This book compares sub-Saharan Africa and the former Soviet Union, two regions beset by the breakdown of states suffering from extreme official corruption, organized crime extending into warlordism, and the disintegration of economic institutions and public institutions for human services. The contributors not only study state breakdown but also compare the consequences of post-communism with those of post-colonialism.

This chapter looks at the processes of state formation in postcolonial Africa and the former Soviet Union and asks whether those processes make African and Eurasian states especially vulnerable to civil war. In particular, we ask whether the experience of Africa's postcolonial states suggests a similar historical trajectory for the new states that emerged in Eurasia at the beginning of the 1990s. We argue that, despite important differences between the two historical experiences, conditions surrounding state formation in Africa and post-Soviet Eurasia have inhibited the formation of stable and legitimate states and have made war more likely.

The chapter beings by outlining three broad explanatory factors that scholars have used in trying to explain civil wars since 1945: ethnicity, nationalism, and globalization. We argue that these explanations neglect what Klaus Gantzel referred to as "the historicity of war," by which he means "the structural dynamics which condition the emergence and behaviour of actors" in any given period (Gantzel 1997, 139). We then suggest that a focus on state formation is helpful in providing the historical context for understanding civil wars. After surveying the experience of state-building in postcolonial Africa and in Eurasia, we conclude with comparisons and contrasts between the regions.

Why do some peace agreements successfully end civil wars, while others fail? What strategies are most effective in ensuring that warring parties comply with their treaty commitments? Of the various tasks involved in implementing peace agreements, which are the most important? These and related questions--life and death issues for millions of people today--are the subject of Ending Civil Wars.

Based on a study of every intrastate war settlement between 1980 and 1998 in which international actors played a key role, Ending Civil Wars is the most comprehensive, systematic study to date of the implementation of peace agreements--of what happens after the treaties are signed. Covering both broad strategies and specific tasks and presenting a wealth of rich case material, the authors find that failure most often is related not only to the inherent difficulty of a particular case, but also to the major powers' perception that they have no vital security interest in ending a civil war.

As Mozambique enters its tenth year of peace following a brutal and destructive civil war, the signs of continued democratic transformation and pro-market economic reform appear rosy, at least at first glance. Donors and the international community have quietly lauded Joaquim Chissano's recent announcement that he is "not disposed" to seek a third term as president of this former Portuguese colony of 17 million on the southeast coast of Africa. Together with President Frederick Chiluba's similar announcement in Zambia a few months ago, it looks to many like an indication that these two African democracies are maturing and consolidating the gains that they have made in recent years.

Mozambique's continued place atop the list of the world's fastest-growing economies has been seen as another signal that commitment to the "Washington Consensus" will provide the funds required to bring infrastructure, schools, and health care to the rural majority. It is no wonder, then, that Mozambique finds itself highlighted as a success story for the United Nations in conflict-ridden Africa. Many credit Mozambique's remarkable transformation to the UN's efforts to sustain the drawn-out peace negotiations, demobilize more than 90,000 soldiers, rebuild a unified national army, and foster the rise of a legitimate, peaceful opposition. Donor investments continue to support Mozambique today, funding more than half of the government's annual budget.

On the ground in Mozambique, however, the continuation of this upward trajectory looks anything but guaranteed. The newspapers hint at trouble just beneath the surface: two major bank failures, the assassination of the country's most respected independent journalist, the continued depreciation of the currency, and stop-and-start talks between the Frente de Libertação de Moçambique (or Frelimo, as the ruling party is usually called) and its main political rival, the Resist^encia Nacional Moçambicana (Renamo), about how to share power at the local level. In November 2000, when police in the city of Montepuez killed demonstrators challenging the government's claim to have won that year's national elections, tensions nearly exploded into large-scale violence. ¹

The UN's work in Mozambique was unprecedented in scope, and the results have been dramatic. Two consecutive free elections and growth rates approaching 10 percent a year over the past decade cannot be ignored. Some might argue that the items of bad news cited above are merely "bumps on the road" toward lasting peace, as Mozambicans of all stripes learn to resolve problems through dialogue and democratic competition. But a deeper look at Mozambique's political and economic situation suggests a bleaker interpretation.

The truth is that a number of deep cleavages threaten the future of Mozambique's democratic transition. What are these fundamental divisions? And more importantly, how can the political system be reformed in order to prevent them from worsening or even erupting into renewed civil war? A search for answers should begin with some basic background on Mozambique and its troubled recent history.

President Bush signed the Patriot Act last week. The new anti-terrorism law has its critics. Some object to the law's intrusions on civil liberties. They cite the provisions for extended detention, new powers to spy on Americans, a lack of controls on use of information, a greater ability to freeze and seize assets and an overly broad definition of domestic terrorism.

Others express concern about the process. The Patriot Act represents the most radical change in police powers in decades, and codifies counterterrorist measures previously rejected by Congress as too intrusive.

