(New Security Challenges Series) Sebastian Mayer (Eds.) - NATO - S Post-Cold War Politics - The Changing Provision of Security-Palgrave Macmillan UK (2014)

New Security Challenges Series
General Editor: Stuart Croft, Professor of International Security in the Department of Politics and Inter-
national Studies at the University of Warwick, UK, and Director of the ESRC’s New Security Challenges
Programme.
The last decade demonstrated that threats to security vary greatly in their causes and manifestations, and
that they invite interest and demand responses from the social sciences, civil society, and a very broad pol-
icy community. In the past, the avoidance of war was the primary objective, but with the end of the Cold
War the retention of military defence as the centrepiece of international security agenda became untenable.
There has been, therefore, a significant shift in emphasis away from traditional approaches to security to
a new agenda that talks of the softer side of security, in terms of human security, economic security, and
environmental security. The topical New Security Challenges series reflects this pressing political and research
agenda.
Titles include:
Abdul Haqq Baker

EXTREMISTS IN OUR MIDST
Confronting Terror
Robin Cameron
SUBJECTS OF SECURITY
Domestic Effects of Foreign Policy in the War on Terror
Sharyl Cross, Savo Kentera, R. Craig Nation, and Radovan Vukadinovic (editors)
SHAPING SOUTH EAST EUROPE’S SECURITY COMMUNITY FOR THE TWENTY-FIRST
CENTURY
Trust, Partnership, Integration
Tom Dyson and Theodore Konstadinides
EUROPEAN DEFENCE COOPERATION IN EU LAW AND IR THEORY
Tom Dyson
NEOCLASSICAL REALISM AND DEFENCE REFORM IN POST-COLD WAR EUROPE
Håkan Edström, Janne Haaland Matláry, and Magnus Petersson (editors)
NATO: THE POWER OF PARTNERSHIPS
Håkan Edström and Dennis Gyllensporre
POLITICAL ASPIRATIONS AND PERILS OF SECURITY
Unpacking the Military Strategy of the United Nations
Hakan Edström and Dennis Gyllensporre (editors)
PURSUING STRATEGY
NATO Operations from the Gulf War to Gaddafi
Adrian Gallagher
GENOCIDE AND ITS THREAT TO CONTEMPORARY INTERNATIONAL ORDER
Kevin Gillan, Jenny Pickerill, and Frank Webster
ANTI-WAR ACTIVISM
New Media and Protest in the Information Age
James Gow and Ivan Zverzhanovski
SECURITY, DEMOCRACY AND WAR CRIMES
Security Sector Transformation in Serbia
Toni Haastrup
CHARTING TRANSFORMATION THROUGH SECURITY
Contemporary EU-Africa Relations
Ellen Hallams, Luca Ratti, and Ben Zyla (editors)
NATO BEYOND 9/11
The Transformation of the Atlantic Alliance
Andrew Hill
RE-IMAGINING THE WAR ON TERROR
Seeing, Waiting, Travelling
Carolin Hilpert
STRATEGICCULTURAL CHANGE AND THE CHALLENGE FOR SECURITY POLICY
Germany and the Bundeswehr’s Deployment to Afghanistan
Christopher Hobbs, Matthew Moran, and Daniel Salisbury (editors)
OPEN SOURCE INTELLIGENCE IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY
New Approaches and Opportunities
Andrew Hoskins and Ben O’Loughlin
TELEVISION AND TERROR
Conflicting Times and the Crisis of News Discourse
Paul Jackson and Peter Albrecht
RECONSTRUCTION SECURITY AFTER CONFLICT
Security Sector Reform in Sierra Leone
Bryan Mabee
THE GLOBALIZATION OF SECURITY
State Power, Security Provision and Legitimacy
Janne Haaland Matláry
EUROPEAN UNION SECURITY DYNAMICS
In the New National Interest
Sebastian Mayer (editor)
NATO’s POST-COLD WAR POLITICS
The Changing Provision of Security
Kevork Oskanian
FEAR, WEAKNESS AND POWER IN THE POST-SOVIET SOUTH CAUCASUS
A Theoretical and Empirical Analysis
Michael Pugh, Neil Cooper, and Mandy Turner (editors)
WHOSE PEACE? CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES ON THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF
PEACEBUILDING
Brian Rappert and Chandré Gould (editors)
BIOSECURITY
Origins, Transformations and Practices
Nathan Roger
IMAGE WARFARE IN THE WAR ON TERROR
Aglaya Snetkov and Stephen Aris
THE REGIONAL DIMENSIONS TO SECURITY
Other Sides of Afghanistan
Ali Tekin and Paul Andrew Williams
GEO-POLITICS OF THE EURO-ASIA ENERGY NEXUS
The European Union, Russia and Turkey
Lisa Watanabe
SECURING EUROPE
Mark Webber, James Sperling, and Martin A. Smith
NATO’s POST-COLD WAR TRAJECTORY
Decline or Regeneration?
New Security Challenges Series

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Customer Services Department, Macmillan Distribution Ltd, Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21
6XS, England
NATO’s Post-Cold War
Politics
The Changing Provision of Security
Edited by
Sebastian Mayer
University of Bremen, Germany
palgrave
macmillan
Selection and editorial matter © Sebastian Mayer 2014
Individual chapters © Respective authors 2014
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First published 2014 by
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Contents
List of Tables and Figures vii
Acknowledgements viii
Notes on Contributors x
List of Abbreviations and Acronyms xii
1 Introduction: NATO as an Organization and Bureaucracy 1

Sebastian Mayer
Part I The Origins of NATO and Its Bureaucratic

Development during the Cold War
2 From London to Brussels: Emergence and Development of
a Politico–Administrative System 31
Gustav Schmidt
3 Institutionalizing NATO’s Military Bureaucracy: The

Making of an Integrated Chain of Command 50
Dieter Krüger
Part II Changing Security Challenges and NATO’s

New Identity
4 Post-Bipolar Challenges: New Visions and New Activities 71
Trine Flockhart
5 Self-Presentation and Impression Management: NATO’s

New Public Diplomacy 89
Odette Tomescu-Hatto
Part III NATO’s Post-Cold War Bureaucracy,

Consensus-Building, and Decision-Making
6 NATO Decision-Making: The ‘Consensus Rule’ Endures
Despite Challenges 107
Leo G. Michel
7 The Changing Role of NATO’s Secretary General 124

Ryan C. Hendrickson
v
vi Contents
8 Coping with Complexity: Informal Political Forums

at NATO’s Headquarters 140
Sebastian Mayer and Olaf Theiler
9 Enduring Rules, Changing Practices: NATO’s Post-Cold

War Military Committee and International Military Staff 159
Jo G. Gade and Paal Sigurd Hilde
10 Perfectly Flawed? The Evolution of NATO’s Force

Generation Process 176
John R. Deni
11 The Impact of NATO’s Defence Planning and Force

Generation on Member States 194
Christian Tuschhoff
Part IV NATO’s Relations with Third-Party Actors

12 NATO’s Troubled Relations with Partner Organizations:
A Resource-Dependence Explanation 215
Rafael Biermann
13 In the Line of Fire: NATO–NGO Relations from Bosnia

to Afghanistan 234
M. J. Williams
14 Partners versus Members? NATO as an Arena for Coalitions 251

Part V External Power Structures and Global

Security
15 Informal Cooperation beyond the Alliance 269
Mette Eilstrup-Sangiovanni
16 NATO’s Transformation and Global Security 289

Sean Kay and Magnus Petersson
17 Conclusion: NATO’s Transformed Provision of Security 304

Sebastian Mayer
Timeline: NATO’s Bureaucratic-Institutional Development since

1949 319
Index 325
Tables and Figures
Tables
8.1 Clusters of interaction: Informal institutions at NATO

Headquarters 146
10.1 NATO operations, 1992–2011 180
Figures
3.1 NATO commands in Central Europe 1953–1967 58

3.2 Top-level structure of the Alliance after 1967 63
9.1 NATO’s International Military Staff in 1992 163
9.2 NATO’s International Military Staff in 2012 164
10.1 Defence expenditures per capita in 2000 dollars 181
10.2 Military manpower of selected NATO member states, in
thousands 182
11.1 NATO’s defence planning procedure 1966–2009 196
11.2 Force activation and transfer of authority 201
vii
Acknowledgements
The idea for this collection began to take shape in 2010. It arose from
the recognized need for an in-depth analysis of NATO’s bureaucracy and
decision-making processes which has remained a largely neglected field
of study – more generally, but particularly since the end of the Cold
War. While this field is slowly growing, those scholars – as well as practi-
tioners with academic ambitions – addressing the Alliance’s bureaucratic
structure still belong to a rare species. Hence, tracking down knowledge-
able experts has taken up a significant share of the overall time and
effort invested in this venture and at times required a good amount of
detective work.
With the list of individuals who eventually agreed to participate,
this book turned out a truly international collaborative endeavour. Its
authors come from a wide range of NATO member states from both sides
of the Atlantic as well as from different professional backgrounds: histo-
rians, theoretically interested scholars, policy experts, and practitioners.
While some authors in this collection have previously collaborated in
academic projects, overall the table of contents falls short of a ‘usual
suspects’ list of individuals who regularly team up to craft a publica-
tion. Both the unfamiliarity between many authors and their diversity
with different approaches and viewpoints were very inspiring, while
at times also challenging. Despite the variety of backgrounds, one key
concern during the preparation of the volume proved surprisingly con-
stant: the struggle between most authors and the editor about chapter
space. Given the large amount of contributions to this volume, there
was the obvious need to keep chapters brief. I would like to express
my appreciation to the authors for ultimately bracing themselves with
the presentation of their topics more succinctly than they are usually
accustomed to.
The book owes much to the commitment and support of a number
of people who were kind enough to provide their assistance. In the
initial stage of the venture, Tom Lindemann has been of invaluable
help particularly in discussing with me the structure of the book. When
the project was in full swing with all contributors on board, Franziska
Laudenbach and Anna Wolkenhauer checked the chapter manuscripts
for style and format. Often they also provided comments on draft
viii
Acknowledgements ix
chapters which were helpful for me in shaping the final manuscript.

Merle Köhler helped prepare the index. The external reviewer from
Palgrave Macmillan has contributed helpful ideas, most of which found
their way into the final manuscript. I am also indebted to Uli Franke and
Peter Mayer for their encouragement when I pursued this project, and
their generosity in providing me sufficient time for this book alongside
our joint prevention and intervention project. The endeavour would
have been more difficult to achieve without the generous financial sup-
port of the Fritz Thyssen Foundation, Cologne, as well as the Institute for
Intercultural and International Studies and the Collaborative Research
Centre 597 ‘Transformations of the State’ at the University of Bremen,
Germany.
It has been a demanding project for all who were on board. But
collaborating in this venture was also mutually rewarding and has
increased our understanding of the different aspects of NATO’s bureau-
cracy, consensus-building, and decision-making. This will, as the editor
hopes, enhance our thinking of NATO as an international organization
in its own right.
Contributors
Rafael Biermann is Professor of International Relations at the Depart-

ment of Political Science at Friedrich Schiller University of Jena,
Germany.
John R. Deni is Research Professor of Joint, Interagency, Intergov-

ernmental, and Multinational Security Studies at the Strategic Studies
Institute, Carlisle, PA, USA.
Mette Eilstrup-Sangiovanni is Lecturer in International Studies at the

Department of Politics and International Studies at the University of
Cambridge, UK.
Trine Flockhart is Senior Researcher at the Danish Institute for Interna-

tional Studies, Copenhagen, Denmark.
Jo G. Gade, Rear Admiral (retd.), formerly Director, Plans and Policy

Division at NATO’s International Military Staff. Currently, he is Senior
Advisor at the Norwegian Defence University College, Oslo, Norway.
Janne Haaland Matláry is Professor of International Politics at the

University of Oslo and at the Norwegian Defence University College,
Norway.
Ryan C. Hendrickson is Professor of Political Science at Eastern Illinois

University, Charleston, Illinois, USA.
Paal Sigurd Hilde is Associate Professor at the Norwegian Defence

University College and Head of Centre at the Norwegian Institute for
Defence Studies, Oslo, Norway.
Sean Kay is Professor of International Relations in the Department of

Politics and Government at Ohio Wesleyan University, Delaware, USA.
Dieter Krüger is Adjunct Professor for Contemporary History at the

University of Potsdam, Germany.
x
Notes on Contributors xi
Sebastian Mayer is Research Fellow at the Institute for Intercultural and

International Studies at the University of Bremen, Germany.
Leo G. Michel is a Distinguished Research Fellow at the Institute for

National Strategic Studies, National Defense University, Washington
DC, USA.
Magnus Petersson is Professor of Modern History at the Norwegian

Institute for Defence Studies, Oslo, Norway.
Gustav Schmidt is Professor Emeritus of International Relations at the

Faculty of Social Science, Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Germany.
Olaf Theiler is a political scientist and civil servant at the German Min-
istry of Defence in Berlin; he was seconded to NATO’s International Staff
from 2007 to 2012.
Odette Tomescu-Hatto is Senior Lecturer in International Relations and

Public Diplomacy at the Institut d’Etudes Politiques de Paris (Sciences
Po), Paris, France.
Christian Tuschhoff is Adjunct Professor at the Political and Social

Science Department, Free University Berlin, Germany.
M. J. Williams is Reader in International Relations at Royal Holloway,

University of London, UK.
Abbreviations and Acronyms
ACE Allied Command Europe

ACO Allied Command Operations
ACT Allied Command Transformation
AWACS Airborne Early Warning and Control System
BiH Bosnia and Herzegovina
CA Comprehensive Approach
CJTF Combined Joint Task Forces
CMC Chairman of the Military Committee
CPA Concerted Planning and Action
CSCE Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe
CSDP Common Security and Defence Policy
CSTO Collective Security Treaty Organization
DCI Defense Capabilities Initiative
DFEC Defence Financial and Economic Committee
DPC Defense Planning Committee
EAPC Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council
ESDP European Security and Defense Policy
EU European Union
HQPB Headquarters Policy Board
IFOR Implementation Force for Bosnia-Herzegovina
IMS International Military Staff
IO International Organization
IS International Staff
ISAF International Security Assistance Force (Afghanistan)
MC Military Committee
MS Military Staff
NAC North Atlantic Council
NACC North Atlantic Cooperation Council
NAT North Atlantic Treaty
NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization
NCC NATO Committee of Contributors
NGO Non-governmental Organization
NPG Nuclear Planning Group
NRF NATO Response Force
OEEC Organisation for European Economic Co-operation
xii
List of Abbreviations and Acronyms xiii
OEF Operation Enduring Freedom

OSCE Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe
PCRU Post-Conflict Reconstruction Unit
PDD Public Diplomacy Division
PfP Partnership for Peace
PO Private Office
POM Private Office Meeting
PRT Provincial Reconstruction Team
PSI Proliferation Security Initiative
QMV Qualified Majority Voting
R2P The Responsibility to Protect (United Nations)
SACEUR Supreme Allied Commander Europe
SACLANT Supreme Allied Commander Atlantic
SCO Shanghai Cooperation Organisation
SCR Senior Civilian Representative
SHAEF Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces
SHAPE Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe
SOP Standard Operating Procedure
TCC Temporary Council Committee
TTIU Terrorist Threat Intelligence Unit
UNAMA United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan
WEU Western European Union
WMD Weapons of Mass Destruction
WUDO Western Union Defence Organisation
1
Introduction: NATO as an
Organization and Bureaucracy
Sebastian Mayer
Like other international organizations (IOs), the North Atlantic Treaty

Organization (NATO) has become more complex since 1990. In the
concise accounts that follow, this collection examines NATO’s bureau-
cracy and decision-making after the end of the Cold War, identifies
changes therein, and evaluates their implications for the pursuit of
external security and accompanying shifts in the locus of governance –
alterations implying a transformation in national security politics. The
book exposes the new functions and administrative capacities NATO has
developed since 1990 and describes underlying processes. It is concerned
with their implications for the provision of security, and it also devel-
ops initial arguments about the causes of this institutional change. The
contributors address questions such as the following:
1) How did NATO as an organization and civil service change in

the post-bipolar environment? Which administrative elements have
evolved within the Alliance since 1990 – from scratch or as an
evolution out of existing institutional schemes – in order to cope
with new functions that the pact has taken on? And how have
consensus-building, decision-shaping, and decision-making changed
since?
2) How can the power relationship between NATO’s international
administration and members be characterized, as reflected in the
Alliance’s structures? Has NATO norm-shaping abilities or a secu-
rity identity of its own, and did its institutional autonomy increase?
Is NATO’s military integration at present more constraining for
its members than before 1990? Are there accompanying losses in
national autonomy?
3) Why did NATO’s overall bureaucratic structure and administrative
units change the way they did after the Cold War? What are
1
2 Introduction: NATO as an Organization and Bureaucracy
the driving forces behind this institutional change? How can spe-
cific institutional developments be explained? Perhaps as results of
external shocks, deliberate rational action, norm-driven behaviour,
path-dependent logic, or a mixture of them?
The emphasis of this volume lies on the first two sets of questions,
although most chapters also provide hunches on how questions from
the third could be answered. So far, there is no study systematically
exploring NATO’s civil service and decision-making processes after 1990,
and the main objective of the book is to fill this void. Contributors from
a wide range of backgrounds – historians, theoretically interested schol-
ars, policy experts, and practitioners – give important insights on the
ways NATO provides security after the Cold War. Authors discuss the
new challenges the Alliance now faces; they examine the changing rules,
operational roles, and practices of a number of administrative bodies
such as the Military Committee; they investigate the nature of NATO’s
relationships with third-party actors, including non-governmental orga-
nizations; and they also examine the emergence of informal cooperation
within and beyond the Alliance.
This introduction to the collection presents a number of concepts,
interpretive frames, and theories that help to describe and explain
specific features of institutional change of international (security) orga-
nizations. Traditional accounts (neorealism and the older functionalist
regime theory) with their high levels of abstraction have difficulties
to grasp bureaucratic features and IO’s internal dynamics. Conceptual
insights for the majority of chapters – those dealing with NATO’s inter-
nal structures – are particularly taken from concepts more recently
applied to the discipline of International Relations (IR), chiefly bureau-
cratic politics and principal–agent (PA) models, which are covered
in more detail. While all authors address the heuristic framework of
‘internationalization’ which is introduced in the next section, some of
the subsequent chapters remain rather descriptive. Yet, several authors
reach levels of generalization high enough so as to allow for apply-
ing their findings to a range of other situations. The conclusion of
this collection assesses both these theoretical arguments and empirical
findings. A number of probabilistic theoretical claims on the interna-
tionalization of external security politics through NATO – as well as
on its limits – can then be generated, and pathways to further research
formulated.
The remainder of this introduction is structured as follows. The
next section brings in the heuristic concept of internationalization, the
Sebastian Mayer 3
common analytical theme running through all subsequent chapters.

Next, the formation, persistence, and change of alliances are presented
from a neorealist perspective. The following section provides alternative
views based on regime theory and security governance which have a
greater significance for the theme of this collection. The subsequent two
sections pay particular attention to the more recent neo-institutionalist
scholarships from which the internationalization framework particu-
larly draws, and they specify several of its conceptual elements: one that
introduces bureaucratic politics perspectives on international organiza-
tions, followed by a discussion on delegation, institutional autonomy,
and agency in IOs. The penultimate section briefly looks at NATO as an
organization and bureaucracy during and after the Cold War while the
final gives an overview of the book.
Internationalization: A framework for analysis
The concept of ‘internationalization’ is suggested as an analytical frame-

work for this volume. I define internationalization as a process by which
national procedures of planning, decision-making, or implementation
of a policy area are linked with – or shift to – international organiza-
tions and thus enhance their significance (Mayer 2009: 41–56; Mayer
and Weinlich 2007: 43–46). Purely national decision-making lies at
one ideal-typical end of the internationalization spectrum – with a
supranational structure wherein member states have irrecoverably trans-
ferred authority to international actors with their pursuant autonomy
from member-state control (equally ideal typical) at the other end. As all
authors in the ensuing chapters clearly testify, NATO is far from develop-
ing into a suchlike supranational organization. Beneath a supranational
governance structure, however, different levels of internationalization
can be identified. Internationalization is therefore not an all-or-nothing
proposition but always a matter of degree.
Internationalization unfolds through an increasing relevance of inter-
national actors (such as NATO’s secretariat) which are more remote
from member-state control than national delegates. Indications are
quantitative and qualitative increases in the tasks, competences, and
resources of an IO’s consensus-shaping, decision-making, and imple-
menting bodies as authoritative actors along the phases of the policy
cycle. If these bodies are given new or more tasks in any of these phases,
or receive more material resources such as funds, staff, or administra-
tive capacities, it is inferred that their significance for the generation of
security increases. But internationalization is also fostered – although to
a lower degree – by way of an increased contact-density among national

