tag:theconversation.com,2011:/africa/topics/military-regime-23533/articlesMilitary regime – The Conversation2017-08-17T01:24:39Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/823602017-08-17T01:24:39Z2017-08-17T01:24:39ZHow much longer will Maduro’s grip on power last? Look to the military<p>If the Venezuelan military withdraws support for President Nicholás Maduro, his end may be near. </p>
<p>A large middle class has been thrust into poverty in Venezuela. Food and medicine are in short supply, and <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/global-opinions/wp/2017/06/01/venezuelas-hunger-crisis-is-for-real/">malnourishment</a> is widespread. Security forces have violently beaten back opposition protesters and jailed <a href="http://www.latimes.com/world/la-fg-venezuela-constitutional-assembly-20170731-story.html">leading opposition figures</a>. </p>
<p>Reigning over this disaster is Maduro, who was narrowly elected in March of 2013 following the death of leftist leader Hugo Chávez. Amid the stunning decline, many are asking, what will the military do? </p>
<p>My <a href="http://www.jstor.org/stable/25741373?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents">research</a> on civil-military relations in Latin America and other regions finds that a military’s loyalty to a regime can waver when it is confronted with mass protests. If the military grants loyalty to a leader, it comes at a price. But if the armed forces withdraw their support by remaining in their barracks and refusing to silence the protests, the leader’s days are numbered. </p>
<h2>Confronting the protesters</h2>
<p>In Latin America, the former Soviet Republics and the Middle East, I have found that as the numbers of protesters swell, police often retreat because they are not equipped to contain mass demonstrations. At that point, when the armed forces choose to stay in their <a href="http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/0010414012450566">barracks</a> rather than head to the streets to enforce order, political leaders quickly fall from power. This was true in every case. </p>
<p>For example, this occurred in <a href="http://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/25741373.pdf?refreqid=excelsior%3Acbe07b56640aaca743c5881c43e58ed5">Argentina</a> in December 2001 when President Fernando de la Rúa presided over a financial collapse of epic proportions. Citizens could no longer withdraw money from their own checking and savings accounts, resulting in widespread rioting and looting. When the president asked his military to intervene to restore order, they refused. Immediately thereafter, De la Rúa was forced to flee for his life by helicopter from the rooftop of the presidential palace, as throngs of angry protesters descended.</p>
<p>Similar scenarios unfolded during the revolutionary uprisings in <a href="http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/0010414012450566">Georgia (2003) and Ukraine (2004)</a>, and more recently in Tunisia (2010) and Egypt (2011) during the <a href="http://www.upenn.edu/pennpress/book/15554.html">Arab Spring</a>. After the military in each of those countries made it known it would not silence the protesters, presidents were forced to step down. </p>
<p>In <a href="https://www.uncpress.org/book/9780807856505/crafting-civilian-control-of-the-military-in-venezuela/">Venezuela</a> itself in 2002, President Hugo Chávez was momentarily thrown out of power after he had ordered the military to violently subdue a mass demonstration. Soldiers refused to obey. Instead, many participated in the coup plot to unseat him.</p>
<p>President Maduro certainly recalls that event vividly, which may explain why he has not pressed soldiers to crack down on demonstrators. But what if things really begin to unravel for him? Will he try to play his final card, begging his generals to intervene to restore political order and save his regime?</p>
<h2>Motivations for military loyalty</h2>
<p>So far, the Venezuelan armed forces have remained dedicated to the Maduro government and the cause of “Chavismo,” a left-wing blend of socialism, populism and nationalism. A military that has stayed this loyal for this long to a hugely unpopular leader is motivated by power, perks and principles. Indeed, many militaries are.</p>
<p>Maduro, like Chavez, has invited the armed forces to occupy some of the highest political offices in state and federal government. According to
<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/08/world/americas/nicolas-maduro-venezuela-military.html?rref=collection%2Ftimestopic%2FVenezuela&action=click&contentCollection=world&region=stream&module=stream_unit&version=latest&contentPlacement=8&pgtype=collection">The New York Times</a>, 11 of 23 state governors are military men, and one-third of the national ministries are run by uniformed officers. Officers have gotten a real taste of political power, and they seemingly like it.</p>