Still, there were few hearings and little debate. Many representatives didn't have an opportunity to read the House version before the vote.

In the Senate, the bill bypassed Judiciary Committee markup and went straight behind closed doors. Presented with a thumbs-up or thumbs-down option,

and with little opportunity to amend the bill, few lawmakers were willing to risk being seen as "soft on terrorism."

There is another issue, however, and it has received little attention. It is the issue of effectiveness. Will these new police powers help to stop terrorism? The obvious and intuitive answer would seem to be yes.

If the police have more power to collect information, they should be able to catch more terrorists. That sounds logical, but once you scratch the surface of that argument the problems become obvious.

The Patriot Act's key provisions focus primarily on data collection. The underlying assumption is that the real problem here is a lack of information. The history of intelligence failures suggests, however, that often the problem is not a lack of data, but rather making sense of the data you already have. Sometimes it's the case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand has. After the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center, the FBI discovered that it already had copies of maps and detailed plans of the attack before it happened.

Other times, it reflects the difficulty of weighing conflicting pieces of information or of applying existing information to new contexts. These tasks require human interpretation and judgment. September 11 was not the first suicide attack against the United States. The 1983 bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut, Lebanon, the 1998 embassy bombings in Nairobi, Kenya, and Dar-es-Salaam, Tanzania, and the attack on the destroyer Cole in Yemen all involved suicide bombers. Imagining that suicide bombers might strike the United States did not require new information. It required a more imaginative use of the information already in hand.

So what about the September 11 attacks? Was it a lack of information,faulty data analysis, organizational dysfunction, or some combination of all three? The simple answer is that we don't know. No official investigations have been completed. Congress, not wanting to look like it was pointing fingers at a time of national crisis, decided to hold off on any inquiries. In time, we will know what happened. Once the witnesses are deposed and the records subpoenaed, the American public should have a clearer idea of what went wrong in the weeks and months leading up to September 11.

The irony, of course, is that we will find out what needs fixing after having already passed an anti-terrorism law. In theory, the government could go back and repeal the legislation and replace it with something else. History suggests, however, that passing anti-terrorism laws is much easier than repealing them. What lawmaker will vote for a repeal, and risk that a repeal is followed by a terrorist act? Will police or intelligence bureaucracies want to give up expanded powers? The record is clear. In country after country, temporary measures intended to combat terrorism have became near permanent powers of the state.

Compelled by events, the president and Congress have moved swiftly to redress the failures of September 11 -- perhaps too swiftly. We now have a law that is intended to solve problems we have yet to identify. The Patriot Act may improve our ability to fight terrorism. On the other hand, it may have no effect whatsoever. It could even make things worse. Like the patient who chooses a medicine before knowing his illness, the government has passed a law without knowing what needs a remedy. It is a major gamble, and for the country -- as for the patient -- the effects may be severe and long lasting.

The war in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), which began in August 1998, is unprecedented-at times involving armies from eight African states. Soldiers from Chad are fighting alongside regiments from Namibia, Angola, and Zimbabwe in defense of President Laurent Kabila. And on offense, the two main rebel groups, the Congolese Assembly for Democracy (which is known by the acronym RCD) and the Movement for the Liberation of Congo (MLC), are backed by troops from Uganda and Rwanda. As Susan E. Rice, assistant secretary of state for African affairs, warned the House International Relations Committee in September 1998, "The fighting threatens regional stability, hampers economic progress, endangers the lives of millions of people, perpetuates human rights abuses, and impedes the democratic transformation of Africa's third-largest country." This war, Rice said, is potentially "among the most dangerous conflicts on the globe."

Yet, the war in Congo goes on almost unnoticed outside of Africa. While African heads of state spent much of the last year shuttling across the continent, wrestling with the crisis and searching for a peaceful solution, Congo has been largely missing from the agendas of the Western powers and multilateral organizations. Only in January, when the U.S. representative to the United Nations, Richard Holbrooke, taking advantage of his tenure as Security Council president to draw attention to Africa, did the war enter Western consciousness.

The conflict in the DRC is the first interstate war in sub-Saharan Africa since Uganda invaded Tanzania in 1978, and only the third since 1960. Although Africa is seen as a hotbed of violence and warfare, most conflicts have been intrastate in nature. Norms of sovereignty reinforced by clauses in the charter of the Organization of African Unity (OAU) and the constitutions of the various subregional organizations have effectively prevented cross-border conflict from the time of independence until now. The Ugandan and Rwandan-led invasion of Congo, as well as the presence there of the Southern African Development Community (SADC) intervention force, therefore represents a watershed in the recent history of African conflict. It appears that the forces preventing cross-border conflict since 1960 have become seriously weakened.

What are the implications of the rise of interstate war in Africa for peace and security on the continent? Why have Western powers been so reluctant to take an active role in resolving Africa's first "world war"? And what impact will the changing nature of warfare in Africa have on U.S. policy and the role of the United Nations there?