Just Warriors or Just Mercenaries?
Analyzing Self-Other Constructions of Private Military and Security
Companies (PMSCs)
Berenike Prem
PhD Student
Collaborative Research Center “Transformations of the State”
University of Bremen, Germany
[email protected]
Paper Prepared for the
8th Pan – European Conference on International Relations
18-21 September 2013, Warsaw
Draft Version - Please do not quote without permission
Comments welcome
Abstract
To establish themselves as legitimate actors in the security field, Private Military and Security
Companies (PMSCs) are very mindful of the images they project to an increasingly skeptical
public – a daunting tasks not only since their efforts have been challenged by NonGovernmental Organizations (NGOs). The latter have come to compete with private contractors in establishing their interpretation over the social category of commercial military and
security providers. This paper analyzes the representational contest between PMSCs and
NGOs over the identity of PMSCs by conducting a discourse analysis of public statements
issued by representatives of Sandline International, Blackwater, DynCorp International, and
the International Stability Operations Association (ISOA). For the NGO side, I have examined
campaign material issued by Human Rights First and War on Want. Although both groups
provide mainly conflicting accounts, the analysis reveals similar representational patterns
that either align or dissociate PMSCs from already known categories, namely the ordinary
enterprise, the state, humanitarian actors, and other companies in the military and security
sector. In stressing their similarity to traditional (security) actors, PMSCs construct themselves as ordinary and ethical businesses, agents of the state and sponsors of human rights,
while they also set themselves apart from an allegedly incompetent public sector, bad performers in the industry and the immoral mercenary soldier. NGOs, by contrast, present
PMSCs as modern version of the 20th century mercenaries and rebut companies’ proclaimed
image as furthering the state’s agenda and humanitarian goals.
1. Introduction
“Language is an incredibly powerful tool. If the peace and stability operations industry is to truly reach its full potential, it is critically important that the language of discourse regarding the industry be properly understood and
used descriptively, not destructively” (Messner 2007: 4).
Since the founding of Sandline International and Executive Outcomes in the early 1990s, forprofit organizations that trade in professional services intrinsically linked to warfare (Singer
2002: 187) have been given multiple names and meanings.1 They range from pejorative
terms such as ‘mercenaries’ or ‘guns for hire’ to more utopian brandings as ‘peace and stability operators’. These warring labels are illustrative of both scholars’ and practitioners’ difficulties in making sense of Private Military and Security Companies (PMSCs). As The Foreign
and Commonwealth Office (FCO) asserts, “[i]t is becoming increasingly difficult to define
what is or is not a PMSC as companies seek to expand their activities into more varied areas
such as Security Sector Reform, and the direct provision of humanitarian assistance” (FCO
2009: 18). In a similar vein, Kateri Carmola (2010: 9) holds that “we do not really understand
what they are. […] regardless of what they are, we suspect that they are tainted, potentially
corrupt, and somehow suspicious entities”.
In the light of this conceptual vagueness, corporate actors have made considerable efforts to
influence their public image in ways that fit their particular purpose, i.e. to legitimize themselves and win the hearts and minds of a skeptical public. Big public relation and lobbying
campaigns are the latest signs that corporate military and security providers seek to step out
of the shadows of their obscure predecessors – an attempt that has gone neither unnoticed
nor unchallenged by the Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) community: According to
the policy watchdog Global Policy Forum, PMSCs’ self-descriptions “are seriously misleading, preventing understanding of where the firms come from and why they are especially controversial” (Pingeot 2012: 10). They warrant a closer look beyond the corporate veil of advertisements, merchandising and websites. In this paper, I will analyze the competing attempts
of PMSCs and NGOs to manage public perceptions about commercial military and security
providers. How are PMSCs represented in public discourse? Which representations are invoked by either side and how do they relate to each other?
Only recently research in International Relations (IR) has begun to touch upon the issues of
identity constructions and discursive power of PMSCs. One strand of literature, for instance,
focuses on self-identities of the security contracting workforce – i.e. actual beliefs private
1
In the following, I will use the above definition to refer to Private Military and Security Companies (PMSCs).
These are for-profit organizations trade in services such as combat support, training advice and consulting, logistics and technical support, armed security services, intelligence/reconnaissance/surveillance, demining and humanitarian services, post-conflict reconstruction and development.
1
contractors hold about themselves: Higate (2012) analyzes identity constructions of British
contractors as reflected in their memoires, whereas Franke and von Boemcken (2010) have
designed an online survey to assess the professional identity of more than 200 American
security contractors. In contrast, Leander (2005b, Leander/van Munster 2007) has turned to
examine the independent role of contractors in shaping understandings of (in)security. This
deliberate meaning work, as some scholars hold, extends to PMSCs’ self-presentation. They
explore how corporate military and security firms strategically manage their public image,
revealing constructions such as ‘new humanitarians’ (Joachim/Schneiker 2012b, Carmola
2010), ‘security and military professionals’ (Schneiker/Joachim 2012b, Berndtsson 2012),
and gendered presentations as ‘ethical hero warriors’ (Joachim/Schneiker 2012a). Yet, little
research has been done to explore how PMSCs are portrayed in the public (for some
valuable exceptions that scrutinize media coverage and NGO responses to PMSCs see the
Project for Excellence in Journalism 2007, and Schneiker/Joachim 2012a). Moreover, none
of these studies addresses how the ‘image work’ of firms relates to the framing activities of
other actors and vice versa.
To address this research gap, the article will compare identity constructions of PMSCs advanced by both companies and NGOs. The results show that the representational contest
takes the form of a conversation in that both speakers try to rebut, transform and anticipate
the discourse of the other side. Identity constructions are built around four ‘others’, namely
the notorious mercenary groups of the 20th century, the state, humanitarian actors and the
PMSC community more broadly. A comparative analysis of such self-other constructions of
PMSCs does not only contribute to broaden our theoretical and conceptual understanding of
these actors in security governance.2 It also draws attention to the important social and legal
consequences of identity attributions: Whether a PMSC is identified as a ‘mercenary’ or a
‘partner to the U.S. government’ may have important legal and social consequences which
boil down to either support or opposition to this new caste of military and security providers.
2. (Re-)Constructing PMSCs
PMSCs are hard to pin down analytically as they “do not fit into existing legal categories and
forms of action” (Cutler 2010: 159). At first sight, they are corporate entities that are privately
owned, often listed on stock markets and follow the logic of the market (Carmola 2010: 30).
Yet, as Berndtsson (2012: 311) rightly points out, PMSCs are not only private enterprises.
Rather, they cross the public-private divide by taking over security functions once considered
as the exclusive preserve of the territorial nation-state. Abrahamsen and Williams (2011)
2
Security Governance captures the transformation of the security architecture in international politics from traditional state-centric systems such as alliances or security regimes to “complex networks of state and non-stateactors” (Krahmann 2003: 5).
2
have coined the term “global security assemblages” to refer to such new security structures
and practices that are simultaneously public and private, global and local. Similarly, Carmola
has developed a typology that spans business, military and humanitarian aspects of PMSCs
(Carmola 2010, see also Schneiker/Joachim 2012b). To explore the multiple faces and identities of commercial security providers, I will adopt a constructivist approach. Identity, I argue,
is essentially social, relational and discursive.
