Danielle Beswick.

Civil war and insecurity are widely seen as obstacles to development and threats to international stability, and donors are therefore keen to develop African capacities to manage conflict on the continent. Building the capacity of African militaries is hazardous, however, given their frequent roles in coups, support for authoritarian regimes, and violence against civilians. This article argues that the risks of military capacity building can be assessed more accurately by understanding how national governments view and utilize the military as a policy tool. It demonstrates this using the case of post-genocide Rwanda, a significant contributor to African peacekeeping but also to instability in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). The article identifies four features of the Rwandan regime’s understanding and use of military force, using these to explain the dual and divisive role of Rwanda’s military as an agent of instability on the one hand and peace on the other. Finally, the article explores the M23 crisis, considering implications for donor efforts to manage risks inherent in international commitments to “African solutions”. It concludes by arguing that, as African military capacity building continues, recognizing the ways in which such enhanced forces are likely to be used will be crucial to developing a better understanding of the continent’s peace and security prospects.

AMBITIOUS PLANS TO BUILD AFRICAN CAPACITIES to manage crises on the continent reflect a conviction that insecurity hampers development, generating threats within and beyond affected states and regions. Such plans require substantial investment at continental and regional level but also improvements in national military units. Military capacity building remains controversial, however, due to the continent’s history of coups and the militaries’ frequent support for authoritarian rulers and their violence against civilians. By focusing on Rwanda, a state with an effective military that is a significant contributor to African peacekeeping, this article illustrates the dilemmas of military capacity building. The article proposes that the risks involved in developing African national military forces could be assessed more accurately by appreciating the ways those forces, and military force as a policy tool, are viewed and utilized by their national governments. It provides a framework that explains the dual and divisive role of the Rwandan military, as an agent of instability on the one hand and peace on the other. Lessons from Rwanda are then used to illuminate the limits of donor efforts to mitigate risks inherent in international commitments to “African solutions to African problems”.

The risks discussed here are not limited to donor relations with Rwanda. Peace support training, military capacity building, and security sector reform programmes have burgeoned in recent years. Donors training and developing national security forces, and the African governments that commit such forces, are facing the significant challenge of locating better-trained, better-equipped forces with greater self-confidence, professionalism, and prestige within often precarious, fractured, and fragile political and social contexts.1 There is very little research on the implications of such shifting military–military and civil–military dynamics. There are also regional dynamics to consider. In East Africa, Ethiopia, Uganda, and Kenya have become important partners in African peacekeeping, with limited evidence that donors have considered the roles that enhanced national military forces could play in future in these states’ domestic arenas or in regional rivalries and disputes. A consideration of how we can better understand risks and implications of military capacity building, and options for mitigating these, is thus particularly interesting in the Rwandan case but also relevant beyond it. This article thus seeks to contribute to an important emerging research agenda.

The article begins by outlining international efforts to build African peace support capacity, a commitment that is often restated or expanded in response to specific trigger events such as the 1994 Rwandan genocide or more recent crises in Mali and the Central African Republic. To develop African peace support capacity, donors must decide where to allocate their investment in African militaries. Since 2004 Rwanda has emerged as a core contributor to African peacekeeping, now the sixth-largest contributor of personnel to UN peacekeeping operations globally and a target country for military capacity building.2 The article briefly discusses the evolution of the Rwandan military, before moving on to explore how the post-genocide regime views the role of the military and military force in domestic and foreign policy. The genocide and the experience of the ruling Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) as a rebel group are identified as significantly affecting how Rwanda’s military forces are viewed, portrayed, and used by national leaders. A country-specific analysis is therefore crucial. The article argues that the post-genocide approach to the Rwandan military is characterized by four features: mistrust of external actors twinned with an emphasis on self-reliance; an ‘interventionist’ outlook, incorporating a narrative on sovereignty as being primarily about responsibility to protect citizens; a view of military force as an effective bulwark against genocide; and the promotion of an embedded role for the military, within and reflecting the ‘new’ Rwandan society. Evidence for these characteristics draws on two arenas in which Rwandan military power has been exercised – intervention in neighbouring Zaïre/DRC and peacekeeping in Darfur, Sudan, and South Sudan – as well as statements by Rwandan leaders on international and African crises. Finally, the article reviews the inconsistent donor responses to allegations of Rwandan direct support for the M23 rebellion in the DRC in 2012–13. Reflecting on the lessons from Rwanda, it concludes that as African military capacity building continues apace, developing a better understanding of the ways such enhanced forces are likely to be used will be crucial to understanding Africa’s peace and security prospects.

International support for African solutions: the need for national military capacity building

The call for “African solutions to African problems” has been much criticized by scholars evaluating strategies for tackling civil war and insecurity in contemporary Africa. They question the ability of the African Peace and Security Architecture3 to fulfil such ambitious roles, and whether ‘African’ is an accurate label for activities so reliant on external support. The notion nevertheless retains appeal, set against a backdrop of persistent civil war and insurgency and the limited willingness of external states and institutions to commit forces to peace missions in Africa.4 Its attractiveness is reinforced by a desire for African ownership of peace support activities on the continent, though this remains stymied by challenges including the limited capacity of African states and institutions to fund, staff, and manage such missions.5 Support for “African solutions” also reflects the fact that underdeveloped states and regions are often identified as sources of insecurity to developed states and regions. As Rita Abrahamsen noted almost a decade ago, Africa has become ‘securitized’, labelled by high-profile politicians, public figures, and media in many donor states and at international fora as a source of fear and threat.6 This, along with the contention that successful development requires an environment of peace and security, means conflict and insecurity on the continent cannot be ignored by donors. Both they and many African leaders are therefore keen to identify ways to end civil conflict and sustain the peace that follows.

Peacekeeping is central to this strategy, buttressed by positive assessments of its medium-term effects. Virginia Fortna argues that ‘[t]he presence of international personnel is not a silver bullet … but it does tend to make peace more likely to last, and to last longer’.7 Others instead suggest peace could be prolonged by ‘giving war a chance’, following Edward Luttwak’s claim that ‘[t]oo many wars nowadays become endemic conflicts that never end because the transformative effects of both decisive victory and exhaustion are blocked by outside intervention’.8 Indeed, military victory appears to prolong peace when compared with stalemate or negotiated settlement.9 However, backing one “side” in civil war, to hasten the destruction of another with no regard for the human cost of such a strategy, is rarely appealing to the international community. Though imperfect, peacekeeping therefore remains the preferred option for ending conflict and delivering peace.