representatives at the international level.
The overarching question connected with the concept of inter-
nationalization is whether the institutionalization of new functions,
mechanisms, and operational roles within the Alliance since 1990
has changed the way security is provided for among IO member
states: through fragmented responsibilities in which transgovernmental
and transnational contacts and pressure to reach consensus may alter
underlying national preferences; by thicker institutional structures of
rules and common practices potentially constraining national decision-
making; or by schemes with the potential to subject national capabilities
for autonomous action to institutional and physical constraints, for
instance, through the integration of national capabilities. The inter-
nationalization framework broadly subscribes to a neo-institutionalist
research agenda for which the central question is no longer merely
whether international institutions matter in the first place, but increas-
ingly how and under what conditions they make a difference.
The collection has two primary objectives. The first is stock-taking:
the book provides a state-of-the-art description of the changed post-
bipolar alliance as a bureaucracy and its decision-making processes for
practitioners, bureaucratic politics scholars, and others interested in
how NATO functions. The second, more specific objective, addresses
the implications of these changes for the provision of security and elu-
cidates its drivers. This aim is particularly worthy of note for those
scholars of IR, comparative politics, and law engaged with the question
of whether and to what extent the classical Western nation-states have
changed over the past decades in response to pressures like globalization
or liberalization (Hurrelmann et al. 2007; Leibfried and Zürn 2005).
There are related literatures on the transformation of security politics
after the Cold War, particularly on privatization and internationaliza-
tion (cf. Avant 2005; Fischer-Lescano and Mayer 2013; Krahmann 2010;
Weinlich 2011; Wulf 2005).
This book starts from the premise that bureaucratic developments
need to be put in perspective by relating them to informal cooper-
ation (through networks or impermanent ad hoc groupings) which
escapes, or stands in opposition to, formal rules. This helps provid-
ing a less distorted picture of how the Alliance functions and how the
power balance between its civil service and capitals can be adequately
characterized. Studies taking a sociological viewpoint on IOs tend to
neglect the interaction between micro-level phenomena and their exter-
nal environment which may have a significant impact on internal
Sebastian Mayer 5
change, however (Downs 1967: ch. II). There is generally the danger
that bureaucratic politics scholars overestimate IO’s internal dynamics
and supranational independence (as, conversely, is the case with schol-
ars emphasizing state power). The disregard of power structures and state
preferences leads to a misrepresentation of the overall picture of trans-
formation of security politics. If we discover, for instance, that NATO’s
institutional autonomy has significantly risen but its formal multilateral
procedures and accompanying constraints are increasingly bypassed by
its members, then this rise in institutional autonomy evidently gains no
traction.
NATO as an international administration is an enormously under-
researched area. This stands in stark contrast to the abundance of
enquiries on bureaucratic arrangements and processes within the EU’s
Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) or the United Nations
(UN), let alone purely civilian IOs such as the World Trade Organiza-
tion (WTO) or the International Monetary Fund (IMF).1 What is more,
the few book-length studies of NATO’s internal institutional structures,
dynamics, or leadership roles are much dated (Jordan 1967, 1987; Jordan
with Bloom 1979; Mouritzen 1990). The shortage has three main rea-
sons: (1) NATO’s strict secrecy rules and the lack of transparency to an
extent obstruct studies on its internal institutional dynamics in the first
place; (2) there is no substantial funding, the existence of research net-
works, or academic structures which could significantly facilitate such
work; and (3) scholars studying the Alliance predominantly perceive it
merely as a tool for member states with no potential for IO autonomy.
This state-centric ontology is unduly narrow but not entirely unwar-
ranted. As all authors in this volume demonstrate, NATO remains a
largely government-dominated decision structure, and its civilian and
military management exhibit only little institutional autonomy – the
degree of independence from interference allowing for some purposive
action. Inis Claude once succinctly made the point that ‘an interna-
tional organization is most clearly an actor when it is most distinctly
an “it”, an entity distinguishable from its member states’ (Claude 1984:
13). NATO’s administrative elements were designed as (and still chiefly
are) supporting bodies, to a high degree constrained and dominated by
member states. They do contain a substantial degree of governmen-
tal, rather than non-governmental representation. Major decisions are
taken through the deeply embedded and sovereignty-sensitive custom-
ary practice of the consensus ‘rule’. And NATO operations ultimately
cannot be deployed unless the larger members acquiesce in providing
required capabilities.
Yet, although (the powerful) NATO members may be the principal,

they are by no means the only significant actors. Owed to the sparse
research on NATO as an IO in its own right, its independent role may
have been underestimated in the past. After all, day-to-day business is
left to NATO’s international bureaucracy, and it acts as an implementing
agency for member states’ policies. This function is already important
in its own right, and additional tasks in the execution of policies are
seen as feeding the process of internationalization. What is more, the
implementation of policy decisions often opens channels for political
activity for bureaucratic actors (Joachim, Reinalda, and Verbeek 2008).
Due to the functional expansion of the security agenda which now com-
prises multilayered dimensions and involves more operational tasks in
the non-Article 5 spectrum such as peacekeeping or peace enforcement,
NATO as an IO with its institutional resources appears to be much in
need. Also, in an extensively enlarged alliance, there are additional veto
players, and the more heterogeneous preferences of individual mem-
bers can be less easily accommodated. It is not implausible to argue
that governments have therefore suffered a relative loss of influence
within the Alliance and that the role of NATO’s international bureau-
cracy to establish cohesion and facilitate rapid consensus-building and
decision-making has increased accordingly.
It is unlikely that more research on the Alliance as an organiza-
tion will uncover the International Staff as an autonomous, runaway
supranational body or its post-Cold War Secretaries General as fre-
quently slacking agents. Yet, it might well be that preceding scholarship
has underestimated NATO’s potential to initiate or shape decisions and
hence structure collective outcomes – but likewise to obstruct institu-
tional change imposed from outside. It is crucial to note that an IO’s
ideal-typical roles – instrument, arena, and independent actor – should
not be seen as mutually exclusive. Often, IOs play several roles and their
corresponding leeway varies according to issue area and external sys-
temic constraints (Snidal 1990). The subsequent chapters in this volume
explore these roles and structural changes.
Has the member state’s Westphalian sovereignty, the absence of a role
for external actors in domestic structures, receded in the wake of inter-
nationalization? Eventually, this question is open to empirical scrutiny.
Many authors in this volume answer it in the affirmative, and their
insights challenge the widespread notion that states are the only signif-
icant actors in the pursuit of external security. They hence acknowledge
that institutions do make a difference and thus lean towards the neo-
institutionalist paradigm. Others remain wedded to a more state-centric
Sebastian Mayer 7
foundational reality about the nature of IOs and are more cautious with
regard to an alleged institutional autonomy, norm-shaping abilities, or
a constraining potential of the alliance.
Formation, persistence, and change of alliances: The

neorealist baseline
The formation of alliances is one of the most striking phenomena in

international relations. An alliance can broadly be characterized as a
‘formal agreement that pledges states to co-operate in using their mil-
itary resources against a specific state or states and usually obligates
one or more of the signatories to use force, or to consider (unilaterally
or in consultation with allies) the use of force in specified circum-
stances’ (Osgood 1968: 17). International security organizations (ISOs)
are alliances inasmuch as they are made up primarily of states as their
component entities which collaborate to pursue collective goals in the
field of security. They are formal in character – based on multilateral
treaties – and possess intergovernmental steering bodies as well as per-
manent administrative structures, primarily with the task to support the
former.
This last aspect is stressed by neorealists who perceive IOs merely as
instruments of state action. In political terms, they consider interna-
tional administrations as downright irrelevant and hence relegate even
treaty-based alliances to epiphenomena of interstate relations with no
independent influence on political outcomes. From a neorealist angle,
only state power carries weight in world politics. Against the background
of a lacking overarching central authority to enforce rules and norms,
structural realists deem a state likely to (provisionally) align with oth-
ers to partnerships of convenience if this helps it to counter implicit or
explicit threats probable to inflict harm by a more powerful state, but
‘only in ways strongly conditioned by the anarchy of the larger system’
(Waltz 1979: 116). The ultimate goal for states is to assure their sur-
vival, and they thus will not compromise their autonomy by long-term
cooperation or by engaging in major functional differentiation. Govern-
ments jealously guard control over their sovereignty and are reluctant
to delegate authority that empowers IOs to regulate or constrain them.
After the Cold War, neorealists have delivered funeral speeches for
NATO, forecasting its demise in the wake of the disappearance of the
Soviet threat it was created to address (Mearsheimer 1990; Waltz 1993).
Therefore, NATO’s persistence, adaptation, and expansion flies in the
face of realists. They still insist on international politics as ‘a ruthless and
dangerous business’ which is characterized by anarchy with no ‘9/11’ to

dial for states to obtain protection (Mearsheimer 2001: 2). Seen from this
perspective, world politics is characterized by fundamentally suspicious,
hegemony-seeking decision-makers impelled to acquire as much power
as possible as a means for self-help in an uncertain environment. This
look on the dark side of things implies, therefore, that the close friend
of today might always turn out to be the aggressive enemy of tomorrow.
Walt (1997: 163–164) argues that in a multipolar world, alliances will
generally be less robust since a rising number of major powers has more
options to choose from. Neorealists reason that institutional change of
an IO can best be explained with reference to the most powerful member
states that maximize their utility functions and whose preferences are
entirely reflected in the institutional design.
Most authors in this volume start from other than realist assump-
tions. But downright rejecting neorealism with its system-level insights
might be premature. Realist assumptions are supported, among others,
by apparent (but difficult to grasp) signs of cooperation outside for-
mal, treaty-based structures, whereby governments attempt to enlarge
or regain authority. Ad hoc, issue-specific contact or working groups or
coalitions of the willing often allow states more freedom with regard to
the interpretation of institutional obligations and commitments than
arrangements within treaty-based IOs (Kahler 2009; Prantl 2006). This
sends an important reminder to internationalization or global gover-
nance scholars arguing that we witness a significant denationalization
of political authority and empowerment of non-state actors in world
politics. But instead of treating internationalization and informalization
as mutually exclusive developments, there is also the possibility that
a parallel trend amounts to both a rise in informal institutions and
an upgrading of formal treaty-based ISOs (Mayer 2011). Regime schol-
ars not unsympathetic towards neorealist structural insights, such as
Eilstrup-Sangiovanni (2009: 210), point out that informal transgov-
ernmental forums have complemented, rather than replaced, formal
treaties in security cooperation.
Alternative views: Regime theory and security governance
In the 1980s, regime scholars opened fire on neorealists for their pes-
simism about the nature of world politics, although not downright
refusing their assumptions. Broadly defined, regime theory sees inter-
national regimes as systems of explicit or implicit ‘principles, norms,
rules, and decision-making procedures around which actor expectations
Sebastian Mayer 9
converge in a given issue-area’ (Krasner 1982: 185). As a counter-

argument against the premise of anarchy and its alleged structural
boundaries for cooperation, neoliberal institutionalists such as Keohane
(1984) have demonstrated that even under the rational choice paradigm
of utility-seeking actors, enduring cooperation under anarchy is possi-
ble. From their perspective, the establishment of institutions can be seen
as a deliberate move to overcome information-related political market
failures, which lead to Pareto inefficiencies and allow for less mutually
advantageous bargains (Oye 1986). States involved in iterated interac-
tion will be able to rely on their cooperation partners since within a
‘shadow of the future’, defection is more likely to lead to retaliation
(Axelrod 1984). Against this backdrop, states form alliances because they
help them realize goals they would otherwise not be able to achieve.
Above all regimes, such as IOs, reduce uncertainty by providing credi-
ble information, facilitate signalling, and thus overcome impediments
to collective action (Lake and Powell 1999). In a nutshell, the larger the
potential for mutually beneficial gains in a given issue area, the more
liable are states to create institutions (Keohane 1984: 79, 90).
Like all neo-institutionalists, regime scholars argue that the institu-
tional attributes of a polity have an impact because they shape (but
do not determine) political outcomes. It is in this vein that Keohane
and Wallander (2002: 93), invoking historical institutionalist insights,
reason that institutional change of IOs is often ascribed to a mixture
between rational design and incremental processes (see also McCalla
1996). Wallander et al. (1999: 325–326) contend that international
security institutions ‘nearly always evolve and change [ . . . ] in a path
dependent way, in the sense that previous contingencies create (or
fail to create) institutional capabilities that alter the incentives fac-
ing key actors, including states, international bureaucracies, and non-
governmental organizations’ (see also Cox and Jacobson 1974: 6–7).
Those historical institutionalists, focusing on the process of European
integration likewise stress changes across time and emphasize the evolu-
tionary nature of rules and policies (cf. Pierson 1998: 48–50). It is these
mechanisms from which IO bureaucracies may benefit, utilizing path-
dependent dynamics to capture authorities and to establish themselves
as significant actors in administrative and political processes. Taken
together, IOs often take on a life and character of their own, and there
is no a priori reason why NATO should be exempt from this generally
observable phenomenon.
The literature on security governance – a heuristic tool, rather than a
theory – poses questions of social order. This body of research has helped
to identify key properties of the post-bipolar European (or global) secu-

rity architecture, where multiple state and non-state authorities with
fragmented responsibilities, embedded in ideational networks, coordi-
nate, manage, and regulate security, often in non-hierarchical ways
(Daase and Engert 2008; Krahmann 2003; Webber et al. 2004). The
security governance scholarship proceeds along macro-systemic levels
of analysis and in so doing pinpoints the move away from national
autonomy with its exclusive decision-making towards less hierarchical
and less formal ways of problem-solving (see also Rosenau and Czempiel
1992).
It appears that states by themselves are ill-equipped to respond to
increasingly complex security challenges. It is no surprise, then, that
the number of IOs has more than doubled between 1946 and 2000
(Rittberger and Zangl 2003: 86), and the amount of main and subor-
dinate secretariats in IOs has risen between 1948 and 2004 from around
1,000 to 16,000.2 The responsibilities of IOs have likewise grown, and
they now command an increasing number of specialized agencies. It is
against this background that Barnett and Finnemore (2004: 1–15) have
proclaimed a ‘bureaucratization of world politics’. To what extent this
general observation also applies to NATO is one key question to be
explored in the subsequent chapters.
Bureaucratic politics perspectives on international

(security) organizations
Owed to their abstract level of analysis where organizations feature as

just one among several actors involved, security governance accounts
have left the institutional practices, specific functions, and forms of
individual ISOs largely unaddressed. This neglect coincides with most
regime researcher’s distaste of traditional institutionalist as well as legal
scholarship: ‘regime theory deals with institutions at such a general level
that it has little to say about the particular institutional arrangements
that organize international politics’ (Abbott and Snidal 1998: 6). IOs
were to a large extent treated as ‘ugly ducklings’ merely representing
sets of rules with structuring effects, but were analytically conceded no
beautifying agency (Verbeek 1998).
Until the end of the 1990s, the role of IOs in their own right has for
the most part been disregarded in the discipline of IR. With the excep-
tion of research on European integration and a few more comprehensive
studies (Cox 1969; Cox and Jacobson 1974; Jacobson 1979; Weiss 1982),
the IR literature has by and large accepted the faith that IOs have no
Sebastian Mayer 11
independent impact on political decision-making or decision-shaping.

Ness and Brechin (1988) point out that there used to be a large gap
between research on organizations from organizational sociology and
IR studies on IOs with their largely state-centred ontologies. Liese and
Weinlich (2006) are therefore correct to argue that for several decades,
the IR discipline has largely ignored the independent role of IO’s exec-
utive heads. Yet, turning a blind eye to IO’s internal characteristics and
the potential for bureaucratic autonomy obstructs the view for signif-
icant insights which bureaucratic politics perspectives are capable to
come to terms with.
It is only since the turn of the century that IR, often informed by
insights from other disciplines such as Sociology or the administrative
sciences, has provided a body of research on the impact of international
administrations – beyond EU integration – empirically as well as theoret-
ically (cf. Barnett and Finnemore 1999, 2004; Bauer 2006; Trondal et al.
2010). These studies generally make the case that international admin-
istrations gain importance in a more complex environment (see also
Haas 1990). In this perspective, IOs are seen as basic causal forces, rather
than merely intervening variables. Governments decide to solve prob-
lems increasingly at the international level, often within treaty-based
IOs, and their executive heads are granted competences to address prob-
lems which national bureaucracies by themselves are no more able to
cope with.
The growing prominence of IOs in their own right in the IR discipline
was largely spearheaded by March and Olsen’s new institutionalism
(1984) – though with considerable delay. They stress the relative auton-
omy of political institutions (see also Powell and DiMaggio 1991) and
argue, elsewhere, that ‘institutional change rarely satisfies the prior
intentions of those who initiate it’ (March and Olsen 1989: 65). More
recent analyses welcome insights into organization studies, the resource-
based view, or other analytical routes. They theorize the operational
roles IOs play – albeit mostly with reference to the usual suspects such
as the World Bank, the WTO, or the IMF (Barnett and Finnemore 2004;
Dingwerth et al. 2009; Hawkins et al. 2006; Reinalda and Verbeek 2004).
Given the sensitivity of this functional field, for security politics the
question of organizational independence is a particularly hard case. His-
torically, the genesis of modern statehood was closely linked to the
materialization of a state monopoly over the legitimate use of vio-
lence, which in the long run involved a pacification of domestic society
and the emergence of norms pertaining to the external use of force
(Elias 1997: 132–319; Tilly 1985). The state governed relations among
its citizens, as well as between them and itself, while citizens in turn
refrained from the use of violence. In line with the Weberian ideal-
typical notion, the acquisition of a monopoly of force by governments,
including the concentration of armed forces for the purpose of waging
war, became a constitutive principle of the modern nation-state.
The state monopoly over the use of external force is often consid-
ered to be the last bulwark of the Westphalian system (Jachtenfuchs
2005), perhaps leaving aside the field of taxation. But as has been indi-
cated above, even in the realm of external security, states no longer
seem to be the only significant actors. Some either argue that processes
of internationalization or even supranationalization of governance and
decision-making structures in the provision of external security are
underway (Mayer 2009; Zangl and Zürn 2003) or refer to the emergence
of international norms that are invoked to justify military interventions
(Abiew 1999; Finnemore 2003).
Against this backdrop, there is evidence that ISO bureaucracies have
gained more influence in decision-shaping, decision-making, or in the
implementation of policy decisions after 1990. ISO organs were often
conceded new responsibilities, and they frequently hold mandates for
autonomous action which are often of a vague nature. The UN Sec-
retary General with his organizational resources enjoys a political role
(Chesterman 2007; Gordenker 2010), partly due to the ambiguous Arti-
cle 99 of the UN Charter, a fuzzy stipulation out of which broad
responsibilities can be inferred. The Conference for Security and Coop-
eration in Europe (CSCE) was once merely a ‘gathering of diplomats’
(Tudyka 2002: 11), but it developed during the 1990s into a full-fledged
organization with a number of organs. It received new collective secu-
rity mechanisms (such as preventive diplomacy) with often intrusive
consequences for member states (Flynn and Farrell 1999). Representa-
tives or bureaus such as the High Commissioner on National Minorities
or the Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights enjoy con-
siderable degrees of autonomy in their actions. This has provoked hefty
resentment by some members from Central Asia and particularly Russia.
Units within the EU’s CFSP, such as the Council Secretariat (CS), also
enjoy more leeway than was previously the case (Kirchner and Sperling
2007; Mayer 2009: 121–170). Lempp (2009) demonstrates that the CS,
initially designed as an intergovernmental counterpart to keep the
Commission in check, has become more entrenched by supranational
guiding principles and mechanisms. Lewis (2003: 1005) refers to an
‘independent, supranational influence’ of the office of the High Rep-
resentative for the CFSP, who leads the CS (now within the EU’s own
Sebastian Mayer 13
External Action Service). Rieker (2007: 41) concludes that only a few
other actors have a similar amount of knowledge in the area of con-
flict prevention as the EU Commission. Klein (2010) has revealed that
with regard to operations in Macedonia and Bosnia, the CS (but also
the Commission) was able to exert influence on the formulation and
implementation of European crisis management and to pursue its own
preferences. Special Representatives also play a vital role in the con-
text of political initiatives (Grevi 2007). National officials working in
ISO environments may become drawn into an organization’s activ-
ities, which involves a partial shift of awareness or even a split of
loyalty – a mechanism that is also captured as one indicator in the
internationalization framework proposed here.
Another indicator is military integration. Since 1990 there have been
growing signs of multinationalization, asset pooling, and role spe-
cialization particularly among EU members (Jonas and von Ondarza
2010; King 2011; Mérand 2008), developments which are likely to
affect the pursuit of security. Multinationality denotes frequent inter-
actions among elements of different national military units so as to
facilitate integrated command and control. Pooling implies that capa-
bilities are shared, organized on a collective basis, or acquired by
one ISO for the benefit of all members. Role specialization may be
introduced after redundancies among members’ capabilities have been
significantly reduced so that subsequently individual members within
an alliance, put bluntly, each provide one capacity for all other mem-
bers. These developments are to an extent orchestrated and enforced by
international bureaucracies.
Such forms of military integration require reciprocal relations with a
high degree of transparency, communication, and trust among partici-
pants, and they tend to reduce national defence autonomy. The growing
linkage between units and capabilities of national forces makes it more
difficult for individual governments to act alone. These schemes are also
more likely to cause ‘entrapment’ which occurs when a member is ‘being
dragged into a conflict over an ally’s interests that one does not share,
or shares only partially’ (Snyder 1984: 467). These and similar develop-
ments in the organization of capabilities hence also fuel the process of
internationalization of security politics.
Delegation to IOs, institutional autonomy, and agency
This section presents conceptual and theoretical insights from the more
recent PA literature within the discipline of IR, a contractualist model
building on rational-choice institutionalism. It explores why, how, and

with what consequences a political principal (such as a government)
empowers an agent (such as an IO secretariat) to pursue his prefer-
ences. The section firstly elucidates in more detail why governments
turn to IOs and their bureaucracies and introduces concepts and find-
ings from the PA scholarship. Beyond this literature, the section also
introduces insights from institutionalist traditions with less rigid instru-
mentally rationalist epistemologies. Particularly the question of how
agency can be grasped, and which sources of institutional autonomy
can be identified, stands to the fore.
Delegation can be defined as ‘a [time-limited] conditional grant of
authority from a principal to an agent that empowers the latter to act
on behalf of the former’ (Hawkins et al. 2006: 7, emphasis original). But
why do wealthy states, such as NATO members, pass on responsibilities
to the international level which restricts their ability to act indepen-
dently and is liable to slow down decision-making? Why not either
acting unilaterally or engaging in international cooperation without
empowering an IO? Beyond provisional cooperation which neorealists
predict to occur under certain conditions, rational institutionalist per-
spectives (such as the PA view) forecast states to create and use IOs when
the value of their functions outweighs the costs, even over longer time
horizons. As delineated above, the key argument is that in order to build
a regime or an IO which involves the delegation of powers, states must
share a common interest that can be realized only through cooperation
(Keohane 1984: 247–248).
There are a number of more specific, often interrelated, motives
for delegation. One is that it increases the democratic legitimacy of
decisions taken, particularly of often intensely debated military inter-
ventions. Delegation also allows for adjudication (like within the WTO)
so as to resolve disputes among states by independently determining
their rights and obligations. Other rationales are the desire to make
up for the paucity of national expertise or uncertainty of appropriate
behaviour. National executives may likewise see delegation as a wel-
come opportunity for ‘scapegoating’: the blaming of unpopular policies
(or of things apparently going ‘wrong’) on international obligations or
allegedly inescapable constraints.
Furthermore, governments may delegate competences so as to reduce
transaction costs which are incurred when adopted treaties later require
specification or re-negotiation. They are practically unable to conclude
complete contracts as their future minutiae are impossible to determine
at the outset. Over time, therefore, not only enforcement costs arise,
Sebastian Mayer 15
but also search and negotiating costs, which governments (principals)