The Social Construction of PMSCs
The identity of PMSCs does not exist in a social vacuum but its meaning or content are the
product of interaction and speech (cf. Fearon/Laitin 2000: 848). Similar to other social categories such as nation, ethnicity or gender, identity is not an essential or unchanging feature
of the social world, but exists only because people collectively believe it exists and act accordingly (Finnemore/Sikkink 2001: 393). While acknowledging the claim that identities are
‘socially constructed’, this paper seizes the middle ground between social constructivism and
rational choice approaches. As Fearon and Laitin (2000: 853) maintain, identities can be
consciously shaped through the practices and discourses of different agents seeking to maximize their utilities – a process defined as “strategic social construction” (Finnemore/Sikkink
1998). Hence, both NGOs and commercial military and security firms compete in establishing
their understanding of the social category of PMSCs. They stand at either side of the privatization spectrum and have an interest in seeing their version of ‘reality’ accepted in an attempt at gathering support in favor or against the use of these private entities.
Identity as Relationship
The identity of PMSCs becomes meaningful only in relation to other actors. In fact, there is a
rich literature in IR and sociology that sees self-other relationships as constitutive of identity
(cf. Fombrun 1996, Neumann 1996, Barnett 1998, Campbell 1998, Hansen 2006,
Fombrun/Rindova 2009). De Buitrago (2012: xv) defines identity representations as “a product of mutual constructions of the self and other” where the self is negotiated at its boundaries. When constituting an image of the self, actors will usually set themselves apart from an
outside ‘other’ – a process defined as “othering” (de Buitrago 2012). In fact, PMSCs face the
daunting challenge of shaking off their image as successor of the age-old mercenary soldier
which still maintains a grip on the public consciousness. Contractors may also see themselves as open to criticism through the actions of their peers. Misconduct by one company
can easily cast a negative light on any other firm in the industry: “All it takes is one bad report
– whether real, bogus or exaggerated – to create a media storm that can smear an entire
industry”, as ISOA founder Doug Brooks (2010) averts. Given this ‘risk of contagion’, I as3
sume that PMSCs are likely to set themselves apart from their competitors if these are confronted with an identity threatening event.
However, self-other constructions do not necessarily amount to alterity-making. Richard Lebow (2008: 473) suggests “that identity construction […] often takes place through positive
[…] interactions with ‘others’”. Placing the self in relation to the other, he argues, can also
imply to recognize the latter as similar. PMSCs, in particular, have a lot to gain from associating themselves with those actors that enjoy relatively high degrees of legitimacy, be they
states, international organizations or NGOs. Black has introduced the term “legitimacy networks” to denote the effort of organizations to bandwagon on the good name or reputations
of other actors (Black 2008: 147). Thus, PMSCs have to convince their audiences as much
of their similarity to traditional security actors as of whom they are not.
Othering and similarity-making are features that do not only pertain to self-constructions, but
are also advanced by NGOs with a view to either conferring or detracting legitimacy. In the
literature, this external moment of identity attribution is known as categorization or labeling
(Jenkins 2000, Bhatia 2005). Categorization, in its most general sense, “is how we make
sense of, and impute predictability to, a complex social world about which our knowledge is
always partial” (Jenkins 2004: 83). It enables us to identify unfamiliar individuals and groups
by referring to the already known – what Hogg and Abrams (1999: 19) call an accentuation
effect. They assert that categorization implies two ways of imposing structure on the world
and our experiences: by highlighting similarities between actors within the same category
and evoking differences between people in different categories. Naming and categorizing are
popular strategies pursued by NGOs to set the spotlight on deviant actors like perpetrators of
human rights violations (Hafner-Burton 2008). In order to promote particular norms and to
influence the agenda and behaviors of states, companies or activists, NGOs call attention to
PMSCs “by using language that names, interprets, and dramatizes them” (Finnemore/Sikkink, 1998: 897, Brysk, 1995). In sum, both commercial security actors and NGOs
establish two possible comparisons between PMSCs and an indefinite number of ‘others’:
similarity and difference.
Identity as Discourse
In line with constructivist and post-structuralist scholars, I hold that the meaning of an identity
is not fixed, it is constituted through discourse (Hansen 2006, Fearon/Laitin 2000). Language, from this perspective, becomes a tool or weapon to establish one’s interpretation of
an identity, and discourse is the space where the struggle over the meaning of PMSCs takes
place (cf. Baumann 2006: 80, Donati 2011: 166). Thus, in order to study the many faces of
commercial military and security providers, we have to turn to how NGOs and companies
themselves ‘speak’ identity. For this purpose, I have conducted a discourse analysis of public
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statements issued by representatives of Sandline International, DynCorp International,
Blackwater (known today as Academi), and the American trade association of the industry,
the International Stability Operations Association (ISOA)3 from the 1990s onwards. These
companies are selected for their representativeness, covering different segments4 and home
states (USA and Great Britain as main drivers of privatization of security), with varying records of scandals they have been implicated in, and whose costumer base ranges from governmental actors, international organizations, and humanitarian actors to transnational corporations. Relevant data covers official statements in the form of press releases, homepages,
brochures, articles, and testimonies issued by PMSCs in their communication with clients,
stakeholders, and decision-makers. For the opposite side, I have included campaign material
on the issue of military and security contractors, and press releases produced by the two
NGOs Human Rights First and War on Want.
To reconstruct the discourse on PMSCs, I will use coding as a heuristic device. Coding describes the transitional process between data collection and more extensive analysis. A
code, according to Saldaña (2013: 4) is a “researcher-generated construct that symbolizes
and thus attributes interpreted meaning to each individual datum for later purposes of pattern
detection, categorization, theory building, and other analytic processes.” The first step in discourse analysis is therefore to assign codes to different segments of data (coding). In a second step, I will trace how these elements are intertwined into a coherent representation related to the identity of PMSCs (interpretation).
3. The Meaning Contest over PMSCs
Based on the premise that identities are always constructed in relation to other actors or
groups, this chapter sets out to explore self-other constructions of PMSCs that revolve
around four ‘others’: the traditional mercenary soldier, the state, humanitarian actors and the
PMSC community more broadly.
3.1 Neo-Mercenaries or Business as Usual?
Going Corporate
ISOA representatives acknowledge that “language is a very powerful tool of persuasion”
(Messner 2007). Labeling a benign actor with a mean and nasty term, they assume, may
have the potential to ‘stigmatize’ or ‘spoil’ his or her identity. Once attached the power of a
3 Formerly known as the International Peace Operations Association (IPOA).
4 The private military and security industry can be broken down into the following categories on the basis of the
contracted tasks: combat support, training advice and consulting, logistics and technical support, armed security
services, intelligence/reconnaissance/surveillance, demining and humanitarian services, and post-conflict reconstruction/development.
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name can be such that it confronts an actor as something invariably given and hard to shake
off. This holds true especially for the ‘m-word’: ‘Mercenary’ has become a common label to
describe PMSCs, used by “opponents and those who lack a fundamental understanding of
exactly what it is that the industry does” (Messner 2007), as the ISOA supposes. In the light
of this unpleasant kinship, PMSCs have made considerable efforts at setting themselves
apart from their ‘precursors’. Sandline International asserts that PMSCs are “as different to
those groupings as apes are to man” (Sandline International 1999b). Similarly, ISOA founder
Dough Brooks points out “the stark differences between the infamous rogues of the 1960s
and 1970s and the legal and ethical companies of today” (Brooks 2004). The key distinguishing feature, according to them, is that private military and security provider firms have transformed into legal entities operating openly on the market. They have a permanent structure
with representative offices in recognized states which fundamentally differs from “the ad-hoc
groupings of private soldiers of the 1960s and 1970s” (Sandline International 1998b, Brooks
2004). Unlike these “band[s] of individuals who have been recruited to carry out a single contractual obligation”, PMSCs are portrayed as more reliable entities that strive for sustained
corporate growth (Sandline International 1998b; emphasis mine). In that regard, they appear
like any other enterprise that adheres to business principles such as “profit, growth, corporate sustainability, shareholder value and achievement” (Sandline International 1998b). Second, commercial military and security firms also praise themselves for their transparency.
