Thanks in large part to his decision to participate in the war in Iraq, former British Prime Minister Tony Blair is a controversial figure in Europe. Yet, Blair’s legacy as a center-left reformer is alive and well in two of Europe’s ruling center-left forces, France’s Socialist Party (PS) and Italy’s Democratic Party (PD).

Both Italy’s Prime Minister Matteo Renzi from the PD and French Prime Minister Manuel Valls of the PS bear strong similarities to the former leader of Britain’s “New” Labour Party. As Blair was when he took office, they are young–Valls is 52 and Renzi is just 39; they are centrists; and they have excellent communication skills that allow them to present themselves as harbingers of change.

Taking a Page Out of Prime Minister Blair’s Book

Renzi and Valls will have to take three pages out of Blair’s book if they want to replicate his electoral achievements: 

1. They must wrest control of their parties from the old guard; 
2. They must take control of the political agenda by giving it a centrist thrust (along the lines of Blair’s ‘Third Way’ between conservatism and social democracy); 
3. They must take control of the political center, even at the cost of shedding votes on the left.  

Renzi is far ahead of Valls in all three respects. He has taken over the PD (via an open primary election which he won resoundingly) after a bitter fight against the party’s old guard. Since taking office in early 2014, he has shown a remarkable ability to dictate the terms of the political debate. While he became prime minister via an inner party coup rather than a general election, he sailed triumphantly through his first electoral test: the European Parliament elections of May 2014. The PD won a larger share of the votes than any other Italian party since the 1950s (41 percent), tapping into constituencies such as entrepreneurs and businessmen who all have a long tradition of contempt for the left.

However, none of Renzi’s achievements rest on firm ground. The main reason is Italy’s appalling financial predicament. The economy has performed abysmally since the 2008 to 2009 recession. Unemployment is over 12 percent, the labor market is overly protective of certain categories and overly unfair to others (particularly the young), the public sector is costly and ineffective and the judicial system byzantine and not entirely reliable. Renzi continues to face harsh criticisms from within his party as his reform agenda flies in the face of traditionally left-leaning constituencies (a few weeks ago the main leftist trade union managed to get about a million people to the streets in protest against a labor market reform bill). Finally, Renzi’s room for maneuver is severely constrained by the tight fiscal rules imposed by the European Union (EU).

For Valls, the path to leadership is a more complicated matter. This is largely due to France’s constitutional set-up, in which the prime minister runs domestic policies but is second in authority to the president. This involves for Valls a variation from Blair’s three-step process—as prime minister, his most urgent priority is not leading the PS but pushing forward a political agenda capable of winning over the political center. He was appointed to the premiership by the current president, the socialist François Hollande, because his previous stint as a tough-talking interior minister and his profile as a business-friendly politician and skillful local manager made him fairly popular with the public. Hollande’s decision was a desperate attempt to revive his own popularity, which has plummeted to unprecedented lows only half-way into his 5-year term, by imparting a new, essentially more pro-market direction to his presidency. Since he stepped in, Valls has tried to change the political agenda by advocating reduced labor costs and lower taxes on businesses.

Like Renzi, Valls is confronted with both internal and external challenges. The first is of course that, although in charge of domestic policies, he is still second-in-command to a highly unpopular president. Because he does not control the PS, Valls faces stiffer opposition to his centrist agenda from within the party than does his Italian counterpart. His calls for a ‘common house’ for reform-oriented leftists and rightists have, unsurprisingly, met with acerbic criticism in the PS. France is in a better economic state than Italy and the government machine is as efficient as ever; yet the French have shown an idiosyncratic resistance to reform which Valls might lack the political authority to overcome. And Valls, just like Renzi, must also make decisions that both help France and comply with EU fiscal rules.

What to Make of Continental Europe’s New Blairs?

In spite of the huge challenges Renzi faces both at home and in the EU, he seems to be the better positioned. Realistically, the chances that he will successfully revive Italy’s economy are slim. Yet Italians do not dream of an era of prosperity, but one of action. Provided Renzi can show that he has begun to tackle the many roadblocks on the path towards growth, Italians are likely to see him as a safer bet than the opposition, which consists of Silvio Berlusconi’s much weakened center-right party and the comedian-turned-politician Beppe Grillo’s anti-establishment 5 Star Movement.

Valls has a harder road ahead. His approval ratings now hover at just around 36 percent (though no other center-left French politician fares much better). He certainly has a popularity problem in his own party during the last presidential campaign, he won only 5.5 percent of the votes in a PS primary contest. Yet Valls also stood out as a credible politician and is now in a position to attract more support. He encapsulates the second half of Hollande’s presidential term, which has made a decision to openly target centrist voters. If Valls manages to regain, at least in part, the favor of the public, the PS might in the end see him as a more appealing presidential candidate in 2017 than Hollande, whose credibility is in poor shape.

Appearing to the public the safer bet is the mark of shrewd politicians. But strong leadership requires one step further. Blair mapped out a course towards prosperity in the much more competitive world of globalization; this, the Iraq war notwithstanding, secured him three electoral victories in a row. For Renzi and Valls, the time to do something alike cannot come soon enough.

If you want to understand what drove the intense opposition to the nuclear deal with Iran in certain quarters of the American political establishment, as well as across the broader Middle East, all you have to do is look at the photos from Iranian president Hassan Rouhani’s inaugural tour of Europe this week. The most notorious shot shows plywood barricades concealing ancient Roman statues, apparently out of concern that their nudity would shock or offend the leader of an Islamic theocracy.

The alacrity with which Italian leaders jettisoned their values and historical legacy in hopes of gaining some advantage in Iran’s post-sanctions gold rush is precisely what nuclear deal opponents predicted and hoped to forestall. After all, a Europe that would so readily censor the treasures of its own glorious antiquity, in an obsequious gesture that was apparently unbidden by Tehran, is unlikely to jeopardize any budding business to penalize any Iranian infractions of the agreement, or to put pressure on Iran over any of its other objectionable policies.

As I wrote 10 months ago:

After a deal, the Islamic Republic will be back in business, its standing as an investment destination restored and its place in the community of nations effectively normalized. This is, of course, precisely what Tehran is seeking and what Hassan Rouhani was elected to the presidency to accomplish — redemption. An imperfect, incomplete redemption, but a new beginning nonetheless.

But redemption is precisely what [Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin] Netanyahu and other opponents of an Iranian deal are determined to prevent. They appreciate that once the current network of multilateral sanctions is unraveled, it will never be reinstated, absent some extraordinary provocation by Tehran. The presumption, then, is that the threat posed by Iran’s regional ambitions will never be successfully blunted. For Netanyahu—and for many in the American policy community—that is an unacceptable outcome. They believe, as the prime minister declared on Tuesday, that “If Iran wants to be treated like a normal country, let it act like a normal country.”

Netanyahu and other opponents of the deal did not achieve that goal. Much of the U.S. unilateral sanctions regime remains intact, and these measures—along with some residual uncertainty about the longevity of the nuclear deal—will restrain the horizons of Iran’s economic and geopolitical reintegration into the international community. But for all practical purposes, the Islamic Republic’s redemption is complete.

The alacrity with which Italian leaders jettisoned their values and historical legacy in hopes of gaining some advantage in Iran’s post-sanctions gold rush is precisely what nuclear deal opponents predicted and hoped to forestall.

So in the wake of this broad normalization, how can the world continue to nudge Tehran toward “acting like a normal country”? For starters, by restraining the impulse to placate ideological excesses of Iranian politics—or, for that matter, those of its neighbors.

The Italian deference to Rouhani is not without precedent: similar measures were taken last year to protect the delicate sensibilities of Abu Dhabi’s crown prince. And it was not without foundation—in 1999, photos of a previous Iranian president, Mohammad Khatami, enjoying an Italian state dinner provoked a furor among opponents of his reformist agenda because they revealed wine glasses on the tables.

However, there were an infinite number of ways for circumventing these civilizational conflicts without repudiating Italian artistic glory. To avoid a repeat of his Roman fiasco, Khatami simply adapted his future European visits to incorporate a greater number of official breakfast meetings, where abstinence was more easily ensured.

Iran’s rehabilitation without full-fledged reformation compounds the already urgent challenges of an unstable Middle East. Its reintegration can be a stabilizing force, but only if Tehran reconciles itself to the world, rather than the reverse.

Editor's Note: This article originally appeared on Lawfare.

Faced with the breakdown of national armies in Iraq, Libya, Syria, and Yemen, Arab states have increasingly turned toward alliances with armed militias to ensure security. Popular, anti-government protests and insurgencies for the most part precipitated the breakdown of regime military institutions, yet pre-existing internal ethnic, clan, and ideological cleavages helped to hasten the breakdown. The beleaguered state security forces have now entered into a variety of alliances—tacit or active—with militias they deem sympathetic to their interests, often organized on the basis of entrenched ethno-sectarian or tribal identities. Such militia forces supplement and at times even stand in for the weak or absent army and police as providers of local security.