Since the early 1990s African states have become regular contributors to peacekeeping on the continent. Initially this trend was led by states like Nigeria and Ghana but contributing countries now include many others, such as Rwanda, Ethiopia, South Africa, Senegal, Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, and Burundi.10 Ground-breaking African Union missions in Sudan and Somalia demonstrated African willingness to contribute peacekeeping personnel in Africa, in contrast to major Western powers.11 An ambitious programme has developed to build rapid reaction forces and standby brigades in African sub-regions, to support African Union missions and to build its capacity to deploy such forces in future. Non-military support, for mediation and early-warning systems in the event of conflict, is also provided – but, to staff peacekeeping missions, national military forces will require training, equipment, funding, and transport to mission locations.

Limitations of African financial and technical capacity mean responsibility for meeting these needs falls primarily on donor states. The United States has trained tens of thousands of African peacekeepers since 2004 through its Africa Contingency Operations Training and Assistance programme (ACOTA). The US Assistant Secretary for African Affairs justified this commitment in 2012, arguing that ‘the only way to achieve sustainable, long-term stability on the continent is to provide our African partners with the tools needed to bring about that stability themselves’.12 Other bilateral donors, including the UK and France, have also trained African peacekeepers through the African Peacekeeping Training Support Programme and the RECAMP (Reinforcement of African Peacekeeping Capacities) programme, respectively. Reflecting such support, in the past decade the African Union has led peace support missions in Burundi, Sudan, Somalia, Comoros, and Central African Republic.

Capacity development remains vital: African national security forces are often ill-disciplined, under-equipped, and irregularly paid. However, some national militaries have been used to destabilize neighbouring states and support autocratic rulers, becoming predators rather than protectors of civilians.13 Engaging in African force development is thus a necessary but risky business for donors. Though decisions on whether to engage with particular African militaries remain surprisingly absent from public scrutiny and academic analysis,14 it is reasonable to question the wisdom and long-term consequences of building and strengthening the military capacity of states with a history of military coups, interventions in neighbouring countries, or human rights abuses committed by the very same security forces.15 With few, mainly partial, exceptions, the leaders of key African contributors to missions on the continent are accused of degrees of authoritarianism.16 A question thus arises: on what basis should donors decide which states to work with to develop military capacity and efficiency that potentially could be used against governments, citizens, or a neighbouring state?

Rwanda, accused of destabilizing neighbouring Congo and of domestic authoritarianism, but also Africa’s third-largest contributor of peacekeepers to UN missions, exemplifies this challenge. The purpose of this article is not to determine whether Rwanda should be supported to develop its military capacity. That decision rests on many factors beyond the scope of this analysis, not least the risks and benefits of partnering with alternative states and donor policy considerations.17 Instead, this article explores the ways that the RPF-led government views the role of the military and military force in achieving foreign and domestic policy goals. All policy decisions entail risk. Donors cannot control the ways in which the African forces they train will be used, and they will also inevitably face critics who argue that an African regime’s shortcomings in areas such as democratization should affect donor willingness to train their armed forces. However, by analysing the national and policy context of the national militaries they choose to support, and considering the circumstances in which they are likely to use military force, donors can develop a more holistic understanding of the risks and benefits of providing such assistance, and make better-informed decisions on that basis.

Rwanda’s military development: from independence to civil war and genocide

To understand the contemporary Rwandan military it is useful to explore briefly some aspects of its historical development.18 From 1923 to 1962, political power in Rwanda lay with a Tutsi monarchy supported by Belgian colonial administrators, but, as independence approached, Belgium moved to support majority rule. As Tutsi represented around 15 percent of the population, this effectively meant transition to rule by the Hutu, who made up about 85 percent. From 1959 to 1962, violence against Tutsi by Hutu groups led thousands to seek refuge in neighbouring states and beyond.

Following independence Rwanda was ruled by Hutu President Gregoire Kayibanda. In 1973, Defence Minister Major General Juvenal Habyarimana seized power in a coup, placing Rwanda under military control until a 1978 referendum and election through which he became president. Under Habyarimana’s rule, benefiting from a close relationship between the political and military elites and close ties with France, the Rwandan military enjoyed considerable investment, becoming recognized as a well-trained and adequately equipped force by African standards.19 By 1990, when the (primarily Tutsi) RPF invaded Rwanda from neighbouring Uganda, sparking a civil war, the military (Forces Armeés Rwandaises–FAR) included a ‘small but fairly well-equipped regular army of 5,200 men’.20

During the civil war this small, highly professional force expanded, reaching 50,000 by mid-1992. By the time of Habyarimana’s assassination in 1994, these new recruits were strongly opposed to the military downsizing that would result from a peace agreement with the RPF and its military wing, the Rwandan Patriotic Army (RPA). The higher echelons of the military had also become divided on military integration and power sharing, with those most vehemently opposed to power sharing aligning with Hutu nationalist politicians. Following Habyarimana’s death, the armed forces split – like much of the Hutu population – with some groups setting up roadblocks and organizing house-to-house searches for Tutsi, and others attempting to stop the killing.21 Nevertheless, from coordinating atrocities at the national level to soldiers killing Tutsi or supporting Hutu militias, the military became highly complicit in genocide. When it became clear that the RPF would defeat the genocidaires militarily, the FAR helped shepherd around 2 million Hutu refugees into neighbouring Zaïre, creating a prolonged refugee crisis. By August 1994, much of the FAR high command was either in exile, wanted for war crimes, or part of the control structure of Rwandan refugee camps in Zaïre (renamed as the DRC in 1997). Former FAR and Hutu militia thus became the primary security threat to the new regime in Kigali, cultivating a refugee army in exile.22

This brief account highlights the strong links between political and military elites in Rwanda. It is important to note that these have continued post-genocide. This account also indicates the scale of the security challenge facing the RPF. To understand how Rwanda’s military has been used since 1994 and to identify the regime’s understandings of the role of the military – both tasks are central to assessing the risks involved in building Rwandan military capacity – we must next consider how the military was rebuilt after genocide, and its place in broader domestic and foreign policy.