Rather than working ‘in the shadows’ as one might expect from the typical mercenary, they
stress that they use promotional literature and willingly engage with the public to create
awareness of their operations (Sandline International 1998a, Brooks 2004, Prince 2007a).
Another identity marker which helps to discriminate between the infamous mercenary fighter
and today’s PMSCs is the range of activities that each of these actors offer. While the capabilities of mercenary soldiers are generally limited to direct combat support, modern military
and security firms present themselves as multiservice organizations that offer everything
from “training, logistics, security, aviation, mine action, and medical support” (Brooks 2007a)
to “international development” (DynCorp International 2013g). Diversification has become
both a legitimating feature and a business strategy for almost all PMSCs analyzed: 5 It does
not only contribute to rub off any combat association but also to open up new markets beyond the battlefield. Services like “water purification” (Brooks 2004) and “engineering”
(DynCorp International 2013h), to name but a few examples, are considered as more legitimate business ventures than offering brute force. To play down the private sector’s military
face in favor of the business-like and mundane nature of their work, the ISOA observes, “I
never imagined ‘mercenaries’ cleaning toilets or serving food in the mess hall”, (Messner
5
Sandline, in that respect, represents an exception as the next subchapter will show.
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2007). This statement suggests that PMSCs are comparable to any other service provider,
like caterers, which effectively removes them from the theater into the cafeteria. With regard
to its workforce, Blackwater equally notes that “the vast majority of these employees are engaged in typical corporate functions, including human resources, information technology,
accounting and finance, quality assurance, legal and compliance, food services, maintenance, janitorial, and other services” (Roitz 2010: 3).
This transformation mirrors Peter Singer’s classification of the modern PMSC. He assumes
that ‘new’ military and security firms differ from mercenaries in that they are organized in a
corporate structure, are business profit-driven instead of working for individual profit, can be
considered as legal entities and draw on a much wider array of services to a greater variety
of clients (Singer 2003: chapter three). Judging from these self-descriptions, the private security sector has come of age and turned into the “mature and sophisticated industry” it is
today (Brooks 2011: 34).
Finally, this maturation is also reflected in companies’ adherence to established rules.
PMSCs emphasize that they are tied to their home states through laws that require registration and licensing of foreign contracts. Even if contractors are deployed thousands of miles
from their registered offices, “they are subject to the control, supervision, standards, and protocols of the United States government” (Blackwater 2008d). These controls include licenses
and permits to operate abroad and maintain weapons and ammunitions (Ryder 2009: 5, Xe
Services 2009), as well as legal frameworks to hold individual contactors to account. The
Military Extraterritorial Jurisdiction Act (MEJA), in particular, is repeatedly cited as prime example for contractors’ accountability (Brooks 2007a: 2, Prince 2007b). It allows U.S. Federal
Courts to prosecute any person employed by or accompanying the armed forces in support
of Department of Defense (DOD) missions overseas for committing a felony crime. Moreover,
the “legal and ethical companies of today” (Brooks 2004) operate pursuant to high business
standards and have established some form of internal procedures or rules, ranging from rather vague “core values” (DynCorp International 2013b, Blackwater 2008c) and “proactive
corporate cultures” (Ballhaus 2009a: 5), to more substantial codes of conduct. In fact, voluntary codes of conduct have been adopted by individual companies (DynCorp International
2013b, Academi 2013d) and the American industry’s trade association, the ISOA (ISOA
2011), as the most visible tool of self-regulation. Taken together, these measures help companies to uphold the impression that they are acting within some kind of accountability structure. The element of legal embeddedness becomes a necessary tool in PMSCs’ selfpresentational repertoire since scholar assumes that “[t]he international community's fear of
mercenaries lies in that they are wholly independent from any constraints built into the nation-state system. The element of accountability is the tacit standard that underlies the international antipathy for mercenary activity and truly determines mercenary status” (Zarate
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1998: 122). Mercenaries are therefore framed as the ‘aberrant other’, acting outside the
boundaries of law and being answerable only to the highest bidder (Sandline International
1998b). By dissociating themselves from popular representations of the traditional mercenary
soldier, PMSCs recognize their own right to exist while criminalizing the latter, i.e. “the 'Rambos', the psychopaths, the killers” (Spicer 1999a: 165).
The ‘Real’ PMSC
Not all PMSCs are happy to be lumped together under the category ‘business as usual’. Due
to the competitive nature of the industry, some companies are keen to stress their unique
selling point and set themselves apart from their peers. In the early stages of the private military and security industry, in particular, sectorial pioneers such as Sandline International had
to face the challenge to disentangle their activities from related organizations because their
activities would otherwise seem “marginal, ancillary, or illegitimate” (Suchman 1995: 586). In
that regard, Sandline International claimed to be “unique in the field. We have rivals but they
cannot or do not wish to deploy the full range of capabilities that we offer our clients”
(Sandline International 2004b). More specifically, it conceived of itself as the only enterprise
willing and able to provide front-line assistance in areas of conflict (Sandline International
1998b). The introduction of a new category into the discourse – the “active Private Military
Company” (PMC) (Sandline International 1998b)6 thus served two purposes: It made possible the distinction between private companies and mercenary groups on the one hand, and
between PMCs and traditional security services providers on the other. While the latter offer
security and protection services ranging from bank and jewelry shop guards to airport baggage screening, “Sandline and other PMCs are part of a wholly new military phenomenon”
(Spicer 1998). “Real PMCs” do not shrink from doing the ‘dirty job’ – other than all the “beans
and broccoli providers” (Grunberg 2004; translation by the author). Rather, they offer the
whole package, which includes operations support in the theater.
Given the increased segmentation of the industry, Sandline has opted for specialization as
key strategy to set itself apart from ‘ordinary PMSCs’. What is striking is less that it does offer
direct combat support but the explicit acknowledgement of its militant company profile. While
the PMSC describes its mantra as “The best general is the general who never has to fire a
shot” (Spicer 1999a: 170), it blatantly asserts that “sometimes in Africa a heavy machinegun
can be as effective as 10 tanks elsewhere” (Spicer 1998). This strategic line-up, however, did
not resonate well with clients and decision-makers. In 2004, the company had to close down
because of “[t]he general lack of governmental support for Private Military Companies”, as
the enterprise explained on its homepage (Sandline International 2004c). Some years earlier
6
Similarly, the ISOA chose the term „Military Service Provider“ industry (IPOA 2004a), a term that was later replaced by the label ‘peace and stability operations industry’.
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indeed, then UN Secretary-General, Kofi Annan, stated that “the world may not be ready to
privatize peace” (cited according to FCO 2002: 19).