On the one hand, militia forces have in certain circumstances proven effective at counterinsurgency and counterterrorism. On the other hand, they have also committed atrocities against civilians that hamper long-term efforts to build trust and stability. Their greatest risk is that, by eroding the central government’s monopolization on force, they jeopardize the territorial cohesion of the state.

In Iraq, the rise of powerful communal militias has paralleled the growth of the threat from the Islamic State. This has presented the United States with a quandary: how to combat the Islamic State by mobilizing local Sunnis while at the same time safeguarding the broader integrity of the Iraqi state and its security institutions. The national guard concept, which successive Iraqi governments have tried in the past, was seen as one way to do this. A national guard force would retain the militias’ local knowledge and roots, both unique tools necessary for a successful counterinsurgency against the Islamic State. At the same time, the guard would (at least in theory) be subject to increased oversight and control by the central government.

Other fractured Arab states, most notably Libya, have tried to implement a national guard model as a way to harness militia power, but this too has failed. Variations of hybrid, provincially-organized military forces exist in Yemen and Syria. While each case is different, the failure of national guards bears certain similarities. Examining the Iraqi case in particular can highlight the potential utility of national guards but also the parallel political and institutional reforms that are necessary to make the concept work.

The idea of creating a national guard in Iraq has been a centerpiece of U.S. engagement since the dramatic advance of the Islamic State on Tikrit and Mosul in 2014. President Obama specifically mentioned U.S. support for a national guard as a means to help Iraqi Sunnis “secure their own freedom” from the Islamic State. Much of U.S. thinking about the Iraqi National Guard (ING) was guided by the example of the Sunni Awakening of 2006 and 2007, when the United States actively recruited and “flipped” Sunni tribes that had supported the al-Qaeda-inspired insurgency. In return for guarantees of autonomy and military, financial, and political backing, the Sunni tribes were able to turn the tables on the insurgent fighters and impose a measure of peace and stability. The 2014 initiative essentially sought to reproduce this arrangement. The idea was that given proper incentives, the Sunni tribes would again fight the radical Islamists who threatened their supremacy. Over the long term, such national guard forces could be integrated formally as auxiliary troops in a federal structure, comparable in many ways to the U.S. National Guard.

Yet the Awakening analogy failed on a number of levels. The Shi’i-dominated Iraqi central government had never been enthusiastic about empowering Sunni tribes in the first place. With the dismantling of the Iraqi army in 2003, security had effectively devolved to party, tribal, and sectarian militias. Many Iraqis wondered why the United States would seek to create new militias, especially ones recently tied to al-Qaeda and other terrorists. As Iraq scholar Adeed Dawisha described, the gains in security came“not because of the state, but in spite of it.”

As the U.S. began withdrawing from Iraq in 2009 and 2010, then-Prime Minister Nuri al-Maliki quickly moved to dismantle the Awakening-associated militias. Only a handful of former militia fighters received their promised positions in the police, army, or civil services. Some former militia leaders were arrested on seemingly politically-motivated charges of terrorism or subversion. Efforts to enact a Sunni-dominated super-region comparable to the federal status of the Kurdish Regional Government in the north were rebuffed, despite the provisions of Iraq’s constitution that allowed for the creation of such an entity. Politically marginalized, some Sunnis returned to their alliance with the radical mujahideen.

The election of the new prime minister Haydar al-Abadi in 2014 raised the promise of renewed Sunni-Shi’i reconciliation. Abadi expressed support for the national guard initiative and forwarded a bill to parliament in 2014. Thousands of volunteers came forward from the Sunni tribes in the west and U.S. and Iraqi officials met with tribal leaders to help solidify support. The United States began to enlist support from Iraq’s Sunni neighbors to provide training and support for the ING.

Yet resistance within Abadi’s own political coalition stymied these efforts. The National Guard bill foundered in parliamentary committee, with open questions about the extent of control vested in provincial governors and the chain of command subordinating the ING to the ministries of interior, defense, or the prime minister himself. Officers of the Iraqi Security Forces (ISF) regarded the militias as unfit for duty and as rivals for budget and resources. Iraq’s constitution specifically prohibited the formation of militias outside the framework of the armed forces (with an exception of the peshmergaforces of the Kurdish Regional Government). Moreover, there was concern that once the Sunnis were authorized to organize a militia, other ethno-sectarian communities, such as Christians or Turkomen,might try to follow suit out of fear of falling under the mercy of their more powerful neighbors. The ING, then, could undercut any pretense of the Iraqi state possessing a monopoly over the use of force.

At base, though, many of Iraq’s Shi’i leaders simply believed that they didn’t need Sunni support. With the ING initiative stalled in parliament, the Shi’i factions have actively cultivated Shi’i militias as part of the Popular Mobilization Forces (PMF, or Hashd al-Shaabi). The origins of the PMF can be traced to a statement by Grand Ayatollah Ali Sistani, Iraq’s senior Shi’i cleric, which explicitly called on the faithful to take up arms to defend Iraq in the face of the Islamic State onslaught in 2014. Muqtada al-Sadr’s Jaysh al-Mahdi, the Badr Organization, and other political factions quickly took the opportunity to reconstitute or expand their private armies.

Backed by Iran’s expeditionary al-Qods Force, PMF militias played a prominent role in the spring 2015 offensive against the Islamic State in Tikrit. By spring 2015, PMF counted around 60,000 men under arms. Still, the performance of these militias has been less than stellar. In the spring 2015 offensive on Tikrit, PMF forces failed repeatedly to dislodge Islamic State resistance, despite enjoying superiority in numbers. U.S. air support proved critical to allowing the offensive to proceed. Some PMF units quit the fight instead of working under American air cover. Others were involved in a campaign of terror against Sunnis, looting, kidnapping, and killing those suspected of collaborating with the Islamic State.

The prospects for the mobilization of Iraq’s Sunnis are not dead—yet. A handful of Sunni tribes joined the PMF during the Tikrit offensive. In Anbar, likely the next front in the campaign against the Islamic State, U.S. and Iraqi officials have cultivated ties with local Sunni tribes and organized some 8,000 men into Sunni PMF units. Some tribes have made their service conditional on guarantees of greater autonomy and the removal of Shi’i militia forces. Yet the intake for training programs remains slow and drop-out rates high. On the one hand, tribes continue to resent the central government. On the other hand, they fear retribution should the Islamic State return.

Abadi’s visit to Washington in April 2015 focused on expanding and enhancing security cooperation with the United States. The United States has insisted that the PMF be brought more fully under the control of the Iraqi Security Forces and that PMF units reflect the demographics of the provinces and districts in which they operate. This would mean that in ethnically-mixed areas, such as in Nineveh or Babil, each ethnic group would have its own militia proportional to its size in the locality. The Iraq Train and Equip Program (ITEP) is slowly coming online, funneling American money and weapons to various local militia forces as well as ISF.

Cooperating with the United States has been a delicate balancing act for Abadi. While Kurdish and Sunni leaders see U.S. military support as a means to their own ends, Abadi’s own Shi’i political camp—as well as his allies in Tehran—are far more wary. When the U.S. Congress passed a bill in May 2015 effectively mandating the Defense Department to bypass Baghdad and provide support for Sunni and Kurdish fighters directly, Abadi protested that this constituted a grave violation of Iraqi sovereignty.

Still, reliance on the ragtag PMF alone is not sustainable in the long term. Operating far from home and with limited training, these overwhelmingly Shi’i forces cannot be expected to become an army of occupation in Sunni areas like Tikrit or Fallujah. Ultimately, local partners will be necessary to build and maintain peace and stability. The national guard, then, may well re-emerge as a more sustainable structure for administrative and security devolution.

While analysts and policymakers naturally focus on cases of success, there are important lessons to be learned from Iraq’s failures. For countries like Iraq where central armies have more or less broken down and a bevy of militias has emerged in its stead, as in Libya, Yemen, and Syria, the national guard could represent a path to reconstituting fragile state authority.

But for this to happen, several broad principles need to be heeded:

• National guards cannot simply be conceived as short-term, improvised solutions to immediate security crises. Rather, the creation of national guards is part of the impetus of security-sector reform (SSR) and post-conflict demobilization, disarmament, and reintegration (DDR) of armed groups.
• National guards must overcome the legacies of past authoritarian experiences where pro-government militias were often seen as mere thugs for the regime, not a disciplined professional fighting force. In particular, the older officer class of regular forces may see them as competitors. To build trust among the population and other military institutions, national guards should be accompanied by revisions to chain of command establishing clear relationships of authority between the guards, the police, the army, and other security agencies, and subordinating all security services to civilian authorities.
• National guard initiatives must also be accompanied by moves toward political power-sharing arrangements. The success of national guards ultimately depends not just on their short-term tactical effectiveness but on the degree of local buy-in. Constitutions can provide a structure for bolstering confidence between a central government and subnational militia forces. Since militia membership and cohesion is often based on geographic linkages—to town, municipality or province—national guards may well be a part of federalist power devolution, especially in countries with overlapping ethno-sectarian and regional cleavages.
• Western governments can assist in setting up and training national guards, but they must ensure that proper political and institutional reforms are also undertaken. In many cases, Western states provide models for how decentralized, federally-organized military forces can complement national armies and local police. The United States, for instance, has a great deal of experience with its own federalized national guard structure and can draw on this example in its train-and-equip programs. There are other potentially useful models as well, including the British Territorial Army, a part-time, volunteer force that was integrated into the British Army in the early twentieth century; the Danish Home Guard, which incorporated anti-Nazi resistance militias into a national command structure after World War II; or the Italian Carabineri, which is often discussed as a potential model for dealing with Libya’s unique security challenges.