<p>The monetary perks of working in Venezuela’s military are significant. Military personnel have been rewarded with salary <a href="http://www.eltiempo.com/archivo/documento/CMS-14767696">increases</a> in recent years that have exceeded rates of inflation, while other public sector employees have seen wages stagnate. Armed forces have also enriched themselves through control over lucrative <a href="http://www.insightcrime.org/news-analysis/evolution-militarization-venezuela-drug-trade-report">drug trafficking</a> networks. </p>
<p>They have also been put in charge of the production and distribution of a very scarce commodity these days – <a href="http://www.insightcrime.org/news-briefs/venezuela-s-cartel-of-the-flour">food</a> – which has predictably given rise to black markets and smuggling operations that have lined military pockets.</p>
<p>Finally, both Chávez and Maduro promoted soldiers who professed utmost dedication to their <a href="http://gordoninstitute.fiu.edu/policy-innovation/military-culture-series/brian-fonseca-john-polga-hecimovich-and-harold-trinkunas-2016-venezuelan-military-culture.pdf">ideological cause</a>, while purging the less committed from the ranks. The regime has used military academies to indoctrinate its soldiers with its brand of socialist anti-imperialism. Officers are expected to be members of the official party, while adopting the motto, “fatherland, socialism or death.” Maduro has torn a page right out of the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/11/world/americas/11venezuela.html">Cuban</a> socialist playbook to assure military fidelity.</p>
<p>But soldiers are also guided by professional norms regarding the <a href="http://www.palgrave.com/us/book/9781137592699">missions they are assigned</a>. The people of the military prefer not to take missions that are, in their mind, professionally degrading. For example, police work – including crowd control – is a mission soldiers commonly resent doing because it is not what they were <a href="http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/0095327X09335945">professionally</a> trained to do.</p>
<p>For now, Maduro can count himself fortunate that when it comes to doing the dirty work of violently repressing the demonstrators, he can turn to another force: <a href="https://www.uncpress.org/book/9780807856505/crafting-civilian-control-of-the-military-in-venezuela/">Venezuela’s National Guard</a>. The National Guard has taken on the burden of internal security along with the national police, allowing the regular army to focus on external defense.</p>
<p>But what might occur if the National Guard itself says enough?</p>
<h2>The military’s options</h2>
<p>The military will have to weigh its options, in light of two important possibilities.</p>
<p>If the military participated in violent repression, it would place them in a vulnerable position, should the president eventually fall. A new government would likely come to power, launch human rights inquests and trials against perpetrators, putting many officers’ careers in jeopardy.</p>
<p>In a second possible scenario, the Maduro government endures but the military is divided by conflict within its ranks. Many mid- to lower-ranking officers in Venezuela are not only less ideologically committed, but are <a href="http://www.miamiherald.com/news/nation-world/world/americas/venezuela/article167335697.html">less economically privileged</a>. They can more readily empathize with the plight of millions of ordinary Venezuelans. It is from these ranks that recent military <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/08/world/americas/nicolas-maduro-venezuela-military.html">rebel groups</a> have emerged.</p>
<p>Should these rebellious elements grow, they may come to blows with loyalists, placing in peril the <a href="http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/0010414008328640">cohesion</a> of the military. At that point, military leaders may very well decide that reunification of their institution is more important than regime loyalty. They may help drive the last nail into the coffin of a much reviled regime by tossing Maduro out themselves. Then, if they are wise, the generals could call for new elections, and swiftly return to the barracks.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/82360/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>David Pion-Berlin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The loyalty of Venezuela’s soldiers is getting shaky. History shows from the Arab Spring to Latin American coups, when the military withdraws support for a leader, a fall from power is imminent.David Pion-Berlin, Professor of Political Science, University of California, RiversideLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/628022016-07-29T05:56:11Z2016-07-29T05:56:11ZAfrican philosophy of education: a powerful arrow in universities’ bow<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/131997/original/image-20160726-7023-154qoze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">An African philosophy of education offers new ways of thinking about the continent.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>To understand what an <a href="http://www.sun.ac.za/english/Lists/news/DispForm.aspx?ID=3016">African philosophy of education</a> is and why it’s so important, consider the role that universities should play in any society. </p>
