violence, and are also born from consensual relationships with peacekeepers (Simić and O’Brien 2014). Expressing this concern around peacekeeper babies, one participant stated: ‘There was a case, a woman … with a child who demanded the UN for compensation. But, you know, the tricky thing is, well, who forced you? Was it forced?’ (Previous national NGO director, interview with author, 13 August 2013, Dili).
In my field research, peacekeeper babies were not immediately connected to direct violence, but were framed as problematic where women who bore children with peacekeepers were abandoned and marginalised from communities. One participant made explicit links with the experience of women who bore children with Indonesian military members, stating: ‘They are treated the same as the women who had children with the UN. Same’ (Previous national NGO director, interview with author, 2 September 2013, Dili). There are therefore social and economic impacts on women who mother peacekeeper babies, regardless of the nature of the relationship, attributable to existing structural gender inequality and women’s marginalisation. The stigma attached to women who bear children as a consequence of wartime rape (see Harris-Rimmer 2007) is carried over, demonstrating the need to tackle structural inequality—which sees women bear the brunt of negative consequences, despite the nature of the relationships or their own individual agency—rather than simply repatriating peacekeepers from missions. This speaks to how gender relations of power are maintained—or at the very least unchallenged—by responses of repatriation and zero tolerance, which do nothing for the socio-economic impacts of SEA.
In 2005, the UN Population Fund released a study conducted in Timor-Leste which reported that community definitions of sexual violence included sexual relationships that ‘caused a woman to become pregnant but the male partner did not want to take responsibility’ (UNFPA 2005, 16). Women bear overwhelming responsibility in caring for children—and stigma and community marginalisation—as a result of peacekeeper babies. One participant explained: ‘in the village, some UN staff are married with Timorese women and then they leave. Now they have a child here. No one cares about it. Who is responsible for it? This is just women’s responsibility about it’ (Previous national NGO director, interview with author, 2 September 2013, Dili). An institutional focus on removing perpetrators does not tackle such structural inequalities.
Zero tolerance was seen as insufficient and abstract by some participants, who suggested that this approach, at best, merely removed offenders from the country and did not provide formal avenues for legal remedy or compensation to survivors:
They [UN personnel] also [commit] violations against Timorese women and also some of them stay together with Timorese girls, and then after the girl has a baby, they just left them, without any responsibility … The Timorese women and also the NGOs, they made a big protest against this kind of attitude. So during UNMIT, [the Special Representative of the Secretary-General, Atul Khare,] started to apply zero tolerance for all UN staff who were involved, or who are the suspects of sexual violation. But at the end there is still no formal justice for them … So zero tolerance, and then, after that, what next? So it’s not clear. They just leave, they go, you never know what happens next (National women’s NGO staff member, interview with author, 8 August 2013, Dili).
Myrttinen (2014, 193) has reported that despite UNMIT’s Special Representative of the Secretary-General, Atul Khare, placing renewed emphasis on zero tolerance in response to staff frequenting ‘blacklisted’ clubs and brothels, this was loosely enforced: ‘Circumvention of the UNMIT zero-tolerance policy by [UN police] was more or less an open secret, fostering an institutional culture of impunity with respect to sexual misconduct’. Rhetorical commitments to zero tolerance are simply that—in this case demonstrating little in terms of enforcement or punitive action in response to SEA. Accountability slips through the web of legal obligations that fall to troop-contributing countries, underreporting and a failure to pass on information to domestic populations.
One participant, who had worked with an NGO supporting victims of gendered violence in Timor-Leste, including incidences that occurred both during and after occupation and SEA by peacekeepers, also reported that investigations, when carried out, were hard to follow. A Vulnerable Persons Unit was established in the national police force in response to sexual and gender-based violence, and it also supported investigations of SEA by peacekeepers. Yet, the participant explained:
After that [reiteration of zero tolerance], the UN supported the police, the Timorese police, by building the VPU [Vulnerable Persons Unit] to support those, especially women, who [were victims of] violation [of SEA]. But what happened was that the international staff who are working here, they keep changing every six months or every one year. And mostly when they change, they take all the documents. So you lost the chronology of what’s happening or what’s going on with these victims … So the administration or the filing system is really bad and we kept losing the documents, and it really affected the victims to get access to justice. And justice would take longer and longer, and even years and years (National women’s NGO staff member, interview with author, 8 August 2013, Dili).