Rebuilding and redefining the Rwandan military post-genocide

Two overarching factors affect how Rwanda’s post-genocide regime sees the military and military force in domestic and foreign policy: the terms of settlement of the 1990–4 conflict and the ‘pathway to power’ of the RPF.23 In ending the genocide the RPF succeeded where the international community, and the UN, had failed. Victory meant ‘they did not have to make any significant political concessions to their military adversaries (the defeated genocidaires), their political allies (the Hutu and Tutsi democrats), or the discredited international community’.24 Secondly, the RPF was an armed refugee group in exile, an armed rebel group fighting a civil war in its ‘home state’, and finally the dominant force in post-genocide politics. This path gives Rwanda’s leaders a keen awareness of the threat posed by opponents in exile and a militaristic approach to managing security threats and reconstruction.25 Observers often characterize the country’s leaders as single-minded in implementing policy once a decision is taken, regardless of counter-arguments from domestic or international actors. This is reflected in Scott Straus and Lars Waldorf’s depiction of the individuals, trained as soldiers, who dominate the RPF: ‘They are hierarchical and disciplined, and they place great value on security and military power.’26 The rebuilding of the military is strongly influenced by past experiences. Such experiences are not, however, unique to Rwanda. Similar trends can be observed in other regimes which have become important contributors to African peacekeeping, including those led by rebel groups remodelled as political parties, most notably Uganda and Ethiopia.27

Since 1994, Rwanda’s military has been transformed. Nina Wilen notes the demobilization of 60,000 soldiers from the RPA, ex-FAR, and other armed groups, and reduction from a peak of around 80,000 soldiers in 2002, after absorption of ex-FAR soldiers, to 35,000 in 2009.28 Concerns remain that senior military positions are dominated by former RPA,29 but the contemporary Rwandan Defence Forces (RDF, renamed in 2002) are regarded by many international observers as well-trained, professional, disciplined, and core partners in African peacekeeping. The Director of the US ACOTA programme commented in 2013: ‘ACOTA trains over 17 countries engaged in peacekeeping but Rwanda remains the best … .’30 The UN Assistant Secretary General for Peace Building Support similarly identified Rwanda as ‘a model country when it comes to professional peacekeeping missions, systematic demobilisation of soldiers and reconciliation processes’.31

International support for Rwandan military capacity building began almost immediately after the genocide. Colin Waugh’s analysis of US support compares the Rwandan military to the Israeli Defence Forces: the strongest military power in their sub-region and a key ally of the US in maintaining regional stability.32 Benefits for Rwanda include prestige, donor investment in its military capacity, and reluctance to apply diplomatic or financial pressure on the government for fear of affecting its peacekeeping contribution.33 There is also a financial incentive: participation in peace support operations earned Rwanda reimbursements from the UN worth more than two-thirds of its defence budget in 2010.34

However, though praised for contributing to African peacekeeping, Rwanda also faces criticism. There is often a considerable gap between the stated positions of Rwanda’s leaders and the activities of the RDF on the ground. This is most starkly illustrated by Rwanda’s involvement in Congo. Acknowledging that the military fulfils a number of purposes and roles at different times, or even simultaneously, allows us to make sense of the multiple and at times contradictory roles of the RDF. The four features identified below define the post-genocide regime’s stated understanding of the roles of its military and military force as a policy tool and help explain these contradictions. By moving away from simplistic and one-dimensional views of the roles of African militaries, seeing them in the light of both domestic and foreign policy considerations, we can provide a more stable and comprehensive basis for assessing the benefits and risks of supporting military capacity building.

Mistrust of external actors and emphasis on home-grown solutions

Rwanda’s leaders display a mistrust of external actors, stemming from the international failure to end the genocide. This shapes their pursuit of relative military strength in the region and willingness to use force to achieve policy goals. They also reject external interference in security matters, with security policy described by analysts as ‘off the table’ during discussions with donors.35 In 1994, the RPF faced security and legitimacy threats from ex-FAR and Hutu militias in Zaïre, and was frustrated by international aid to Hutu refugee camps, which it viewed as feeding a genocidal army.36 Since 1996, Rwanda has twice intervened in Zaïre/DRC to return refugees forcibly and tackle militias threatening to ‘finish the genocide’. The conduct of these interventions has tarnished Rwanda’s reputation, with allegations that the country’s political and military leaders and armed forces are involved in arming, supporting, and directing Congolese rebel groups, illegally exploiting Congolese mineral wealth, human rights violations, war crimes, and genocide.37 In contrast to its stated preference for a stable Congo, Rwanda is accused of worsening instability in the east.

Contesting these charges, Rwanda has variously denied or defended its activities, citing positive motives that include the prevention of genocide. President Paul Kagame positions this interventionism against a background of mistrust of the UN and an international community that failed Rwandan Tutsis in 1994, and has also failed to bring peace to the DRC since that time. As Vice-President in 1996, Kagame argued: ‘The defence and security of my country have been my problem … I do appreciate what comes from other people, but my experience is that sometimes it comes, sometimes it doesn’t come.’38 This degree of mistrust may seem surprising given Rwanda’s reliance on international aid, but the RPF has consistently shown a clear preference for national ownership of security policy. Wilen’s analysis of military reconstruction concurs, noting that though Rwanda contributed little funding to the process it ‘still managed to control the process sufficiently to claim local ownership, radically different from the discursive and rhetorical local ownership usually found in these circumstances’.39

Mistrust of outsiders has been twinned in post-genocide policy with an emphasis on self-reliance. “Rwandan solutions to Rwandan problems” are promoted, revising historical practices to underpin post-genocide approaches to justice (gacaca) and civic education (ingando/itorero).40 This reinforces a strong narrative in RPF domestic and foreign policy, in which the fickle nature of interest and support from outsiders means that Rwanda must strive to exert real ownership of its development, security, and future. Further-more, this fierce, and often declared, mistrust of the UN and strong sense of independence can make Rwanda an even more valued partner for donor states. A strong African actor in peace and security which shares some key interests with its Western partners is perhaps more valuable to those partners than a more compliant regime. By not acting as a passive or predictable puppet of key donors and security partners such as the US, Rwanda retains its credentials as an authentic and authoritative African voice in the international arena.41 In the current context of renewed African activism and agency in peace and security debates, the leaders of such states must bridge African and international audiences. Rwanda does this effectively at international fora, as we will see below.42

Interventionist foreign policy and support for R2P

A second feature of Rwanda’s approach to the role of military force is its “interventionist” foreign policy outlook. This rests on an interpretation of sovereignty as being primarily defined by responsibility to fulfil basic criteria of statehood rather than reflecting absolute rights to non-intervention.43 It is demonstrated most clearly in Rwanda’s use of military power in the DRC and peacekeeping, but also in its stance on other security crises in Africa and beyond.