wish to avoid by calling on the services of international bureaucracies
(agents). In order to minimize divergences from their preferences, prin-
cipals monitor their agents, employ screening and policing techniques,
and, if necessary, dog whistle them. But principals always concede the
latter at least minimum degrees of leeway when they choose to dele-
gate because monitoring requires scarce resources and hence is costly.
For this reason, complete control on behalf of a principal is unlikely to
be expected.
PA accounts describe and explain the power relationships and dynam-
ics between principals and agents and admit that the latter have the
potential to exhibit strategic behaviour. They have been utilized for
an array of empirical contexts in IR in the last ten years or so and
have helped to identify the oversight mechanisms available for states
to assure that their objectives are properly served (Hawkins et al. 2006;
Tallberg 2003). Darren Hawkins and his collaborators (2006: 8) define
‘autonomy’ as the full spectrum of potential independent action that an
IO or executive head may employ independent of member state control.
In their eyes, agents sometimes do obtain significant autonomy, among
others through agency slack: independent action by an agent that is
objectionable on behalf of the principal (Hawkins et al. 2006: 8). But as
has been indicated above, the latter always attempt to effectively control
the former through monitoring, by using sanctions to punish undesired
behaviour, or by creating checks and balances among agents. Some-
times principals also try to minimize agents’ discretion: their scope in
deciding which means to employ in order to achieve a determined end
(Hawkins et al. 2006: 8). Hawkins and his colleagues find that an agent’s
autonomy generally grows with the number of member states needed to
authorize action, which is an interesting hypothesis given that NATO’s
membership has vastly increased since 1990. However, the likelihood
of delegation is obstructed in the first place when preferences among
principals are too heterogeneous (Hawkins et al. 2006: 20, 23).
Drawing on insights from historical and sociological institutionalism,
institutional autonomy can also be defined in a less instrumentally
rationalist fashion than the PA view, namely as the ability of an inter-
national bureaucracy to behave in ways that are not explicitly intended
by member states (Barnett and Finnemore 2004: 10). There is also the
phenomenon of ‘creeping competences’ – an incremental growth of an
IO’s responsibilities beyond its initial powers through the exploitation
of its institutional status with connected formal and informal resources
(Pollack 1994). This mechanism may unfold even when economically
rational actors are aware of it (Bulmer and Scott 1994; Pierson 1996).
In a similar vein, ‘informal agenda setting’3 does not rely on formal rules
in intergovernmental bargaining processes either, but on the ability to
set the agenda by defining concepts, objectives, or doctrines as well as
by providing solutions that get the approval on behalf of the member
states (Kingdon 1984; Pollack 1998: 8). An informational advantage of
the agent vis-à-vis member-state policymakers, low distributional conse-
quences between member states, and the ability of the agent to mobilize
a coalition to support his proposed concept or solution are key sources
for successful informal agenda setting (Pollack 2003: 51–52).
Through these or similar mechanisms, IO bureaucracies have the
potential to define the substance of often highly ambiguous visions,
objectives, or doctrines such as ‘refugee’, ‘development’, or ‘security’,
which mean different things to different people. International admin-
istrations are provided with the opportunity to give content to such
indistinct concepts – in agreement with their own preferences or nor-
mative principles, and in so doing even pursue policy goals. Seen from
a constructivist perspective, international bureaucracies are thus some-
times capable to act as architects of meaning and identities (Barnett and
Finnemore 1999: 31–33; Olsen 1997).
Agency – the capacity of an entity to engage in purposive action –
presupposes at least a minimum amount of institutional autonomy not
only from the external environment but also from internal constituents.
Yet, ‘a truly independent international civil service remains a somewhat
idealistic objective’ (Green 1954: 174). Autonomy should therefore be
considered a matter of degree, rather than an all-or-nothing proposition.
Origins and development of NATO’s bureaucratic structure
The North Atlantic Council (NAC), NATO’s senior political decision-

making body, is the only standing organ explicitly mentioned in the
North Atlantic Treaty, the founding document signed in Washington in
April 1949. The perceived threat of Soviet military power, the Korean
War (1950–1953), and related fears of a communist Korea as a ‘falling
domino’ likely to infect other Asian states largely accelerated the insti-
tutional expansion of NATO and made possible the rearmament of
western Germany. As a consequence, it developed from a rather loose
alliance into a full-fledged ISO with an integrated defence, initially not
envisaged by its founders.
During the first session of the NAC in September 1949, the Defence
Planning Committee, the Military Committee, the Military Standing
Sebastian Mayer 17
Group, and five Regional Planning Groups were created. The nucleus
of a headquarters was established in London. At the end of 1950,
the NAC appointed US General Dwight D. Eisenhower as the first
Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR). A few months later, the
Allied Command Europe became operational at the Supreme Headquar-
ters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE). Yet, different administrative and
decision-making bodies were still dispersed between London, Rome,
and Washington with little communication among them. In May
1951, government departments were replaced by national Permanent
Representatives with broad competences. In February 1952, the NAC
convening in Lisbon decided that NATO should become a permanent
organization with its headquarters upgraded and to be relocated to
Paris (later Brussels). The post of Secretary General was established with
Lord Ismay as its first incumbent, who was to head an international
secretariat (Jordan 1967). According to the report of the ‘Three Wise
Men’, adopted by the NAC in December 1956, a more political role
for the alliance and additional competences for its Secretary General
were recommended. As a consequence, the latter was conceded new
privileges, such as the right of initiative in the NAC. But the SACEUR,
always a US national and backed by his government, was yet always
far more powerful than the Secretary General. During the 1960s and
1970s, the international bureaucracy gained more institutional weight.
Initially, US authority was unrivalled among allies, not least due to
Washington’s awe-inspiring military supremacy. This unambiguous pre-
ponderance was a tad balanced as European allies’ capabilities expanded
over time.
Within NATO’s military structures, there have also been significant
institutionalizations since 1949 which nurtured the process of interna-
tionalization. Allies determined obligatory force goals for each member
state, to be monitored by an emerging military bureaucracy, and a uni-
fied command structure was introduced. As early as in the 1950s, the
Alliance introduced a defence planning scheme according to which
NATO’s force goals and member states’ contributions were evaluated
once a year, indicating a large degree of peace-time cooperation. Institu-
tionalized mechanisms and bureaucratic resources were created to avoid
free-riding and defection (Tuschhoff 1999: 146–155). At the Lisbon
meeting in 1952, the NAC decided to earmark a vast military force of
50 divisions in readiness, while 45 should be kept in reserve. ‘By the
end of 1953, in sum, NATO had been transformed from a traditional
alliance, implying little more than a commitment to stand together, to
an integrated [ . . . ] army’ (Hilsman 1959: 23).
In the subsequent year, the NAC jump-started the project of a joint

aerial defence for western Europe (coordinated by the SACEUR and with
strategic power predominantly provided by the US) which was accom-
panied by grave concerns of some NATO allies – particularly France and
the UK – fearing that they might lose too much of their strategic auton-
omy (Greiner 2003: 145). After Germany had been rearmed and joined
the Alliance in 1955, more specific attempts were made to create an
integrated military force structure under a centralized command. Once
the French government announced to withdraw from NATO’s integrated
military structure in 1966, the headquarters moved to Brussels, and
the SHAPE building in Mons/Belgium was inaugurated in 1967. New
committees were also established over the years, such as the Nuclear
Defence Affairs Committee and the Nuclear Planning Group in 1966 or
the Special Consultative Group on arms control in 1980.
Despite their autonomy-restricting mechanisms related to the insti-
tutionalization of defence planning, the civilian as well as military
bureaucracy initially enjoyed only little institutional autonomy. They
represented supporting bodies, rather than collective actors with a
potential to behave strategically. Then US Secretary of Defense Dean
Acheson described NATO’s international administration as ‘a body [ . . . ]
without a head’ (quoted from Hendrickson 2006: 14). Measured up
to national administrations, NATO’s displayed little dynamic and had
hardly a life of its own (Hunter 1969: 54–55). Although the role of
SACEUR involved more potential for leadership than that of the Sec-
retary General, both had the function to interpret the strategy of the
Alliance and help implement it, rather than to introduce their own
proposals (Buteux 1983: 22). Over the decades, however, NATO’s bureau-
cracy expanded significantly with a workforce around 1,200 in 1989 at
NATO’s civilian International Staff alone, and thousands of staff served
in the integrated military structure which is dubbed by Mérand (2008:
56) as ‘the world’s most important multinational military planning
staff’. Whereas the early International Staff clearly focused on support
functions in its activities, it gradually developed into a more politi-
cal body (Dijkstra 2013: 10–11). NATO’s norms, initially created out
of calculated member-state interests, appear to have been transformed
into substantive norms which became more intrinsic to calculations of
interest (Sperling 2008: 131).
It was only after the Cold War that NATO became engaged in
severe combat operations with considerable death tolls, and it hence
changed from an ‘Alliance in Being’ to an ‘Alliance in Doing’ (Kamp
2007: 4). NATO was able to adapt relatively well to the new external
Sebastian Mayer 19
environment due to its broad and largely portable Cold War assets,
which were flexibly tailored to a number of new activities after 1990
(Wallander 2000). The Alliance meanwhile extended its roles with
growing organizational mandates at remarkable rates. It now performs
substantial multifaceted operations covering the full spectrum of cri-
sis management operations – from combat and peacekeeping to police
training and humanitarian assistance. NATO’s bureaucracy increased its
scope, new bodies were created, and altogether the Brussels secretariat
now seems to impact policy outcomes to a larger degree than during
the Cold War. It appears that the more functional orientation of the
Alliance, its stronger focus on political aspects, and the multilayered
dimensions of new missions have led to a modest but perceptible inter-
nationalization of member states’ policies. And, as a consequence of the
duplication of its membership, individual governments seem – ceteris
paribus – to have suffered a relative loss of influence.
In 1990, the Alliance’s heads of state and government pledged to ‘rely
increasingly on multinational corps made up of national units’ in the
future.4 As a consequence, additional multinational units were estab-
lished. Meanwhile, all NATO corps are multinational, and integration
can also be witnessed at the level of operational headquarters. As a
consequence of multinationalization, asset pooling, and role special-
ization, defence planning has become more institutionalized since the
Cold War in order to increase NATO’s interoperability and to discour-
age non-conforming action. After the modest success of the Defence
Capabilities Initiative of 1999, more binding schemes were introduced
with a more precise definition of targets and more densely institution-
alized mechanisms for force generation. Military integration, greater
role specialization, and the more strongly institutionalized practice of
force generation have led to an interlinking of power structures – albeit
with variation. The precise nature and implications of this institutional
change are discussed in the following chapters.
These chapters focus on NATO’s headquarters while military struc-
tures in Mons, Brunssum, and elsewhere are only occasionally referred
to. This Brussels bias has two main reasons. Firstly, NATO’s Brussels-
based institutions such as the International Staff, the Military Com-
mittee, or the International Military Staff can be considered more
political and thus carry more weight in NATO’s politics than SHAPE and
other implementing agencies within the integrated military structure
(although the decision-making/implementation boundary is sometimes
blurred). The second and more pragmatic reason is that it is exception-
ally difficult to spot knowledgeable experts willing and, at the same
time, capable to cover these bodies with adequate analytical rigor. A sys-
tematic and theoretically informed exploration of NATO’s institutional
structures beyond Boulevard Léopold therefore remains one of the lacu-
nae in the research agenda on NATO as an institution in its own
right.
Overview of the book
In Part I of the collection, the two historical chapters by Gustav

Schmidt and Dieter Krüger depict the emergence and development of
NATO’s civilian and military bureaucracy after its naissance in 1949.
They present the background against which post-bipolar institutional
continuity and change can be properly assessed.
Part II illustrates the gradual emergence, consolidation, and protec-
tion of NATO’s new collective identity – its set of shared norms with
expectations about appropriate behaviour – and does so within the
changing security environment in which the Alliance found itself dur-
ing the 1990s and beyond. Drawing on social constructivism, Trine
Flockhart lays down the altered external environment for NATO and
explains its – largely unexpected – growing role in the Balkans and else-
where. Concentrating on the 1990s in which NATO’s new identity has
transpired and consolidated, she leads over from the Cold War chapters
to the heart of the collection (the penultimate chapter by Sean Kay and
Magnus Petersson with its outlook into NATO’s future is confined to the
2000s and beyond, hence complementing Flockhart’s). Odette Tomescu-
Hatto, too, broaches the issue of NATO’s new identity. She introduces
the evolution of its new Public Diplomacy Division within the altered
external environment and discusses the ways the Alliance now com-
municates its actions to the wider public so as to create a supportive
environment and sustain its new identity. Tomescu-Hatto analyses the
changed strategies (not least by NATO’s exploitation of ‘soft power’)
which serve to stabilize the legitimacy basis of the Alliance as well as
to activate political support.
The six chapters in Part III are primarily concerned with the chang-
ing institutional settings, operational roles, and practices at NATO’s
headquarters. While chapters 6–8 focus on political structures and insti-
tutions, chapters 9–11 deal with bodies, units, and procedures located
in the military sections at Boulevard Léopold. Leo G. Michel sets off
by investigating the role of the NAC, the key decision-making organ,
and illustrates the intricacies of decision-making against the back-
ground of a larger number of members and a more complex security
environment. Ryan C. Hendrickson portrays the transformed functions
Sebastian Mayer 21
and heightened magnitude of NATO’s post-Cold War Secretaries Gen-

eral. Sebastian Mayer and Olaf Theiler explore the roles and implications
of informal political forums at NATO’s headquarters, particularly in its
International Staff. Three chapters then enquire military structures and
bodies in Brussels. Jo G. Gade and Paal Sigurd Hilde as well as John
R. Deni delve into the organization’s integrated military structure and
shed light on the Military Committee, the International Military Staff,
and the changing practice of force generation. Christian Tuschhoff con-
cludes Part III by discussing in more detail NATO’s defence planning and
force-generation procedures, how they changed after 1990, and with
what implications for member states’ collective action.
Part IV of the collection illuminates relations with third-party actors
which must be factored in when NATO’s politics is assessed. Rafael
Biermann takes a look at relations with other ISOs with an empha-
sis on the OSCE and the UN. M. J. Williams investigates the Alliance’s
cooperation with non-governmental organizations, particularly within
the context of NATO’s Comprehensive Approach to Operations. Janne
Haaland Matláry is concerned with what role NATO’s new partners
play within the Alliance and discusses the motives of NATO members,
more generally, for contributing to increasingly challenging operations
after 1990.
While authors in parts I–IV of the volume with their micro-
level perspectives only loosely entrench their arguments within the
broader global system of international relations when the drivers
for institutional change are identified, the last part of our collec-
tion (Part V) explicitly includes a system-level view and in so doing
situates bureaucratic-institutional features and developments in the
wider context of the global environment. Mette Eilstrup-Sangiovanni
explores informal institutions and intergovernmental networks beyond
NATO with an emphasis on the issue area of non-proliferation. In their
perspective on NATO’s future, Sean Kay and Magnus Petersson locate the
transformed Alliance within the overall European and global security
landscape, examine its challenges, and discuss several scenarios for the
Alliance’s future role. My conclusion sums up chapter findings, discusses
NATO’s changing security governance, provides tentative theoretical
claims concerning the Alliance’s institutional change, and suggests a
number of promising directions for future research.
Notes
1. For a brief overview over the research on international bureaucracies, see
Bauer and Weinlich (2011).
2. Growth in secretariats of international organizations of Cluster I: 1948–2004,

Union of International Associations, Yearbook online 2007, http://www.uia.
be/sites/uia.be/db/db/. . . (accessed 16 November 2008).
3. Also referred to as ‘political entrepreneurship’.
4. Declaration on a Transformed North Atlantic Alliance, issued by the heads
of state and government participating in the meeting of the North Atlantic
Council (‘The London Declaration’), London, 6 July 1990, Art. 14.
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Part I
The Origins of NATO and Its
Bureaucratic Development
during the Cold War
2
From London to Brussels:
Emergence and Development of a
Politico–Administrative System
Gustav Schmidt
Against the background of dramatic circumstances in early 1948, the

North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) was constituted to institu-
tionalize a defence arrangement. In view of East–West tensions even-
tually turning into a serious confrontation between the Western pow-
ers and the Soviet Union, France, Great Britain, and the US realized
that their existing collective and bilateral arrangements (above all the
Marshall Plan and US bilateral military aid) were insufficient and had
to be sustained by a politico–strategic institution (Schmidt 2003: 87,
233–240). West Europeans therefore called upon the US, hitherto hos-
tile to alliances, to negotiate what would eventually become the North
Atlantic Treaty of 4 April 1949 (NAT), NATO’s founding document.
That treaty constitutes a primarily political arrangement which largely
relied on the deterrence effect of both a unity of purposes and prin-
ciples among the allies (policy of strength) and on the overwhelming
US military might, including nuclear weapons and strategic bombers.
In this opening chapter to the historical part of the volume I out-
line NATO’s emerging political structure primarily with reference to
two focal issues: firstly, the credibility of the US security guarantee
under the impact of the changing structures of the evolving US–USSR
arms race as well as the role of the US in making NAT(O) work;1 and
This article had to be cut down to size. In the process of elimination, many refer-
ences and the accompanying bibliographic notes had to be cut off. The remaining
references are rather summary. I do apologize to these authors for not paying
full tribute to their contribution and likewise to many authors whose works had
inspired my research, but could not get their place in the bibliography. The latter
turns out to be a list of bare references.
31
32 Origins and Bureaucratic Development during the Cold War
secondly, the question whether the quest of western European states for
politico–strategic and economic integration would suffice to make up
for Europe’s deficiencies of defence arrangements (such as the Brussels
Pact) before NATO was established.
The link between these two grand themes was the concurrence of both
US and west European convictions that NATO alone was unable to war-
rant the ‘Security of the West’ due to inevitable conflicts about the issue
of nuclear deterrence. As we shall see below, the Alliance had therefore
to be complemented by endeavours to promote and organize ‘European
unity’ (Schmidt 1995a: 144). Some proponents of ‘uniting Europe’, like
US President Eisenhower and his Secretary of State John F. Dulles (Neuss
2000), had in mind that the US eventually could and should reduce its
presence as a ‘European’ (conventional) military power to the extent to
which western Europe recovered (Cromwell 1992).
The remainder of this chapter starts by elucidating the roots of NATO.
First I discuss the most crucial institutional structures the Alliance
was built upon, partially in benefiting from existing alliances (par-
ticularly the Western Union Defence Organisation, WUDO). In the
second section, I outline the NAT and assess how the implementation
of some of its articles affected the emergence of NATO’s politico–
administrative structure. The third section discusses the significance of
non-military cooperation in the founding of NATO. Next, the emerging
Annual Review process is examined. In the fifth section, I proceed by
discussing the emerging instrument of political consultation. The penul-
timate section reviews the formation of NATO’s permanent politico–
administrative unit, including its Secretary General, while the last raises
the issue of a number of challenges to NATO as an independent
international organization.
The founding of NATO: Points of departure
The most crucial prerequisite for the establishment of NAT(O) in

1949 was that the US eventually acknowledged the need for a treaty-
based commitment to defend common interests and liberal values, and
assume responsibility for western Europe’s security. Breaking with an
isolationist past, the Truman administration in June 1948 won over the
Senate for empowering the US presidency to initiate such military assis-
tance (Kaplan 1999: 13–15). This allowed the US to play a lead role in
shaping the Alliance. Under the impact of the Korean War, the allies
established in late 1950 a central international military command, the
Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE) and the Supreme
Gustav Schmidt 33
Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR), and in 1951–1952 a number of

civilian institutions: the Council of Permanent Representatives, the
Secretary General, and his civilian International Staff (IS).
These initiatives indicated Washington’s preference for a second
source of influence in the emerging NAT(O) next to its presence in
the Council of Permanent Representatives. The Truman administration
moreover made the Alliance’s first multinational reappraisal and gov-
ernance effort, the Temporary Council Committee (TCC),2 a success,
and directed its recommendations towards empowering NATO’s admin-
istrative machinery to address impending problems3 (Hammerich 2003:
149,190,198). The US also provided a lead in consensus-building. Key
figures successfully pressed the case – both in Washington and within
the TCC – that the US should prod the other allies to contribute to com-
mon solutions: by promoting a community spirit among member states
and by demonstrating goodwill through granting prompt economic and
military aid to partners-in-need. These key figures included, inter alia,
Averell W. Harriman who was special assistant to the US president and
director of the US Mutual Security Agency office.
What about the European partners in leadership? Prior to the Marshall
Plan, Britain, France, and the Benelux countries had initiated the
Brussels Pact on 17 March 1948. The combined forces of this mili-
tary alliance would not have been able to meet the French demand
for defending the ‘free West’ as far to the East (on West German soil)
as possible (Krieger 1988: 203 ff.) NAT(O) allies accepted this guideline
and its consequences: physical presence of US troops on the European
continent and a West German defence contribution, to be completely
integrated under SACEUR’s auspices. WUDO, which was established
in autumn 1948,4 had developed a Permanent Consultative Council
and a Military Committee (MC) which would later be transferred to
NATO. Conflicting interests between France and Britain, however, pre-
vented WUDO from attaining a common infrastructure, pooling scarce
resources and sharing additional burdens. In contrast to the stale-
mate in WUDO’s attempts towards supranationality, NATO succeeded
in 1951/1952 in the field of military infrastructure to agree on com-
mon funding and a fair cost-sharing formula (NATO 1971: 137–147).
In NATO, the European partners likewise shared in the financing of
an international budget to recruit employees for the International Staff
(July 1951). During the WUDO period (1948–1951), its founders (the
UK, France, and the Benelux countries) preferred the US to accept
requirements presented by their ‘single unit’, but wanted to ‘distribute
aid according to the needs of individual countries’ (Kaplan 1999: 19).
This recent experience prompted the US to impose their handwriting

on NATO’s institutional design and the European allies to commit the
US to formal and informal consultations according to the rules and pro-
cedures of NATO, among others within the emerging Annual Review
process.
The US wanted NATO to do better than the WUDO in coordinat-
ing European defence efforts. The perceived urgency to achieve military
strength and the consequent drive towards massive rearmament all-
through the founding period, however, created tensions between the
military and civilian–political authorities. The question of how to estab-
lish and guarantee an effective civilian control over NATO’s military
authorities resulted from a dilemma: the military steering agencies (MC
and Standing Group) asked for ample combat-ready forces; the civilian
authorities on both sides of the Atlantic wanted to make do with armed
forces sufficient for deterrence, claiming that they could define this
force posture. NATO’s military agencies, located in Washington until
1967, were exposed to the debates about the European allies’ backlog
in meeting the agreed-upon defence targets. The national governments,
represented in the North Atlantic Council, and the evolving assembly
of NATO’s civilian agencies, however, aimed at establishing a ‘primacy
of political guidance’ and making NATO – in the spirit of the NAT – a
comprehensive, multi-functional security institution.
The North Atlantic Treaty: A basis for NATO’s

political structure
The NAT portrays the Alliance as a security institution for the defence
of liberal-democratic values, engaging in military, political, social, eco-
nomic, and cultural cooperation. It is crucial to note that the NAT does
not imply a military supreme command. It places a North Atlantic
Council (NAC) of foreign ministers at the top of NATO’s hierarchy5
and calls for a Defence Committee (of defence ministers), both with-
out a specified location. In Article 3, the contracting parties express
their commitment to ‘maintain and develop their individual and col-
lective capacity to resist armed attack’. The article envisages continuous
and effective self-help among members as well as mutual aid with
regard to the production and supply of military hardware, common
infrastructure (airfields, headquarters, and so on) and allocating US mil-
itary aid. The central Article 5 (the mutual assistance clause) offers no
automatic assistance in case of an armed attack, which stands in con-
trast to Article 4 of the Brussels Pact. As sovereign states, the allies
Gustav Schmidt 35
were not obliged to subordinate their policies to collective decisions.