This finding in Timor-Leste is confirmed in the findings of the internal UN report on SEA discussed above, which found endemic failures and long delays in investigations of SEA by peacekeepers (Awori, Lutz, and Thapa 2013).
Women’s organisations in Timor-Leste were active in bringing attention to SEA and in seeking legal redress and compensation for survivors. Throughout the 13-year period of peace operations, women’s organisations consistently advocated to UN missions about sexual and gender-based violence, including SEA by peacekeepers, with only occasional impact. For example, during UNTAET, advocacy by national women’s organisations and the mission’s Human Rights Unit led the UNTAET’s leadership to request an investigation into the most publicly known cases (Olsson 2009, 110). In 2006, when it became apparent that there would be a renewed peacekeeping presence, members of the umbrella women’s organisation Rede Feto wrote to Ian Martin (at the time the Special Envoy of the Secretary-General in Timor-Leste) to express what they saw as the key issues that should be prioritised by the incoming mission, one of which was the conduct of peacekeepers. Rede Feto (2006) proposed that the UN enforce its policy to prevent SEA and investigate past allegations of SEA by UN personnel as part of its recommendations on justice and human rights. East Timorese women’s organisations were seemingly familiar with the unintended consequences of a UN presence.
This section demonstrates two issues in relation to SEA in Timor-Leste. First, the impunity of peacekeepers is pervasive. This was reflected in comments on the disappearance of perpetrators, lack of continuity in terms of investigations, lack of formal justice outcomes and lack of information on outcomes when individuals were removed from Timor-Leste. Second is that the socio-economic context and consequences of SEA were also evident. This was true in terms of both a sex industry that flourished to meet the ‘needs’ of international staff—consistent with Jennings’ (2014) conceptualisation of a peacekeeper economy—and the socio-economic impacts on those women who had sexual relationships with internationals, especially those who bore children from these relationships. Questions of consent aside, gendered relations mean that women bear the brunt of the social and economic consequences from these relationships—an issue that is overlooked in the prevention mechanism established by resolution 2272, discussed below. Similarly, statements confirming a zero-tolerance approach do little by way of mitigating or alleviating women’s socio-economic marginalisation, demonstrating further the limitations of policy that ostensibly seeks to empower or protect women, but ultimately ignores patriarchal and gendered socio-economic relations that subordinate women.
Adoption and Text of Resolution 2272
The opening paragraphs of resolution 2272 ‘express deep concern about the serious and continuous allegations and under-reporting of [SEA]’ in missions by UN and non-UN personnel. The text of the resolution notes the negative impact that ‘serious and continuous’ allegations of SEA have on the credibility of the UN and its ability to implement peacekeeping mandates (UNSC 2016, 1). It also acknowledges the references to SEA made by the two reviews of peace operations released in 2015—the Global Study on WPS and the report of the HIPPO. Resolution 2272 reaffirms zero tolerance but also mandates a new mechanism as a response to SEA: the repatriation of entire military contingents and police units that contain individuals who have allegations made against them. This mechanism allows the Secretary-General to ‘repatriate a particular military unit or formed police unit of a contingent when there is credible evidence of widespread or systemic sexual exploitation and abuse by that unit’ (UNSC 2016, 2). Moreover, resolution 2272 allows for the removal and repatriation of police and military units when the relevant troop-contributing country ‘has not taken appropriate steps to investigate the allegation and/or when the particular troop- … contributing country has not held the perpetrators accountable or informed the Secretary-General of the progress of its investigations and/or actions’ (ibid.). The Secretary-General can, then, replace those repatriated units with another from a contributing country that ‘has upheld standards of conduct and discipline and appropriately addressed allegations against or confirmed acts, if any, of [SEA] by its personnel’ (ibid.).