Outside assistance to national guards must avoid exacerbating existing communal and political fault lines. Helping peripheral and minority groups set up their own armed forces can, on one hand, embolden these groups to resist the central government and, on the other hand, spur resentment from the central government and fear of future disloyalty or rebellion. These concerns become even more acute when national guards are seen as proxies for outside powers. With this in mind, the U.S. and outside powers should calibrate their assistance to both regionally-based national guards and central government forces to ensure rough parity between the two. This could entail making funding, equipment and training for the central security services contingent on a proportional commitment to strengthen the guards.

National guards are political institutions, not just military instruments. They can have far-ranging consequences for political stability and cohesion. While no panacea for the challenge of building effective states, they can play an important role in addressing security concerns and moving toward more meaningful power sharing.

Good afternoon Chair Ayotte, Ranking Member Cantwell, and Members of the Subcommittee. Thank you very much for the opportunity to testify today on the important topic of domestic unmanned aircraft systems (UAS).

I am a nonresident senior fellow in Governance Studies and the Center for Technology Innovation at the Brookings Institution. I am also a National Fellow at the Hoover Institution at Stanford, and a professor at UCLA, where I hold appointments in the Electrical Engineering Department and the Department of Public Policy. The views I am expressing here are my own, and do not necessarily represent those of the Brookings Institution, Stanford University or the University of California.

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President Obama's announcement last month that earlier this year a “U.S. counterterrorism operation” had killed two hostages, including an American citizen, has become a fresh occasion for questioning the rationales for continuing attacks from unmanned aerial vehicles aimed at presumed, suspected, or even confirmed terrorists. This questioning is desirable, although not mainly for hostage-related reasons connected to this incident. Sometimes an incident has a sufficient element of controversy to stoke debate even though what most needs to be debated is not an issue specific to the incident itself. More fundamental issues about the entire drone program need more attention than they are getting.

The plight of hostages held by terrorists has a long and sometimes tragic history, almost all of which has had nothing to do with drones. Hostage-taking has been an attractive terrorist tool for so long partly because of the inherent advantages that the hostage-holders always will have over counterterrorist forces. Those advantages include not only the ability to conceal the location of hostages—evidently a successful concealment in the case of the hostages mentioned in the president's announcement—but also the ability of terrorists to kill the hostages themselves and to do so quickly enough to make any rescue operation extraordinarily difficult. Even states highly skilled at such operations, most notably Israel, have for this reason suffered failed rescue attempts.

It is not obvious what the net effect of operations with armed drones is likely to be on the fate of other current or future hostages. The incident in Pakistan demonstrates one of the direct negative possibilities. Possibly an offsetting consideration is that fearing aerial attack and being kept on the run may make, for some terrorists, the taking of hostages less attractive and the management of their custody more difficult. But a hostage known to be in the same location as a terrorist may have the attraction to the latter of serving as a human shield.

The drone program overall has had both pluses and minuses, as anyone who is either a confirmed supporter or opponent of the program should admit. There is no question that a significant number of certified bad guys have been removed as a direct and immediate consequence of the attacks. But offsetting, and probably more than offsetting, that result are the anger and resentment from collateral casualties and damage and the stimulus to radicalization that the anger and resentment provide. There is a good chance that the aerial strikes have created more new terrorists bent on exacting revenge on the United States than the number of old terrorists the strikes have killed.

This possibility is all the more disturbing in light of what appears to be a significant discrepancy between the official U.S. posture regarding collateral casualties and the picture that comes from nonofficial sources of reporting and expertise. The public is at a disadvantage in trying to judge this subject and to assess who is right and who is wrong, but what has been pointed out by respected specialists such as Micah Zenko is enough to raise serious doubt about official versions both of the efforts made to avoid casualties among innocents and of how many innocents have become victims of the strikes.

The geographic areas in which the drone strikes are most feasible and most common are not necessarily the same places from which future terrorist attacks against the United States are most likely to originate. The core Al-Qaeda group, which has been the primary target and concern in northwest Pakistan, is but a shadow of its former self and not the threat it once was. Defenders of the drone strikes are entitled to claim that this development is in large part due to the strikes. But that leaves the question: why keep doing it now?

The principal explanation, as recognized in the relevant government circles, for the drone program has been that it is the only way to reach terrorists who cannot be reached by other tools or methods. It has been seen as the only counterterrorist game that could be played in some places. That still leaves more fundamental questions about the motivations for playing the game.

Policy-makers do not use a counterterrorist tool just because the tool is nifty—although that may be a contributing factor regarding the drones—but rather because they feel obligated to use every available tool to strike at terrorists as long as there are any terrorists against whom to strike. In the back of their minds is the thought of the next Big One, or maybe even a not so big terrorist attack on U.S. soil, occurring on their watch after not having done everything they could to prevent it, or doing what would later be seen in hindsight as having had the chance to prevent it.

The principal driver of such thoughts is the American public's zero tolerance attitude toward terrorism, in which every terrorist attack is seen as a preventable tragedy that should have been prevented, without fully factoring in the costs and risks of prevention or of attempted prevention. Presidents and the people who work for them will continue to fire missiles from drones and to do some other risky, costly, or even counterproductive things in the cause of counterterrorism because of the prospect of getting politically pilloried for not being seen to make the maximum effort on behalf of that cause.

This piece was originally published by The National Interest.

Editors’ Note: Organized crime actors have increasingly adopted advanced technologies, with law enforcement agencies adapting accordingly. However, the use of ever fancier-technology is only a part of the story. The future lies as much behind as ahead, writes Vanda Felbab-Brown, with criminal groups now using primitive technologies and methods to counter the advanced technologies used by law enforcement. This post was originally published by the Remote Control Project, a project hosted by the Oxford Research Group.

The history of drug trafficking and crime more broadly is a history of adaptation on the part of criminal groups in response to advances in methods and technology on the part of law enforcement agencies, and vice versa. Sometimes, technology trumps crime: The spread of anti-theft devices in cars radically reduced car theft. The adoption of citadels (essentially saferooms) aboard ships, combined with intense naval patrolling, radically reduced the incidence of piracy off Somalia. Often, however, certainly in the case of many transactional crimes such as drug trafficking, law enforcement efforts have tended to weed out the least competent traffickers, and to leave behind the toughest, meanest, leanest, and most adaptable organized crime groups. Increasingly, organized crime actors have adopted advanced technologies, such as semi-submersible and fully-submersible vehicles to carry drugs and other contraband, and cybercrime and virtual currencies for money-laundering. Adaptations in the technology of smuggling by criminal groups in turn lead to further evolution and improvement of methods by law enforcement agencies. However, the use of ever fancier-technology is only a part of the story. The future lies as much behind as ahead (to paraphrase J.P. Wodehouse), with the asymmetric use of primitive technologies and methods by criminal groups to counter the advanced technologies used by law enforcement.

The seduction of SIGINT and HVT

The improvements in signal intelligence (SIGINT) and big-data mining over the past two decades have dramatically increased tactical intelligence flows to law enforcement agencies and military actors, creating a more transparent anti-crime, anti-terrorism, and counterinsurgency battlefield than before. The bonanza of communications intercepts of targeted criminals and militants that SIGINT has come to provide over the past decades in Colombia, Mexico, Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and other parts of the world has also strongly privileged high-value targeting (HVT) and decapitation policies-i.e., principally targeting the presumed leaders of criminal and militant organizations.

The proliferation of SIGINT and advances in big-data trawling, combined with some highly visible successes of HVT, has come with significant downsides. First, high-value targeting has proven effective only under certain circumstances. In many contexts, such as in Mexico, HVT has been counterproductive, fragmenting criminal groups without reducing their proclivity to violence; in fact, exacerbating violence in the market. Other interdiction patterns and postures, such as middle-level targeting and focused-deterrence, would be more effective policy choices. 

A large part of the problem is that the seductive bonanza of signal intelligence has lead to counterproductive discounting of the need to:

1. develop a strategic understanding of criminal groups’ decisionmaking—knowledge crucial for anticipating the responses of targeted non-state actors to law enforcement actions; Mexico provides a disturbing example;
2. cultivate intelligence human intelligence assets, sorely lacking in Somalia, for example;
3. obtain a broad and comprehensive understanding of the motivations and interests of local populations that interact with criminal and insurgent groups, notably deficient in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan; and 
4. establish good relationships with local populations to advance anti-crime and counterinsurgency policies, such as in Colombia where drug eradication policy antagonized local populations from national government and strengthened the bonds between them and rebel groups. 