Despite its small size and internal challenges of development and reconstruction, Rwanda is highly active and visible in the region and the international community. This is a deliberate policy choice, marking significant change from pre-genocide foreign policy. In a 2013 statement to the German Parliament, Rwanda’s Foreign Minister, citing international failings during the genocide, asked:

“Will rage at this historic transgression turn us into an insular and embittered nation – or can we transcend anger and instead seek more and better engagement with the world? We chose the latter, opting for a path of reconciliation both inside and outside our borders.”44

The genocide has become shorthand for international failures to manage African conflict and protect civilians. This gives Rwanda’s representatives a respected and perhaps unique voice in debates on African conflict management and genocide prevention internationally. It has used these credentials to promote a view of sovereignty as responsibility, in line with the Responsibility to Protect (R2P) agenda.45 Referencing the Darfur crisis, Rwanda’s Minister of Foreign Affairs and Regional Cooperation told the 2005 UN World Summit:

“no nation or people should have to face the horrors that we faced 11 years ago. Where a state is unable or unwilling to protect its people, as was the case in Rwanda in 1994, then the responsibility to provide such protection should, indeed must, shift immediately to the international community.”46

Similarly, following Rwanda’s election to the African non-permanent member seat on the UN Security Council in 2013, Mushikiwabo highlighted the country’s pride in co-chairing the Group of Friends on the Responsibility to Protect.47 Support for international action to protect civilians is not limited to sub-Saharan Africa. Rwanda has been a vocal supporter of the Group of Friends of the Syrian People, established in response to the ongoing civil war.48 Rwanda also broke rank with many African states, again illustrating strong policy autonomy, by supporting international action in response to the Libyan regime’s attempts to crush an uprising in 2011. On this intervention, Kagame stated:

“Given the overriding mandate of Operation Odyssey Dawn to protect Libyan civilians from state-sponsored attacks, Rwanda can only stand in support of it. Our responsibility to protect is unquestionable – this is the right thing to do, and this view is backed with the authority of having witnessed and suffered the terrible consequences of international inaction.”49

This interventionist stance and promotion of R2P is a double-edged sword in Rwandan foreign policy, however, with significant implications for donors providing support to develop the country’s military capacity. While Rwanda is a strong advocate of African peacekeeping, its argument that states failing to secure their territory and citizens lose the right to have their sovereignty respected is also applied to relations with the DRC. By presenting insecurity in the DRC as a result of the failings of successive Congolese governments and the international community, the Rwandan regime implies that interventionism is not a choice but a necessity. Historically, some donor representatives, particularly in the US and UK, were sympathetic to this argument.50 However, having spent hundreds of millions of dollars in recent years on UN peacekeeping missions, elections, development, and reconstruction in the DRC, even strong supporters of the regime have begun to use their bilateral relationship to attempt to convince Rwanda to stop supporting rebels and instead seek long-term solutions.

Rwanda’s support for R2P may be selective, and its advocacy on this, for example with regard to the Libya crisis, may indeed benefit its key security partners, the US and UK. However, Rwanda’s leaders continue to demonstrate elsewhere that they are not willing to act as a “pliable African state” for the purposes of securing “African” endorsement of other aspects of the global peace, security, and conflict prevention architecture. This is illustrated by the refusal to directly name or endorse the work of the International Criminal Court (ICC) in a statement following a debate organized by Rwanda during the country’s presidency of the UN Security Council in April 2013.51 Rwanda’s representatives at the UN have identified justice mechanisms as necessary to prevent and deter crimes against humanity and genocide, consistent with R2P, but they have long been critical of the ICC as a mechanism to achieve this, refusing to sign the Rome Statute that created it. Their stance in the UN Security Council debate, during the month of the genocide commemoration, positioned Rwanda at the forefront of an emerging African consensus against the ICC, with other states and institutions, including the African Union, also accusing the ICC of targeting Africans for prosecution whilst ignoring crimes elsewhere.52

Military strength as a bulwark against genocide

The Rwandan regime routinely presents the RDF, and military force broadly, as tools for preventing and combating genocide. This is reflected in four roles played by Rwandan military forces: ending the genocide; defeating the post-genocide insurgency; tackling genocidal militias threatening Tutsi in Rwanda and in Zaire/DRC; and peacekeeping in Darfur. The first two roles are highlighted in national commemorations of the roles played by the RPA and ordinary Rwandans, both Hutu and Tutsi, on the annual Heroes Day (1 February), Liberation Day (4 July), and Patriots Day (1 October). Activities outside its own borders are perhaps of greater interest to those considering investing in Rwanda’s military development, and they will have heard the regime state its conviction that military force is necessary to secure populations facing the threat of genocide.

In offering personnel to the African Union, Rwanda became involved in what was labelled a ‘fight against genocide’ in Darfur.53 A Rwandan newspaper editorial reflects the way the mission is presented by political leaders, arguing: ‘Rwanda has a moral obligation to stand up when genocide is happening, based on its own history and President Paul Kagame’s commitment that Rwanda will not remain silent in the face of genocide.’54 Political leaders expressed frustration over restrictive mandates with limited civilian protection, and Kagame threatened to withdraw Rwanda’s personnel in 2007 unless improvements to the mission’s capacity and ability to protect civilians were made.55 The commitment to peacekeeping in Darfur can be seen as evidencing a conviction that where states cannot or will not protect civilians the international community has a responsibility to intervene, using military force if necessary. Rwanda’s support for the use of force to prevent genocide can therefore be considered a thread running through foreign and domestic policy, with support for intervention in Libya and the Friends of Syria group further supporting this conclusion.

However, policy towards the DRC makes this simple evaluation problematic. Rwandan leaders argue that their involvement in Congo, and the emergence of successive rebel movements challenging the Congolese government, stem from the government’s failure to protect Congolese Tutsi from attacks by Hutu groups and to secure the border with Rwanda.56 By raising these charges it seeks to legitimize its involvement by reprising the role of its military in 1994 and during the post-genocide insurgency: a force fighting against genocide. However, despite this stated commitment to the use of force to prevent genocide and protect civilians, Rwanda’s response to the decision to deploy a UN Force Intervention Brigade (the FIB) in eastern Congo in 2013 was mixed.