Therefore, the resolution not only confirms the responsibility of the Secretary-General to enforce accountability measures and commit to the prevention of SEA by removing perpetrators from peace operations, but also reaffirms the role of member states and national jurisdictions in prosecuting perpetrators and enforcing accountability. It is the Secretary General’s role to assess whether contributing countries have taken the appropriate steps and, if not, to then trigger the repatriation of units. Troop-contributing countries are tasked with strengthening pre-deployment training to prevent SEA, conducting investigations into allegations and, in turn and where necessary, ensuring that individuals are held accountable.
The resolution thus represents a change in the UN’s response to SEA, as well as the expectations placed on troop-contributing countries, beyond a lackadaisical implementation of zero tolerance. While repatriation of individuals has occurred in the past, there has been no attempt to repatriate entire units, nor has a mechanism been in place to support this. No data has been released on particular contingents that might meet the ‘systemic and widespread’ threshold, but the release of data on nationalities sees some member states’ uniformed personnel represented more so than others; however, as discussed above, these figures are incomplete. Should the repatriation of units occur, this would, in effect, be a ‘naming and shaming’ of those countries because the repatriation of entire units cannot be done discreetly and would also require the mobilisation of an entire new unit from a different member state to replace the repatriated one. This makes the repatriation mechanism established in resolution 2272, when and if that occurs, a deeply political statement. The resolution notes that the primary responsibility of investigating allegations of SEA by peacekeepers still lies with troop-contributing countries, but establishes a response mechanism for the Secretary-General—repatriation—if the actions of troop-contributing countries are found wanting. However, consistent with the Secretary-General’s most recent report that released the nationalities only of ‘uniformed’ personnel with allegations against them, this is also true in repatriating military and police units—the ‘uniformed’ units of peacekeeping missions. There is no mechanism for (or mention of) civilian staff in resolution 2272.
While the adoption and text of resolution 2272 sets an important mechanism to enhance accountability for SEA in peace operations, it nonetheless embodies some important limitations. One limitation is simply in understanding and defining the exact parameters of the text. As Neudorfer (2016) has argued, some terms in resolution 2272—in particular the criteria of ‘systemic and widespread’ and ‘credible allegations’—remain undefined. The language of ‘credible’ also differs from how allegations and investigations are generally reported on within the UN, with reference to ‘substantiation’ (or unsubstantiated allegations) more common. Moreover, the resolution fails to account for civilian personnel both within and outside peace operations. Given that less than half the allegations in 2015 were made against ‘uniformed’ personnel—46 of 99, as discussed above—the mechanism to repatriate only uniformed contingents from peace operations as a means to prevent SEA is demonstrably insufficient and says nothing on allegations made against those who are not part of a contingent to be repatriated or are not situated within a peace operation. To prevent SEA fully and protect populations from perpetrators necessitates response mechanisms that, at the least, capture both uniformed and civilian staff. While zero tolerance applies to both, the repatriation mechanism in resolution 2272 speaks only of uniformed contingents.
The resolution does not represent marked progress in terms of formal justice for survivors, even when and if repatriation does occur. As discussed above, the removal of perpetrators and ensuing silence on what happened to them was a point of frustration for some in Timor-Leste, undermining their view of peace operations. Removal or repatriation on its own represents neither prevention nor accountability. Certainly there is an immediate effect of removing perpetrators from the environment in which they are committing abuses. Yet how it ensures accountability, feeds into punitive responses or improves the investigative capacities available is unclear, even if the opaqueness of the resolution’s terms is set aside. In the past, individual perpetrators of SEA have been repatriated, such as in the case of Timor-Leste, and this can contribute to the silence surrounding the issue, as the perpetrator is no longer accessible to their accuser or to investigating units (both local and UN), and information on what happens after repatriation is not provided to communities at mission sites. While impunity pervades in the legal sense due to the lack of jurisdiction of the UN over peacekeepers, in Timor-Leste impunity for SEA was also perceived where silence and lack of information characterised investigations into allegations, and contributed to the sense that peace operations were not accountable to the local population regarding SEA. Where an investigation is conducted, it rests with the troop-contributing country to act on it, and to provide and communicate outcomes to those who report allegations. Accountability to local populations is absent in the resolution’s text, and the legitimacy and image of the UN as an institution are emphasised.