In other words, the tactical tool, technology—in the form of signal intelligence and big-data mining—has trumped strategic analysis. The correction needed is to bring back strategic intelligence analysis to drive interdiction targeting patterns, instead of letting the seduction of signal data drive intelligence analysis and targeting action. The political effects, anticipated responses by criminal and militant groups, and other outcomes of targeting patterns need be incorporated into the strategic analysis. Questions to be assessed need to include: Can interdiction hope to incapacitate—arrest and kill—all of the enemy or should it seek to shape the enemy? What kind of criminals and militants, such as how fractured or unified, how radicalized or restrained in their ambitions, and how closely aligned with local populations against the state, does interdiction want to produce? 

Dogs fights or drone fights: Remote lethal action by criminals

Criminal groups have used technology not merely to foil law enforcement actions, but also to fight each other and dominate the criminal markets and control local populations. In response to the so-called Pacification (UPP) policy in Rio de Janeiro through which the Rio government has sought to wrestle control over slums from violent criminal gangs, the Comando Vermelho (one of such gangs), for example, claimed to deploy remote-sensor cameras in the Complexo do Alemão slum to identify police collaborators, defined as those who went into newly-established police stations. Whether this specific threat was credible or not, the UPP police units have struggled to establish a good working relationship with the locals in Alemão.

The new radical remote-warfare development on the horizon is for criminal groups to start using drones and other remote platforms not merely to smuggle and distribute contraband, as they are starting to do already, but to deliver lethal action against their enemies—whether government officials, law enforcement forces, or rival crime groups. Eventually, both law enforcement and rival groups will develop defenses against such remote lethal action, perhaps also employing remote platforms: drones to attack the drones. Even so, the proliferation of lethal remote warfare capabilities among criminal groups will undermine deterrence, including deterrence among criminal groups themselves over the division of the criminal market and its turfs. Remotely delivered hits will complicate the attribution problem— i.e., who authorized the lethal action—and hence the certainty of sufficiently painful retaliation against the source and thus a stable equilibrium. More than before, criminal groups will be tempted to instigate wars over the criminal market with the hope that they will emerge as the most powerful criminal actors and able to exercise even greater power over the criminal market—the way the Sinaloa Cartel has attempted to do in Mexico even without the use of fancy technology. Stabilizing a highly violent and contested—dysfunctional—criminal market will become all the more difficult the more remote lethal platforms have proliferated among criminal groups.

Back to the past: The Ewoks of crime and anti-crime

In addition to adopting ever-advancing technologies, criminal and militant groups also adapt to the technological superiority of law enforcement-military actors by the very opposite tactic—resorting asymmetrically to highly primitive deception and smuggling measures. Thus, both militant and criminal groups have adapted to signal intelligence not just by using better encryption, but also by not using cell phones and electronic communications at all, relying on personal couriers, for example, or by flooding the e-waves with a lot of white noise. Similarly, in addition to loading drugs on drones, airplanes, and submersibles, drug trafficking groups are going back to very old-methods such as smuggling by boats, including through the Gulf of Mexico, by human couriers, or through tunnels. 

Conversely, society sometimes adapts to the presence of criminal groups and intense, particularly highly violent, criminality by adopting its own back-to-the-past response—i.e., by standing up militias (which in a developed state should have been supplanted by state law enforcement forces). The rise of anti-crime militias in Mexico, in places such as Michoacán and Guerrero, provides a vivid and rich example of such populist responses and the profound collapse of official law enforcement. The inability of law enforcement there to stop violent criminality—and in fact, the inadvertent exacerbation of violence by criminal groups as a result of HVT—and the distrust of citizens toward highly corrupt law enforcement agencies and state administrations led to the emergence of citizens’ anti-crime militias. The militias originally sought to fight extortion, robberies, theft, kidnapping, and homicides by criminal groups and provide public safety to communities. Rapidly, however, most of the militias resorted to the very same criminal behavior they purported to fight—including extortion, kidnapping, robberies, and homicides. The militias were also appropriated by criminal groups themselves: the criminal groups stood up their own militias claiming to fight crime, where in fact, they were merely fighting the rival criminals. Just as when external or internal military forces resort to using extralegal militias, citizens’ militias fundamentally weaken the rule of law and the authority and legitimacy of the state. They may be the ewoks’ response to the crime empire, but they represent a dangerous and slippery slope to greater breakdown of order.

In short, technology, including remote warfare, and innovations in smuggling and enforcement methods are malleable and can be appropriated by both criminal and militant groups as well as law enforcement actors. Often, however, such adoption and adaptation produces outcomes that neither criminal groups nor law enforcement actors have anticipated and can fully control. The criminal landscape and military battlefields will resemble the Star Wars moon of Endor: drone and remote platforms battling it out with sticks, stones, and ropes.

On Tuesday, May 24, Nigerian Central Bank Governor Godwin Emefiele announced that the country will adopt a more flexible foreign exchange rate system in the near future. This move signals a major policy shift by Emefiele and President Muhammadu Buhari, who had until this point opposed calls to let the naira weaken. Many international oil-related currencies have depreciated against the dollar as oil prices began their decline in 2014. Nigeria, however, has held the naira at a peg of 197-199 per U.S. dollar since March 2015, depleting foreign reserves and deterring investors, who remain concerned about the repercussions of a potential naira devaluation. Following the announcement, Nigerian stocks jumped to a five-month high and bond prices rose in anticipation that a new flexible exchange rate regime would increase the supply of dollars and help attract foreign investors.

For now it remains unclear exactly what a more flexible system will entail for Nigeria, however, some experts suggest that the Central Bank may introduce a dual-rate system, which allows select importers in strategic industries to access foreign currency at the current fixed rate, while more generally foreign currency will be available at a weaker, market-related level. This new regime raises a number of questions, including how it will be governed and who will have access to foreign currency (and at what rate). On Wednesday, Nigeria’s parliament requested a briefing soon from Emefiele and Finance Minister Kemi Adeosun to provide additional clarity on the new system, although the date for such a meeting has not yet been set.

Earlier this month, Kenya announced plans to close the Dadaab refugee camp, located in northeast Kenya, amid security concerns. The move to close the camp has been widely criticized by international actors. United States State Department Press Relations Director Elizabeth Trudeau urged Kenya to “uphold its international obligations and not forcibly repatriate refugees.” The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees stated that the closure of the refugee camp would have “devastating consequences.” Despite these concerns, this week, at the World Humanitarian Summit, Kenya stated that it will not go back on its decision and confirmed the closure of the refugee camps within a six-month period.

The camp houses 330,000 refugees, a majority of whom fled from conflict in their home country of Somalia. Kenya insists that the camp poses a threat to its national security, as it believes the camp is used to host and train extremists from Somalia’s Islamist group al-Shabab. Kenya also argued that the developed world, notably the United Kingdom, should host its fair share of African refugees. This is not the first time Kenya has threatened to close the refugee camp. After the Garissa University attacks last April, Kenya voiced its decision to close the refugee camps, although it did not follow through with the plan.

From May 23-27, Lusaka, Zambia hosted 5,000 delegates and participants for the 2016 Annual Meetings of the African Development Bank (AfDB), with the theme, “Energy and Climate Change.” Held in the wake of December’s COP21 climate agreement and in line with Sustainable Development Goals 7 (ensure access to affordable, reliable, sustainable and modern energy for all) and 13 (take urgent action to combat climate change and its impacts), the theme was timely and, as many speakers emphasized, urgent. Around 645 million people in Africa have no access to electricity, and only 16 percent are connected to an energy source. To that end, AfDB President Akinwumi Adesina outlined the bank’s ambitious aim: “Our goal is clear: universal access to energy for Africa within 10 years; Expand grid power by 160 gigawatts; Connect 130 million persons to grid power; Connect 75 million persons to off grid systems; And provide access to 150 million households to clean cooking energy."

As part of a push to transform Africa’s energy needs and uses, Rwandan President Paul Kagame joined Kenyan President Uhuru Kenyatta on a panel to support the AfDB’s “New Deal on Energy” that aims to deliver electricity to all Africans by 2025. Kenyatta specifically touted the potential of geothermal energy sources. Now, 40 percent of Kenya's power needs come from geothermal energy sources, he said, but there is still room for improvement—private businesses, which make up 30 percent of Kenya’s on-grid energy needs, have not made the switch yet.

As part of the meetings, the AfDB, the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), and United Nations Development Program (UNDP) also launched their annual African Economic Outlook, with the theme “Sustainable Cities and Structural Transformation.” In general, the report’s authors predict that the continent will maintain an average growth of 3.7 percent in 2016 before increasing to 4.5 percent in 2017, assuming commodity prices recover and the global economy improves.  However, the focus was on this year’s theme: urbanization. The authors provide an overview of urbanization trends and highlight that successful urban planning can discourage pollution and waste, slow climate change, support better social safety nets, enhance service delivery, and attract investment, among other benefits.

For more on urbanization in sub-Saharan Africa, see Chapter 4 of Foresight Africa 2016: Capitalizing on Urbanization: The Importance of Planning, Infrastructure, and Finance for Africa’s Growing Cities.