The Force has a strong mandate, similar to the kind Rwanda called for in Darfur, including the ability to ‘carry out targeted offensive operations in a robust, highly mobile and versatile manner’ to disarm, neutralize, and prevent expansion of armed groups.57 Since its deployment Rwanda has nevertheless been critical of its efforts, and continues to criticize those of the broader UN mission in Congo (MONUSCO) and Congolese Armed Forces (FARDC) to tackle Congolese rebel groups. In July 2013, it accused the FARDC of deliberately shelling Rwandan villages,58 and it has accused the FIB of collusion in FARDC’s arming of a rebel group formed of the remnants of Rwanda’s 1994 genocidal militia and army, the Forces Démocratiques de Libération du Rwanda (FDLR).59 Accusations of FIB and FARDC involvement with the FDLR serve to reinforce Rwanda’s core argument, that outside forces cannot be relied upon and that Rwanda’s military must stand ready to respond to threats from and within Congo, regardless of international opinion, if necessary. This bodes ill for donors supporting Rwanda’s military development, particularly those who hoped the FIB, with its improved capacity and strong mandate, could preclude Rwandan involvement in eastern Congo, either by allaying Rwanda’s fears or, at minimum, undermining suggestions that future genocide could occur within or emanate from that region.

The military’s role embedded within and reflecting the ‘new’ Rwandan society

The final feature of the Rwandan regime’s view of the role of the military is its promotion of the RDF as both embedded within and reflecting positive traits of a ‘new’ post-genocide society. Rwandans are encouraged through pro-government media to support and feel pride in their armed forces.60 The qualities of efficiency and discipline often used to describe the RDF are promoted by the government more widely, pursuing what Straus and Waldorf characterize as an ambitious, ‘high-modernist’ ‘programme of political, economic and social re-engineering’.61 The post-genocide promotion of gender equality has also become a key strand of the Rwandan success story narrative,62 and is reflected in the RDF. Rwanda is amongst the top providers of female soldiers and police to UN Missions,63 a fact often highlighted by UN officials and by Rwandan leaders at international fora.64 This willingness to train and deploy female personnel in peace missions in Africa supports broader international goals, with anticipated benefits in peacekeeping and post-conflict security.

The RDF is highly visible in society. It is involved in development, through monthly umuganda in which Rwandans undertake development work within their communities, and through controversial solidarity camps (ingando and itorero), where people are educated on Rwandan history, the genocide, and the values of a ‘good Rwandan citizen’.65 Former members of the RDF have also taken up positions in politics, the private sector, and civil society.66 The RPF has thus crafted and promoted a new Rwandan national identity, within which the military is posited as a symbol of unity and valorized.67

This positive view of the domestic role of the military is complicated, however, by evidence of splits between Rwandan military and political elites. The military elite has become a source of vocal challengers to the government. High-profile dissenters have gone into exile citing disagreements with political leaders over policy towards the DRC and also dissatisfaction with the political dominance of the RPF – even though some of these critics were well-known party members.68 Though this is an area which is relatively under-researched, evidence from other contexts suggests such splits could be exacerbated by investment in the RDF, which further improves its effectiveness and self-image.69

Donor responses to the risks of supporting the RDF

As the preceding analysis demonstrates, the RPF sees the military and military force as tools for achieving goals spanning domestic and foreign policy. The regime has developed a consistent narrative on the purpose of its military strength, emphasizing its benefit to Rwanda but also to African security. This narrative was challenged in 2012, when a UN Group of Experts report alleged Rwandan and Ugandan support for the Congolese M23 rebel group. This renewed debate highlights an ongoing dilemma – can, and should, donor states take the political and reputational risk of supporting Rwanda’s military development when the country continues to be identified as a destabilizing force in Congo?

In response to the allegations, civil society organizations invoked the R2P principles that Rwanda promotes elsewhere, calling for aid suspensions and for donors to cease training the RDF.70 Aid cancellations followed, including from the EU (suspended US$90 million), UK (withheld $34 million), Sweden (suspended over $10 million), Germany (suspended $26 million), the Netherlands (cancelled $6 million), and the US (cancelled $200,000 in military aid). This raft of suspensions denied Rwanda a strategy previously used in maximizing its policy independence – exploiting differences in approach between donors.71 The suspensions could be seen to imply a limited donor appetite for taking the risk of continuing to work with Rwanda as an African security partner. In some cases, such as Denmark’s cancellation of a new military partnership programme in the wake of the allegations, this is an accurate assessment.72 However, Rwanda’s contribution to peacekeeping is highly valued. For donor states to allow long-term strategy for building African military capacity to be derailed by individual incidents could render relationships with many other key contributors to “African solutions” – such as Uganda, Kenya, or Ethiopia – similarly problematic. This means that if donors wish to mitigate risks of African military capacity building whilst continuing to support “African solutions”, their approach must be more nuanced and take into account multiple audiences, at home and abroad.

Since the crisis some of Rwanda’s donors have reinstated aid, including the UK and Germany in early 2013.73 Medium-term responses have hinted at ways donors may try to leverage aid relationships to influence Rwandan security policy. Suspending aid, changing existing bilateral relationships to include greater emphasis on regional peace and security, and increasing donor control over how aid is used are some of the tools through which donors seek to influence the exercise of military power. By linking bilateral aid relationships to Rwanda’s involvement in regional peace talks, or reallocating aid from budget support to specific development programmes, donors have sought to use their broader relations with Rwanda (for example in terms of development or trade) to influence the calculations of Rwanda’s leaders.74 In situations where donors lack multi-dimensional relationships with a recipient, as was the case with Denmark, which has no embassy in Kigali, the potential leverage of donors to influence countries to which they provide military capacity-building assistance is more limited. Such actions also challenge international principles of predictability and recipient-country ownership of aid, rendering such tactics problematic in view of donors’ international commitments.

Nevertheless, such responses would probably generate less media and civil society criticism in donor states than would result from seeming to ignore negative uses of donor-enhanced military capacity. In considering donor attempts to influence the decision making of African actors, it is important to remember that foreign and development policies often have a strong domestic element. Donor understandings of the risk involved in African military capacity building will therefore by definition include not only consideration of the risk to security of other governments, states, and citizens but also the risk to the reputation of the donor government itself, alongside the rewards of continuing or reconsidering the relationship.