<p>Universities, no matter where they are, ought to be places where knowledge is internalised, questioned and considered. Such knowledge should respond to a university’s particular social, political and economic context. The pursuit of such knowledge happens in a quest for human development. What would a university be if its only purpose was to produce knowledge without considering its effects on a society and its people? </p>
<p>But it’s perhaps precisely this disjuncture – between what universities purport to do and what happens in society – that starts to explain why knowledge in Africa has become so misplaced. This has happened in several Arab and Muslim states, where some universities have seemingly become reluctant to encourage critical learning. Knowledge produced in such universities does not attend to public concerns, whether these are political, economic, social or cultural. </p>
<p>African knowledge can’t just be considered for some academic purpose. It must also keep in mind why and how such knowledge ought to affect society. This is why an African philosophy of education can be such a powerful tool for the continent’s post-colonial universities as they work to become producers of knowledge that has a public concern. This is particularly important for African universities. The continent’s citizens have to be initiated into ways of being and living that emphasise human cooperation, openness to debate and discussion, and responsibility towards one another. </p>
<p>Many of the continent’s political dictatorships could be avoided if citizens were encouraged to question and disagree. </p>
<h2>Search for meanings</h2>
<p>Simply put, an African philosophy of education is a way of asking questions about education in Africa. It allows education students to search for meanings that relate to their chosen field.</p>
<p>An African philosophy of education offers a discourse to address the continent’s many problems. These include famine, hunger, poverty, abuse, violence and exclusion of the other. One of Africa’s most common and major dilemmas offers a useful way to illustrate the approach I’m describing: the prevalence of <a href="http://mgafrica.com/article/2014-10-20-what-the-concept-of-democracy-means-in-africa">military dictatorships</a>. A student of African philosophy of education would ask how military rule affects education. How might education, in turn, address the restrictions of a military challenge?</p>
<p>When the military is in charge, a country’s institutions of learning are expected to toe the line. Coercion and control are the order of the day. There is no room for dissent and democratic engagement. How, if at all, should an African university respond to a society that is under military rule? When students are taught to deliberate – to talk back to others and to listen to them – they would be serious practitioners of an African philosophy of education. Such students would not only willingly engage with others and their differences, but also be prepared to listen to dissenting views. </p>
<p>But adopting an African philosophy of education isn’t about just analysing the continent’s problems. Instead a student will go on to envisage how these problems could be resolved by considering education as one possible medium. Then they’ll need to examine what both the problem and its solving might imply for education.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Professor Yusef Waghid explains what an African philosophical approach to education entails.</span></figcaption>
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<h2>Theory vs practice</h2>
<p>As elsewhere, the idea of doing or practising an African philosophy of education is connected to bridging the pseudo-dichotomy between theory and practice. Some may claim that African philosophy is merely an act of theorising. They are wrong. It’s actually embedded with an energy and drive to change undesirable situations and conditions. </p>
<p>In any case, there is no separation between theory and practice. One cannot delink thinking from acting upon happenings in society. Any good theory on education should affect educational practices positively. What constitutes a positive theory of education? To my mind, the answer lies with practices that take shape through autonomous thinking, engagement and freedom made visible through deliberation. In this manner, theory and practice are intertwined.</p>