Resolution 2272 also falls short on recommendations made in the Global Study on the implementation of the WPS agenda in relation to overcoming impunity—a stronger position than only prevention. The Global Study recommended possibilities such as the establishment of hybrid courts between host states and the UN; the potential for shared jurisdiction between the host state and other states, presumably the troop-contributing country; and the establishment of an international tribunal under an international treaty with jurisdiction to try UN staff in the field for crimes committed while on mission (Coomaraswamy 2015, 149). Such measures would better respond to the findings discussed in this article—that the process of accountability for SEA is made accessible for those at peace-operation sites, which is essential for both justice and improved equality in peacebuilding dividends, a key aim of WPS measures. Hybrid courts that allow for the involvement of host states could potentially appear more accessible to those at mission sites, responding to the issues discussed above. In addition, while international courts are still removed from the mission context, accessibility is also connected to the transparent sharing of information and ensuring that survivors are knowledgeable about justice processes and outcomes. Improving the flow of information and more accurate reporting of data is essential in terms of understanding, preventing and responding to SEA, yet mechanisms to facilitate this are absent in resolution 2272.
The repatriation of units does not challenge the patriarchal socio-economic structures that see women vulnerable to SEA, nor the gendered nature of security in which women’s individual and collective security is subordinated to, and in some cases undermined by, military security. As studies into the political economy of violence against women have shown, the priorities of peace operations are structured around gendered notions of what kinds of security matter (True 2012). Repatriating individuals and units reflects the assumption that the occurrences of SEA are not embedded in peacekeeping norms themselves, but are individual acts that can be removed from the sites of peace operations. Resolution 2272 is this assumption writ large, eschewing critical reflection on whether and how repatriation of entire contingents will either alleviate the institutional culture that has seen impunity, cover-up and obfuscation the norm or provide justice outcomes for those on the ground—to the populations who are said to be the beneficiaries of peace operations. In short, repatriation alone is insufficient, especially where it is not buttressed by robust accountability measures that reach beyond individual perpetrators. Stronger accountability measures such as those recommended in the Global Study would be a good place to start in this regard, especially as the modus operandi of militarised peace operations and security seeking remains unchallenged in light of the recent communiqué from the defence ministerial summit.
Conclusion
The adoption of resolution 2272 in 2016 is noteworthy in that it is the first time that the UN Security Council has devoted an entire resolution to SEA by peacekeepers. Inherent in the sending home of whole contingents is a preparedness to name and shame countries whose peacekeepers abuse. Given how such processes have been politicised, it is important that the implementation of resolution 2272 does not succumb to the same political machinations that have seen a deep reluctance to enforce accountability for SEA by peacekeepers, especially for those in senior positions, in the past. However, as this article demonstrates, there are also limitations in terms of its depth and the forms of accountability it offers. It pertains only to uniformed units, which are only a portion of those who have allegations made against them throughout the UN system, and sets ill-defined thresholds, such as ‘systemic and widespread’, which are not self-evident.
The perspective of those at mission sites is also noticeably absent in the text of the resolution, reflecting the fact that the resolution was drafted and adopted only in the face of widespread international condemnation of SEA that caused ‘embarrassment’ for the organisation, even though the prevalence of SEA in peace operations was known previously (Awori, Lutz, and Thapa 2013). Moreover, resolution 2272 does not address the gendered nature of insecurity in post-conflict zones or the fact that peace operations themselves produce hierarchical gender relations (Shepherd 2010, 76-77; Smith 2017). It is in this context that consistent reports of SEA have been ignored, and the reluctance to name and shame contributing countries is seen to have become a rational exercise in ensuring the continuance of the status quo of peace operations. As True (2012, 143-148) has argued, law and order is prioritised over the economic and social rights of women and girls. At the very least, at an institutional level, the adoption of resolution 2272 represents a rhetorical commitment—some evidence of institutional steps towards improved transparency and accountability. The practice of resolution 2272 will need to move beyond rhetoric, however, if prevention, the stated aim of the resolution, is to be achieved.