The implicit understanding was, however, that only the willingness to
show solidarity could enhance both individual member states’ essen-
tial interests and the common goal of disposability of an adequate
Western defence posture. In a similar way, the allies directed their efforts
towards strengthening political cooperation and consultation within
the Alliance, a claim captured in Article 4. Its obligation of political
consultation ‘whenever, in the opinion of any of them, the territorial
integrity, political independence or security of any of the Parties is
threatened’ can be considered an instrument to deter armed aggres-
sion (NHO 1963: §4; own emphasis) as well as a mental barrier against
unilateral action.
By establishing a council ‘on which each of the (Parties) shall be rep-
resented’ (the NAC) as the principal power of the Treaty community,
Article 9 authorizes this politico–strategic body to create and develop
the set of functional military and civilian units necessary to imple-
ment the purposes of collective defence and preservation of security,
peace, stability, and well-being. In particular, the Council was supposed
‘to establish immediately a defence committee which shall recommend
measures for the implementation of Articles III and V’ (see Krüger, this
volume).
The significance of non-military cooperation in the

founding of NATO
The NAT does not stipulate that NATO itself has to advance economic
cooperation because other multilateral organizations were already in
place for these purposes. Yet, the impression an alliance exclusively
focusing on military issues would be weak and in danger (P.H. Spaak)
led to the introduction of Article 2 in the NAT, the so called ‘Canadian’
article. Largely on the insistence of Canada, it addresses cooperation in
non-military matters and calls for the necessity of developing a truly
north Atlantic community if the Alliance was to endure. The Article
evokes the image of a ‘force for good’ and seeks ‘to eliminate conflict
in their international economic policies and will encourage economic
collaboration between any or all of them’. Non-military bodies to be
established within the NATO framework under this maxim would have
to deal with two interlocking problems: how to improve economic and
social cooperation within NATO; and how to respond to international
political questions such as the issue of trade with Eastern adversaries or
economic assistance to developing countries.
Although NATO had been founded to support the European Recovery

process, it was not perceived to encroach on the turf of the Organisation
for European Economic Co-operation (OEEC) in Paris by appropriat-
ing some of its functions, as the UK occasionally suggested.6 A seizure
or duplication of responsibilities should be avoided. Most members of
NAT(O)’s Finance and Economic Board, seconded by national govern-
ments, were already serving in the OEEC (Hammerich 2003: 134–139;
Jordan 1967: 198–212). For this practical reason the NAC decided in
February 1951 to make Paris the site of its Economic and Financial Board
and working groups. Yet, this could only be achieved after Washington
had exerted some pressure on the UK who suggested to establish the
Board with its working groups in London, where the first site of NATO’s
main civilian units was already located.
Eventually, some informal division of labour between NATO and the
OEEC evolved. The former was happy to use the OEEC’s advanced sta-
tistical information and to apply OEEC techniques to its Annual Review
process (see below). In May 1950 the foreign ministers of the ‘big 3’
(the US, the UK, and France) – Dean Acheson, Ernest Bevin, and Robert
Schuman – reached an understanding that economic problems deriv-
ing from (rapid) rearmament are to be handled by NATO and not by
the OEEC.7 The secret nature of many elements of defence programmes
required that their economic implications were classified and hence
were to be examined by NATO services only. NAT(O)s financial and eco-
nomic apparatus had been set up in November 1949. In August 1956,
when concerns about a potential military aggression against western
Europe faded and the Kremlin launched an ‘economic offensive’ within
its policy of competitive coexistence, the NAC created the Economic
Committee to respond to this perceived strategic challenge. It met reg-
ularly under the chairmanship of the Director of Economic Affairs and
was assisted by the Economic Directorate (NATO 1971: 118).
Member states like Canada, Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium, and
Italy recommended to grant NAT(O)’s agencies non-military respon-
sibilities. Their initiatives were, however, outmanoeuvred. The NAC
commissioned a number of high-level committees to review the plan
of turning NATO into a more comprehensive Atlantic community
with economic functions, and issue recommendations. Henceforth the
proponents, themselves serving on these committees, found out that
governments were very hesitant to institutionalize collaboration in
economic and cultural matters beyond consultations.
The major impediment against empowering NATO with economic
functions was the following: if member states were willing to delegate
Gustav Schmidt 37
agenda-setting and controlling authority on non-military matters to

an independent international agency within NATO, how could they at
the same time reject to being subjected to directives from a supreme
central administrative body on defence spending? Due to inborn con-
flicts among the allies, cooperation was merely possible in parts of the
two issue areas. The US, on the one hand, did not want multinational
decision-making bodies to interfere with the outcome of their domestic
politics. On the other hand it proposed strong central agencies based
on the expectation that these could permeate and influence the other
member states’ governments.
The latter intended to have a say in Washington’s approach to
managing the dollar standard, the convertibility of currencies, offshore-
procurements, and other critical decisions. They objected, on the other
hand, to granting the US or US-supported NATO institutions (such as a
civilian ‘Mr NATO’) an opportunity to introduce political conditionality.
Linkage politics allowed for compromises: The US no longer insisted
on tying its military aid, offshore procurement, and economic-financial
assistance to bilateral contracts in order to maintain control (Pach
1991). Instead, Washington agreed to merge the coordinated multi-
lateral analysis and determination of military force goals with new
procedural arrangements for the distribution of US aid into NATO’s
institutionalized burden-sharing (Hammerich 2003: 149, 190; Jordan
1967: 256–259). Thanks to exhaustive negotiations at all levels and
in different formats, compromises in either the issue areas of military
aid and burden-sharing and/or procedures for decision-making could
be reached. That way, an authority within an emerging international
organization could be set up, which paved the way for NATO as an
organization as we know it today.
Approaching multilateral cooperation: The Annual

Review process
Based on Article 2 of the NAT, allies decided to establish the Annual

Review process, a yearly assessment of NATO’s military requirements
as well as the political and economic capabilities of its members. This
process demonstrated that the allies learnt to coordinate domestically
the manifold tasks resulting from being partners in an alliance and
at the same time cooperate constructively within NATO’s emerging
bureaucracy which is evident of a process of internationalization.
The Annual Review process, taking shape in the course of the work of
the TCC, was formally introduced at the recommendation of the TCC
and the Council Deputies in April 1952. The NAC assigned responsibil-
ity for preparing the Annual Review to the Secretary General and NATO’s
evolving civilian bureaucracy, the IS. They were given the tasks of ‘con-
tinuing screening and costing of military plans’ and writing the annual
review of economic capabilities (NATO Press Release, 4 April 1952,
quoted from Jordan 1967: 211). By agreeing to comply with the Annual
Review procedure, member states internationalized their defence by
committing themselves to institutionalized multilateral mechanisms for
achieving common solutions on military force goals.
The review was conducted on national lines by country working
groups (Hammerich 137 ff., 180 ff., 204 ff.; Jordan 1967: 211–223). It
differed from the project of a European Defence Community (EDC)
proposed in 1950, which aimed at establishing a common defence
budget. Nevertheless, the Annual Review process enhanced multilateral
elements within NATO and did so in two ways in particular. An Assis-
tant Secretary General chaired the country group. Data each nation had
submitted in its response to the questionnaire were assessed by mem-
bers of both the national delegations and the IS. More importantly,
national ministers met NATO officials to answer questions based on
the information submitted to the Alliance. Crucially, they were required
to reveal details of their national defence efforts and budgets (Ismay
1956: 97)
The national governments, however, did not want the process to pro-
ceed towards supervision and control over the implementation of the
assessment of their militaries, and hence put a ceiling on their involve-
ment with NATO officials (Hammerich 2003: 234). The acceptance of
the proviso that economic-financial considerations mattered as much
as military factors implied the notion that it must be left to member
states to determine how and with what financial means they were going
to invest in defence. Governments therefore instructed their represen-
tatives that the search for compromise must not lead them to accept
additional defence-spending.
An instrument to deter aggression: Political consultation
Compared to the emphasis put on Article 2, the subtext of Article 4 of

the NAT (stipulating that allies will consult under certain circumstances)
sounds even more demanding: If a policy of strength is a prerequisite for
deterrence, then well-organized political consultation had to be estab-
lished. But again: Would the asymmetric partnerships in the Alliance
do to political consultation what the priority of defence spending did to
Gustav Schmidt 39
cooperation on non-military matters? Could working institutions evolve

despite the inherent limitations on political consultation?
The US, the UK, and France as veto powers in the UN Security Council,
together with the USSR responsible for the divided Germany and Berlin
as whole, as well as security providers and/or colonial powers in out-of-
NATO-areas, were in day-to-day contact. The smaller powers desired to
be informed but were sometimes unwilling to express their own opin-
ions (NHO 1963: §24). The middle powers (Canada, Italy, and West
Germany) each had geo-political concerns of their own and ambiguous
relations with the ‘big three’. For all of the above actors, however, two
considerations mattered: NATO was created to deter aggression against
any or all of them by its policy of strength; and even though the right to
preserve one’s freedom of action might be exercised under exceptional
circumstances, it had to be complemented by supporting the Alliance in
word and deed. The instrument to serve both basic purposes was regu-
lar active cooperation and consultation, in the words of the ‘Three Wise
Men’ (1956) report: prevent crises between its members, unify its mem-
bers in the face of crises provoked by others, and be capable of operating
effectively in conditions of crisis (NATO 1971: 335–355).
In practice, it was easier to identify subjects about which political con-
sultation could be achieved than to create a permanent mechanism for
institutionalized consultation. The latter was due to the proviso that the
Council ‘should be and remain the principal forum of political consul-
tation . . . a group or committee of political advisers was only acceptable
to (the Council) provided its subordinate character to the Council was
made clear’ (June 1952, quoted from NHO 1963: §20).
The NAC allowed no doubt about the governments’ domination of
the decision-making structure at least in matters of high politics. Yet,
it acknowledged the need to delegate day-to-day tasks to supporting
units. The decisive move in political consultation towards continuous
cooperation took place with the Lisbon reorganisation in February/April
1952. Since February 1953, the Secretary General was assisted by a Polit-
ical Division which defined problems affecting the Alliance and kept
files on these issues. This allowed the Secretary General to discuss in
NAC sessions the implications which an international problem had
for NATO. He invited dissenting representatives to private or informal
consultations of different types. The number of such informal/private
sessions increased throughout the 1950s (see also Mayer and Theiler,
this volume).
The need to learn lessons from the ‘year of crises 1956’ (Schmidt
1999) coincided with the report of the Three Wise Men committee
(NATO 1971: 335–355) on how to bring Articles 2 and 4 of the NAT to

the fore. The Ministerial Meeting of the NAC in mid-December 1956
granted the Secretary General a right of initiative. Hence, he received
the same privilege like the member states to open the consultation pro-
cess. The NAC Ministerial Meeting also asked the Secretary General to
‘offer his good offices’ at any time to settle disputes between member
states informally or form a machinery for conciliation, mediation, or
arbitration (Heinemann 1998: 183). The Meeting, too, provided the Sec-
retary General with the new competence to submit an Annual Political
Appraisal to the Council’s spring meeting.
Previously, appraisal had been done by the Council deputies and
their political working group (NHO 1963: §6). One criterion for such
Council arrangements was that membership of these agencies should
be composed of delegates ‘able to speak with a high degree of expe-
rience and authority, assisted if necessary by experts’. In that sense,
the NAC established in 1957 for the first time a Committee of Polit-
ical Advisers. Chaired by the Assistant Secretary General for Political
Affairs, it held regular meetings. Its tasks were confirmed and expanded
in a report by the Atlantic Policy Advisory Group (APAG), composed
of senior Foreign Office officials from NATO countries which were
appointed in the context of the 1961 Long Term Planning Exercise.
The NAC approved the report’s recommendations and enshrined two
developments: Firstly, the ‘supporting unit’ was expected to submit
in its reports ‘conclusions and indicate implications for Western pol-
icy, not necessarily accepted unanimously, on the understanding that
dissenting voices should also be recorded if the dissenting party so
wished’ (NHO 1963: §72). The Council itself was confined to con-
sensus decision-making. Secondly, the APAG would be chaired by a
senior officer of the IS, the Assistant Secretary General for Political
Affairs (NATO 1971: 84; Jordan 1979: 26–29). Such institutionalization,
amounting to internationalization, had already been practised in the
Economic and Financial Board, and Economic Committee, respectively.
This acknowledged that internal progress of ‘NATOization’ had been
achieved through close consultations between the national delegations
and NATO’s IS.
The imperative of a ‘central’ civilian agency with

a Secretary General
A unique phenomenon about NATO was that before it was able to start
implementing its political tasks as assigned by the NAT, it first had
Gustav Schmidt 41
to address the urgent need to build up collective balanced forces. The

importance of accomplishing an integrated force under a centralized
military command called for the formation of a permanent civilian–
politico–administrative unit so as to guarantee the subordination of the
military units to political authorities. This was a crucial imperative of
the democracies constituting the Alliance. The issue was that the Stand-
ing Group was not very responsive to the civilian bodies’ demand for
information about, and explanation of, its ambitious defence plans.
In reverse, the military authorities were concerned that ‘politicians’
would jump to the intriguing idea that an early option for a nuclear
defence posture would remove the pressure to implement the defined
force goals. In view of the lack of coordination, rules and procedures had
to be fixed.8 ‘[T]he Council are responsible for giving political guidance
to the military authorities and for providing them, as far as economic
capabilities permit, with the men, equipment and the infrastructure
which they require for the discharge of their responsibilities to defend
NATO area’ (Ismay 1956: 61).
The first SACEUR, Dwight D. Eisenhower, ‘recognized and accepted
the primacy of political concerns over military factors’ (Pedlow 2000:
169) and emphasized the importance of having a functional civilian
equivalent to the SACEUR and SHAPE (Hammerich 2003: 238–239,
285–291). In contrast to the Standing Group, Eisenhower supported
Harriman in convincing the Truman administration that it must allow
the European allies to maintain sound economic structures and political
stability in its attempts to force up the (European) allies’ defence effort.
Early on, the NAC – at its second meeting in November 1949 –
established the Defence Financial and Economic Committee (DFEC),
composed of Finance Ministers, who in turn created a permanent work-
ing group residing in London. The DFEC was established as the civilian
counterpart to the MC, which advised the Council in military mat-
ters (Ismay: 25–30). The permanent working group analyzed national
defence budgets. Based on information about and the assessment of
national resources available for defence, the DFEC – in cooperation with
the MC and the Standing Group – developed an ‘overall financial and
economic guidance for defence programmes’ (NATO 1971: 27). After the
creation of the Council of Deputies in May 1950, the working staff of the
DFEC served this body. The expectation was that the Deputies,9 meet-
ing in ‘continuous session, would be able to coordinate the work of the
civilian and military branches’ (that is, Defence Committee and DFEC).
They were also expected to promote public information activities under
Article 2, and effective consultation at an early stage of acute problems
(Article 4). Under the elected chairmanship of Charles M. Spofford (the

US deputy representative), the NAC Deputies established a permanent
working staff, composed of officials seconded to NATO, to enable the
implementation of NAC decisions. Thus, a central coordinating body
was created, ‘but there was still no permanent international secretariat
paid from an international budget’ (Jordan 1967: 23, 116–117).
The shift towards internationalization by establishing an indepen-
dent central civilian NATO administration, ‘entrusted with adequate
authority to enable the Council to discharge its collective tasks as
a body and to reach strong decisions’ (Jordan 1967: 203), was pre-
cipitated by the Ministerial Council meeting in Ottawa in September
1951. The inclusion of the Defence and Finance Ministers into the
NAC expressed the member states’ determination to have an undivided
civilian multinational institution at the top of the Alliance and reaf-
firm the primacy of political guidance. The process was finalized when
the Council on 25 February 1952 determined that NATO must have
a Council of Permanent Representatives in continuing session, acting
on behalf of governments as a whole, as well as a Secretary General
and an International Staff/Secretariat, who were to serve this Council
(Ismay 1956: 55). ‘The increasing responsibilities assigned to NATO by
member governments necessitated the centralization and simplifica-
tion of the civilian agencies still too complex and scattered’ (Jordan
1979: 29).
Following the example of the TCC Executive Bureau, the Secretary
General was bestowed with the authority to interact directly with
member governments and with NATO’s military leaders. The Secretary
General was to be appointed by, and accountable to, the NAC. Sitting
in the NAC as vice chairman (since late 1956: as Chairman), he was
somewhat considered the 15th/16th member of the NAC. He could
autonomously appoint staff as well as the Assistant Secretaries General
and directors of divisions. He used this leverage to recruit officials from
a wide range of member states as heads of divisions and committees.
In particular, the first Secretary General (Lord Ismay) created the post of
Deputy Secretary General ‘to enable smaller powers to have one of its
nationals in the top echelon’ of the IS (Jordan 1967: 118, 87–92, 164).
In general, the IS benefited in its incipient period from two types of per-
sonal networks: Firstly, the ‘stage army’ of financial and administrative
consultants who gained their merits in inter-allied collaboration boards
during and after the Second World War; and secondly, officials and
experts seconded by national governments to serve with WUDO and/or
on Spofford’s staff.
Gustav Schmidt 43
The Deputy and the Assistant Secretaries General became chairmen

of a growing number of functional committees with alternating labels.
The Executive Secretary, heading the Office of the Secretary General, was
secretary to the NAC, being in charge of the internal administration and
keeping in constant touch with national delegations. Regular meetings
of the Secretary General with the Deputy, Assistant Secretaries General,
Executive Secretary, Financial Controller, and Standing Group Liaison
Officer helped make the Secretary General a well-informed spokesman
of NATO’s administration in Council meetings.
Challenges to the raison d’être of NATO as an independent

international organization
The developments during the period 1952–1956 had kick-started NATO

as a civilian–political organization and in so doing entailed an inter-
nationalization of defence politics. During the Suez crisis, when the
Anglo–French–Israeli collusion led to a military offensive against Egypt,
the Secretary General could state that no attack on a NATO member had
occurred, hence that the Alliance was not directly affected. Neverthe-
less, there were internal repercussions. The French suspected a US–USSR
collusion in the United Nations Security Council against the interven-
tionists and challenged America’s role as Europe’s security provider. The
US requested fundamental changes in NATO’s security strategy towards
a Flexibility in Response, combined with rescheduling their conven-
tional force deployments. It wanted to focus on the strategic issues with
regard to the USSR which included negotiations on arms control and
non-proliferation of nuclear weapons. Even US President Eisenhower,
the former SACEUR, asserted that the west Europeans had prospered
enough to be capable to take over responsibility for their defence. He
also argued that the expansion of American conventional military pres-
ence (in 1951–1952) had never been meant as more than provisional,
anyway. To compensate for the diminishing confidence in US military
reassurance, European allies probed into the policy of détente: the easing
of strained relations with the Soviet bloc.
Due to these developments there was the need to enhance NATO’s
political function. This need implied two key tasks. Firstly, to overcome
the rift among allied external approaches to the supposedly lessening
‘Soviet threat’ and to craft a coordinated Ostpolitik with a view to ‘secur-
ing peace in Europe’ by politico–diplomatic moves. It implied, secondly,
the task to bring to an end the NATO internal clash over how to secure
the influence of European allies on the US/SACEUR credible deterrence
and to agree upon firm, long-term European defence contributions and