During recent crises in Mali and the Central African Republic, African insecurity has again been posited as a direct security threat to developed states, sparking renewed commitment to build African military capacity. Such support brings significant risks, including security risks for African states and communities that may find enhanced military capacity used against them, and also political risk to donors’ domestic and international reputations in the event of misuse. It also entails a risk, reminiscent of cold war bipolar approaches to alliance and military aid, of reversing or stalling political reform in Africa, particularly in states whose peacekeeping contribution encourages donors to overlook democratic backsliding. Such scenarios are not hypothetical. They have emerged in Uganda and Ethiopia as well as Rwanda, with often limited and inconsistent donor responses to the increased authoritarianism of regimes considered central to the implementation of “African solutions”.75 Despite these risks, commitments to African military capacity building will remain strong. They are indispensable in making “African solutions” a reality and serve donor purposes beyond those concerned with the security of Africa and Africans. They could, for instance, strengthen relationships with selected African states via a sector in which, compared to development assistance, rising powers such as China and India may struggle to compete with the prestige of established providers of military training.76

This article has discussed the Rwandan case to demonstrate that analysing the priorities and goals of contributing African states, and the role of the military and military force in achieving them, offers a way for donors to assess more accurately how enhanced military capacity could be used. In doing so it has identified cross-cutting themes to explain Rwanda’s seemingly contradictory contributions to African security, demonstrating the logic in seeming inconsistency. Rwanda may be something of a ‘special case’ given its history, but it highlights a wider challenge facing donors, of balancing support for effective, militarily strong regimes with commitments to democracy, stability, and security on the continent. The article has also reflected on donor responses to the M23 crisis to see how donors seek to minimize risk in building capacities of African militaries, ensuring they contribute to the security of African states and peoples without generating new forms of violence and insecurity. In sum, the evidence from Rwanda suggests that if donors are to appreciate the risks of military capacity building they must develop greater appreciation for the scenarios in which military force is likely to be used, inside or outside national borders. As African military capacity building continues apace, better understanding of the ways such enhanced forces are likely to be used will be crucial to understanding Africa’s peace and security prospects.