<p>An African philosophy of education also allows inquirers to look at how educational practices – teaching, learning, managing and governing universities on the continent – can be made to feel real. </p>
<p>Sadly, it’s rare for many of today’s universities in Africa to teach any philosophy of education. Philosophy of education is wrongly perceived as being some abstract exercise of the mind that’s not connected to real-life issues. Africa’s institutions of higher learning should seek to change this. </p>
<p>Any university that wants to advance its status as a knowledge producer ought to be responsive to knowledge claims. It’s here that the idea of an African philosophy of education can become so important. It’s a crucial element for enhancing the autonomy and freedom associated with university teaching and learning.</p>
<h2>Addressing injustice</h2>
<p>The other key feature of an African philosophy of education is that it’s invariably geared towards addressing the continent’s injustices and inequalities. A university education that is guided by a concern for educational justice – an advocacy for freedom, autonomy, democratic engagement and responsiveness to the other – is one that takes African philosophy of education seriously. </p>
<p>Africa’s concerns to move beyond its subjugation to repression and exclusion will gain considerably more momentum if its people can produce analyses and responses to the legitimate concerns that confront humanity on the continent. If this is allowed to happen, African philosophy of education would have acquired significant potency in its educational quest for justice.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/62802/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Yusef Waghid does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Adopting an African philosophy of education can be a powerful tool to help the continent’s universities create real social change and justice.Yusef Waghid, Distinguished Professor of Philosophy of Education, Stellenbosch UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/524472015-12-17T06:49:26Z2015-12-17T06:49:26ZBen Anderson’s works on Indonesia challenged Suharto’s military rule<p>The study of Indonesia’s modern history owes much to the prominent scholar Ben Anderson, <a href="http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2015/12/14/indonesianist-ben-anderson-dies-79.html">who died last Thursday</a> while travelling in East Java. </p>
<p>His works on Indonesia challenged Suharto’s military regime, which finally ended in 1998 after a 32-year rule. </p>
<p>Anderson especially challenged the ruling regime’s narrative of what happened in 1965. On October 1, <a href="https://theconversation.com/how-indonesias-1965-1966-anti-communist-purge-remade-a-nation-and-the-world-48243">in a watershed moment for Indonesia</a>, six army generals were kidnapped and killed by junior officers from Sukarno’s presidential guards calling themselves The September 30th Movement or Gerakan 30 September (G30S). </p>
<p>Accusing the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) of masterminding the kidnapping, General <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suharto">Suharto</a> took over the military command, led the brutal destruction of the PKI and eventually replaced <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sukarno">Sukarno</a> as president. </p>
<p>Suharto’s rise to power changed Indonesia from a fiercely nonaligned country into a friendly Western ally and help shift the political world order toward the US.</p>
<h2>The Cornell Paper</h2>
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<span class="caption">Benedict Anderson.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Prachatai/flickr</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">CC BY-NC-ND</a></span>
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<p>In 1971, Anderson co-wrote his analysis of the 30th September Movement titled <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Preliminary-Analysis-October-Indonesia-Classic/dp/6028397520">A Preliminary Analysis of the October 1, 1965, Coup in Indonesia</a>. A year later the Indonesian government considered him <em>persona non grata</em>. He was banned from entering Indonesia until <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B._J._Habibie">Habibie</a> replaced Suharto as president and allowed Anderson to enter the country again in 1999.</p>
<p>The report, which became known as the “Cornell Paper”, had actually been circulating among Anderson’s colleagues since the beginning of 1966. The Washington Post reported the research on March 5, 1966.</p>
<p>The Cornell Paper argued that what happened on October 1, 1965, was a result of an internal rift in the army. In particular, it was triggered by conflicts between officers from the Diponegoro Army Command in Central Java. </p>