Corporate Mercenaries
NGOs note with growing concern that PMSCs have gained a foothold in the military sector of
states: “Over the last 10 years these companies have moved from the periphery of international politics into the corporate boardroom” (War on Want 2006: 4). In response to the ongoing normalization of PMSCs, NGO activists try to actively counter PMSCs’ self-constructions
as ‘anti-mercenary’. To that end, the labels chosen for the industry have become a powerful
tool to delegitimize commercial military and security providers. As Bathia (2005) observes,
names claim to convey an objective and authoritative representation of the actor at hand. A
label, however, does not provide the objective “’true’ nature of the thing named” (Bhatia
2005: 9), but projects a selective – and sometimes an outright deceptive – viewpoint. It usually comes with a set of implicit associations, motives and evaluations that are drawn or ‘borrowed’ from other social categories. War on Want, in particular, makes use of such emotive
triggers by referring to PMSCs and their employees as “mercenary troops” (War on Want
2007c), “private armies” (War on Want 2007b) and “corporate mercenaries” (War on Want
2006). These names revive older images and impressions of the private military and security
sector that are mainly negatively connoted (cf. Livingstone/Hart 2003).
NGOs establish a direct linkage between the modern private military and security industry
and mercenaries by claiming a continuity from the 20th century ‘soldiers of fortune’ to today’s
“corporate mercenaries” (War on Want 2006). PMSCs are presented as the modern equivalent of the mercenary fighter in that they combine the defining features of both social categories: They are mercenary-like by virtue of being “armed civilians operating for profit in conflict
zones” (War on Want, 2012b: 2, War on Want, 2013c), and corporations at the same time
(War on Want, 2007b: 3). To substantiate its claim, War on Want adapts the defining features of the traditional mercenary to the new category of PMSCs: According to the NGO, private military and security forms come very close to the infamous ‘guns for hire’ which “were
regularly involved in conflicts, especially across Africa, propping up illegitimate regimes,
denying self-determination to indigenous peoples and actively participating in human rights
abuses” (War on Want 2006: 3; emphasis mine). Like their alleged precursors, PMSCs are
considered to have a history of direct engagement in combat operations (War on Want
2006). Human Rights First and War on Want assume that commercial security providers “are
armed and carry[...] out military-style security functions” (Human Rights First 2008b: 2), use
lethal force (Human Rights First 2008b: 11), and have been involved in “pitched battles” (War
on Want 2007a, Human Rights First 2008b: 24).
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Yet, this is only part of the story on the ‘new mercenaries’. To reflect the evolving nature of
PMSCs, War on Want seeks to redefine the term ‘combat’ to include a wider range of tasks:
“In modern warfare, involvement in direct combat does not have to mean troops on the
ground; combat refers to a broad spectrum of activities” (War on Want 2006: 5), including
training and intelligence provision, operational support, consultancy, technical assistance,
and a wide range of protective services (War on Want 2006: 2). These activities are considered as equally illegitimate because private contractors are given “responsibilities and put
into positions where they themselves can commit serious criminal violations” (Human Rights
First 2008c: 6) and wield lethal force without actually pulling the trigger. The redefinition
hence takes into account the newness of the phenomenon: PMSCs are regarded as “a new
element”, “a new evolution in privatised warfare” (War on Want 2006: 3). The individual soldiers of fortune have transformed into legally traded corporations that provide “a range of
services above and beyond what the traditional mercenary could offer” (War on Want 2006:
3). In that respect, NGO discourse adapts to self-presentations by the industry which puts
emphasis on its harmless, non-military face.
Albeit less prominently, their association with rough regimes also features in NGOs’ otherconstructions of PMSCs. Similar to mercenaries, commercial military and security providers
are portrayed as being less selective about their customer base than about their profit margin. Even though the context may have changed – the modern PMSCs do not longer flourish
in wars of independence on the African continent7 –, they are still suspected of attending to
questionable clients such as the Colombian Death Squads or Somali militias (War on Want
2006, 2013b). Their complicity with illegitimate regimes and groupings, however, seems to
be a side issue in NGO discourse. Rather, the construction of PMSCs as entity akin to mercenaries draws on their linkage with an illegitimate cause – the equivalent to suppressing
people’s claim to self-determination. Whether working for the United States or being hired by
the Israeli authorities, PMSCs have been reportedly used to suppress the rightful concerns of
other people, as well as to further the immoral interest of those willing to pay for their services. Companies, for instance, have been extensively used in the ‘global war on terrorism’
to carry out extraordinary rendition flights of suspected terrorists to foreign countries where
they have been allegedly interrogated under torture (Human Rights First 2011b: 6). Moreover, one of the world biggest commercial security providers, G4S, has been accused of supporting the Israeli occupation of the Palestinian Territories “through the supply of security
equipment and services for use at checkpoints, illegal settlements in the occupied West
Bank, and Israeli prisons” (War on Want 2012b: 3, 2013a). Again, these cases illustrate that
7
However, mercenarism is still prevalent on the African continent. In the Libyan civil war in 2011, for instance, the
Gaddafi regime recruited mercenaries from Sub-Saharan Africa to suppress the uprising in the country (Al
Arabiya 2011).
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PMSCs can have lethal or otherwise destructive consequences without being active on the
battlefield proper.
Finally, the profit motive – “armed civilians operating for profit in conflict zones” (War on Want
2012b: 2; emphasis mine) – is another uniting theme of both corporate and traditional mercenaries. PMSCs “thrive off conflict”, War on Want charges (War on Want 2006: 1). They are
“profiting from war, conflict, and political instability” (War on Want 2012a) while innocent civilians pay the ultimate price with the loss of their lives. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, in
particular, have offered companies great business opportunities, turning their work into “a
multi-billion pound industry” (War on Want 2007b). Next to their U.S. counterparts, UK firms
are described as being among the biggest winners. They have boosted their annual revenues from £320 million in 2003 to more than £1.8 billion in 2004 alone (War on Want 2006,
2007b). Notably, the NGO does not only object to the appropriate motives that drive PMSCs
to get involved in conflict zones and which are framed in terms of making the “big money”
(Hilary 2007). It also casts doubts on their right intentions – understood as the overall objective they want to achieve with their actions: “The profit motive behind all corporate adventures means that [...] PMSCs have an inherent interest in ongoing conflict and the social tensions that lie behind it” (War on Want 2006: 16). In order to perpetuate the demand for their
services, commercial security providers have an incentive to fuel conflict and shy away from
addressing the root causes of insecurity, as War on Want holds. From that perspective,
PMSCs seem to present an immoral bargain by “putting profit before people and fanning the
flames of war” (War on Want 2013b).
3.2 The Soldier, the State and the PMSC
PMSCs as Security Experts
The state is another central point of reference for self-other constructions of PMSCs. As the
latter increasingly carry out security-related tasks that traditionally fall within the exclusive
domain of the sovereign state, they are inevitably compared to the public sector. To justify
their existence in the first place, PMSCs have to convince their audiences that they generate
a comparative benefit with regard to traditional security actors which, in turn, are presented
as less suited for the provision of security. In fact, companies conceive of themselves as
highly competent security experts that have come to act as surrogate for state-based security. They claim that the state is no longer able to effectively protect its citizens, assets and
itself against the variety of security threats of today’s world. Following their diagnosis, we live
in “a dangerous world” (Spicer 1998), “a nasty place, full of insecurity” (Messner 2007) where
states and people are vulnerable to “theft, armed robbery, kidnapping, [...] as well as terrorist
and traditional military attacks” (Ryder 2010: 5). Like hospitals, the PMSC industry exists in
11
order to treat these ‘pathologies’ and make the world a safer place (Messner 2007). The private sector, they argue, plays an ever more “essential” and “critical role” (Brooks 2006: 1)
since the end of the cold war has left a security vacuum and fuelled the demand for their services (Sandline International 2004b). As PMSCs point out, “the forces of the traditional ‘policemen’ are depleted” (Spicer 1998), and “[m]ilitaries in Western Europe are a shadow of
their Cold War selves” with “few remaining capable units” (Brooks 2004). For one thing, this
development is attributed to military downsizing which has strained Western resources
(Brooks/Chorev 2008: 120). For another, commercial military and security firms state a lack
of political will to get involved in conflicts. The West, they concur, has largely abandoned
places that are devoid of strategic interest and is reluctant to commit troops with the prospect
of returning ‘body bags’ (Spicer 1999a: 168, Brooks 2009: 1). As a result, “[w]e have less
policemen, more trouble” (Spicer 1999a: 168).