On December 12, 2015, 195 countries adopted the Paris Agreement, the most ambitious climate change pact to date. The document lays out a plan to curb greenhouse gas emissions, among other climate-related initiatives. Participating countries must now find ways to translate those ambitions into policy, and answer important questions about financing, transparency and accountability, national implementation, and accelerated emissions reduction goals, to name but a few. But one issue looms large: coal.

Coal-fired electricity is responsible for producing 40 percent of the world’s power and about 70 percent of its steel. The coal industry employs millions worldwide and provides billions of people with electricity. Analysts estimate that the world has hundreds of years of coal reserves in the ground, at current consumption levels. Its abundance, low price, and global availability make it a difficult fuel source to give up. But despite coal’s advantages, it poses significant environmental and health risks. Ten percent of coal consists of ash, which contains radioactive and toxic elements. It is responsible for over $50 billion in medical costs annually in the European Union alone. The environmental consequences of coal use, such as water contamination and habitat destruction, are common. Burning coal adds millions of tons of dangerous particulates and greenhouse gases, including carbon, to the atmosphere.

States and societies around the world rely on coal, even though many of its dangers have been known for decades. If the Paris Agreement is to succeed, global leaders must address the reasons why many countries—particularly in the developing world—still rely on coal. Better yet, they must find new ways to provide coal-reliant countries with affordable, alternative energy, and invest in new technologies that could help mitigate coal’s negative consequences.

COAL ACROSS THE WORLD

Globally, coal production and consumption has risen almost continuously for more than 200 years. The International Energy Agency has estimated that the world burned approximately 7,876 million tons of coal in 2013, adding over 14.8 gigatons of carbon to the atmosphere. But global coal statistics do not tell us much about markets and trends. In fact, coal usage varies enormously around the world, with some regions transitioning away from the resource as others have increasingly embraced it.

For example, stringent environmental, health, and safety policies in the United States have put increasing pressure on the coal industry. Well-funded environmental groups have succeeded in closing coal-fired power plants, and many states on the country’s west coast and in its northeast have aimed to create a coal-free power grid. Yet market forces have turned out to be the nail in U.S. coal’s coffin. The rise of natural gas in the United States has gave the country’s electricity producers an incentive to shift away from coal. In fact, U.S. coal consumption declined from a billion tons in 2008, to roughly 850 million tons by 2013. This year, analysts suggest that coal will fuel only 32 percent of all U.S. electricity, and natural gas will become the country’s leading electricity source for the first time. As a result of low prices, low returns, and political controversy, investors have shied away from coal, which has caused major coal companies to struggle to stay afloat. Of all announced new electricity generation capacity in the United States, not a single megawatt is coal-fired. Although change is happening, it will likely be decades before coal is no longer an important fuel source in the U.S. economy. Canada’s coal sector faces similar pressures: weak demand from Asia, public opposition to the construction of new export facilities, domestic environmental legislation, and the shale boom have all taken their toll.

In Europe, stringent air quality controls and climate change regulations have cut the use of coal dramatically in Denmark, Sweden, and the United Kingdom. But the EU emissions trading scheme, which relies on carbon offsets and carbon dioxide caps, has proven disappointing. In fact, most European countries still lack an economically competitive and readily available alternative to coal. Plus, the coal industry still has political power in capitals like Berlin and Warsaw, which lowers the European common denominator for energy policy, as well as its policies that fight climate change.

Photo courtesy of REUTERS/James Regan/File Photo. Coal is stockpiled at the Blair Athol mine in the Bowen Basin coalfield near the town of Moranbah, Australia, June 1, 2012.

In Asia, both Japan and South Korea are set to expand their use of coal despite signing the Paris Agreement. After the Fukushima disaster, Japan has implemented ambitious renewables and energy efficiency policies, but those cannot take the place of its nuclear energy production on their own. These countries are entirely import dependent, which makes natural gas prices high. This, in turn, makes natural gas a less likely fuel source as the countries transition to greener electricity. In this context, high-efficiency coal plants appear to be a viable alternative, especially as nuclear power remains highly controversial.

And outside of advanced economies, coal often plays the role it once played in Europe and North America. For over a decade, China was the main engine of global coal consumption, driving booms in coal mining and shipping. China’s domestic coal production skyrocketed, and other countries, such as Australia, experienced coal booms to keep pace with Chinese demand. Although China produced and consumed almost as much coal as the rest of the world combined in 2014, it seems that the country’s consumption has peaked. But China will still rely heavily on coal-fired electricity for decades. The country remains a key player in steel production, and millions of its citizens continue to work in the mining industry, despite recent layoffs.

South Asian countries continue to invest heavily in new coal-fired electricity plants and industrial projects. India may appreciate the risks of climate change, but its chief concern is delivering low-cost power to 350 million of its citizens who lack electricity. Coal is set to play a prominent role in meeting such goals. Countries like Indonesia, Thailand, and Vietnam have followed suit as they search for low-cost electricity to power their countries.

In short, coal remains a big player in the global fuel mix, even as it faces tough challenges from stringent environmental regulations, competition from other fuel sources, and a lack of new investments.

Photo courtesy of REUTERS/Sheng Li/Files. A labourer carries honeycomb briquettes at a coal processing factory in Shenyang, Liaoning province in this December 2, 2009 file photo.

WHITHER COAL?

Different strategies apply in different parts of the world when it comes to eradicating coal, despite the global agreement in Paris. Just as there is not a global energy grid, there is also no single, global transition to lower-carbon energy. Although some countries are transitioning away from coal, others continue to transition toward it.

Second, pragmatism and persistence—rather than ideological purity—remain key values as countries transition towards low-carbon economies. Natural gas provides North America with a backup fuel as it transitions to green energy. Without major bulk terminals on the west coast, western U.S. coal producers will not find new markets for their products overseas. And in Europe, policymakers will have to make good on long-promised and long-delayed changes to energy policy and infrastructure. If Germany and other EU states are to achieve promised clean energy transitions, coal production must be scaled back substantially across the continent. European leaders must also build an “Energy Union” that will accelerate the flow of cross-border electricity, if they are to achieve the Paris Accord’s climate change goals. Europe must also reform its existing carbon pricing mechanisms. And across China, Europe, and North America, workers will have to be re-educated for new job opportunities as the coal market dries up.

But for now, coal still keeps the light on around the world. It powers new, high-tech economies, as well as a huge share of traditional manufacturing. If hundreds of millions of Africans and Asians are to gain access to electricity, new coal-fired power plants will have to come online in the years ahead. As coal continues to play a prominent role in industrial processes like steel and cement making, technological investments are required to limit its consequences.

To tackle these challenges, coal advocates, as well as some climate experts, suggest that more countries must invest in carbon capture and sequestration (CCS) research. But such investments are lagging, and the world would require several dozen CCS projects in order to make the technology commercially viable in the long term.

If the Paris Accord is to succeed, the earth’s atmosphere cannot remain a free dump for billions of tons of pollution every year. In fact, virtually all greenhouse gas emissions must be reduced. Countries can impose taxes, cap-and-trade schemes, and regulation to make this happen. Governments will have to design unique strategies that are custom fit to their countries, and, in some cases, find opportunities with their neighbors as well. For example, some private and public institutions have chosen to stop financing coal-fired projects, and the Obama administration has indicated it will not give out new leases for coal mining on federal land. Others will choose to build more coal-fired plants until the alternatives are cheaper, or until someone pays them not to.

Globally, coal may indeed be at the beginning of the end. But the energy transition is not strictly global. It is also national, regional, and local. Coal remains economically competitive—attractive even—in many parts of the world. Some countries will wage wars on coal, which will be as much economic and financial as they are political. But some countries, like India, will host coal booms regardless of the consequences. After Paris, there is no point in ignoring coal. It will be powering the world—and the world’s debates—for decades to come.

This piece was originally published by Foreign Affairs.

Saudi deputy crown prince and defense minister Mohammad bin Salman is just wrapping up a heavily hyped visit to Washington, aimed at reinforcing the kingdom’s partnership with the United States. Recent years have frayed what is traditionally the central strategic relationship for Riyadh, principally over the Obama administration’s nuclear diplomacy with Iran.

Since the conclusion of the Iranian nuclear deal last July, the perennial antagonism between Riyadh and Tehran has reached a dangerous pitch, fueling the violence that rages in Syria, Iraq, and Yemen and the undercurrent of instability that saturates the region. And the fallout of their rivalry has left its mark well beyond the boundaries of the Gulf, exacerbating volatile energy markets and, by extension, the global economy. 

Within OPEC, Riyadh and Tehran are eyeing each other warily, and their continuing differences torpedoed a proposed ceiling on oil production at OPEC’s latest meeting. The outcome was not surprising; a similar effort to agree on a production freeze between the group and a handful of non-OPEC producers fizzled in April. In the meantime, any incentives for drastic measures to address soft oil prices have abated as oil prices creep back up to approximately $50 a barrel. 