the composition of US nuclear weaponry. The question was what role
member states envisioned for NATO as an international organization in
the delicate balance between strategic guidance, on the one hand, and
political consultations about negotiations with the Eastern Bloc and its
hegemon, the USSR, on the other.
With regard to the first task, the Secretary General felt compelled to
alert and admonish governments: détente must not detract from indi-
vidual and collective defence efforts. In his view, NATO had to remain
the hub of common Western and national security endeavours. Member
states should not neglect their obligation to uphold deterrence, how-
ever convinced of their own arguments in favour of retrenchment they
might have been. If they got away with their selfish perspective on
defence cuts, such precedent would trigger an avalanche. Allies were
also expected to jointly explore, and then test, the chances for choos-
ing ‘political responses to political problems’ (the German synonym
for détente) – supported by the accumulated expertise NATO’s IS and
ministerial committees’ advice could muster.
As for the second task (the balance between strategic guidance and
political consultations), the US-sparked shift in NATO’s strategic concept
towards Flexibility in Response (1961–1968) prompted the Secretary
General to make a plea, together with Washington, for two things:
for arranging a joint planning procedure; and for keeping the non-
nuclear member states (such as Germany) informed about the impli-
cations of Flexibility in Response as well as about the political and
military rationale of US/UK talks with the USSR on arms control and
non-proliferation of nuclear weapons. Notwithstanding the well-known
objections of US Joint Chiefs of Staff and the US Congress to revise
the McMahon Act,10 the Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson admin-
istrations launched different proposals to broaden political control
arrangements with NATO partners for the use of its nuclear arsenal.11
These proposals raised the expectations of some members (Germany,
Italy, Turkey), but likewise triggered heavy objections by others. Nei-
ther the American offers nor the Secretary General’s parallel proposals
for setting up ad hoc Council committees with limited membership to
examine and issue institutional devices went far enough to dissuade
France from pursuing her resolve to become itself – instead of NATO –
the West’s third nuclear power and leave NATO (Schmidt 1995b). Well
aware of the danger of a two-tiered NATO, the Secretary General – with
support from some Permanent Representatives – took pains to reaffirm
the belief in the importance of NATO and to keep the Alliance together.
Gustav Schmidt 45
Another concern was to prevent France from leaving the political

organization of NATO.12 This could eventually be avoided through an
intensive dialogue between American and French officials and Perma-
nent Representatives, active support by the ‘NATO 14’ and an influential
study of the IS which suggested enormous problems intrinsically tied
to the withdrawal of NATO’s military and civilian headquarters from
France, the hitherto host-nation of this infrastructure. The subsequent
political rescue operation of aligning France to the dual-track philos-
ophy of combining a joint Ostpolitik/détente with a full-fledged military
force posture (embodied in the Harmel Report of 1966/1967) shows once
more the significance of the interplay between US and French Perma-
nent Representatives and foreign ministries and the impact of NATO’s
intergovernmental committees (Bozo 1998).
NATO’s international politico–civilian agencies did not succeed in
promoting their ideas on how to avoid confrontation over govern-
ing NATO’s military affairs. In contrast to the German government,13
French President Charles de Gaulle challenged the fundamental idea
that an internationalized, collective defence regime would be a desirable
solution. He downrightly rejected multinational, integrated defence
schemes and questioned the worth of establishing autonomous inter-
national agencies. He used to bypass the Secretary General and denied
smaller allies a right to be included, on nominally equal terms, in
multinational decision-making bodies. In particular, ‘France objected
(in July 1963) to creating a joint planning group of members of the
Military Staff and the International Staff/Secretariat to study strategy,
force requirements and resources under the authority of the Secretary
General’ (Jordan 1979: 153–154). Paris hence rejected two major accom-
plishments of NATO: the tenet of the above-mentioned Annual Review
processes which allowed NATO officials to access data on national
defence planning; and the independent role of the Secretary General as
NATO’s spokesman and coordinator between the military and civilian
branches of the Alliance.
The shift towards the Flexibility in Response strategy and France’s
opting-out of the military branch in 1966 led to the restructuring of
NATO as a military organization (see also Krüger, this volume). In partic-
ular, the SACEUR’s political authority was downsized when the Kennedy
administration recalled Lauris Norstad, a SACEUR with close ties to
European statesmen. The SACEUR and Secretary Generals had main-
tained close collaboration. The MC took over the planning functions
previously assigned to the Standing Group, which was dissolved. The
MC moved from Washington to Brussels and became ‘another level in
the NATO bureaucratic complex’ (Jordan 1979: 197, 227–228). The con-
solidation of NATO’s military and political functions in Brussels did not,
of course, imply an end to differing preferences of civilian and mili-
tary authorities. But institutional provisions facilitated reconcilement.
Representatives to the MC acted as defence advisers to their Permanent
Representatives to the Council; the Chairman of the MC participated
in discussions on the coordination of political and military affairs. The
Defence Planning Committee, composed of the defence ministers and
chaired by the Secretary General, ‘added to the trend of civilian con-
trol over the military’ (Jordan 1979: 202–203). Eventually, the Secretary
General chaired both the NAC and the DPC.14
Conclusion
NATO is often said to be the child or twin of the Cold War. This chapter,
however, shows that NATO was something more, which allowed it to
survive the end of the East–West conflict: It institutionalized politi-
cal consultation and cooperation between North American and west
European partners mainly, but not merely in terms of foreign, secu-
rity, and defence policy. The perennial task of the pact was to attain
a sustainable balance between jointly defined military force goals and
economic-financial capabilities of its member states. In order to cope
with the tensions accompanying the search for solutions, the member
states’ governments discovered the need to learn about their part-
ners’ leeway as well as the advantages of internationalization: assign-
ing responsibilities to an international politico–administrative system.
Accordingly, the institutional structures the Alliance was built upon
two components. Firstly, it was built upon a standing civilian multi-
national institution, acting on behalf of governments as a whole at the
site of NATO headquarters to discharge the collective tasks as defined
by the Council (of Ministers) and occasionally heads of governments
and to reaffirm the primacy of political guidance. The headquarters in
Paris (1952–1967) and Brussels (since 1967) presented a forum for mem-
ber states to influence the Permanent Representatives of other member
states (Risse-Kappen 1995: 210) as well as NATO’s standing international
agencies. Institutional structures at NATO headquarters also allowed
member states to acquire information and explanations on what is
going on in other capitals. The second component the Alliance was
built upon is an independent international central civilian administra-
tion, organized along functional lines (Political Affairs, Economics and
Finance, Production and Logistics, and so on) which is headed by the
Gustav Schmidt 47
Secretary General. The latter functions as NATO’s spokesman and coor-

dinator between the political–civilian and military dimensions of the
Alliance and thus has bolstered the process of internationalization (see
also Hendrickson, this volume).
As the interplay among NATO’s civilian agencies successfully pro-
gressed and involved the military authorities, NATO became an inter-
nationalized forum with an increasingly sophisticated administrative
structure. NATO’s international structures gained credibility in the eyes
of member states who considered them increasingly as acceptable.
Notes
1. Since NATO as a full-fledged organization came into existence only in 1952,
I use the NAT(O) label where applicable.
2. The TCC was established by the North Atlantic Council in September to
reconcile the requirements of collective defence – that is, the Medium Term
Defence Plan, to be completed in 1954 – with the political and economic
capabilities of the member states.
3. In contrast to the US, neither the UK nor Canada or any of the smaller mem-
ber states wanted a civilian ‘Mr. NATO’ – similar to a SACEUR like Eisenhower
or Norstad – and an expanding alliance bureaucracy.
4. The WUDO was initially established as the defence component for the
Western Union.
5. If not stated otherwise, the notion ‘Council’ refers throughout this chapter
to the NAC. Since its seventh session – at Ottawa in September 1951 – the
NAC also comprised ministers of defence and finance or economics.
6. The OEEC, emerging from the Marshall Plan, came into being in April 1948.
7. The OEEC also comprised west European neutral countries.
8. The problem was compounded by a constitutive deficit: the MC and its
executive branch, the Standing Group, were located in Washington. The
ministerial Military Production and Supply Board and the Financial and Eco-
nomic Committee were based in London. The WUDO military headquarters,
predecessor of SHAPE/SACEUR, resided in Fontainebleau.
9. The deputies represented governments, not just ministries of external affairs
(foreign offices).
10. The McMahon Act of 1946 established the Atomic Energy Commission,
‘a civilian-run government agency that was solely responsible for nuclear
research and development’.
11. This relates to dual-key ‘trigger’ for tactical atomic weapons: NATO multina-
tional ‘nuclear fire brigade’ and multilateral force of medium-ranged ballistic
missiles.
12. The fear was that France could succeed in separating ‘Europe’ from US-NATO
and constitute a l’Europe des patries as the West’s ‘third force’. This stance
excluded the UK, the second Western power, from access to such European
Political Union (and the EEC).
13. German military and political officials not only influenced US Strategic Con-
cepts on relevant aspects from Bonn’s point of view, but also went along
with the US-induced overall change of course (cf. Tuschhoff 1999: 150–156).
On the importance of Norstad’s understanding of SACEUR’s tasks and role
in this context, see Jordan (2001: 90, 93).
14. Compare this to the European Union until the Lisbon Treaty, where the
positions of president of the European Commission and Commissioner for
External Relations and that of the High Representative for Common Foreign
and Security Policy (HR) were kept separate. The first High Representative,
Javier Solana, was also wearing the hats of Secretary General of the Council
of the European Union and of the Western European Union (1999–2009).
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Gustav Schmidt 49
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3
Institutionalizing NATO’s Military
Bureaucracy: The Making of an
Integrated Chain of Command
Dieter Krüger
This second historical contribution to the volume elucidates the origins

of NATO’s military bureaucracy and illustrates how it developed dur-
ing the Cold War. In 1951, allied countries laid the foundation for a
military structure that would shape NATO’s institutional design below
top-level political decision-making bodies. This happened against the
background of increasing antagonism between the US as the leader
of Western democracies and the Soviet Union with the nations it
controlled.
Yet, the creation of NATO’s multinational military bureaucracy was
not only a response to the rise of the Soviet Union in the context
of an emerging bipolar world order. It also continued the interna-
tionalization of warfare which had already been visible during the
First World War. In a broader perspective, the Alliance and its military
bureaucracy mirrored a change in international politics which had tra-
ditionally been dominated by rather ad hoc-ish, hardly institutionalized
bilateral relations. After 1945, a rapidly growing number of interna-
tional organizations (IOs), including the United Nations and the World
Trade Organization, transformed this classical, bilateral foreign policy
(Rittberger and Zangl 2013: 49–81). In these IOs, international bureau-
cracies evolved over time. As we shall see below, NATO’s integrated
military structure has also bred a specific group of experts, civilians as
well as military personnel. Working in an international environment,
they became committed to a common purpose, and their motives of
action cannot be reduced to the maximization of national interests.
It must be also noted, however, that national egoisms and historical
tensions among NATO members have repeatedly fraught the process of
50
Dieter Krüger 51
military integration with difficulties and military ineffectiveness, which

is the other side of the coin of internationalization.
Historical roots of NATO’s integrated command
Until the First World War, violent conflicts between states occurred pri-
marily as coalition wars: allies fought together, but each one largely
for themselves, and everybody was prepared to leave the allies in the
lurch when this promised greater advantages. At best, loose agreements
were negotiated over strategic objectives and the (parallel) conduct
of operations. The command and control of mass multiple-service
armies deployed in several theatres represented a considerable challenge
already for national military leaders. In contrast to the Central Powers
(Germany and the Austrian-Hungarian Empire) whose armies kept oper-
ating separately, the US successfully nudged the Entente Powers (the
UK and France) to set up a joint allied supreme command, which was
established in March 1918. Its purpose was to coordinate the operations
of involved national armies, their equipment, and organization. In the
end, this scheme helped repel the last German offensive and to turn it
into a complete failure (Greenhalgh 2008; Thies 2009: 25–86; Weitsman
2004).
The defence of France by the French and British during the Second
World War was doomed to failure due to inadequate command and
control coordination – although in terms of armament and supply their
armies were in fact superior to the German Wehrmacht. As early as in
1941, Americans and Britons established the Combined Chiefs of Staff as
the highest advisory body to both heads of government. A subordinate
Allied Forces Headquarters was established in 1942, tasked to implement
the campaign in Northern Africa. From this headquarters emerged in
1944/1945 US General Dwight D. Eisenhower’s Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Forces (SHAEF) as a joint command for the cam-
paign in Europe. At the end of the war, Eisenhower was convinced that
the integrated conduct of operations through allied armies composed of
different national forces of sovereign states was indeed possible (Bland
1991: 57–89).
In March 1948, France, the UK, and the Benelux countries signed
the Treaty of Brussels. This was a collective defence agreement which
established the Brussels Treaty Organization and eventually led to
the formation of NATO in 1949 and the Western European Union
(WEU) in 1955. Making things even more complex, the Brussels Treaty
powers established in September 1948 the Western Union Defence
Organisation (WUDO) which was terminated already three years later.

The WUDO was initially established as the defence component for the
WEU’s predecessor, the Western Union. The WUDO can be seen as a
precursor to NATO as its headquarters, staff and planning schemes pro-
vided the basis for what would later serve as NATO’s military core (see
also Schmidt, this volume).
Yet, just how difficult it was to integrate the military resources
of different nations became quickly apparent. When a Commanders
Committee was established for WUDO in the same year 1948, based
at first in London and later in Fontainebleau near Paris, its lack of
precisely defined powers reflected the allies’ hesitation to set up a full-
fledged supreme command. The Commanders Committee was chaired
by Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery from the UK. He endeavoured to
coordinate the weak military capabilities of the member states in order
to allow for a minimum degree of common defence ability. Montgomery
immediately faced divergent interests, including those of the British mil-
itary which opposed any far-reaching involvement on the European
continent. French decision-makers in particular suspected that French
soldiers would perhaps have to defend the Rhine against a possible
Soviet attack – armed with American weapons but under a British
supreme command. As a consequence, Montgomery got tangled up in a
conflict of competence with the French Commander Land Forces of the
Brussels Treaty Organization. This bothersome prelude was a harbinger
of the strain a future transatlantic alliance would have to cope with.
However, in contrast to the situation after the First World War,
European governments learnt their lessons and did not return to the
confusion of largely disparate bilateral relations and agreements. The
Brussels Treaty Organization and the Organization for European Eco-
nomic Co-operation (OEEC), which was also established in 1948, were
the first cornerstones for a future (West) European economic and mili-
tary order. But it was impossible to build up significant military capabil-
ities without financial aid and substantial arms transfers from the US.
Americans and Canadians sought, however, to avoid any obligations.
They therefore joined the Brussels Treaty Organization as observers
only. Even so, the US liaison officer in its Military Committee acted
more like a protagonist than a silent bystander. In the case of a Soviet
attack, the Europeans also wanted to replace the Commanders Com-
mittee through an American supreme commander. Hence, an important
issue in the debates on a potential transatlantic alliance, starting in sum-
mer 1948, was the relationship of this would-be north Atlantic alliance
with the Treaty of Brussels. By its Article IV, the signatories promised
Dieter Krüger 53
each other automatic and comprehensive mutual military assistance if

one of them was attacked. In the eyes of the US and Canadian govern-
ments, this was a too far-reaching and entangling liability the US Senate
could not be expected to ratify (Bland 1991: 93–112, Kaplan 2007;
Varsori 1988: 133–176; see also Schmidt, this volume).
The emerging high probability of a US-led security alliance low-
ered the pressure on the Europeans to fuse their political and military
resources into an integrated community (albeit with a modest mili-
tary clout) which could have encountered the perceived communist
threat at least politically. Thus, it was no surprise that the French even-
tually dropped the idea of a European Defense Community in 1954.
France did acknowledge the need to deploy German soldiers which were
widely seen as crucial for a sufficient defence of western Europe. Still,
they had difficulties getting used to the idea of a joint European army
including German troops. On the one hand, a joint European army
provided a control of the German rearmament without discriminating
the Germans. On the other hand the integration of substantial parts of
national military resources would have implied to fuse a large part of
their own sovereignty into an integrated European community which
would probably develop rapidly into a federation. As an alternative, the
integrated chain of command which NATO would subsequently set up
offered sufficient integration and control of a German army, yet without
sacrificing significant elements of national sovereignty.
The origins of NATO’s military structure
By signing the North Atlantic Treaty (NAT) on 4 April 1949, founding

members created a political alliance that would only a few years later be
given significant military functions. The decision of the US government
to join in implied a significant break with its isolationist past. Since the
times of President Thomas Jefferson in the late 18th century, US for-
eign policy had been based on the principle of avoiding long-term and
hence binding alliances (Kaplan 2007). The slim NAT mentions only the
highest decision-making body, the North Atlantic Council (NAC), and
implicitly the Defense Ministers’ Committee. In fact, founding mem-
bers left open the question of what exactly NATO’s institutional design
should look like.
It soon became clear, however, that a permanent body was urgently
needed: not only to prepare sessions of NATO’s decision-making bodies,
but also to ensure the Alliance’s ability to take action in between NAC
sessions. In May 1950, the NAC therefore established the Deputy North
Atlantic Council – modelled on the Treaty of Brussels – which convened

in the format of member states’ ambassadors to the Alliance. Initially
based in London, in 1952 the Council moved to Paris.
In negotiations over the NAT, Washington insisted that the mutual
defence clause mentioned in Article V be framed deliberately vague so
as to avoid a too far-reaching obligation.1 At the outset, the military
objectives of the NAT were of secondary importance, anyway, while
political and economic aims were considered more crucial. The minor
importance of military functions in the beginning was also reflected in
the institutional setup which was more appropriate to planning – rather
than commanding – army groups in the event of a war: a merely non-
permanent Military Committee consisting of member states’ military
top brass was established below the level of Defense Committee (with
ministers of defence). One of the Military Committee’s functions was to
give advice to the Defense Committee on the establishment of a unified
defence of the Alliance’s territory as stipulated in the NAT: north of the
Tropic of Cancer. Another function was to guide a kind of permanent
executive committee that was preparing a military strategy: the Stand-
ing Group comprising the US, the UK, and France. Both bodies were
initially based in Washington.
The Anglo-Saxons agreed that an effective body with the ability to
make quick decisions was required. But a simple reactivation of the
US–British Combined Chiefs of Staff and SHAEF joint command of
the Second World War would have met with resistance from other
allies. France after all represented the European continent. But the
British only reluctantly accepted the Standing Group to include French
representatives in addition to British and US officers. Italy had, how-
ever, to accommodate to the fact that it did not play any part in the
Standing Group. Canada wanted to assume only a minor role in the
military build-up of the Alliance anyway. Nonetheless, the membership
of France in the Standing Group hardly concealed the dominance of
US and British military in that body. Ultimately the two continued the
cooperation they had initiated in the Second World War.
Below the Standing Group, five Regional Planning Groups were estab-
lished: for western Europe (the members of the Treaty of Brussels);
northern Europe (Great Britain, Denmark, and Norway); southern
Europe (France, Italy, and Great Britain); the north Atlantic (all except
Luxembourg and Italy); and for North America (the US and Canada).
The fact that the US only took regional responsibility for its own conti-
nent (together with Canada) was in line with its preference for a vague
mutual assistance obligation. It hence avoided the impression in the
Dieter Krüger 55
eyes of its public that it got too deeply involved in European affairs.
The Standing Group was meant to integrate the strategic and opera-
tional plans of the Regional Planning Groups into an overall strategy
as it represented the Alliance’s common objectives at the military level.
By contrast, the five regional groups continued to reflect national secu-
rity interests to a much larger degree. This initial institutional setup
maintained the US’ control over the Alliance while it limited its presence
on all institutional levels of the Alliance.
In December 1950, the NATO Committee of Permanent Military Rep-
resentatives was formed since the Military Committee convened only
a few times per year. This new body was particularly important for
those allies not represented in the Standing Group. The latter largely
epitomized the interests of the three major powers, the US, the UK,
and France, in the Alliance and for this reason was in a kind of inher-
ent tension with the newly founded committee (Bland 1991: 113–147;
152–156; Pedlow 2000: 153–157).
In the meantime, the Korean War, which broke out on 25 June 1950,
started working as a catalyst for a rapid transformation of the Alliance’s
military architecture. This event was crucial in paving the way for a mil-
itary contribution of West Germany to NATO, which was eventually
accepted by France in September 1950. From now on, the integrated
chain of command was built up. It facilitated West Germany’s accession
to NATO in 1954/1955 in providing control and supervision schemes
for German re-armament.
The build-up of an integrated command structure

from 1951 to 1961
The decade of the 1950s can be considered the founding era of NATO
as a military institution. During this period, the Alliance established
a structure of multinational headquarters within which soldiers from
different nations would work together, embodying a process of inter-
nationalization as understood in this volume. This was a difficult mul-
tilateral learning process and required many compromises on national
interests and sensitivities. As we shall see, national egoisms and past
tensions among NATO members have regularly hampered the process
of military integration and often led to military ineffectiveness.
In September 1950, the NAC decided to establish the above-
mentioned integrated command structure for Europe and the North
Atlantic and to subordinate the allied armed forces to a joint comman-
der, the Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR). In December
1950, Dwight D. Eisenhower, the successful allied Commander-in-Chief

in the Second World War, was appointed to this post. His support-
ing staff, the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE), was
activated in April 1951. The SACEUR established a number of multi-
national headquarters at a regional level, which substituted the five
Planning Groups – except for the one for North America. He imple-
mented the military strategy which had been approved by the Standing
Group, the Military Committee and the NAC into operational plans.
Finally, the SACEUR was given the task of commanding and control-
ling assigned armed forces in Europe in the event of war. This function
included the privilege to inspect and make proposals with regard to
national contingents assigned to him. Yet, while he issued the national
defence ministers recommendations on the training, organization, and
deployment of national contributions, the responsibility for the oper-
ational readiness of troops and the management of national units
remained fully in national prerogatives. The SACEUR was subordinate,
and had hence to report, to the Standing Group. In addition to his
SACEUR responsibilities, however, he was the Commander-in-Chief of
the US Forces in Europe (USCINCEUR). In this capacity, he had direct
access to the US Secretary of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff as
the top US military leadership. The post was always – and still is –
filled by a high-ranking US general. This double-hatting strengthened
the SACEUR’s position in NATO. From 1951 onwards, he acted not only
as the champion of the Alliance’s joint purpose but also as trustee of the
common European security interests (Bland 1991: 160).
Functions and roles assigned to the SACEUR reflected a basic change
in US foreign policy. Washington had not only abandoned its policy
of keeping a distance from NATO. It had in fact positively responded to
European demands to take the lead in defending them in the case of war
and to maintain peace and order among them. Even so, rivalry among
members continued within the Alliance, in particular over appoint-
ments to influential posts by which governments hoped to secure their
national security interests. Since the Atlantic was of utmost geostrate-
gic importance, both lead nations in this region (US and UK) quarrelled
over manning the position of the top NATO naval commander.
The Supreme Allied Commander Atlantic (SACLANT), whose com-
mand was based in Norfolk/Virginia and whose area of responsibility
included the Portuguese mainland, was granted the same legal status as
the SACEUR.2 One of his most important tasks was to protect the sup-
ply of troops and material across the Atlantic to the presumed European
theatre of war. The British were initially not ready to relinquish this
Dieter Krüger 57
newly found post to the Americans. Hence, a deal was struck accord-
ing to which the coastal waters of the British islands were excluded and
put under the control of a British admiral. The entire English Channel
from East of Brest until deep into the North Sea was placed under the
control of a Channel Committee. Chaired by a British admiral, it rep-
resented the countries bordering the channel, that is the UK, France,
the Netherlands, and Belgium. The chairman was granted a status close
to that of the SACEUR and the SACLANT. Hence, together with the
British Commander of the coastal waters, there were no fewer than four
supreme naval commanders holding responsibility in the North Sea.
In return for the Americans appointing the SACLANT, another
British admiral assumed the command of Allied Forces Mediterranean
(AFMED). He commanded all naval forces except for the 6th US Fleet,
which operated in the same waters. In 1967, the British withdrew
from the Mediterranean and in consequence resigned from providing
the AFMED commander. Up to this year, the AFMED commander was
directly subordinate to the SACEUR as the latter’s fourth command
area in addition to central, northern, and southern Europe. From 1967
onwards, the functions of former AFMED were absorbed by a new
command Naval Forces Mediterranean (NAVSOUTH) under an Italian
admiral, who was, however, now subordinate to the Allied Forces South-
ern Europe (AFSOUTH). The 6th US Fleet in the Mediterranean was
under the command of a US admiral based in Naples, who was also
the commander of AFSOUTH and subordinate to the SACEUR. His area
of responsibility expanded when Greece and Turkey joined NATO in
February 1952.
Due to reservations which resulted from the wars Italy had waged
against the Ottoman Empire in 1911/1912 and against Greece in 1940,
the Turks and Greeks neither wanted to have their forces subordinate
to an Italian general, nor (even worse), to a Greek or Turkish general,
respectively (that is to say, neither Greeks wanted a Turkish general,
nor the Turkish a Greek general). So, in addition to the Army Group
headquarters (LANDSOUTH) in Verona, which was responsible for Italy,
a headquarters was set up in Izmir under an American commander
(LANDSOUTHEAST). A British admiral was appointed commander for
Northern Europe (AFNORTH). The land forces in Denmark and Norway
were subordinate to national NATO commanders. After West Germany
joined the Alliance in 1955, the Allied Command Baltic Approaches
was set up to protect the Danish straits. This required overcoming
considerable Danish opposition to West Germany’s participation in
this multinational staff. Hence, due to a number of historical tensions
and reservations, the setup of NATO’s military structure was difficult.