The ensuing security void gives PMSCs an opportunity to portray themselves as “gap filler[s]”
(Prince 2007c) that are willing and capable to step in (Brooks 2004). According to the industry association, the private sector has proven to be “an invaluable element providing capacity, expertise and cost effectiveness” (IPOA 2007) – qualities that traditional security actors
lack. In fact, PMSCs self-construction as security experts rests heavily on blamemanagement: “[…] the question of whom or what should be held accountable or liable for
mishaps and catastrophes is the essential question of risk analysis: what is dangerous? Who
is responsible for mitigating danger? And who should be blamed for disasters?” (Carmola
2010: 79). In that respect, the state is clearly identified as ‘culpable agent’ who is unable to
address a pressing need for security. What follows, is the “individualization and privatization
of [the] responsibility to protect and secure against risk” through PMSCs, Cutler (2010: 179)
assumes.8 In the absence of any other alternatives, companies are responsible for taking
care of the security of people, corporations and states. In that function, companies praise
their virtues as risk managers and consultants who identify and assess sources of insecurity,
and offer solutions to their containment and reduction (cf. Krahmann 2011). Blackwater, for
instance, puts great emphasis on its expert knowledge, offering everything “[f]rom evaluating
high-risk personnel movements, [...] comprehensive fixed site vulnerability reviews” (Academi
2013e), to “evaluation/analysis of critical natural and man made challenges” (Blackwater
2007). Whenever an “independent analysis of a problem” is needed, PMSCs are willing to
help (Sandline International 2004b).
8
Individualization and privatization mean that security is no longer a public good, provided for at the collective
level of the society or the international community, but is turned into an individual experience. “Where risks are
ascribed to persons rather than societies and states”, Krahmann concludes (2011: 362) “the individual is seen not
only as able to, but also as responsible for managing their risks”. PMSCs, in turn, advertise their services in attending to their clients’ individual needs and assume the ‘burden’ of managing (personalized) insecurity and risks.
12
Once a risk has been identified and its severity assessed, most companies go the extra mile
and offer individual and ‘integrated’ solutions to mitigate or eliminate the sources of insecurity. As part of these remedial actions, PMSCs promote their services in enhancing the resilience of their clients. This strategy rests on “protective security training courses designed to
assist your organization with managing risk” (Academi 2013a). “Training”, as Blackwater alleges, “often means the difference between life and death” (Academi 2013b). This is also
acknowledged by the ISOA which describes the mission of PMSCs as one of “keeping people alive” (Brooks 2006). As such, Blackwater describes its core competence as providing
“stability and protection to people and locations in some of the world's most high risk environments” (Academi 2013c). By emphasizing their own resilience and robustness, companies are contrasted to risk-averse state militaries. Private contractors credit themselves for
their ability to operate in “extremely dangerous”, “hazardous environments” that often deter
national militaries (Brooks 2007a, Howell 2007, Brooks/Chorev 2008: 120).
Moreover, PMSCs derive their expert status from a set of specialized skills and competencies. First, they are technical experts in virtue of having knowledge about and access to superior technologies: For example, Blackwater praises its “team of professional engineers and
skilled workforce” that integrate “high-tech equipment” (Blackwater 2008a) and “myriad innovative products” such as “state of the art remotely piloted airships” (Blackwater 2008e). Likewise, DynCorp touts its sophisticated information or communications infrastructure, including
“[a]dvanced IT and cyber solutions” and “counter IED technologies” (DynCorp International
2013i). Since the technological turn in warfare, security seems to be “increasingly a question
of the right technological solutions”, as Abrahamsen and Williams (2007: 135) observe,
which plays rights into the hands of PMSCs. Next to technological innovation, corporate military and security providers refer to the qualification of their workforce which is made up of the
“best trained”, “the best disciplined” and “the best prepared” (Sandline International 2004a).
They are framed as “security professionals” (Prince 2007d, DynCorp International 2013f) that
have gone through demanding screening, vetting and training processes and draw on “extensive real-world experience” (DynCorp International 2013g). It is interesting to note, that
such self-constructions as security professionals cannot completely spare the linking with the
state. In fact, all companies analyzed highlight that their employees have an elite background
in law enforcement agencies and the military: At DynCorp International, “active and retired
U.S. law enforcement professionals form the pool” of the company’s workforce (Rosenkranz
2007: 2), and Sandline’s team comprises “ex-Special Forces or equivalent personnel”
(Sandline International 2004a).
Except for this commonality, the differences with regard to the state prevail. PMSCs are singled out for offering effective and economically interesting solutions to existing problems.
Private contractors are hailed for being “faster, better and cheaper compared to past state
13
efforts” (Brooks 2004, Prince 2007c). This quote already contains some of the main features
which account for PMSCs’ proclaimed cost-effectiveness: expediency, successful completion
of contracted tasks, and low costs. Regardless of the business segment, PMSCs claim to
“quickly organize and deploy workforce, material and technology solutions” (DynCorp
International 2013e; emphasis mine). In a similar fashion, they promise “time critical, cost
effective, efficient solutions that meet or exceed the requirements of the customer”
(Blackwater 2008b). These quotations are illustrative of companies’ customer and serviceminded language that characterizes them as highly responsive to their clients’ individual
needs. To underpin their effectiveness, they address two further core competencies, namely
their flexibility and global reach. Unlike the state, they are “not encumbered by bureaucracy”,
as Sandline’s CEO Tim Spicer maintains (1999a: 170). When they get a task, they act, “no
matter how difficult, no matter how dangerous, no matter how remote” (Rosenkranz 2007)
and irrespective of “the scope of the threat or duration of the mission” (Academi 2013e). This
hands-on approach to security stands in stark contrast to companies’ portrayal of the state
whose response to emergencies is considered as “too little, too passive and too late”
(Sandline International 1999b). By highlighting their difference to the state in terms of providing more security to an even more reasonable price, PMSCs foster perceptions of their exceptionalism. This discursive representation, as Leander (2010) argues, accounts for private
contractors’ increasing legitimation vis-à-vis their clients: Absent any viable and better alternative to PMSCs in carrying out important security functions, there are no reasonable
grounds to object to these firms, to withdraw support or interfere with their operations through
overly restrictive regulation.
The State’s Little Helper
Self-constructions as security experts may have a downside, though. By dissociating themselves from the state, companies run the risk of appearing too independent and out of control. Therefore, most PMSCs try to reconcile their identity with the idea of state sovereignty
and disguise the extent to which they actually exercise authority. To this end, they reassure
that they operate in ways that respect and reinforce the state’s monopoly on the use of force.