Iran and Saudi Arabia have plenty of reasons to continue pumping for the foreseeable future. Since the lifting of nuclear-related sanctions in January, Iranian leaders have been determined to make up for lost time and lost revenues, already defying expectations by quickly raising production to levels that hadn’t been reached since November 2011 and aggressively cutting prices in hopes of winning back its pre-sanctions export market. 

The centrality of oil to the legitimacy and autonomy of both regimes means that these plans are little more than publicity stunts.

Meanwhile, Saudi Arabia appears prepared to continue pumping at record-high levels, part of a larger strategy aimed at maintaining market share and driving down non-OPEC production. The two states’ economic incentives are compounded by their fierce geostrategic and sectarian rivalry, which has intensified, as evidenced by the standoff over Iranian participation in the annual pilgrimage to Mecca.

But even as the two states duel over oil production and prices, both Saudi Arabia and Iran are conspicuously planning for a post-oil future. Leaders in both countries have decreed an end to the era of oil dependency, endorsing ambitious blueprints for restructuring their economies that—if implemented—would ultimately transform state, society, and the wider region. The centrality of oil to the legitimacy and autonomy of both regimes means that these plans are little more than publicity stunts. Still, just imagine for a moment what it would mean for Iran, Saudi Arabia, and the Middle East if these grandiose agendas were adopted.

Competing and complementary visions

Tehran’s plan actually dates back more than a decade, with the 2005 release of its “20 Year Perspective” (sometimes called “Vision 2025”). The plan laid out extravagant expectations: rapid growth and job creation, diversification away from oil, a knowledge-based economy. Intervening developments—sanctions that targeted Iran’s oil exports and helped expand non-oil trade—have only bolstered the rhetorical commitment of Iran’s supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, to a “resistance economy” in which oil exports constitute a minor part.

“One of our most serious losses is dependence on oil,” Khamenei bemoaned in a 2014 speech. “I am not saying that oil should not be used. Rather, I am saying that we should reduce our dependence on selling crude oil as much as we can.” 

Not to be outdone, Saudi Deputy Crown Prince Salman announced Saudi “Vision 2030,” to address what he described as “an addiction to oil.” The plan, which has met with equal doses of fanfare and skepticism since its announcement last month, aims to create a “thriving economy” and end Saudi dependence on oil revenues by 2020. Vision 2030 includes provisions to sell off a small stake in the kingdom’s state oil company, Saudi Aramco, and create the world’s largest sovereign wealth fund to manage the country’s income, as well as goals of creating 450,000 new private sector jobs, cutting public sector wages, and tripling the country’s non-oil exports all within the same abbreviated time frame.

Jeopardizing domestic stability

There is one hitch, however: these aspirations, though laudable, are preposterously unmoored from current political and economic exigencies. The institutions of governance and the structure of power in resource-rich states such as Saudi Arabia and Iran are organized around the state’s role as purveyors of vital social and economic goods. Riyadh and Tehran distribute cash handouts, provide jobs in already-bloated state bureaucracies, and levy few taxes. Diversifying away from reliance on oil would essentially require Riyadh and Tehran to radically curtail this distributive role, inviting historic social and political changes that could ultimately compromise regime ideology and weaken state legitimacy. 

[T]hese aspirations, though laudable, are preposterously unmoored from current political and economic exigencies.

In Saudi Arabia, the supply of these benefits is central to the monarchy’s legitimacy. To diversify away from oil, which currently accounts for over 70 percent of government revenues, Riyadh would have to drastically cut spending, far more than it already has. Not only would this further slash subsidies and hike fees, it would also effectively force Saudi workers—two-thirds of whom are employed by the state—to take up private sector jobs, 80 percent of which are currently staffed by expatriates. To accomplish this transition would require fundamental changes to the incentive structure for the Saudi labor force: a much broader willingness to accept low-skill, low-wage jobs, as well as the requisite improvements in education and productivity to support larger numbers of Saudi nationals moving into private sector positions.

For the Saudi economy to be truly competitive, Riyadh would have to initiate dramatic changes to a central component of the Saudi social compact—women’s rights and freedoms. The Vision 2030 document boasts that over 50 percent of Saudi university graduates are women and pledges to “continue to develop their talents, invest in their productive capabilities and enable them to strengthen their future and contribute to the development of our society and economy.” 

But the domestic Saudi labor force is overwhelmingly male, and even the plan’s modest aspirations to raise female participation in the workforce from 22 to 30 percent are likely to run into logistical and social obstacles. Shortly after announcing Vision 2030, Deputy Crown Prince Salman said Saudi Arabia is not yet ready to let women drive. A diversified economy will not emerge in the kind of constricted social environment mandated by the Saudi interpretation of sharia (Islamic law). 

Iran’s Islamic Republic doesn’t have the same degree of gender segregation, but Iran’s official interpretation of Islam has still constrained female participation in the workforce. Iran employs an equally low percentage of women—according to a 2014 U.N. report around 16 percent—and women’s unemployment is more than double that of men (nearly 20 percent).

A Saudi man walks past the logo of Vision 2030 after a news conference in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia June 7, 2016. Photo credit: Reuters/Faisal Al Nasser.

The bigger challenge for Iran will be truly opening up its economy to foreign direct investment. This remains hotly contested among the leadership, even in the aftermath of the nuclear agreement and the lifting of related sanctions. While there is some consensus around the need for foreign capital and technology, hardliners including Khamenei are determined to insulate Iran from any accompanying cultural influence and dependency. As the supreme leader recently inveighed, the global economy is “a plan and system that has been devised mainly by Zionist capitalists and some non-Zionists with the purpose of usurping the economic resources of the whole world...If a country merges its economy with the global economy, this is not a source of pride, rather it is a loss and a defeat!”

This deeply-rooted paranoia has provided a convenient platform for the Islamic Republic to galvanize citizens’ loyalty to the state and hostility to outside interference. And it also inhibits the liberalization that makes foreign investment possible: measures to enhance transparency and security, develop more attractive legal and fiscal frameworks, shrink the role of the state, and undertake an array of other structural reforms. Without these measures, Tehran will struggle to capitalize on its extraordinary reengagement with the world. 

While Saudi Arabia has maintained a more consistent and mutually beneficial pattern of foreign investment, its leadership too will have to revamp its approach if it is to broaden its economic base. For Riyadh, the challenge is less one of attracting foreign capital than of developing a sustainable influx of technology and expertise to develop sectors other than energy. The kingdom will also have to overcome serious regulatory hurdles and a proclivity for mammoth (and often white elephant) projects.

Compromising regional clout

Riyadh and Tehran will need to balance their economic aspirations and their approach to the region, too. Historically, their role in global energy markets has largely shielded both states from the fallout of regional instability. The world’s need for reliable oil at reasonable prices has inculcated the commitment of outside powers to secure transportation of resources and considerable autonomy for Riyadh and Tehran from the implications of their own policies. 

As a result, Saudi Arabia and Iran can fund nefarious activity across the region, violate the civil and human rights of their citizens and other residents, and carry out belligerent foreign policies without severe repercussions for their oil revenues. Only in the past five years has Tehran seen the limits of the world’s reluctance to jeopardize its investment with a major oil exporter; and the recent reversal of the U.N. condemnation regarding the Saudi-led coalition in Yemen demonstrates that Riyadh remains insulated.

Saudi Arabia and Iran can fund nefarious activity across the region, violate the civil and human rights of their citizens and other residents, and carry out belligerent foreign policies without severe repercussions for their oil revenues.

Regional developments make the prospect of economic diversification even less likely, as sensitivity to such developments will only increase if either country successfully develops its non-oil sectors. At the same time, regional stability is a basic prerequisite for economic diversification. Robust growth and good governance throughout the Middle East would provide the optimal context for the economic transformation of Iran and Saudi Arabia, since the marketplace for their non-oil exports is concentrated in the immediate neighborhood. But such transformation would require both countries to put economic priorities that serve their general populations above the ideological and religious agendas—supported by oil rents—that propel their regional and international influence and that provide a large portion of their autonomy in foreign policymaking. 

Technocrats in both countries understand this intuitively. At a 2015 conference on Iran’s economy, President Hassan Rouhani wondered “How long can the economy pay subsidies to politics?” He added that the country’s economy “pays subsidies both to foreign policy and domestic policy. Let us try the other way round for a decade and pay subsidies from the domestic and foreign policy to the economy to see [what] the lives and incomes of people and the employment of the youth will be like.” The problem, of course, is political will: neither country is prepared to elevate the interests of its people over the demands of ideology.

Imagining an unlikely future

Can either Iran or Saudi Arabia really kick the oil habit? It seems exceptionally unlikely. Even as Khamenei extols the need for inward-focused development, Tehran is racing to expand crude output level to four million barrels per day by March 2017. 

Oil enabled the creation of the modern Middle Eastern state and fueled the rise of both countries to regional predominance. Oil is a vector for their regional rivalry, and it provides prestige and funds to be used in other arenas of competition. A genuine diversification of the two largest economies in the Middle East and North Africa would jeopardize their revenue streams and domestic legitimacy, as well as their efforts to assert their primacy across the Islamic world.