Thinking counterfactually, one could have imagined a higher degree of
military ineffectiveness absent this conflict and these caveats.
The SACEUR had initially assumed control of the front on the Rhine
while a French field marshal took on command over the land forces
in Central Europe. Eisenhower’s successor in the SACEUR position
(Matthew B. Ridgway) modified this structure as early as 1953, leav-
ing a French marshal then in command of all NATO forces in Central
Europe (Commander-in-Chief Central Europe, CINCENT). Subordinate
to him was another Frenchman as commander of the allied land forces
(LANDCENT). In 1957, this latter post was assumed by a West German
general. He was successful in his efforts to move the defence line as close
to the inner German border with Czechoslovakia as possible. CINCENT
commanded two army groups and two air forces, one each in South
and North Germany, respectively. They included German, American,
British, French (until 1966) Belgian, Dutch, and Canadian contingents
(see Figure 3.1).
The changing line-up of army corps of different nationalities – in
popular terms referred to as a ‘multi-layer cake’ – resulted in a multi-
national presence of the military organization at what was expected
to be the hotspot of a military conflict in Central Europe. From the
very beginning, soldiers of different member states would have fought
SHAPE
Northern Central Southern Mediterranean

Europe Europe Europe AFMED
AFNORTH AFCENT AFSOUTH Malta
Kolsaas Fontainebleau Neapel
Land forces Air forces Naval forces

central Europe central Europe central Europe
LANDCENT AIRCENT NAVCENT
Fontaineblean Fontainebleau Fontainebleau
Army group Army group Second allied Fourth allied Naval forces
center north tactical air tactical air north sea
CENTAG NORTHAG force force NORSEACENT
Seckenheim Monchen- 2 ATAF 4 ATAF Cuxhaven
Gladbach Monchen- Heidelberg
Gladbach
Figure 3.1 NATO commands in Central Europe 1953–1967

Source: Krüger (2013: 28).
Dieter Krüger 59
alongside German soldiers in a battle for the defence of West Germany.

The command and control schemes of army and air force groups posed
a major challenge for CINCENT and his subordinate commanders: these
groups were made up of soldiers drawn from armed forces with different
traditions, leadership philosophies, training, and equipment, which was
a significant challenge (Ismay 1956: 70–78).
NATO’s military committees and commands were instrumental in
ongoing planning cycles for short (3–8 years) and long-term periods (20
years). The long-term objectives of the Military Committee provided the
basis of SACEUR’s infrastructure and staff requirements. The short-term
objectives were discussed among national general staffs and the inte-
grated staffs of NATO commanders on the basis of political guidelines.
The results were submitted as drafts via the Military to the Defense
Committee, where they were approved at the political level (see also
Tuschhoff, this volume).
Conversely, governments reported their successes or failures in the
implementation of Alliance specifications in the annual reviews (see
also Schmidt, this volume). Both the International Staff (IS) and NATO’s
top-level military headquarters (SHAPE, SACLANT etc.) closely exam-
ined national responses to the Defense Planning Questionnaires, also
taking into account their financial and economic situations. This
helped to provide the ministers of defence with an accurate picture
of serious deficits in the Alliance’s defence readiness. The ongoing
debates about fair burden-sharing reflected the well-known question
of ‘guns or butter’. This question triggered continuing tensions not
only among the European member states and the US but frictions
appeared also among NATO’s bureaucratic bodies. Each of these bod-
ies, depending on its specific competence and area of responsibility,
aimed to enforce the Alliance’s common purpose by combining national
interests in a particular way. At the same time they specified the
requirements which were deemed necessary for the Alliance as a
whole. The implementation of agreed-upon decisions was primarily
the task of national armed forces, particularly extending the military
infrastructure, adapting armament so as to ensure inter-operability,
and deploying troops and adopting new tactics and training. Mem-
ber states usually failed to meet the military requirements of the
Alliance, though. In spite of this, the mutually approved objec-
tives served as a kind of overall goal for force planning and hence
amounted to a significant degree of internationalization of defence
planning.
In the event of an Article V contingency (an armed attack against one
or more allies), the integrated commands would have taken over the
command and control of operations. Therefore, their key task was to

continuously review the ‘Emergency’ and later ‘General Defense Plans’
for each area of responsibility down to the battalion level. The review
of plans allowed to optimize and adapt them to changed parameters.
The command authority of NATO commanders was confined to those
contingents members had provided, that is ‘assigned’ to NATO or ‘ear-
marked’ for assignment in case of a contingency. NATO commanders
did usually not have any territorial command authority. This remained
the national prerogative of member governments which clearly shows
the limits of the internationalization process.
National egoisms, caveats, and tensions among NATO members were
often problematic and caused wasteful structures. The command rela-
tionships in the Mediterranean and the North Sea, for instance, were
from a military point of view rather ineffective. But the British, who
were particularly interested in these regions, were determined to play
no less than second fiddle in the Alliance. Their desire that their officers
should assume responsibility for certain naval areas had to be considered
by other allies, although this resulted in a loss of effectiveness. Similar
compromises were also necessary when an integrated air defence system
was established in 1962. Its commanders were authorized to open fire on
any airspace violators. Yet, the French government reserved the caveat
to decide itself on whether to do so. As a result, France only cooperated
within the integrated air defence structure without making its national
air defence part of it (Krüger 2006: 485–556).
Taken together, military inefficiency was conducive to political coher-
ence. As long as the Alliance was an alliance of sovereign states, ‘defence
by committee’ was mandatory. Only a supranational military organiza-
tion would have been able to avoid taking account of national interests
and to replace the Military Committee with a ‘generalissimo’. In fact,
until today the Alliance remains an intergovernmental institution.
France’s withdrawal from NATO’s integrated military

structure in 1966
The key factors which led President Charles de Gaulle to quit NATO’s
integrated military structure in 1966 were threefold and interrelated.
Firstly, he was convinced that emancipating from American or ‘Anglo-
Saxon’ paternalism and reducing the American influence on the conti-
nental powers, West Germany in particular, would help to establish a
French political hegemony over western Europe. Since he did not want
to forgo the order and security the Alliance offered, he tried to achieve
Dieter Krüger 61
this goal within its political structure. Secondly, de Gaulle did not trust
the US with regard to their pledge to provide a nuclear umbrella for
Europeans in the case of an emergency. Thirdly, de Gaulle was always
afraid of the two superpowers agreeing on some arrangement that could
be to the disadvantage of European allies. According to his reasoning,
France’s gain in security by remaining within the military structure
would no longer make up for its loss of freedom of action in political
and military matters – in particular in issues of nuclear strategy (Bozo
1996). In 2009, France eventually returned almost silently to NATO’s
integrated military structure. By this move, Paris accepted that for the
foreseeable future, the Alliance was the only effective tool for defend-
ing Europe’s security interests while avoiding a fusion of sovereignty in
security policy matters.
In 1966, the French withdrawal caused a number of organizational
problems. But on the whole, the Alliance was able to handle this new
situation surprisingly well. The Standing Group, however, was at the end
of its function with France leaving the military organization, and was
accordingly dissolved. As we shall see further down, the International
Military Staff (IMS) took over some of its functions.
On the initiative of Belgium and Canada, NATO had already in 1963
established the office of a Standing Chairman of the Military Represen-
tatives Committee. To an extent, he was able to assume the legacy of the
Standing Group. His duty was to coordinate more effectively the mili-
tary policies among members and with the Alliance. He also presided
over the (non-permanent) Military Committee (Bland 1991: 155–159).
His function in the military decision-making bodies was hence similar
to that of the Secretary General in the political bodies.
A bilateral agreement between the SACEUR and the French Chief of
the General Staff regulated the cooperation between the French divi-
sions in West Germany and NATO forces (Bozo 1996: 189–192). Between
1968 and 1972, the European NATO Air Defence Ground Environment
Programme (NADGE) was put into effect. Despite France’s alienation
from the Alliance, NADGE had been developed as a cooperative pro-
gramme to modernize air defence, with France playing a lead role
(Krüger 2005).
Adjusting NATO’s military structure in 1966/1967
The institutional changes in the late 1960s associated with France’s

withdrawal marked the last major modification of NATO before 1990.
In 1966/1967, the Alliance lived through a profound change in its
strategy, its policy towards the Warsaw Pact and not least in its institu-
tional framework. After France had left the integrated military structure
in 1966, the strategic, institutional and political consolidation of the
Alliance was finalized by trilateral negotiations on its political and strate-
gic future between the US, Great Britain, and West Germany as well as by
the Harmel Report with its plea to ease tensions between East and West,
approved by the NAC in 1967. With the endorsement of the Flexible
Response doctrine as a direct response to that report, the US had won
recognition of its military concept of limited war (Haftendorn 1992;
Holderegger 2006; Wheeler 2001). Finally, it was necessary to modify
NATO’s institutional structure so as to accommodate it to the political
and geopolitical situation. In the next section I will only briefly dis-
cuss the topographic requirements whereas the political consequences
of NATO’s adaptation are bracketed.
In 1967, NATO relocated its headquarters from Paris to Brussels, and
SHAPE moved from Fontainebleau to Mons in Belgium. In the same
year, CINCENT set up his command in Brunssum, the Netherlands.
By way of revising the deployment of its headquarters, the Alliance
underlined the idea of forward defence – that the enemy should be
immediately attacked after having crossed the border. The NAC con-
tinued to convene as before with the occasional participation of France.
But the 14 defence ministers assembled generally without their French
counterpart in the Defense Planning Committee, which can be consid-
ered the most crucial political decision-making body below the NAC
(see Figure 3.2). In line with Germany’s and other members’ preferences
for participation in the Alliance’s nuclear planning, the NAC estab-
lished a Nuclear Defense Affairs Committee as a kind of intermediate
level vis-à-vis the formally subordinate Nuclear Planning Group. Orig-
inally, the permanent members were the US, the UK, West Germany,
and Italy. Subsequently, from the group of Greece, Turkey, Belgium,
the Netherlands, Canada, Denmark, and later also Norway, three non-
permanent members were sent to that body in varying constellations.
From 1980 onwards, all NATO members (except for France and Iceland)
were members of the Planning Group.
Its main task was to discuss the role of nuclear weapons in the
so-called triad of conventional, tactical nuclear, and strategic nuclear
deterrence in support of the Flexible Response strategy. The latter was
binding from 1968 onwards until the end of the Cold War. This new
strategy was based on the assumption that a ‘limited war’ was likely and
feasible, wherein the enemy would fight with conventional and only
partially (if at all) with nuclear means. Flexible Response was designed
Dieter Krüger 63
North Atlantic council
Defence planning Nuclear defence affairs

committee committee
(14 Defence ministers Political
without France) Nuclear planning group decision-
making
power
Other subcommittees
Military committee
(13 chiefs of staff )
Permanent military
committee (14 military
representatives)
International military staff
SHAPE SACLANT CHANCOM Regional

Mons Norfolk Portsmouth planning group
Canada /US
Figure 3.2 Top-level structure of the Alliance after 1967

Source: Krüger (2013: 113).
to adequately respond to such attacks: preferably with conventional

means, though not downright excluding the launching of a nuclear first
strike. Eventually, the Nuclear Planning Group was the forum which
decided on issues of nuclear strategy. Yet, this was always with the pro-
viso that the final decision rested with both the US president and the
British prime minister – the only heads of state of remaining members
in the integrated military structure in possession of nuclear weapons.
Essentially, the Nuclear Planning Group had the task to suggest partici-
pation in nuclear affairs to those allies who could not dispose of nuclear
explosives.
As has been mentioned, the Standing Group disappeared from NATO’s
top-level military structure. This boosted the position of the Mili-
tary Committee, whose sessions were only occasionally attended by
the French. A Deputy Chairman for Nuclear Matters was attached to
the Chairman of the Permanent Committee of Military Representa-
tives, the post always being held by an American officer (Bland 1991:
176–182).
The IMS as the Military Committee’s supporting multinational
military administration took over some functions of the Standing
Group. The IMS director was always a three-star general. Although he

formally held a position in the chain of command at a higher level than
SACEUR and SACLANT, namely between them and the Military Com-
mittee, he was not in the position to exert as much influence as the
former directors of the Standing Group. The competences of SACLANT
headquarters were as little affected by the institutional transformation as
those of SHAPE. But SACLANT increased and diversified its structure –
what finally reflected the growing threat at sea as a consequence of a
major built-up of the Soviet navy (Bland 1991: 184–198; NATO 1971:
211–235; Pedlow 2009: 8–11).
More explicitly than the SACLANT, the SACEUR and the Permanent
Chairman of the Military Committee (albeit less visibly) represented the
Alliance’s common purpose in military matters as both were perceived
as political players. They could hence be seen as competitors to NATO’s
Secretary General to some degree (see also Schmidt and Hendrickson,
this volume). Indeed, the European allies had de facto ceded some of
their military sovereignty to the US SACEUR. As a consequence, the
SACEUR as a trustee of European interests often came into conflict with
his own president since he, too, primarily asserted US national interests
in the Alliance (Jordan 1987: 175–220).
NATO did not only build up an integrated framework of military
headquarters but also established a number of integrated military units
whose deployment accompanied the gradual shift of strategy. Since
1960, NATO set up a conventional rapid reaction force (the Allied
Mobile Force, AMF), composed of NATO contingents in central and
western Europe. Its purpose was to enable NATO to respond adequately
to threats on the northern and southern flanks. This multinational ‘fire-
brigade’ represented the common purpose with three battalions and
three flying squadrons per flank. The AMF’s exercises repeatedly suffered
from the conflict between Turkey and Greece, not to mention the per-
manent dispute over how they were to be funded (Lemke 2010; Maloney
2004).
The Standing Naval Force Atlantic of SACLANT, which had been set
up in 1968, had a similar task to perform. Above all, the US, the UK,
Canada, the Netherlands, Germany, and Portugal provided frigates and
destroyers for it. The instigation of the Naval On-Call Force for the
Mediterranean in 1969 can also be seen as a response to a perceived
growing threat from Soviet naval forces. Like the AMF, it was activated
only when needed. These two Maritime Groups are still in existence
today. A Standing Naval Force Channel was added for the Channel
in 1973.
Dieter Krüger 65
Developments in NATO’s military structure in

the 1970s and beyond
In 1979, the Allies agreed to establish an Airborne Warning and Control

System (AWACS) – a fleet of radar-supplied aircraft with a surveil-
lance and battlespace management capability. NATO set up a special
management organization (NAPMO) in order to plan, implement, and
eventually manage this fleet. It is one of the large numbers of military
and civilian agencies of the Alliance. The NATO Early Warning Force, a
multinational air force which operated AWACS, went into operation in
1982. It has its headquarters in Geilenkirchen, Germany, and maintains
bases in Norway, Italy, Greece, and Turkey (Tessmer 1988).
There were no additional fundamental changes in NATO’s integrated
military structure until the end of the Cold War. With regard to the
non-participation in NATO’s integrated military structure which France
had left in 1966, Greece (1974–1980) and Spain (1986–1999) had also
taken a ‘time-out’. The decisions to quit were in both cases largely on
domestic grounds: newly elected social democratic governments sought
to appease their electorates, which were largely concerned about an
alleged hegemonial impact of the US on the Alliance.
The end of the Cold War caused some further institutional adjust-
ments. In 1991, the Channel Command as one of three major com-
mands was dissolved. In 1994, BALTAP became eventually subordinate
to CINCENT. This resolved the problem that the defence of the most
northern part of the German territory was under the competence of
a different regional command. In fact, AFNORTH was absorbed by a
new headquarters established in the same year: Allied Forces Northwest
(based in High Wycombe, West of London). This structure endured for
about one decade.
In 2004, NATO’s military structure was radically altered. SACLANT
was dissolved and replaced by an Allied Command Transformation
(ACT) whose task is to promote the transformation of the Alliance’s
forces and capabilities. In comparison to the ACT which looks like a
mingle-mangle, the SHAPE is better structured. It not only retained its
name. As Allied Command Operations it is still commanding troops,
for instance for the NATO mission in Afghanistan (Pedlow 2009:
11–15). All these multinational headquarters, agencies, and institu-
tions, as well as the soldiers and employees serving in them and
not least those heading them, remain exposed to learning processes
within international cooperation which have lasted for more than six
decades.
In addition to a permanently integrated command structure, the