They “will not usurp the chain of command of the host country” (Spicer 1999a: 167), nor supersede the work of state authorities (Rosenkranz 2007: 2), but only get involved “at the request, direction, and control of the United States Government” (Howell 2007). A corresponding image invoked by PMSCs is that of arms of the state. This representation conceives of
private contractors as tools or instruments at the service of the state. The ISOA hence describes the role of the private sector as to “enable a smaller force to project its capabilities to
a wider geographical area with greater effectiveness” (Brooks/Chorev 2008: 121). In that
function, PMSCs can offer either knowledge-based services such as training, intelligence
14
and risk consultancy, or physical services in the form of logistics, construction, manpower
and equipment. As to the first category, DynCorp praises its role in the Department of State’s
Civilian Police Program with the slogan “We train, advise, and mentor” in support of the U.S.
military mission in Iraq (Rosenkranz 2007: 2). In the case of the second category, Sandline
International’s support even extends to the battlefield: The company may “play an active role
alongside the client forces, as force multipliers, deploying their own personnel into the field of
conflict” (Sandline International 1999a). The use of contractors in such supporting roles,
PMSCs argue, has the additional advantage of relieving the military from performing these
duties in times of military downsizing. “Contractors”, the ISOA holds “take a burden off the
military and allow soldiers to focus on their core missions” (Brooks 2007a: 6) – a claim echoed by other companies, too (Spicer 1999a: 169, Roitz 2009: 5, DynCorp International
2013a).
At the same time, PMSCs play down their autonomous role in security governance. Rather
than acting in an independent capacity, companies make plain that they merely implement,
facilitate, and enable state policies. “[...] it is governments that make policy”, whereas “private
firms are simply hired to carry out the policies, or more often, just selected portions of the
policies”, as Doug Brooks asserts (Brooks/Chorev 2008: 122). In a similar vein, the trade
association underscores that states should provide the “leadership, initiative, and oversight”
with the private military and security industry – “the implementing community” – assisting
governments in accomplishing these tasks (Brooks 2007a: 3, ISOA 2013). The idea of a public-private partnership is also seized by DynCorp International. The company describes itself
as a “trusted partner to the U.S. government” (Ryder 2009, DynCorp International 2013a)
which stands “shoulder to shoulder” (DynCorp International 2013d) and “has worked hand in
glove with our United States Government partners” over the past decades (Ryder 2009).
Framing the linkage with the government in terms of partnership gives the ‘agent of the
state’-image a whole new imprint. By virtue of being a partner to the U.S. government, DynCorp conveys the impression of sharing its monopoly over the legitimate use of violence and
puts itself on equal footing with the state.
The idea of a partnership is also reflected in PMSCs’ commitment to their home state’s security agenda. DynCorp International, in particular, places great emphasis on its role as a
“global government services provider supporting national security and foreign policy objectives around the world” (DynCorp International 2013a). More specifically, contractors link
themselves to the U.S. war against terrorism (Roitz 2009: 2) or its counter-narcotic efforts in
South America (DynCorp International 2013c). Although most commercial military and security providers identify themselves with the goals and interests of the contracting state, this
kind of strategic adaptation is pursued most vehemently by DynCorp. The PMSC tries to
place itself as close to U.S. foreign policy as possible. It espouses “‘smart power’ as a vital
15
means of advancing U.S. national security and foreign policy interests” (Ballhaus 2009b,
2009a), which echoes the ‘3D’ or ‘whole of government’ approach to foreign policy adopted
by the Obama Administration. In IR, smart power refers to a combination of military power
and the use of diplomacy, persuasion, capacity building, and the projection of power (Nye
2004). Based on this concept, former Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, explicitly called for
“the need to elevate diplomacy and development alongside defense – the ‘smart power’ approach to solving global problems” during her Senate confirmation hearing on January 13,
2009 (Clinton 2010: 13; emphasis mine), a doctrine subsequently confirmed by Obama in his
2011 May speech on the Middle East and North Africa (Obama 2011). The commitment to
smart power, can be also found in the company’s range of services: It prides itself in offering
”integrated” and “comprehensive solutions” (DynCorp International 2013h, Ballhaus 2009b,
2009a) “for defense, diplomacy, and international development” alike (DynCorp International
2013c). As such, DynCorp hails its ability to span the entire conflict cycle: it protects diplomats in pursuit of non-military solutions, provides a surge capacity (platform, aviation, logistics and equipment) during the conflict and makes available development and post-conflict
stability in its aftermath (Ballhaus 2009a: 1-2). The company thereby constructs itself as
“useful tool” (Brooks/Chorev 2008: 122) through which foreign policy objectives can be accomplished.
On the individual level, PMSCs stress that their employees are very much akin to soldiers.
Private military and security firms are presented as “the official military transformed into the
private sector in a business guise” (Spicer 1999a: 165) where contractors can continue their
support to the state (Taylor 2007). Their motivation is framed as calling to serve the nation
which suggests an emotionally charged rapport between contractors and the state. By volunteering to defend U.S. personnel facilities and diplomatic missions and risking their lives “on
the front-lines each day serving in a very difficult situation at the request of their country and
in defense of human live” (Prince 2007d) private contractors display the traditional soldier
virtues of patriotism, bravery, sacrifice, and esprit de corps (cf. Huntington 1964). As “American, still serving America” (Prince 2007a), their ultimate loyalty rests with the state. To conclude, PMSCs try to appear as extensions of the state in that they share common goals and
values.
A Dangerous Liaison
Interestingly, both NGOs concede that private military and security contractors are more soldier-like than frequent characterizations as cowboys or blonde guerrillas may indicate. War
on Want states that “[t]here is often no perceptible difference between regular soldiers and
the private contractors” (War on Want 2006: 8). This view is shared by Human Rights First
which alleges that “private contractors today perform many functions that even a decade ago
16
would have been undertaken by the uniformed military” (Human Rights First 2008b: 3). However, this development is challenged by NGOs. PMSCs intrude into fields that were “formerly
the purview of government agencies” and are considered as “a key aspect of waging war”
(War on Want 2006: 8). They provide inherently governmental functions like armed security
and occasionally serve in frontline roles (Hilary 2007, War on Want 2006: 8). Even in supporting functions such as intelligence and training, PMSCs undermine the state’s monopoly
over the use of legitimate violence because these tasks are construed as integral to the application of force (War on Want 2006: 9). This encroachment, as both NGOs caution, has a
heavy price. It poses an “unacceptable risk[...] to national security” since any individual misdemeanor may backfire on the contracting state (War on Want 2006: 9). In that regard, Human Rights First (2008b: 6) avers that contractors’ aggressive posture in Iraq and Afghanistan has not only deeply alienated the local population and foreign governments but has also
contributed to undermine the U.S. military mission. Private contractors are portrayed as “single-mindedly committed to their particular assignment”, and oblivious of the larger mission
they serve (Human Rights First 2008b: 8). Moreover, when carrying out security details for
U.S. diplomats or facilities in high risk environments, bad performance may put their protectees at risk (Human Rights First 2010: 4).