[N]either country is prepared to elevate the interests of its people over the demands of ideology.

“All success stories start with a vision,” Deputy Crown Prince Salman is quoted as saying on the Vision 2030 website. But vision is insufficient to bridge the gap between aspiration and reality; a serious agenda to implement either the Saudi or the Iranian vision would require painful compromises to regime ideology and a fundamental overhaul of the institutions and the structure of power in both countries. 

Imagine, though, for a moment, that these far-fetched ambitions were quite serious, and that both the Saudi and Iranian leadership were determined to do what was necessary to truly wean their economies off oil dependence. Consider what it might mean for the region if these grandiose ambitions were not simply the illusions of overpriced consultants and embattled technocrats—if a leadership emerged in one or both of the Middle East’s most powerful actors prepared to invest political capital in a genuine transformation of priorities and policies. What might be possible if Tehran and Riyadh sought to compete for economic opportunities instead of fueling violence and sectarianism around the region? If instead of a vicious sectarian and geopolitical rivalry, these two old adversaries engaged in a race to the top?

What will it take to move these visions from wishful thinking to reality? More than rhetoric, to be sure. But even the articulation of improbable objectives will have its impact. As documented in a recent book, Iran’s post-revolutionary experience demonstrates that the regime’s reliance on promises of economic gains has generated public expectations for effective and accountable governance. Now Iranians and Saudis have been told by their leaders—who happen to be officially infallible—that the time has come to transcend oil. What might happen if they believe it?

Senior Fellows Fiona Hill and Clifford G. Gaddy discuss their book, Mr. Putin: Operative in the Kremlin in a five part podcast series.

In the book, Hill and Gaddy write that Russian President Vladmir Putin’s style of rule is influenced by his identities as a Statist, a Man of History, a Free Marketeer, a Survivalist, an Outsider, and a Case Officer; these are distinct personalities, they note, that interact and affect policy decisions. On February 6, the Center on the United States and Europe at Brookings hosted an event for the launch of Mr. Putin with a discussion featuring the authors.

Video

• Fiona Hill: Putin’s Statist Personality: Restoring the Greatness of Russia
• Clifford Gaddy: Putin the History Man and Survivalist
• Fiona Hill and Cliff Gaddy: The Outsider Influenced Putin’s “Free Market” Personality
• Fiona Hill: Putin’s History in KGB Leads to “Case Officer” Personality
• Fiona Hill: Putin’s Personalities Leveraged to Boost Russia

Editor’s Note: Turkey's terrorism troubles are bad and getting worse. At least 41 people died Tuesday when authorities say that ISIS attackers opened fire on crowds at Istanbul's airport and then detonated suicide vests, wreaking havoc. Dan Byman writes that Turkey's ISIS problems are bound up in its Syria policy and that the biggest danger of the attacks is that they push Turkey further toward authoritarianism and away from Europe and the United States. This piece was originally published by Slate.

Turkey’s terrorism troubles are bad and getting worse. At least 41 people died Tuesday in a terrorist attack on Istanbul’s airport. Authorities say that ISIS attackers opened fire on crowds at the airport and then detonated suicide vests, wreaking havoc. For Turks, such an attack is not a surprise: The country has seen as spate of attacks throughout the country in recent years.

ISIS has not formally taken credit for the attack as of Wednesday morning, but it has struck Turkey repeatedly and with growing frequency: ISIS has previously hit Istanbul twice in 2016, including a January suicide bomber attack on Sultanahmet Square that killed 12 in the heart of Turkey’s tourist district. In 2015, Turkey suffered its most deadly terrorist attack ever when more than 100 people were killed after bombs went off near Ankara’s railway station, targeting a rally opposing Turkey’s conflict with its own Kurdish population. In 2013, more than 50 people were killed when car bombs went off in Reyhanli near the Syrian border. Although ISIS is usually blamed for these attacks, Turkey’s Kurds, the Syrian regime, and Syria’s al-Qaida affiliate Jabhat al-Nusra have all been named as suspects. The sheer number of possibilities and the politicized finger-pointing reveals how daunting a challenge Turkey faces on the counterterrorism front.

The government of President Recep Tayyip Erdogan is trying to fight ISIS, but this is only one of its problems and, so far, not its No. 1 priority. Erdogan’s government also seeks to topple the Syrian regime of Bashar al-Assad, and manage its own and the regional Kurdish problem—tough enough tasks without having to also shore up the government’s declining legitimacy.

When the Arab Spring broke out in 2011, Turkey seemed a model for aspiring democracies in the Middle East. Here, after all, was a democratic government that embraced political Islam but did so in a seemingly moderate way, was a member of NATO, a booming economic power, and a force for stability in the region. The Middle East, however, has come to Turkey rather than the other way around. Although Turkey’s economy continues to do well, Turkey has far fewer admirers in the West and is often considered part of the problem, even drawing public criticism from President Obama. For many Turks, the Istanbul attack is part of this changing landscape. Asli Aydintasbas, a Turkish analyst, described a “world turned upside down” to the New York Times: Istanbul “was a happening town, cutting edge in arts and culture. It’s the kind of place that Condé Nast would write about. Now this is a Middle Eastern country where these things happen.”

Turkey’s ISIS problems are bound up in its Syria policy.

Turkey’s ISIS problems are bound up in its Syria policy. Erdogan had cultivated Assad and then was outraged when the Syrian dictator proved to be, well, a dictator. Instead of making reforms to placate protesters, as Erdogan had urged, Assad reached out to Iran and commenced a brutal crackdown that would lead to a civil war in which more than 400,000 Syrians have died so far—most at the hands of the regime, not ISIS. Although the United States prioritizes fighting ISIS, Turkey sees ousting Assad as more important. Ankara has armed and trained opposition fighters and hosted Syrian dissidents. Turkey has backed more radical groups like Ahrar al-Sham, which works with the Islamic State’s affiliate Jabhat al-Nusra.

The country’s policy toward ISIS should be seen in this context: Anyone opposing Assad seemed to be on the right side. Although ISIS relies heavily on foreign volunteers for manpower, Turkey dragged its feet and allowed volunteers to transit Turkey unimpeded so as to make their way to fight Assad. European governments reacted with growing concern and anger, fearing that these volunteers would come back and conduct terrorist attacks on the West. In the last year, Turkey has become far tougher on foreign fighters, but it is difficult to uproot the now-extensive radical infrastructure.

ISIS attacks on Turkey have grown in response to this crackdown. In addition to public attacks, ISIS has shot and beheaded activists linked to “Raqqa Is Being Silently Slaughtered,” a non-government organization providing information and video footage of the brutal life in ISIS-controlled areas.

Such acts and Western pressure have also led to more Turkish military involvement, and this too probably led to an escalation of ISIS attacks. Turkey used tanks and artillery to strike ISIS after the January bombing in Istanbul’s Sultanahmet Square and has shelled ISIS positions in response to ISIS cross-border shelling. Perhaps more importantly, Turkey allows the United States and other coalition countries to base aircraft out of the Incirlik and Diyabakir air bases in southern Turkey for strikes on ISIS.

Making things even more complex, Turkey’s own Kurdish problem put it at odds with Washington in the fight against ISIS. From Ankara’s point of view, there are good Kurds and bad Kurds. The good ones include Iraq’s main Kurdish organizations which have good relations and economic ties with Turkey.

On the other hand, the Erdogan government sees the Kurdish Workers Party (PKK) as an enemy. The group claims to represent the aspiration of Turkey’s own Kurds, which make up perhaps 20 percent of the population, and past regimes had fought civil wars with the group, leading to 40,000 deaths since the conflict began in 1984. In 1999, the PKK’s leader was captured and the conflict declined in ferocity. Peace seemed at hand as negotiations commenced secretly in 2009, and at the end of 2012 Erdogan publicly embraced the talks. The ceasefire broke down in 2015, however, when Turkey bombed the PKK’s bases in Iraq, and Kurdish violence and terrorism in Turkey returned: Many observers believe Erdogan renewed operations because his electoral fortunes were waning and he sought to stir up nationalist sentiment.

With this dynamic in mind, Syria’s small Kurdish group the Democratic Union Party (PYD) has come to play an important role for Turkish policy, ISIS, and Syria. Although the group has historically been minor, its ties to the PKK made Turkey see it as an enemy. This mattered little until central government authority in Syria’s Kurdish areas collapsed. The PYD and other Kurdish groups carved out their own autonomous areas, leading to Turkish fears that the PYD would inspire Turkey’s Kurds to seek independence and would provide the PKK a base for attacks.

Washington took a different view: As U.S. military training programs against ISIS proved ineffective, the PYD also emerged as a valuable military ally, perhaps the most effective foe of ISIS within Syria. Even as the United States works with Syria’s Kurds, Turkey has embargoed Kurdish areas in Syria (at a time when humanitarian conditions are desperate) and even threatened to intervene if the Syrian Kurds expand their territory near the Turkish border too much. And to make this more complex, the PYD itself doesn’t work well with other anti-Assad groups, which oppose Kurdish autonomy and are angered by the PYD’s willingness to ignore Assad, making it difficult to square with broader U.S. goals in Syria.