Alliance had also developed several integrated military instruments such
as the common air defence, the standing maritime groups, the Allied
Command Europe Mobile Force (AMF) or the AWACS surveillance fleet.
Due to their adaptability to new tasks, they have contributed to the
deployment of out-of-area operations after the end of the Cold War
(Wallander 2000; see also Schmidt and Hendrickson, this volume).
Conclusion
Pointing out the historical roots of NATO’s integrated command dur-

ing and after the First World War, this chapter has illustrated the
way in which the Alliance has organized its military administration
with an evolving integrated chain of command in the Cold War era.
I have emphasized that this military structure as it advanced partic-
ularly during the 1950s was neither envisaged in the North Atlantic
Treaty of 1949, nor was the eventual degree of military institutionaliza-
tion anticipated by NATO’s founding fathers. Instead, external factors
have largely facilitated the instigation of a highly institutionalized mil-
itary bureaucracy – including the Korean War and persistent Western
perceptions of an antagonistic and belligerent Soviet Union.
Based on its evolving military bureaucracy, the Alliance offered a plat-
form for politicians, diplomats, militaries, and civil servants to exchange
their views and ideas – also in informal meetings (see also Mayer and
Theiler, this volume). Involved actors reciprocally took into account
their interests, but also the authority and activities of international bod-
ies. A multilateral structure evolved in which NATO members could
pursue their political interests and satisfy their security needs. In fact,
no alliance in history has even come close to being as densely insti-
tutionalized as NATO. The increasing solution of security problems in
Brussels, Mons, and elsewhere set off a process of internationalization
of member state decision-making as understood in this volume.
Despite this internationalization, NATO does remain an intergov-
ernmental organization which is strictly based on consensus in its
decision-making (see Michel, this volume). This intergovernmental
nature, which benefits the most powerful, comes with the associated
cost of poorer effectiveness. This was particularly prevalent during the
1950s and 1960s. But even small allies were able to block decisions.
In theory, the introduction of majority voting would have prevented
dissenters to opt out or to refuse executing agreed-upon decisions. This
would have fostered a more efficient NATO and enabled a pooling of
Dieter Krüger 67
capabilities. This was only conceivable within a European framework

lacking the US hegemon. A corresponding initiative for the largely
supranationally designed European Defence Community (EDC), how-
ever, failed in 1954. Instead of advancing such supranational ambitions,
NATO’s objective remains to help allies achieve a maximum of security
and external influence, while at the same time allowing them the a high
degree of freedom in their national autonomy.
Notes
1. Eventually, the NAT would mention in its Article 5 that each NATO member
‘will assist the Party or Parties so attacked by taking [ . . . ] such action as it
deems necessary’.
2. While SACLANT strictly referred to the commanding officer heading a com-
mand with these responsibilities, the term was routinely used to describe the
entire command in Norfolk.
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A Study of Structure and Strategy (New York: Praeger).
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et l’Alliance Atlantique 1958–1969, Paris (Plon), (engl. 2001) Two Strategies
for Europe. De Gaulle, the United States, and the Atlantic Alliance (Lanham:
Rowman & Littlefield).
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the First World War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
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NATO von 1967’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte, 40: 169–221.
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Allianz und Warschauer Pakt 1947 bis 1991 (Fulda: Parzellers).
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(AMF) und ihre Übungen 1960–1989’, Military Power Revue der Schweizer Armee,
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Part II
Changing Security Challenges
and NATO’s New Identity
4
Post-Bipolar Challenges: New
Visions and New Activities
Trine Flockhart
Opening the second part of the collection with its focus on changing
security challenges and NATO’s new identity, this chapter will concen-
trate on NATO’s initial transformation in the 1990s after the fall of the
Berlin Wall finally brought the division of Europe to an end. It is this
decade in which NATO’s new identity – one key theme of this chapter –
has progressively transpired and consolidated. The penultimate chapter
by Sean Kay and Magnus Petersson with its outlook into NATO’s future
is confined to the 2000s and beyond, hence complementing my chapter
in terms of its temporal coverage of the post-Cold War period.
The 1990s is a remarkable decade in the history of NATO. It started
with deep disagreements about the future role of the Alliance and
even widespread expectations of its demise. The decade ended with
the Alliance not only having ‘pulled through’, but having established
itself as the premier European security institution after having forged
new relationships by ‘stretching out the hand of friendship’1 to former
foes and having gone ‘out-of-area’ rather than ‘out of business’ by get-
ting involved in the Balkans. On the occasion of its 50th anniversary
in April 1999, the Alliance was simultaneously about to take action in
Kosovo while welcoming three new central and east European members.
It seemed to most that NATO had met the post-bipolar challenges and
was ready to face the new millennium.
For many observers, NATO’s success in the 1990s was a surprise.
Kenneth Waltz (1993) had famously stated that although NATO’s days
might not be numbered, its years certainly were. Yet, 20 years later,
although the fortunes of the Alliance may no longer be as positive as
they appeared at the 50th anniversary celebrations, there is little to
suggest that NATO’s days (or years) are numbered – provided that the
Alliance is able to continue what Waltz clearly had not anticipated: a
71
72 Changing Security Challenges and NATO’s New Identity
remarkable ability to undertake transformative change and to adapt to

an altered international system as well as to respond to events as they
unfold in a rapidly shifting security environment. In this chapter, it
is argued that NATO’s ability to change and its unexpected ability to
undertake action in relation to establishing new relationships and to
take on new tasks in crisis management and armed interventions hold
the key to understanding NATO’s remarkable transformation in the first
decade of the new post-bipolar environment.
Waltz was wrong about NATO because his pessimism was based on a
structural focus that compelled him to ignore the importance of agency,
or at best to regard agents as social dupes that mindlessly follow struc-
tural imperatives. Moreover, Waltz started from a state-centric position
which could not possibly conceptualize an international organization as
anything more than the sum of its parts, which he expected would indi-
vidually start to act according to the new balance of power conditions by
breaking away from American hegemony and act according to the logics
of self-help. In other words, Waltz saw NATO as simply another alliance,
which, like all other alliances before it, would collapse once deprived of
its common purpose. However, today, more than two decades after the
momentous changes in the international system, it seems obvious that
NATO did not follow the path so pessimistically prophesied by Waltz
and other realists.
To be sure, NATO’s cumbersome bureaucratic practices, the unequal
burden-sharing, and its persistent capabilities gap remain in place, and
the process of change initiated in 1990 was characterized by ups and
downs. Moreover, as the 1990s drew to a close, dark clouds seemed again
to be gathering in the transatlantic relationship. With the dawn of the
new millennium the Alliance faced multiple and severe crises as well as
growing operational challenges, especially in the challenging mission
in Afghanistan. Today, NATO seems to have come through the crises
that so marred the years of the George W. Bush Administration, but
only to once again be facing change as American hegemony looks set to
fade, and as the US ‘pivots’ towards Asia. The future of NATO is again
in question – albeit for different reasons than those outlined by Waltz
two decades ago. Moreover, despite NATO’s hitherto impressive ability
to adapt and to change, the outcome of the current forces of change is
by no means a foregone conclusion.
Concentrating on the 1990s, the chapter has two primary objectives:
to give an account of the way NATO met the post-bipolar challenges
following the end of the Cold War, and to explain from a constructivist
perspective how NATO was able to act as an alliance in meeting those
Trine Flockhart 73
challenges. However, rather than focusing, as Waltz did, on the com-

pelling structural material forces of the international system, the chapter
starts from a premise seeing NATO as an international organization in its
own right and is hence essentially in line with the introduction of this
volume set in Chapter 1. In doing so, the chapter places more emphasis
on agency than has traditionally been the case when examining NATO’s
post-bipolar transformation. Moreover, although the chapter certainly
does not deny the importance of material structural factors and the
influence exercised by the haphazard occurrence of ‘events’, it posits
that agents are self-constitutive and that the traditional emphasis on
structural forces as the key determinants of international relations is
misplaced.2
The chapter contends that our understanding of the processes that
arguably have led to increased levels of internationalization in the
Alliance must be based on an analysis of a number of self-constituting
(agent) processes rather than on singular structural change or haphazard
events. It starts by briefly outlining NATO’s agency and the more general
complex issues related to agency, including issues raised by endowing
collective entities with agency. The chapter then proceeds with a four-
part analysis of NATO’s transformation during the 1990s focusing on
changes in four closely connected dimensions related to NATO’s ‘being’
and ‘doing’. The chapter shows how NATO’s agency in the first decade
following the end of the Cold War was expressed in NATO’s identity,
performed through NATO’s established practices and its goal-oriented
action and recounted in NATO’s narrative. Each of the four parts will
focus on one of these dimensions (in the order of identity, action,
practices, and narrative) showing how NATO’s post-bipolar challenges
were met by gradually establishing a new identity, taking on new goal-
oriented action, while jettisoning outmoded practices and formulating a
new narrative that was able to ‘make sense’ of it all. However, although
the chapter suggests that NATO’s first decade of meeting its post-bipolar
challenges largely was a successful experience, by the decade’s end dark
clouds were gathering suggesting that the surprising successes of the
1990s may have been of a temporary nature.
Placing agency on centre stage
Agency in International Relations theory is usually defined as the abil-

ity of individuals or other forms of entities ‘to be and to do’ (Suganami
1999). Although this definition may sound straightforward, as suggested
by Suganami it begs the questions: ‘who or what are agents?’ and ‘how is
agency constituted?’ I agree with Suganami that agency necessitates that

the entity must be capable of ‘being’ and ‘doing’, where ‘being’ is associ-
ated with identity constituted and maintained through a narrative, and
where ‘doing’ is performed in routinized practice and purposive action.3
In addition, agency implies language to be able to discursively formu-
late the narrative that supports and constitutes identity and expresses
the intentionality of actions. Most importantly, however, as suggested
by Giddens (1991), agents are not social and cultural ‘dupes’ but act
intentionally and reflect upon their actions and how they might be nar-
rated into biographical continuity. Moreover, the success or failure of
actions may give rise to feelings of pride or shame, which will have
important repercussions for an agent’s self-esteem and their inclina-
tion to take further action. Agency in this understanding is therefore
a human property.
In this volume, where the agent is NATO, the question arises of what
we are to make of collective entities (Wight 2006), which cannot nor-
mally be endowed with characteristics primarily associated with human
beings (Wendt 2004; Wight 2004). NATO is a non-material entity, which
apart from a headquarters in Brussels, a slim treaty and a few mate-
rial structures, only exists through the performances and articulations
that we consider as ‘NATO’s’ performances and articulations, but which
in ‘reality’ are the performances and articulations of many different
(human) individuals who act in the name of NATO. Although it is not
possible to endow abstract and collective entities with personal qualities,
those qualities can be attributed to the individuals who act on behalf of
the organization. They collectively construct the entity’s identity and
narrative and their collective performances add up to both routinized
practices and intentional actions that make it look as if NATO has
an identity, feelings, and intentions. In this conceptualization, NATO’s
bureaucracy and all the different members of the armed forces and
national delegations, who act on behalf of NATO, all contribute to the
possibility of perceiving the Alliance as having agency and being ‘an
international organization in its own right’ (see Mayer, introduction of
this volume).
The other question raised above is how agents are constituted. As this
chapter is about how NATO responded to a new structural environment
following the end of the Cold War, the question could be construed
as to how the changed structure compelled NATO (the agent) to act in
certain ways. This is the understanding of structure and agency, which
led Waltz to assume NATO’s imminent demise. This is a view which
privileges structure over agency, but which overlooks that agents also
Trine Flockhart 75
shape themselves through a number of self-constitutive agent-level pro-

cesses. The position in this chapter is that although it is accepted that
structure certainly plays a role in constituting agents, agency is per-
haps to a greater extent constituted through the actions and practices
performed by the agent(s) and articulated through narratives to sup-
port the specific identity that makes the agent what it is. Structural
change may be what pushed the Alliance into taking action in the first
place (see the preceding chapters of Schmidt and Krüger on NATO’s
origins), but the subsequent developments in the Alliance cannot exclu-
sively be attributed to structural influences. This chapter emphasizes the
role played by the four dimensions of ‘being’ and ‘doing’ in particular
NATO’s identity and narrative construction processes and NATO’s pur-
posive action during the 1990s and the patterns of change and stability
in NATO’s practices.4
The literature on ontological security is instructive for understand-
ing the self-constitutive processes of agency. Anthony Giddens (1991)
brought ‘ontological security’ into the IR discipline from the field of
social psychology in 1991. The concept refers to a condition where
the individual has a stable and comforting sense of self and where a
sense of order and continuity in regard to the future, relationships,
and experiences is maintained (Mitzen 2006). The literature on onto-
logical security suggests that the possession of ontological security is a
precondition for agents’ ability to undertake purposive action except
if they are faced with an existential threat (which, as correctly sug-
gested by Waltz, was the case when the Cold War ended and robbed the
Alliance of its raison d’être). Ontological security is, however, a fragile
condition, which is easily undermined. For example, ontological secu-
rity is strongly influenced by an individual’s self-perception, especially
the level of self-esteem (Rubin and Hewstone 1998) and the ability to
maintain a strong and positive narrative about appropriate practices
and about the agent’s purposive action. The undertaking of unsuccessful
action in response to the occurrence of events is therefore likely to have
a negative impact on ontological security, whereas successful action will
have a positive impact. The puzzle therefore is that ontological security
is a precondition for sustained intentional action to be undertaken, yet
ontological security is only present when agents have a stable identity
supported by a meaning giving narrative and successful purposive action
and a stable cognitive environment characterized by continuing rou-
tinized practices. These are challenging conditions that are only rarely
met. Therefore, to understand how the Alliance was able to meet the
post-bipolar challenges of the 1990s as an alliance, it is instructive to
focus on the four constitutive processes related to ‘being’ and ‘doing’ by

zooming in on identity and narrative and practice and action patterns
during the 1990s.
Changes in identity, action, practice, and narrative
NATO during the 1990s was arguably in a constant process of iden-

tity constructions and the formulation of a new narrative, while also
undertaking new purposive action, and the introduction of new prac-
tices in response to the changed structural conditions. However, the
undertaking of any kind of change is challenging because human beings
are psychologically ‘hard wired’ to valuing routine practices and a sta-
ble cognitive environment (Giddens 1991:38) and practices may be
so deeply embedded that they have constraining effects similar to
structure. Moreover, as ontological security is reinforced by a sense of
achievement in the purposive actions, NATO’s largely positive experi-
ence during the 1990s led to a gradually increasing level of ontological
security. This was brought about by the (surprising) success in estab-
lishing new relationships and the undertaking of action in the Balkans.
Although NATO started out the decade with a severe identity crisis,
NATO was relatively successful in establishing a new identity and a
strong narrative to support that identity. Moreover, many of the most
cherished and embedded practices of the Alliance persisted without
significant change into the 1990s providing some degree of cognitive
stability.
The construction of a new identity

It is well known that the end of the Cold War catapulted the Alliance
into a deep identity crisis and concerns about the future. This was a new
situation for the Alliance, which during the Cold War had been certain
of its identity as a defence alliance against a clear and unambiguous
threat in the form of the Soviet Union. With the end of the Cold War
and the collapse of the Soviet Union, however, the Alliance lost its main
raison d’être as well as the ‘other’ against which NATO’s ‘self’ had been
constituted for more than 40 years. The Alliance therefore faced the
challenge of having to establish a new identity against a new ‘other’.
However, this was a task that proved more difficult than anticipated.
It was difficult to say precisely what NATO’s new other could be. Gradu-
ally, the forging of NATO’s new identity became inextricably connected
with questions about the role of the EU5 and what the relationship
between NATO and the EU would be. These issues dominated the whole
Trine Flockhart 77
of the 1990s, where it increasingly became impossible to conceptualize

NATO’s new identity without also taking into account similar processes
in the EU. The process became known under the heading ‘European
Security and Defence Identity’ (ESDI), in which major disagreements
between the allies came to the fore and which brought about continued
friction in the transatlantic relationship.
The problem was that where the European Community (EC) (a non-
military actor) and NATO had operated within clearly delineated spheres
and with different conceptions of ‘self’ and ‘other’ during the Cold War,
the end of the Cold War implied that both organizations came to define
their individual roles in comparable terms with similar ‘self’ and ‘other’
constructions. In other words, with the end of the Cold War, both orga-
nizations started to encroach on each other’s turf, while allies differed in
their preferences on which organization to support as Europe’s premier
security and defence organization.
The issue was brought to a head because although the EU had had
ambitions about a role in security and defence, these ambitions had
largely been abandoned with the collapse of the European Defence
Community (EDC) in the 1950s. Since then, NATO had ‘ruled supreme’
in the defence sphere, while the EC had concentrated on economic
issues. However, despite the latter’s role as an economic organization,
it had always maintained an elite narrative which cast the European
integration project as a ‘project for peace’ through the gradual changing
of the previous dysfunctional practices of conflict between the (west)
European states. In the EU identity constructions, the ‘self’ was a peace-
ful community of states based on dialogue and cooperation, whereas
the ‘other’ was Europe’s own warring past, as well as the threat of a
return to European rivalry and conflict (Wæver 1998). This was an iden-
tity construction that was replicated in NATO in the aftermath of the
Cold War.
As the Cold War came to an end, the EC successfully moved the nar-
rative of a project for peace to the fore and was able to articulate a new
role in the Maastricht Treaty which envisioned that the new EU would
establish a common foreign and security policy, which would ‘include
all questions related to the security of the Union, including the even-
tual forming of a common defense policy, which might in time lead to
a common defense’ (TEU, Title 5, art J4/1). The Maastricht Treaty tasked
the, until then, largely defunct Western European Union (WEU) with
elaborating and implementing all decisions and actions of the Union
with defence implications.6 The Treaty indeed did include the provi-
sion that actions would not prevent member states from meeting their
obligations to NATO. Yet, its new Strategic Concept of 1991 devised

a new role which clearly shifted NATO’s narrow focus on the Com-
munist ‘other’ to a much broader conception of security and a wider
understanding of what forms of security threats the Alliance would be
expected to meet. This meant that the defined role of the two orga-
nizations became overlapping and their ‘self’ and ‘other’ constructions
similar. The implications were clearly that the two organizations would
compete for the same security and defence role.
The main divisions within the transatlantic community on how
European security should be managed were between the French and the
Americans, with the rest of the member states lining up behind one
or the other in two emerging groupings known as ‘the Atlanticists’ or
‘the Europeanists’ (Merlingen 2012: 194). As suggested by Merlingen,
France saw the end of the Cold War as an opportunity to realize its
long-standing ambition of a more independent European role in secu-
rity and defence, while the US wanted to retain its influence in European
security matters (Merlingen 2012: 194). As a result, although the end of
the Cold War clearly had signalled the need for constructing a new role
for the Alliance, the first handful of years following the signing of the
Maastricht Treaty and NATO’s new Strategic Concept were characterized
by a degree of uncertainty about how the new visions for a new Alliance
might actually be implemented.
The formulations in the Maastricht Treaty about the role of the WEU
as a sort of ‘implementation agency’ and ‘bridge’ between NATO and
the EU were not very helpful for the actual implementation of the ESDI.
Allies of a Europeanist persuasion appointed ambassadors to the WEU,
whereas allies of an Atlanticist persuasion simply ‘double hatted’ their
existing NATO or EU ambassadors to attend meetings in both organi-
zations. Moreover, as neither the WEU nor the EU had the capability
for command and control of operations, both effectively had to rely
on NATO. This meant that the crucial question was how the EU and
NATO would be connected through the WEU in a practical manner
with EU access to NATO capabilities. In response to the issues raised,
NATO developed the so-called Combined Joint Task Force (CJTF) con-
cept, which essentially was a complex structure facilitating the use
of NATO assets with the possibility of deploying ad hoc headquarters
for multinational and multiservice formations (Merlingen 2012: 197).
Although the buzzword for the CJTF arrangement was ‘separable but not
separate’, the upshot of the arrangement seemed in effect to be that the
EU had relinquished any pretence of autonomy from NATO (Howorth
2007: 8).
Trine Flockhart 79
A decade of action
The patterns of activity in the 1990s compared to the previous 40 years
of NATO’s history show well the remarkable change the Alliance was
able to undertake in the aftermath of the Cold War. During most of the
Cold War, purposive action in the Alliance had largely been restricted
to activities related to maintaining a credible deterrence and occasion-
ally updating the Strategic Concepts which specified threat assessments
and strategic considerations on how to meet the threat.7 During the
entire Cold War period, NATO fired no shots in anger, and apart from
large-scale military exercises, NATO’s action during the Cold War was
restricted to ‘talking’ – in particular about nuclear planning and negoti-
ations about the recurrent nuclear deployment decisions – also known
as ‘hardware decisions’ (Schwartz 1983). Moreover, on each and every
occasion NATO undertook purposive action to maintain the declared
deterrence posture, it was launched into crisis. On each occasion, this
held the unwelcome prospect of displaying disunity and therefore of
questioning the narrative about NATO as a cohesive Alliance. It is there-
fore not surprising that the Alliance over the years had developed a
distinct weariness about taking decisions that might stir public opinion
or which might challenge the appearance of unity. This was a weari-
ness that was reiterated through the high-profile nuclear decisions in the
1970s such as the decision to deploy the Enhanced Radiation Weapon –
or neutron bomb – and the dual-track decision to deploy Cruise and
Pershing intermediate nuclear forces. On both occasions, the decisions
led to public uproar and disunity in the Alliance.
The new era following the end of the Cold War was very different as
the Alliance turned out to be busier than ever. From an albeit slightly
simplified perspective, it is possible to say that NATO changed its pat-
terns of purposive action along two paths: (1) in its engagement with
an ever widening circle of other actors through an increasingly com-
plex partnership structure with state and non-state actors (see Part IV
of this volume) and (2) in its willingness and ability to undertake a ris-
ing number of military activities ranging from peace support to armed
interventions.
Along the first path, the new flurry of activity started at the London
Summit in 1990 when the Alliance agreed to ‘stretch out the hand of
friendship’ (NATO 1990) to former foes. This was followed up the next
year with the establishment of the North Atlantic Cooperation Council
(NACC), which was a forum for NATO to meet with its former adver-
saries. However, with the collapse of the Soviet Union (literally during
NACC’s inaugural meeting), the addition of former Soviet republics
meant that new forum for cooperation became too big to allow for any
in-depth discussions to take place. Some of the central Europeans also
felt that their particular needs and interests could not be met within the
undifferentiated format in NACC. As a result, NATO launched in 1994
the Partnership for Peace (PfP) programme (and on its southern flank
the Mediterranean Dialogue, MD). The PfP facilitated the favoured pos-
sibility for (self)-differentiation for those partners who wanted to move
towards further cooperation and perhaps even membership. Moreover,
although the establishment of PfP was originally seen as an alterna-
tive to enlargement, within a year of establishing PfP, NATO crossed
an important Rubicon by declaring that it was no longer a question if
NATO would enlarge, but merely a question of when it would do so
(Goldgeier 1999).
This is a remarkable development given that several allies, including
the US, had been far from eager in the early 1990s to even enter-
tain the thought of enlargement (Kay 2011: 19). Once the intention
had been articulated, however, the patterns of purposive action within
the PfP framework were geared towards preparations for enlargement:
the Alliance entered into a number of bilateral partnership agreements
which reflected the partner country’s ambitions, priorities, and capabili-
ties, and which were based on choosing activities from NATO’s so-called
PfP toolbox. In this way, the PfP initiative was at once consistent with
the commitment to establish new relationships as a mechanism to
consolidate peace and security in the new European security environ-
ment (Kay 2011: 26), while simultaneously drawing countries closer
to NATO. Once the first batch of new members had been admitted to
the Alliance at the Washington Summit in April 1999, the remaining
partners with membership aspirations were offered a new association
with the Alliance through the new format of individual Membership
Action Plan (MAP), which was designed specifically to provide advice,
assistance, and practical support in the preparation for membership.
It was not simply in relation to the first path that NATO entered
into a flurry of purposive action during the 1990s. The new Strate-
gic Concept of 1991 had quite correctly stressed that the threat was
now political instability and ethnic unrest on the European fringe, and
that the Alliance might have to play a role in providing for a broader
form of security than the previous exclusive focus on territorial defence
(NATO 1991). Even so, few would have imagined that by the decade’s
end the Alliance had not only crossed another Rubicon by agreeing to go
‘out-of-area’ in taking on a role in the unfolding Balkan tragedy, but that
the role evolved – at first very slowly – into taking the lead in ensuring
Trine Flockhart 81
a naval embargo, a no-fly zone and eventually a full-scale air campaign

(Shea 2010: 17).
To be sure, NATO’s initial steps towards taking military action out-of-
area were rather timid and were as secondary support to leading actors
such as the United Nations and the EU (Shea 2010: 17). Therefore, it
seems reasonable to say that even at the beginning of 1994 – three years
after the break-up of Yugoslavia – NATO was essentially a minor actor in
the Balkan conflicts (Thies 2009: 276). However, following the Bosnian
Serb mortar attack on Sarajevo’s central market, the Alliance was finally
prompted into taking on a far more assertive role. On the 28 February
1994, it used deadly force for the first time in its history by shooting
down four Serb aircraft (Thies 2009: 276). From then on, NATO was able
to restore some of the credibility that had been lost over the previous
three years, which enabled it to claim that the Dayton Peace Accord
was achieved directly as a result of the NATO-led bombing campaign.
By the end of the decade, when the crisis in Kosovo erupted into full-
scale conflict, the Alliance appeared to have learnt from its previous
mistakes. It was able to undertake a much more coordinated and credible
role and to deploy an extensive air campaign and eventually a ground
offensive, followed by a sustained peace support operation.
To be sure, the Kosovo campaign was marred by disagreements among
the allies and the unpleasant realization that the capability gap between
American and European forces was so large that it threatened the inter-
operability of NATO forces. Nevertheless, from a perspective of simply
assessing the change towards an Alliance that was able to undertake
purposive action – the 1990s are clearly evidence of such a change.
The continuation of resilient practices