Now that private contractors take over combat support functions, the distinction between
combatant and non-combatant is getting increasingly blurred, too. Human Rights First warns
that this erosion presents a significant challenge for other civilians performing roles in theater
(Human Rights First 2010: 3). In fact, humanitarian actors in Iraq and Afghanistan have become frequent target of insurgents based on the perception that they are part of the occupying forces (Global Policy Forum 2012). Finally, private contractors have become so much
part of military and diplomatic life – “from filing paperwork to using deadly force” (Human
Rights First 2010: 1) – that NGOs believe that “some of the major Western countries, like the
UK and US, would now struggle to wage war without PMSC partners” (War on Want 2006:
2). The alleged partnership, they conclude, has turned entangling to the point that the U.S.
government “has made itself increasingly dependent on them” (Human Rights First 2008a:
3). This dependency is also measured in quantitative terms: As of 2010, PMSCs comprise
the largest armed security force in Iraq and Afghanistan. And this number of contractors is
likely to increase in the wake of the impending military drawdown in both countries (Milazzo
2010). The privatization flood following the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, it seems, has let the
genie out of the bottle and bred a new army that wields force without control. States, in contrast, “have tended gradually over recent years to outsource more of their responsibilities to
the private sector, and the military is also beginning to succumb to market forces” (War on
Want 2006: 12).
17
The impression that PMSCs get a say over politics is reinforced by War on Want. The NGO
strongly criticizes the “revolving door” between governments and PMSCs – “the movement of
former officials and military officers to and from the private sector” – through which firms are
able to lobby their cause with policy-makers, and to exert political influence (War on Want
2006: 19). The NGO cites ample examples of this kind of relationship. Blackwater’s former
vice-chair, Cofer Black, was coordinator for counterterrorism at the U.S. State Department
and director of the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center before he changed to the PMSC. In Great
Britain, former defense and foreign secretary Sir Malcolm Rifkin held the post as nonexecutive chairman of ArmorGroup (War on Want 2006). The enmeshment between PMSC
representatives and government departments is characterized as such a pervasive practice
that it is often difficult to determine “where the government stops and the private sector begins” (War on Want 2006: 20). The lines, both NGOs conclude, are increasingly getting
blurred. Their interpretation of PMSCs as powerful actors, detached from the state, belies
companies’ self-professed image as ‘humble’ agents whose role is limited to executing the
state’s orders.
3.3 Doing Good or Doing Bad?
PMSCs as Saviors
PMSCs claim that they do not only perform better than the public sector, they also do ‘good’.
Tainted with the mercenary motive of participating in or supporting a military effort for mere
financial gain, they try to convince their audiences that they serve a just cause that superposes the profit motive. PMSCs frame their principal mission as one of ending wars (Spicer
1999a: 167, IPOA 2004b), striving “to create a more stable and peaceful planet” (ISOA
2013), to “minimise needless suffering” (Sandline International 1999a), as well as to help
other people to “enjoy secure, peaceful, and free lives” (Blackwater 2006). By doing so, they
stress their altruistic intentions in pursuit of the common good. Instead of serving the narrow
interests of those able to pay for their services, PMSCs allege that they benefit universal
goods such as international peace, development and human security (IPOA 2004a, 2010a:
2). From this perspective, they appear less as businessmen than as noble humanitarians.
Their entry into the humanitarian space, as scholars note, has been made possible through
the increasingly flexible meaning of the word ‘humanitarian’ itself (Chandler 2001, Spearin
2008, Joachim/Schneiker 2012). The needs-based, ‘bed for the night’ humanitarianism has
come to be reinterpreted as a rights-based, ‘new humanitarianism’ which legitimizes a more
far-reaching engagement in response to a humanitarian crisis. This provides an opportunity
for PMSCs to present themselves not only as providers of short-term conflict alleviation in
line with a traditional understanding of humanitarian work. They also advertise their ability to
18
offer “long-term solutions for weak and failed states” (Brooks 2011) in the form of development and post-conflict reconstruction. As to the first category, PMSCs argue that they have
proven their capabilities to provide emergency humanitarian services such as airlift, medical
support as well logistics at very short notice in the wake of the Hurricane Katrina and the
earthquake in Haiti (Rosenkranz 2007: 2, IPOA 2010b): While “there was an immense
amount of suffering”, there has been also “an immense amount of capacity” made available
by the private sector (IPOA 2010b). Beyond such ‘basic’ humanitarian engagement, they
also do “long-term training and security reform” (Brooks/Chorev 2008: 118), and “assist
emerging and post-conflict nations with the critical task of creating, renewing, revising, or reestablishing Rule of Law infrastructure” (Rosenkranz 2007: 2). Compared to traditional humanitarian actors, they appear as ‘super humanitarians’ in terms of their speed and the
range of services they offer.
Sandline and the ISOA stretch the boundaries even further. Their commitment to human
rights goes so far as to promote the “humanitarian use of private peacekeeping services”
(IPOA 2004a). They construe PMSCs as just warriors whose primary mission is to protect
human beings from “unspeakable atrocities” (Spicer 1999b), and from “complete and total
war” (Brooks 2007b). Their use is justified with the glaring gap “in the market for humanitarian intervention” (Brooks/Chorev 2008: 116). On the one hand, there is an increasing need for
peacekeeping as the end of the cold war has led to “a resurgence in traditional conflict; ethnic, religious, tribal, territorial” (Spicer 1999a: 168), especially in Africa. On the other hand,
there is no international intervention force capable and/or willing to match this demand.
Western states, the ISOA notes, have “largely abandoned international peace operations
which do not directly support their national interests” (Brooks 2007b). In this context, PMSCs
present themselves as the last resort, the only alternative left to stop “destabilisation, extensive civilian casualties, a failing economy and […] massive long-term humanitarian problem
[sic!]” (Sandline International 1999b). These statements suggest that the image of the just
warrior rests on PMSCs’ moral superiority over traditional security actors. Western states are
portrayed as “ruthless humanitarians” (Brooks/Chorev 2008) who want something to be
done, but shy away from either acting on their own right or from engaging with the private
sector. PMSCs, in contrast, are real humanitarians: They have been always willing “to step
up to the plate to provide critical services” whereas the international community has too often
been absent from critical humanitarian missions (Brooks 2004).
Perpetrators of Human Rights Violations
“It’s a Bird, it’s a Plane, it’s a Private Security Contractor?” (Jacobson 2012). NGOs are highly skeptical about the private sector’s attempt at joining the ranks of the ethical super heroes.
Rather than ‘saving lives’, PMSCs are represented as perpetrators of human rights viola19
tions. War on Want blames companies for posing an “ever present threat to human rights
and security” (War on Want 2012a). Echoing these concerns, Human Rights First attests a
“steady pattern of abuse by private security contractors” (Human Rights First 2008a: 6) that
entails serious risks to the civilian population in host countries. They convey an image of
PMSCs as brute and reckless operators whose tendency is to “shoot-first, ask questions later” (Human Rights First 2008a: 6). Members of PMSCs are accused of erratic driving, excessive consumption of alcohol prior to their duties, and the use of gunfire as warnings (Human
Rights First 2008a, 2011a). Citing a U.S. army official in Baghdad, War on Want concludes
that “[t]hese guys run loose in this country and do stupid stuff” (War on Want 2008: 2). Their
cowboy attitude stands not only in stark contrast to the U.S. ‘hearts and minds’ approach, but
also to the industry’s proclaimed image of human rights sponsors.