<p>The report challenged the dominant narrative of Suharto’s military regime. Not long after the generals’ deaths, the military commissioned a team of historians to produce a book titled <a href="http://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/1885095">40 Days of “G-30-S” Failure</a>. Even though the regime had yet to equate the G30S with the PKI, the book mentioned the organisation as the mastermind.</p>
<p>The circulation of Anderson’s Cornell Paper in 1966 <a href="https://books.google.com/books/about/History_in_Uniform.html?id=dVxi2oXZqjkC">agitated the Indonesian military</a>. <a href="http://www.rand.org/pubs/authors/p/pauker_guy_j.html">Guy Pauker</a> from the American think-tank Rand Corporation, who was close to the CIA, invited Major General Soewarto to the US and told the Commander of Seskoad (the Indonesian Army Command and General Staff College) about the existence of the research. </p>
<p>Soewarto sent military historians Nugroho Notosusanto and Ismail Saleh to the US. With Pauker, they wrote a competing report, The Coup Attempt of September Movement in Indonesia, which was published in 1968. </p>
<h2>Damning findings</h2>
<p>In the 1967, researcher <a href="https://books.google.com/books/about/Southeast_Asia.html?id=4xBP2Jsrh3QC">George Kahin</a> visited Indonesia and requested access to documents on the 30th September Movement to the Indonesian intelligence and attorney-general. Only in 1976 did Jakarta deliver several kilograms of material relating to the special military tribunal of 1965 to the Kroch Library at Cornell University. </p>
<p>When Anderson was studying the trial documents of Heru Atmojo, a lieutenant colonel whose name was mentioned as deputy commander of the 30th September Movement, he found in the appendix the autopsy reports of the officers who were killed on October 1, 1965. </p>
<p>Anderson then wrote <a href="http://cip.cornell.edu/DPubS?service=UI&version=1.0&verb=Display&handle=seap.indo/1107009317">How Did The Generals Die</a> in the journal Indonesia in April 1987. The autopsy confirmed that the eyes of the dead officers were not gouged and the genitals were not mutilated as reported by the regime. This article shook the credibility of Suharto’s regime.</p>
<h2>Looking for research gaps</h2>
<p>When Anderson returned to Indonesia in 1999 he compared his return to that of Tan Malaka, a leftist revolutionary leader who was exiled from the Dutch Indies in the 1920s and returned to Java in 1942. </p>
<p>Anderson continued to show his ingenuity in looking for gaps that other researchers hadn’t seen in the 1965 case. While in the Cornell Paper he wrote about the role of military elites, in 1999 he gave his attention to the soldiers and their worlds. </p>
<p>He carried out long interviews with <a href="http://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/3351287.pdf?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents">Mayor Sergeant Bungkus</a>, who was involved in the kidnapping of the generals.</p>
<p>Even though Bungkus was sentenced to death, he was not executed and was released after Suharto stepped down. Bungkus was from Madura, an island off East Java. Anderson traced the role and networks of people of Madura who became field officers in the 30th September Movement.</p>
<p>Bungkus’ superior was Lieutenant Dul Arif, also a Madurese, who disappeared after the generals’ deaths. Dul Arif and another Madurese and Bungkus’ senior, Djahurup, were members of the presidential guards Tjakrabirawa and believed to be close to Ali Murtopo, one of Suharto’s loyal generals. </p>
<p>This gives historians some homework to do. How significant is Murtopo’s role in 1965? Did Dul Arif and Djahurup become victims of forced disappearances? </p>
<p>The three writings by Anderson – the Cornell Paper, How Did the Generals Die and the Bungkus interviews – challenged the ruling regime. Anderson was banned from entering Indonesia for 27 years under Suharto. Because of this he did research outside Indonesia, such as in the Philippines and Thailand, and wrote books about those countries. </p>
<p>The ban from Indonesia may be a a blessing in disguise for Ben Anderson. He became more than an Indonesianist. Nevertheless, his first and last love was Indonesia and, at 79, he took his last breath in this country.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/52447/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Asvi Warman Adam does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The works of Indonesianist Benedict Anderson, who died last Thursday, challenged Suharto’s military regime from the beginning.Asvi Warman Adam, Researcher, Centre for Political Studies, Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI)Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.