  • ↵ See, for example, Erlend Grøner Krogstad, ‘Security, development and force: revisiting police reform in Sierra Leone’, African Affairs 111, 443 (2012), pp. 261–80.
  • ↵ United Nations Department of Peace Keeping Operations, ‘Ranking of military and police contributions to UN operations: December 2013’, December 2013, <http://www.un.org/en/peacekeeping/contributors/2013/dec13_2.pdf> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ This term is applied to institutions and tools established since 2002 under the African Union to promote peace and manage insecurity on the continent. See Alex Vines, ‘A decade of African Peace and Security Architecture’, International Affairs 89, 1 (2013), pp. 89–109.
  • ↵ Paul Williams, ‘Keeping the peace in Africa: why “African” solutions are not enough’ (Carnegie Council on Ethics and International Affairs, New York, NY, 2008); Stephan Klingebiel, ‘Africa’s new Peace and Security Architecture: converging the roles of external actors and African interests’, African Security Review 14, 2 (2005), pp. 35–44.
  • ↵ See, for example, Robert Feldman, ‘Problems plaguing the African Union peacekeeping forces’, Defense and Security Analysis 24, 3 (2008), pp. 267–79.
  • ↵ Rita Abrahamsen, ‘A breeding ground for terrorists? Africa and Britain’s “war on terrorism”’, Review of African Political Economy 31, 102 (2004), pp. 677–84.
  • ↵ Virginia Fortna, ‘Does peacekeeping keep peace? International intervention and the duration of peace after civil war’, International Studies Quarterly 48 (2004), pp. 269–92, p. 288; T. David Mason, Mehmet Gurses, Patrick T. Brandt, and Jason Michael Quinn, ‘When civil wars recur: conditions for durable peace after civil wars’, International Studies Perspectives 12 (2011), pp. 171–89, p. 185.
  • ↵ Edward Luttwak, ‘Give war a chance’, Foreign Affairs 78, 4 (1999), pp. 36–44, p. 44.
  • ↵ Fortna, ‘Does peacekeeping keep peace?’, p. 273.
  • ↵ At 31 December 2013, 32 sub-Saharan African countries were contributing personnel to UN peacekeeping missions; 10 of these were amongst the top 20 contributors. United Nations Department of Peace Keeping Operations, ‘Ranking of military and police contributions to UN operations: December 2013’.
  • ↵ Jonah Victor, ‘African peacekeeping in Africa: warlord politics, defense economics, and state legitimacy’, Journal of Peace Research 47, 2 (2010), pp. 217–29, p. 217.
  • ↵ Testimony by Johnnie Carson (Assistant Secretary, Bureau of African Affairs) to House Foreign Affairs Committee, Subcommittee on Africa, Global Health, and Human Rights, Washington DC, 13 September 2012, <http://www.state.gov/p/af/rls/rm/2012/197773.htm> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Jeffrey Herbst, ‘African militaries and rebellion: the political economy of threat and combat effectiveness’, Journal of Peace Research 41, 3 (2004), pp. 357–69; see also Feldman, ‘Problems plaguing the African Union peacekeeping forces’.
  • ↵ Herbst, ‘African militaries’, p. 367.
  • ↵ For an excellent discussion of this dilemma in the context of support for developing police forces, including a reflection on the dichotomy of seeing insecurity and state weakness as the result of ‘too much’ or ‘too little’ force, see Krogstad, ‘Security, development and force’.
  • ↵ Howard French, ‘The dilemma at the heart of America’s approach to Africa’, The Atlantic, 15 June 2012, <http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/06/the-dilemma-at-the-heart-of-americas-approach-to-africa/258541/> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ The US Africa Command (AFRICOM) Director of Strategy, Plans and Programmes, for example, suggests that US engagement in security assistance in Africa is at least in part aimed at cementing the US as ‘security partner of choice’ for African states considered pivotal in future African security. This, he suggests, addresses the risk that otherwise such preferred partner status could fall to others, ‘perhaps not those we would chose [sic]’. Charles W. Hooper, ‘Going farther by going together: building partner capacity in Africa’, Joint Forces Quarterly 67, 4 (2012), pp. 8–13, p. 11.
  • ↵ For a detailed account of the historical development of the military in Rwanda and its links to the development of the Rwandan state, see Rwandan military historian Frank K. Rusagara, Resilience of a Nation: A history of the military in Rwanda (Fountain Publishers, Kigali, 2009).
  • ↵ On Franco-Rwandan military cooperation during this period, and during the Rwandan civil war, see ibid., pp. 161–4.
  • ↵ Gerard Prunier, The Rwanda Crisis: History of a genocide (Hurst and Company, London, 2002), p. 94.
  • ↵ Ibid., p. 229.
  • ↵ Filip Reyntjens, ‘Waging (civil) war abroad: Rwanda and the DRC’, in Scott Straus and Lars Waldorf (eds), Remaking Rwanda: State building and human rights after mass violence (University of Wisconsin Press, Madison, WI, 2011), pp. 132–51, p. 133.
  • ↵ Scott Straus and Lars Waldorf, ‘Introduction: Seeing like a post-conflict state’, in Straus and Waldorf (eds), Remaking Rwanda, pp. 13–15.
  • ↵ Ibid., p. 14; See also Nina Wilen, ‘A hybrid peace through locally owned and externally financed SSR–DDR in Rwanda?’, Third World Quarterly 33, 7 (2012), pp. 1323–36, p. 1326.
  • ↵ On the formative experience of Rwandan refugees, many of whom would later become RPF fighters, as members of the Ugandan insurgency against Idi Amin, see Rusagara, Resilience of a Nation, Chapter 11.
  • ↵ Straus and Waldorf, ‘Introduction’, p. 14.
  • ↵ René Lemarchand has made similar observations on the ‘post-rebel’ nature of the Rwandan leadership and that of other states in the region: ‘Foreign policy making in the Great Lakes region’ in Gilbert Khadiagala and Terrence Lyons (eds) African Foreign Policies: Power and process (Lynne Reinner, London, 2001), pp. 87–106.
  • ↵ Wilen, ‘A hybrid peace’, pp. 1328–9.
  • ↵ Ibid., p. 1329.
  • ↵ Jean d’Amour Mbonyinshuti, ‘Military chief reaffirms commitment to peacekeeping’, The New Times, 9 February 2013, <http://www.newtimes.co.rw/news/index.php?i=15263&a=63718> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Ivan Mushiga, ‘UN top official salutes Rwandan peacekeepers’, The New Times, 6 October 2012, <http://www.newtimes.co.rw/news/index.php?i=15137&a=59220> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Colin M. Waugh, Paul Kagame and Rwanda: Power, genocide and the Rwandan Patriotic Front (McFarland and Co., London, 2004), p. 98. See also David Renton, David Seddon, and Leo Zeilig, The Congo: Plunder and resistance (Zed Books, London and New York, NY, 2004), pp. 179–84.
  • ↵ This was evidenced during a visit to Rwanda by UN Secretary General Ban Ki Moon after a leaked 2010 United Nations Group of Experts report accused the RPA/RDF and rebel groups linked to Rwanda of committing genocide against Hutu in DRC. See Danielle Beswick, ‘The role of the military in contemporary Rwanda’ in Maddalena Campioni and Patrick Noack (eds), Rwanda Fast Forward: Social, economic, military and reconciliation prospects (Palgrave Macmillan, London, 2012), pp. 249–64; BBC News Online, ‘Ban urges Rwanda not to withdraw UN peacekeepers’, 8 September 2010, <http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-11229201> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Wilen, ‘A hybrid peace’, pp. 1332–3.
  • ↵ Rachel Hayman, ‘Rwanda: Milking the cow? Creating policy space in spite of aid dependence’ in Lindsay Whitfield (ed.), The Politics of Aid: African strategies for dealing with donors (Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2009).
  • ↵ Ben Barber, ‘Feeding refugees, or war?’, Foreign Affairs 76, 4 (1997), pp. 8–14.
  • ↵ For two analyses of these allegations see Reyntjens, ‘Waging (civil) war abroad’; and Jason Stearns and Federico Borello, ‘Bad karma: accountability for Rwandan crimes in the Congo’ in Straus and Waldorf (eds), Remaking Rwanda, pp. 152–69.
  • ↵ Philip Gourevitch, ‘After genocide: a conversation with Paul Kagame’, Transition 72 (1996), pp. 162–94, p. 187.
  • ↵ Wilen, ‘A hybrid peace’, p. 1331.
  • ↵ For an interesting discussion of the basis for the RPF leadership’s decision to adopt, and adapt, existing historical cultural practices to tackle post-genocide challenges, see Rusagara, Resilience of a Nation, pp. 189–90.