The most prominent examples of human rights breaches include the ‘trophy video’ published
in November 2005, showing employees of the PMSC Aegis randomly shooting at civilian
cars in Baghdad to the music of Elvis Presley’s ‘Runaway Train’ (Human Rights First 2008a,
War on Want 2006, 2008) and the “massacre” (War on Want 2008: 1) on September 17,
2007 when Blackwater contractors “with no justification, killed 17 civilians and wounded 24
more in the Nisoor Square neighborhood of Baghdad” (Human Rights First 2008a: 2). Beyond such random violence against civilians, PMSCs have gained a questionable reputation
for their alleged involvement in the torture of detainees at the Guantanamo base in Cuba as
well as the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq (War on Want 2006: 13, 15). In Abu Ghraib, Titan and
California Analysis Center Incorporated (CACI) contractors are said to have participated in
the abuse of prisoners in their capacity as interrogators, including raping a male juvenile detainee. In the light of such incidents, Human Rights First avers that PMSCs “cannot whitewash” their “bloody history” […] tainted with incidents of serious crimes and abuse”
(Jacobson 2012). If anything, they are the villains, not the heroes.
The Good, the Bad, and the Rough PMSC
Facing severe criticism for their alleged involvement in human rights abuses and other
crimes, most PMSCs are anxious to distance their organization from ‘bad influences’ in the
industry. As noted earlier, reputations and impressions defy complete control by companies
and are affected to a certain extent by the environment in which they operate. Thus, a
PMSCs’ public image depends to a considerable degree on the industry, in which it is embedded, and the activities of its peer military and security providers (for a general overview
on corporate impression management see Hooghiemstra 2000: 59). Misconduct by one
PMSC can easily affect the reputation of any other firm in the sector. Following the Blackwater affair in 2007, when contractors were accused of shooting 17 unarmed civilians in Baghdad, companies in the protective business segment – here referred to as Private Security
20
Companies (PSCs) (Schreier/Caparini 2005: 26) – have received a disproportionate degree
of attention. They have become the pariahs of the industry with Blackwater representing the
prototype of ‘rough PSC’ for the indiscriminating public. In the wake of such ‘identity crises’,
self-constructions of companies in the private military and security industry are geared to
dissociate themselves from the infamous Blackwater. DynCorp’s former president and CEO
Herb Lanese, for example, lay considerable stress on the fact that “we are a very different
company” (cited according to Falconer 2007). To set the business apart from Blackwater,
DynCorp representatives aver that protective security – albeit attracting the most scrutiny –
“represents a small piece of what we do – in fact, it is less than two percent of our business”
(Ryder 2010: 3). This means that only “2 percent of our revenue is on the same basis of
Blackwater” (Lanese cited according to Falconer 2007).
In a similar vein, the ISOA goes to great length to shield its members from collateral reputational damage. It addresses “the misconception” that the industry is dominated by companies
“such as the extremely controversial and former-member [of the ISOA] Blackwater” (IPOA
2010b). Instead, the trade association makes clear that the majority of the industry is involved in low-profile activities like logistics and non-security services (IPOA 2010b). As an
additional barrier to “the less professional firms and less reputable upstarts”, the ISOA highlights its role in promoting high professional and ethical standards among its members. Selfregulatory measures like the ISOA Code of Conduct and the Rules for the Use of Force
(RUF) for PSCs serve as a “badge of quality” (Brooks/Chorev 2008: 126) that “set the bar for
high-end security firms” (Brooks 2009: 2). They help clients and other audiences to differentiate between reputable and professional companies from those at the lower end of the industry. Not surprisingly, the trade associations constructs itself as community of “true professionals” (Brooks 2009: 3) since it hosts only the “leading”, “higher quality” and “top companies in the industry” (Brooks, 2006). In that regard, the ISOA constitutes an in-group of
PMSCs that share their commitment to professionalism and high ethical standards. This
community of ethical PMSCs, in turn, is negotiated at the boundaries of an out-group of ‘lowend companies’ headed by Blackwater.
4. Conclusion
PMSC representatives are concerned that the role of the private military and security industry
is “too little understood and too often treated with suspicion” (Brooks 2007a: 3). To establish
themselves as regular and respectable players in the security field, they actively manage
their ‘front-line’ impression vis-à-vis potential clients, decision-makers and other stakeholder.
Companies and their industry organizations, however, are way back from being the only actors in the ‘identity game’, but are engaged with NGOs in a representational contest over the
21
social category of commercial military and security providers. Although both groups invoke
diverging interpretations, the discourse analysis has revealed similar patterns of representation that either align or dissociate PMSCs from already known categories such as the 20th
century mercenary groups, business actors, and humanitarians (cf. table 1).
Table 1: Self-Other Constructions of PMSCs
Similarity
Difference
Mercenaries
Corporate mercenaries
Mercenaries vs. Ordinary
Business
The State
Agents of the State vs. Dangerous Liaison
Security Experts vs. Incompetent States
Humanitarians
Sponsors of Human Rights
Perpetrators of Human
Rights Violations vs. Real
Humanitarians
PMSC community
Community of Professionals
The Ethical vs. the Maverick
PMSC
PMSCs, for their part, offer a normalizing account that seeks to rid them from the highly
stigmatized mercenary group. To this end, they contend to be similar to any other service
provider as well as to established actors in the security field, namely the state and humanitarian actors. Mercenaries are portrayed as the ‘deviant other’ that fundamentally differ from the
legal and ethical businesses of today. While aligning with the states’ goals and the humanitarian agenda, PMSCs still claim to have an exceptional status as security experts and sponsors of human rights. This exceptionalism is grounded in their outstanding performance and
their moral superiority over the state and traditional humanitarian actors. Once again, this
speaks to the blurriness of the social category of commercial military and security providers.
Impression management turns into a balancing act between similarity and difference-making,
between identity constructions as ‘state surrogates’ on the one hand, and ‘extensions of the
state’ on the other. It can be therefore argued that the multiple identities of PMSCs are not
immune from contradictions. Rather, commercial military and security firms invoke different
self-other constructions depending on their audiences and the context of their utterances:
Whereas self-advertisements as security experts prevail on companies’ homepages to convince a wide clientele of their “unique sets of services and expeditionary capabilities” (Brooks
2010), representations as the ‘state’s little helper’ are frequently used in a defensive mode,
i.e. in response to an identity-threatening event. In that respect, PMSCs’ self-constructions
are often revealing because they tend to focus on those identity features that are considered
to be in conflict with their desired image. Companies will say that they are mere tools at the
22
state’s disposal precisely because they are tainted with undermining the latter’s control and
interests.
These findings suggests that the meaning contest is dialogic in nature: The different representations advanced by private military and security firms and NGOs take their meaning only
in relation to the discourse of the other side. NGOs, for instance, are highly skeptical of the
intrusion of private contractors into the public and humanitarian space and the co-optation of
the corresponding language, not least because their own identity as advocates of human
rights and peace is challenged. Their discursive strategy therefore aims to rebut, reframe and
exploit the discrepancy between the images projected by PMSCs and those considered more
accurate for them. First, they counter PMSCs’ self-professed image as ordinary businesses
by stigmatizing them as neo-mercenaries. Second, they reinterpret companies’ semi-public
status as posing a serious threat to state sovereignty. Finally, they replace the ‘good deeds’image with a representation of companies as reckless perpetrators of human rights violations. To gauge the success of these competing images in shaping perceptions and paving
the way for (non-)regulation of the private military and security industry, further research is
needed. The demise of Sandline International in 2004 and the recovery of the scandal-ridden
PMSC Blackwater – with a new name and leadership – at least suggest that companies are
more or less able to win hearts and minds of their constituencies.
5. Bibliography
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