All this would be easier for Turkey if the Erdogan government had broad support at home and abroad, but it doesn’t. Recent years have seen massive anti-government protests with the Turkish government responding by stepping up repression. Erdogan changed jobs from prime minister to the more ceremonial role of president, but he remains the power behind—or even in front of —the throne. Turkey has used anti-terrorism as an excuse to crack down on legitimate political dissent at home, straining ties with Europe and the United States. The government is increasingly authoritarian, with crackdowns on press freedom being particularly acute. (And whatever you do, don’t compare Erdogan to Gollum.) The good news is that Turkey is trying to break out of its growing isolation; the bad news is that it is doing so by mending fences with another authoritarian strongman, Russian President Vladimir Putin.

[T]he biggest danger of the ISIS attacks is that they push Turkey further toward authoritarianism and away from Europe and the United States.

In addition to the horrific loss of lives, the biggest danger of the ISIS attacks is that they push Turkey further toward authoritarianism and away from Europe and the United States. Dictators throughout the Middle East use legitimate security and terrorism dangers to justify delaying reforms, repressing any form of opposition, and labeling all foes as terrorists. The Turkish model, unfortunately, is a Middle Eastern one now.

In his wide-ranging interview with The New York Times, Republican presidential nominee Donald J. Trump stressed the importance of fighting ISIS while declaring “we are going to take care of this country first before we worry about everybody else in the world.” For counterterrorism (and I would argue for security in general), such thinking is dangerously wrong-headed: Fighting ISIS and stopping other foreign terrorist threats to the U.S. homeland requires close alliances and deep engagement abroad.

Allies may also have better access to a terrorist stronghold due to geography or historic ties. Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and Jordan are within easy bombing range of ISIS’ core: the U.S. homeland is not. Although military action against ISIS’ core in Iraq and Syria is vital, it is often quiet global intelligence cooperation that does much of the day-to-day counterterrorism lifting. Given the geographic span of ISIS operations, it is not realistic for the United States to have strong unilateral capabilities in every possible country where the terrorists might operate and use as a base for anti-U.S. operations. Foreign governments fill this gap, acting as a force multiplier for the United States. Shortly after 9/11, the United States was working with over 100 countries on counterterrorism; several years into the war on terror a senior CIA official testified that virtually every capture or killing of a suspected terrorist outside Iraq involved at least some help from a foreign intelligence service. 

Many allies have skilled intelligence services, and they also use their police and their domestic intelligence services to gather information. These services of course know local languages and are culturally aware. They can also take advantage of the law in their efforts to disrupt terrorism: Terrorism, after all, is a crime. Allies, particularly less savory ones, use a government’s coercive power as well. Although people automatically think torture, governments at times threaten to jail a relative of a suspected terrorist or withhold a business permit or the right to attend university. These seemingly mundane threats are something that the United States cannot do outside its own borders. 

Many of the most basic homeland security tasks do not begin or end with the homeland.

Given these advantages, the primary role of U.S. intelligence is to cajole and strengthen allies, not replace them. The United States might provide technical assistance, as many U.S. allies are far weaker in this area. In addition, U.S. intelligence often acts as a conductor of global liaison services. In 2010, al-Qaida of the Arabian Peninsula tried to bomb two cargo planes as they approached the United States. Efforts to disrupt the plot involved not only the United States and Yemen, but also the countries in transit, including Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, Germany, and the United Kingdom. And Saudi Arabia provided a key intelligence tip. 

Many of the most basic homeland security tasks do not begin or end with the homeland. Foreign governments provide information on terrorist suspects, and there is considerable cooperation on those who might travel to the United States. Much of the screening to hinder terrorist travel and operations is done “over there,” not in the United States.

Our world is too small, and terrorists too global, to think of U.S. security narrowly. If we want to fight ISIS and other foes, we need allies. That doesn’t mean we should do whatever our allies want or support them unconditionally. But we must recognize that if we expect them to help America fight its enemies, we must stand by them as well.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

Fragile states present one of the greatest challenges to global development and poverty reduction. Despite much new learning that has emerged from within the development community in recent years, understanding of how to address fragility remains modest. There is growing recognition that donor engagement in fragile states must look beyond the confines of the traditional aid effectiveness agenda if it is to achieve its intended objectives, which include statebuilding, meeting the needs of citizens, and managing risk more effectively. Current approaches are constrained by relying heavily on small-scale interventions, are weakened by poor coordination and volatility, and struggle to promote an appropriate role for the recipient state.

Scaling up (i.e., the expansion, replication, adaption and sustaining of successful policies and programs in space and over time to reach a greater number of people) is highly relevant to fragile settings, both as an objective and as a strategic approach to development. As an objective, it reinforces the logic that the scale of the challenges in fragile states demands interventions that are commensurate in purpose and equal to the task. As a strategy, it encourages donors to identify and leverage successes, and to integrate institutional development more explicitly into projects and programs. In addition, scaling up can assist donors in addressing the priority areas of improved project design and implementation, sustainability and effective risk management.

Successful scaling up in fragile states almost certainly occurs less often than is possible and does not always involve a systematic approach. Donors should therefore look to more systematically pursue scaling up in fragile states and evaluate their performance with specific reference to this objective. This can be done by incorporating relevant elements of a scaling up framework into operational policies, from strategy development through to program design and monitoring.

Contrary to expectations, there are compelling examples of successful scaling up in fragile states. While the conditions prevailing in fragile states create serious obstacles in terms of “drivers” (the forces that push the scaling up process forward) and “spaces” (the opportunities that need to be created, or potential obstacles that need to be removed for interventions to grow), and in terms of the operational modalities of donors, these can be overcome through the careful design and delivery of programs with a clear focus on creating scaling up pathways, and through close partnership and sustained engagement of governments, communities and foreign partners.

Case study evidence suggests that the pathways taken to reach scale in fragile states demand different approaches by donors. Donors need to adopt greater selectivity in determining which areas or sectors for scaling up are justified—a strategy that has also assisted some donors in managing risk. More investment and time are required in upfront analysis and building the evidence for successful scaling up pathways. In some cases, donors require longer time horizons to achieve scale, although demand from government or beneficiaries has sometimes forced donors to move immediately to scale, allowing little or no time for piloting. Regardless of the pace of scaling up, donors that were most successful were engaged early and then remained engaged, often far beyond the replication phase of scaling up, to increase the likelihood of interventions being sustained. Other common characteristics of successful scaling up were simple project design and a focus on the institutional aspects of the scaling up pathway.

Case studies also point to the crucial role of drivers in moving the scaling up process forward in fragile states. Proven ideas and practical models have often been picked up in fragile states, contrary to the expectation that actors may be less responsive to recognizing and acting on the utility of promising results. Leaders undoubtedly have a role to play in supporting scaling up, although there are clear dangers that must be avoided, including avoiding the perception that donors are picking (political) winners by nominating leaders, and tying the survival of projects too closely to the fortunes of a leader’s political career. Incentives were found to be one of the most important drivers in fragile states, and there is a good case to be made for donors introducing new inducements, greater transparency or similar reforms to strengthen the role incentives play. Finally, and in contrast to the standard scaling up framework, community demand was found to be an important driver in many fragile states, both in demanding the expansion of small-scale projects and by facilitating the community’s own resources to support the scaling up process.

The greatest challenge to scaling up in fragile states is the limited spaces these environments provide. This is especially the case in respect to those spaces which concern aspects of governance: political, institutional and policy spaces. When working in fragile states, donors must recognize that spaces for scaling up are almost always more constrained, but look for ways to expand upon them. Some of the most successful examples of scaling up used creative approaches to build space quickly or used existing capacity to the fullest possible extent. Also relevant are the lessons of robust analysis, greater realism and cost control. The case studies confirm the importance of two additional spaces in fragile states. For example, security space often imposed horizontal obstacles to scaling up which could not realistically be overcome while ownership space served as a good indication of the perceived legitimacy of the scaling up process and the likelihood that interventions would be sustained longer term.

Case studies also affirm the importance of emphasizing robust project design and implementation, and the close linkages between the scaling up agenda and the role of risk management and sustainability in fragile states. While sustainability presented a significant problem for many of the projects and programs reviewed, a more focused approach around scaling up may assist donors in addressing sustainability concerns. This would entail adopting a longer-term perspective beyond the immediate confines of any individual project, looking for available drivers and supportive spaces, and focusing on effective implementation and consistent monitoring and evaluation (M&E). Any intervention introduced on a small scale that scores well in sustainability serves as a possible candidate for scaling up.

Similarly, many of the methods used by donors for managing risk—an emphasis on analysis, scenario planning, realism and making use of specialized aid instruments—are equally relevant for supporting scaling up in fragile countries. A persuasive argument can be made that the adoption of a more explicit scaling up approach by donors can form part of a risk management strategy in fragile states. Scaling up can enable donors to more ambitiously tackle development risks without allowing institutional and project risks to grow unchecked. Ultimately, a donor approach that combines good risk management and scaling up requires strong leadership and well-aligned incentives.

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