  • ↵ This approach to maximizing policy independence is an embedded feature of Rwanda’s engagement with external actors. Whether negotiating development assistance or military assistance, Rwanda’s leaders make skilful use of their available assets to create policy space and deter sanction, censure, or deterioration of relationships with key partners. In the arena of military/security relations these assets include the material, for example its strong military or its elected seat on the UN Security Council, and the more symbolic, such as Rwanda’s status as a reference point in debates on intervention, genocide, and conflict prevention. The use of such narratives creates policy space by placing Rwanda in a position of moral authority relative to its international supporters. It also gives Rwanda a significant voice in international debates on peace, conflict, and security. See Danielle Beswick, ‘From weak state to savvy international player? Rwanda’s multi-level strategy for maximising agency’ in William Brown and Sophie Harman (eds), African Agency in International Politics (Routledge, London, 2013) pp. 158–74.
  • ↵ See Danielle Beswick and Anne Hammerstad, ‘African agency in a changing security environment: sources, opportunities and challenges’, Conflict, Security and Development 13, 5 (2013), pp. 471–86.
  • ↵ This sentiment is also reflected in Wilen, ‘A hybrid peace’.
  • ↵ Louise Mushikiwabo, ‘Opening remarks by Minister Mushikiwabo to Bundestag Committees of Economic Cooperation and Development, Foreign Affairs and Human Rights and Humanitarian Aid’, Berlin, Germany, 31 January 2013, <http://www.minaffet.gov.rw/index.php?id=886&tx_ttnews[tt_news]=483&cHash=abeed2dc8db631cea8a2247203ffba87> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ For an early overview of the principles of R2P, see Gareth Evans and Mohamed Sahnoun, ‘The responsibility to protect’, Foreign Affairs 81, 6 (2002), pp. 1–8.
  • ↵ Charles Murigande, ‘Statement by Hon. Dr Charles Murigande, Rwandan Minister of Foreign Affairs and Cooperation, at the General Debate of the 60th Session of the United Nations General Assembly’, 18 September 2005, <http://www.un.org/webcast/ga/60/statements/rwa050918eng.pdf> (4 February 2014). Emphasis in original.
  • ↵ Louise Mushikiwabo, ‘Statement by the Hon. Louise Mushikiwabo, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Cooperation, at United Nations Security Council during the open debate on the protection of civilians in armed conflict’, New York, 12 February 2013, <http://www.minaffet.gov.rw/fileadmin/user_upload/minaffet/Documents/Statement_by_LM.pdf> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ James Munyaneza, ‘Rwanda stands with Syrians’, The New Times, 4 April 2012, <http://www.newtimes.co.rw/news/views/article_print.php?i=14952&a=52108&icon=Print> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Eugène-Richard Gasana, ‘Commemoration of Rwandan genocide: statement by H. E. Ambassador Eugène-Richard Gasana, permanent representative of the Republic of Rwanda to the United Nations’, UN Mission of Rwanda, 7 April 2011, <http://responsibilitytoprotect.org/index.php/component/content/article/35-r2pcs-topics/3372-rwandan-ambassador-reflects-on-recent-progress-at-the-un-to-protect-populations-commends-security-council-on-cote-divoire-and-libya> (4 February 2014). Emphasis added.
  • ↵ Reyntjens, ‘Waging (civil) war abroad’, pp. 141–2.
  • ↵ Frank Kanyesigye, ‘Mushikiwabo chairs UN conflict debate’, The New Times, 16 April 2013, <http://www.newtimes.co.rw/news/index.php?i=15329&a=65986> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ See United Nations, ‘Peace and security in Africa’, 6946th Meeting of the UN Security Council, 15 April 2013, New York (Ref: S/PV.6946); Gabe Joselow, ‘Rwanda challenges ICC role as court marks 15 Years’, Voice of America, 17 July 2013, <http://www.voanews.com/content/rwanda-challenges-icc-role-as-court-marks-fifteen-years/1703692.html> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Scott Straus, ‘Darfur and the genocide debate’, Foreign Affairs 84, 1 (2005), pp. 123–33.
  • ↵ Focus, ‘US Ambassador to Rwanda: political solution needed in Darfur’, Kigali, March 2006, p. 6.
  • ↵ James Munyaneza, ‘Country may withdraw from Darfur – Kagame’, The New Times, 14 March 2007, <http://allafrica.com/stories/200703140472.html> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Reyntjens, ‘Waging (civil) war abroad’, p. 142.
  • ↵ UN Security Council Resolution 2098, UN Doc. S/RES/2098 (28 March 2013).
  • ↵ See The East African [Kenya], ‘Rwanda warns its enemies as bombs from Congo land on villages’, 20 July 2013, <http://www.theeastafrican.co.ke/news/Rwanda-warns-its-enemies-after-bombs-from-Congo-/-/2558/1920954/-/j5lkro/-/index.html> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Eugene Kwibuka, ‘Rwanda: UN brigade aiding FDLR-Congo alliance’, The New Times, 17 July 2013, <http://www.newtimes.co.rw/news/index.php?a=68726&i=15421> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Danielle Beswick, ‘Peacekeeping, regime security and “African solutions to African problems”: exploring Rwanda’s involvement in Darfur’, Third World Quarterly 31, 5 (2010), pp. 739–54, p. 746.
  • ↵ Straus and Waldorf, ‘Introduction’, p. 4.
  • ↵ For critical analysis of the role of women and women’s empowerment initiatives in post-genocide Rwanda, see Jennie E. Burnet, ‘Gender balance and the meanings of women in governance in post-genocide Rwanda’, African Affairs 107, 428 (2008), pp. 361–86.
  • ↵ In December 2013, Rwanda contributed 228 female personnel to UN missions, the fifth highest contribution after Ethiopia (402), Nigeria (334), Ghana (300), and South Africa (298). See UN Department of Peacekeeping Operations, ‘Ranking of military and police contributions to UN operations: December 2013’.
  • ↵ Louise Mushikiwabo, ‘Statement by the Hon. Louise Mushikiwabo’.
  • ↵ See Susan Thomson, ‘Reeducation for reconciliation: participant observations on ingando’, in Straus and Waldorf (eds), Remaking Rwanda, pp. 331–9; Rusagara, Resilience of a Nation, pp. 193–4.
  • ↵ This has lead to concerns that non-military space is becoming militarized. See Reyntjens, ‘Waging (civil) war abroad’, pp. 140–1.
  • ↵ Rusagara refers to the modern Rwandan military as a ‘socially integrative unifier’ with a ‘social responsibility in facilitating social cohesion’; a concrete expression of the unity and common identity of all Rwandans promoted under the RPF even prior to the genocide. See Resilience of a Nation, pp. 190–201.
  • ↵ Beswick, ‘The role of the military in contemporary Rwanda’; Joseph Sebarenzi, ‘Justice and human rights for all Rwandans’ in Straus and Waldorf (eds), Remaking Rwanda, pp. 343–53.
  • ↵ See Krogstad, ‘Security, development and force’, for reflections on this point in the context of police reform in Sierra Leone.
  • ↵ See for example the open letter to US President Barack Obama in December 2012 signed by 15 organizations including the Global Centre for the Responsibility to Protect, December 2012, <http://www.globalr2p.org/media/files/drc-letter-pres-obama-11_12.pdf> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ Scholars have demonstrated elsewhere that the RPF uses differences between bilateral donors on its stuttering democratization and role in Congo, along with its selective engagement with preferred donor models of development, to maximize space for policy independence. See Hayman, ‘Milking the cow’; Eugenia Zorbas, ‘Aid dependence and policy independence: explaining the Rwandan paradox’ in Straus and Waldorf (eds), Remaking Rwanda, pp. 103–17; Beswick, ‘From weak state to savvy international player?’.
  • ↵ ‘Military capacity building: risk-taking in Danish development aid?’, seminar held at Bageriet, Kastellet, Copenhagen, 12 December 2012, organized by the East African Security Governance Network, the Royal Danish Defence College, and the Centre for Military Studies.
  • ↵ Jean-Christophe Nsanzimana, ‘Germany unfreezes US$26 million to Rwanda’, Focus, 1 February 2013, <http://focus.rw/wp/2013/02/germany-unfreezes-us-26-million-to-rwanda/> (4 February 2014); Justine Greening, ‘Written ministerial statement on UK aid to Rwanda’, UK Department for International Development, 1 March 2013, <http://www.dfid.gov.uk/News/Latest-news/2013/Rwanda-ukaid-mar13/> (4 February 2014).
  • ↵ BBC News Online, ‘UK and the Netherlands withhold Rwanda budget aid’, 27 July 2012, <http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-19010495> (4 February 2014).

75. See Jonathan Fisher, ‘Managing perceptions and securing agency: contextualizing Uganda’s 2007 intervention in Somalia’, African Affairs 111, 444 (2012), pp. 404–23; The Economist, ‘Ethiopia’s elections: forget about democracy’, 25 March 2010, <http://www.economist.com/node/15772973> (4 February 2014).