The first decade of NATO’s post-bipolar existence may appear to be all
about change and transformation. However, beneath the initial impres-
sion of an Alliance that is adapting to new conditions and busily taking
on new challenges and constructing a new identity, the 1990s were
also characterized by a number of enduring practices established dur-
ing the previous 40 years. As suggested by Vincent Pouliot (2010: 12),
an essential dimension of practice is the result of inarticulate, practi-
cal knowledge that makes what is to be done appear self-evident and
commonsensical. All organizations and all individuals conduct a large
proportion of their behaviour through practice understood as patterned
social activities that embody shared meanings and are embedded in par-
ticular organizational contexts (Adler and Pouliot 2011: 6). NATO is no
exception in this regard because, as suggested by Adler (2013), it is in
and through practices that the key dimensions of social and political life
take shape. In fact, much of NATO’s ‘doing’ is guided by adherence to
a myriad of different conventions and deeply embedded practices rang-
ing from the conduct of the meetings in the North Atlantic Council and
negotiation with the aim of consensus to speaking rights, office allo-
cation and distribution of posts in NATO’s international bureaucracy.
Decision-making through consensus is itself a practice in NATO (see
Michel, this volume). This practice, however, can only be sustained
through the accompanying practice of self-restraint in which consensus
is achieved through the use of ambiguous formulations and tacit agree-
ment among all allies not to question the ambiguity and not to bring
up issues (unless considered of vital national significance) for which it
is known that achieving consensus is not possible.
NATO’s significant change during the 1990s is all the more remark-
able because it was largely achieved through established practices of
persuasion and negotiation. The practice of consensus decisions was not
compromised even though many decisions – most notably to undertake
enlargement and to go out of area – were at least initially – fiercely con-
tested. The interesting point here is that practices may not only precede
the formulation of specific rules, but they may also stay in place after
change has been undertaken in identity, narrative, or purposive action.
This suggests that practices are resilient across other forms of change as
long as the established practice has not been rendered irrelevant or dys-
functional as a result of it. This seems to be precisely what happened in
the case of the resilience of many established practices in NATO, such
as those outlined above – especially the practice of self-restraint and
persuasion.
Making sense of it all through narrative

The changes undertaken by NATO in its identity and in its action and
practice patterns were articulated in a narrative that was continuously
adjusted to take new events and additional changes into account, while
at the same time reiterating the shared values and main purpose under-
pinning the identity of the Alliance. Narratives are important for all
entities with agency. They describe the history, purpose, and achieve-
ments of an agent, and they contribute in the process towards the
constitution of its identity and facilitate a continuous reconstitution
of the agent’s identity. Narratives are therefore a necessary element of
‘being’ and ensure the internal stability of the agent’s identity and its
social effectiveness (Williams and Neumann 2000: 363). Any identity
must be supported by a narrative in which self-esteem is maintained
Trine Flockhart 83
and the experience of the past is reinterpreted and linked to the present
through a process where past events and past experience are endowed
with meaning (Ezzy 1998: 245). If a strong narrative cannot be estab-
lished, or if competing and diverging narratives coexist, then the likely
result is to undermine and weaken the identity of the agent and thereby
undermine ontological security and the ability to undertake action.
NATO during the 1990s was able to construct a convincing narrative
of an organization which successfully stretched out the hand of friend-
ship to former adversaries and which contributed successfully to the
establishment and consolidation of democracy in central and eastern
Europe. The narrative presented NATO as a promoter of democracy
and an agent for change in central and eastern Europe (Gheciu 2005;
Lucarelli 2005). Moreover, NATO succeeded where other organizations
had failed by (eventually) taking decisive action in the Balkan conflict
and by contributing to the implementation of the Dayton agreement
through the NATO-led Implementation Force (IFOR). NATO was thus
able to claim success where both the EU and UN were largely perceived
to have failed. During the 1990s, NATO was therefore in the position
of having a strong and coherent narrative which comfortably backed
up the ongoing identity construction process of a security organization
that was able to respond to the new threats in European security. These
new threats were conceptualized in the New Strategic Concept as eth-
nic unrest and political instability and were reinforced through NATO’s
purposive action. The result was a NATO displaying a high degree of self-
esteem and as the decade progressed, an increasing degree of ontological
security (see also Tomescu-Hatto, this volume).
Being able to construct a strong narrative about enlargement and part-
nerships and focusing on the successes (rather than the many mistakes)
in the Balkan conflicts had the positive effect of taking some of the
attention away from the rather negative internal NATO narrative about
the action in Kosovo (see also Tomescu-Hatto, this volume). Although
the outcome of the Kosovo operation ultimately was considered a suc-
cess as the Serbs were driven out of Kosovo, and as NATO did take the
important decision to take part in a substantial ‘out-of-area’ campaign
to stop ethnic cleansing (Flockhart and Kristensen 2008: 9), the actual
handling of the conflict showed internal divisions and highlighted the
great gap in capabilities between the American and the European allies.
Therefore, despite the significance of the decision, the experience of
Kosovo turned out to be partly negative, as it resulted in considerable
transatlantic disagreement and mutual recriminations and facilitated
the return of the crisis narrative on capabilities. Having said that, Jamie
Shea is probably right in his assessment that the Balkans overall were
good for NATO (Shea 2010: 17), as the Balkan involvements allowed
NATO to construct a narrative portraying NATO as engaged in success-
ful peace support operations, while the many mistakes could largely be
credited to the UN and the EU (see also Tomescu-Hatto, this volume).
The narrative that was constructed during the 1990s was one of a
successful and expanding Alliance that had faced up to the challenge
of ethnic cleansing on the European continent by going out of area,
while at the same time letting in new members and continuing to
pursue a vigorous enlargement process. This is a strong narrative that
NATO has strived to maintain ever since Kosovo. However, after the
operation in Kosovo, the transatlantic relationship appeared to take a
‘nose dive’ – a trend, which carried on into ‘the zeros’ and the new
Bush Administration. At NATO’s 50th birthday taking place on the eve
of the Kosovo campaign and with the successful admission of three new
member states, NATO’s ontological security and feeling of self-esteem
was probably at the highest level it has ever been, whereas by 2003 in
the lead-up to the Iraq War it was probably at the lowest level it has
ever been.
Conclusion
It has been shown in this chapter that NATO’s ability to meet the post-
bipolar challenges during the 1990s went far beyond what many had
expected to be possible at the beginning of the decade. It can of course
be discussed the extent to which the activities of the 1990s can be said
to have been thought through in a strategic manner as NATO’s actions
during the 1990s were largely piecemeal and event driven. However,
as these piecemeal activities turned out to be successful, and like other
actors, notably the EU were unsuccessful, NATO was able to construct
a positive narrative and boost its self-esteem. But whether the positive
outcome can be attributed wholly to NATO as an international orga-
nization pursuing internationalization – is a different matter, which is
inspected in the remainder of this volume.
NATO’s critics may be right when they point to the Alliance’s activities
in the 1990s as a desperate search for relevance, which rather than being
strategic, simply constituted a haphazard bundling from one activity
to the next. Such urgency in the undertaking of purposive action is,
however, completely in line with what to expect from agents that are
faced with an existential crisis. Moreover, it could be said that the threat
to NATO’s raison d’être consisted of a ‘double whamming’ as the Cold
Trine Flockhart 85
War had deprived the Alliance of its past ‘other’, while the claims of
the EU to being Europe’s primary security organization also threatened
NATO’s raison d’être. In such a situation, agents are likely to be highly
motivated to undertaking purposive action, which is precisely what we
find in the case of the Alliance during the 1990s. What is remarkable
about the 1990s however is that the Alliance was surprisingly successful
in responding to the challenges of post-bipolarity and to the challenges
of competition from the EU. In that sense, the 1990s may well constitute
a unique period in the history of the Alliance.
The fact that the outcome of NATO’s ‘haphazard bundling’ was a pos-
itive one, where the Alliance seemed to have been able to construct a
strong narrative, perhaps has more to do with the failures of the EU
and other security institution than the successes of NATO. Therefore,
NATO’s ability to meet the post-bipolar challenges during the 1990s can-
not be understood without taking the development and activities of the
EU into account. Both organizations embarked on a similar journey at
the beginning of the decade. They both (correctly) identified the same
threat to European security and the same means by which to meet the
post-bipolar challenges, as they both engaged in establishing new rela-
tionships in central and eastern Europe and as they both sought a role
in the unfolding Balkan crisis. However, where NATO was able to under-
take successful purposive action and hence to construct a successful
narrative on both counts, the EU was seen to have failed utterly in living
up to its own (clearly) articulated intentions in the Maastricht Treaty
and in particular in relation to the break-up of Yugoslavia. Moreover,
where NATO was able to move swiftly in relation to establishing new
relationships through its evolving partnerships and eventual enlarge-
ment, the EU agonized over a perceived tension between ‘deepening’
and ‘widening’ integration (Nugent 1992). This gave the impression that
the EU was only half-heartedly pursuing enlargement.
The other thing to take into account is that neither NATO’s (nor the
EU’s) story end in 1999. This is simply a date that has been employed
here for analytical purposes. In fact, following 1999, arguably the for-
tunes of NATO and the EU shifted. NATO entered into a decade of crisis,
whereas the EU embarked on a dynamic process of defence and security
integration through the establishment of the ESDP/CSDP.8 Moreover,
following NATO’s enlargements in 1999 and 2004, it became increas-
ingly clear that the question of identity and role was far from settled –
and arguably still isn’t. Since the enlargement of the Alliance, the issue
of what kind of Alliance NATO should be has become more contentious.
Several of the new members clearly wish NATO to be a traditional
territorially based defence alliance, rather than the expeditionary and

more global Alliance described in NATO’s post-Cold War Strategic Con-
cepts and identified throughout the 1990s as the goal NATO should
strive for. Moreover, although the debate about ESDI seemed to ‘fizzle
out’ as the US became embroiled in Afghanistan and Iraq, the question
is still not settled. It has simply evolved into a ‘next generation prob-
lematique’ that looks set to be closely linked with the issue of which
forms of responsibility European allies will be expected to take on as
America rebalances towards Asia. The findings in this chapter should
therefore only be seen as a snapshot of a particular situation under very
particular circumstances.
Despite the uniqueness of the situation in the 1990s, we should not
ignore that NATO met the post-bipolar challenges because it took the
decision to do so – not because structural imperatives made it. This sug-
gests that NATO as an Alliance is indeed an agent in its own right in
international security, albeit that its actions clearly take place within a
structural environment and in reaction to externally generated events.
This is an argument that is in line with the central claim of the introduc-
tion and with most authors in this volume. Clearly, the actual content
of policies and whether specific decisions can be reached are primarily
the products of the positions of member states. Yet, in the constitution
of identity, the undertaking of action, the reproduction of practices,
and the construction of narratives, NATO ‘as an organization’ plays the
leading role.
Notes
1. This is the formulation found in the London Declaration on a Transformed
North Atlantic Alliance (NATO, 1990).
2. It is of course no surprise that structural theories such as neorealism place
their emphasis on structural factors. However, even constructivism and prac-
tice theory which purport to hold the view that structure and agency are
mutually constitutive tend to focus on structural forces, albeit that structural
forces may be ideational and practice based. See, for example, Checkel (1998),
Hopf (2010), Bially-Mattern (2011), or Flockhart (2012).
3. I distinguish between practice, which is seen as largely routine or habit-based
behaviour (Adler and Pouliot, 2011; Hopf, 2010) and intentional action which
is more reflective and related to desire and goal-oriented (Taylor, 1964). The
former reinforces stability whereas the latter usually seeks to bring about
change.
4. For a more in-depth description of these self-constitutive processes and their
effect on ontological security, see Flockhart (2012).
5. Although the European integration project has been known variously as the
EEC, EC, and EU, it will be referred to here as the EU throughout the chapter.
Trine Flockhart 87
6. The WEU has been dissolved in 2011.

7. The Cold War strategic documents were all classified, but have since been
declassified. The documents can be found at http://www.nato.int/archives/
strategy.htm. They are, unlike the public Strategic Concepts from the post-
Cold War period, military strategic documents, which clearly reiterate that
NATO is a military alliance pursuing collective defence.
8. The changes in NATO’s and EU’s identity constructions and in their individual
fortunes in the 1990s and the first decade of the 21st century are analysed in
more detail in Flockhart (2011).
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5
Self-Presentation and Impression
Management: NATO’s New Public
Diplomacy
Odette Tomescu-Hatto
International organizations (IOs) established after the Second World

War are all equipped with departments for communication which
present and underline goals, engagements, and achievements in their
fields of competence: democratization, human rights, development,
collective security, peacekeeping, or peace building. Communications
policies and strategies are an integral part of their public diplomacy
and are therefore key instruments of their soft power (Melissen 2005) –
the ability to shape what others want. Against this background, NATO’s
Public Diplomacy Division (PDD), which was created in 2003, has the
function to inform the wider public about the Alliance’s activities and
policies through contacts with the media, NATO’s website, publications,
seminars and conferences, as well as NATO’s Science Programme.
The aim of this chapter is threefold. Firstly, it presents NATO’s strate-
gies of communication through the organization and functioning of its
Public Diplomacy Division. I analyse the communication tools and mes-
sages sent to the targets (public, country, or group of countries) in the
context of specific operations, particularly in Afghanistan (ISAF). Sec-
ondly, the paper seeks to assess the transformation of NATO’s identity
after the Cold War by examining the Alliance’s policies and politics of
communication during such operations. Ultimately, the chapter shall
evaluate the way in which the Alliance (through its communications
policies and strategies) seeks to create a supportive environment for its
actions by informing and influencing public opinions and the exter-
nal audiences (particularly the public opinions in allied countries). The
argument I develop is that NATO bases the power and legitimacy of
its actions not only on hard power using its military capacities, but
89
increasingly also on soft power. My empirical basis stems from expert

interviews, field research, opinion polls, and content analyses of policy
discourses. In pursuing this study, I draw particularly on insights from
the International Relations and communication studies literatures.
The concept of soft power and the functions of

public diplomacy
The term ‘soft power’ has been coined by Joseph Nye (2004a) who points
out that the US is not only the superior nation with regard to military
and economic strength, but also in terms of ‘the ability to shape what
others want’. This stands in contrast to hard or coercive power, which
is ‘the ability to change what others do’ (Nye 2004a: 7–8). Soft power
can be exerted through relations with allies, economic assistance, and
cultural exchange. The advantages of soft power are obvious:
When you can get others to admire your ideals and to want what
you want, you do not have to spend so much on sticks and carrots
to move them in your direction. Seduction is always more effective
than coercion, and many values like democracy, human rights and
individual opportunities are deeply seductive.
(Nye 2004c: 34)
In fact, the essence of soft power rests on the ability to shape the
behaviour of others without having to employ more costly coercive
means. While military force remains a key resource for security policy,
soft power plays an increasingly significant role in international politics
after 1990.
During the past two decades, the definition of soft power acquired dif-
ferent significations. Sometimes the concept is used more narrowly and
is limited to the cultural or ideological means for obtaining an objec-
tive. Conversely, a broader definition is employed to include payments,
such as foreign assistance or trade concessions, as part of the range of
non-coercive techniques (Vibert 2007: 6).
The ‘operationalization’ of the concept of soft power has been repeat-
edly criticized by conservative American officials (such as David Frum,
former speechwriter to George W. Bush, or former Secretary of Defense
Donald Rumsfeld). According to Rumsfeld, ‘popularity is ephemeral and
should not guide U.S. foreign policy’ (Nye 2004b: 256). Nevertheless,
although soft power is less important for super powers in the eyes
of these conservatives, they do generally admit that countries should
Odette Tomescu-Hatto 91
continue to invest in their public diplomacy and communication

activities as part of the whole foreign policy and defence infrastructure
(Feulner et al., 2008: 6).
Public diplomacy denotes aspects of international diplomacy other
than the interactions between national governments and is consid-
ered the key instrument of states’ and international organizations’ soft
power. For this reason, the two concepts are often studied in tandem.
Public diplomacy has the function to promote the ‘ideals’ and ‘wants’
of an advocate country through engagement with the society and non-
governmental parties in another country (Nye, quoted by Lynch 2005:
13). For McClellan, public diplomacy is ‘the strategic planning and exe-
cution of informational, cultural and educational programming by an
advocate country to create a public opinion environment in a target
country or countries that will enable target country political leaders to
make decisions that are supportive of the advocate country’s foreign pol-
icy objectives’ (McClellan 2004: 3). Hence, the aim of public diplomacy
is to create a supportive foreign environment for a country’s foreign pol-
icy by understanding, informing, and influencing an external audience.
Outside perceptions may act as constraints on a country’s foreign pol-
icy. Yet, the other way around they also have the potential to strengthen
positive views and hence be supportive of a given foreign policy. The tar-
gets of public diplomacy include the media and opinion-makers, youth
groups, business leaders, or non-governmental organizations (NGOs).
Official representatives of a foreign state can also be targeted, but they
are not the main audience (Tuch 1990: 3–11).
American and Soviet cultural policies during the Cold War are some
of the best examples of public diplomacy. Throughout the Cold War,
strategies aimed at ‘winning hearts and minds’ around the world were
of crucial importance to leaders from both ideological camps. Both sides
fought a cultural Cold War via radio waves, television transmissions,
propaganda, and other forms of psychological pressure (Osgood 2002:
85–107). The use of American broadcasts Voice of America, Radio Free
Europe, and Radio Liberty was considered a powerful tool in the fight
against communist polities in eastern Europe (Feulner 1995: 2).
As I have demonstrated above, the ‘old’ public diplomacy could be
considered one of the main tools to increase a country’s soft power dur-
ing the Cold War. In fact, the two are closely linked. The ‘new public
diplomacy’ which surfaced during the 1990s remains a key source of
soft power. But a number of novel features must be added to justify talk-
ing about a ‘new’ public diplomacy. In the next section I turn to three
key concepts introduced in the scholarly literature which neatly capture
these novel techniques in convincing and attracting foreign publics:

brand state, competitive identity, and nation-branding.
Key elements of the new public diplomacy: Brand state,

competitive identity, and nation-branding
In his elucidation of the ‘Brand State’, van Ham (2001) refers directly
to the concept of public diplomacy: ‘These days, individuals, firms,
cities, regions, countries, and continents all market themselves profes-
sionally, often through aggressive sales techniques. Indeed, having a
bad reputation or none at all is a serious handicap for a state seeking
to remain competitive in the international arena’ (van Ham 2001: 2).
Van Ham classifies soft power and state branding under the wider
umbrella of ‘postmodern power’, which denotes power without the use
of coercion or payments. Simon Anholt (2007, 2010) has introduced
the term competitive identity, which actually amounts to a form of
product promotion. The term designates the synthesis of brand man-
agement with public diplomacy and with trade, investment, tourism,
and export promotion. Why bother to have a competitive identity when
you are an established international or regional actor? In Mark Leonard’s
words it is because foreign societies and world opinion matter (Leonard
2002: 3).
The practice of nation-branding, the third key concept, involves a
more coordinated effort than regular public diplomacy as it requires
that all of a nation’s effort is mobilized for the promotion of its
external image. Nation-branding includes a wide variety of activities,
ranging from the creation of national logos, to institutionalizing a
branding strategy within state structures by creating governmental and
quasi-governmental bodies to oversee long-term nation branding efforts
(Kaneva 2011: 118).1 During the past decade, several countries engaged
in nation-branding exercises. One of the most impressive was the British
Cool Britannia campaign launched in 1997 by the incoming Labour
Party. It was meant to (re)present and (re)brand Britain – and London,
more specifically – as modern, young, and diverse (Werther 2011: 3).
Brand state, competitive identity, and nation-branding are all part of
what Jan Melissen (2005) dubs the ‘new public diplomacy’. Without a
decent image, no state or IO is currently able to achieve its goals. The
Afghan and Kosovo conflicts witnessed powerful military coalitions risk-
ing defeat – not in the field but in the media battleground for public
opinion. Creating a brand helps IOs to reinforce their legitimacy: the
view that they are worthy to be sustained and supported.
NATO’s public diplomacy in a time of change
Does NATO have a brand? According to Stefanie Babst, NATO’s Assis-

tant Secretary General for Public Diplomacy, the Alliance has a strong
brand indeed, constituted by collective security, transatlantic security,
the Partnership for Peace and the (currently suspended) NATO–Russia
Permanent Joint Council.2 In many countries, NATO’s logo has become
a symbol of respectability and is the ultimate marker of ‘Westernness’.
Yet, NATO’s image of the past two decades has built largely on its her-
itage: having won the Cold War and liberated the ‘captive nations’. From
its creation in 1949, the Alliance defined itself as the security arm of a
community of liberal-democratic norms and values, considered the core
principles of the Western world. The end of the Cold War and the demise
of the Soviet Union have challenged the Alliance’s raison d’être. But the
need to prevent crises in an uncertain future remains (see Flockhart, this
volume). Daalder argues that it ‘is that purpose, finally, that can demon-
strate NATO’s lasting relevance in the new Europe as an organization
that is able to meet the challenges and exploit the opportunities that
the 21st century has to offer’ (Daalder 1999: 5).
During the past two decades, the Alliance has undergone several
changes which have resulted in the adoption of three new Strategic Con-
cepts and three enlargement rounds (1999, 2004, and 2009).3 The latest
Strategic Concept was adopted in November 2010 during the Lisbon
Summit. It is primarily indented to situate NATO better in the new
security environment and thus to present it as a much thought-after
organization – although it lacks now a clear enemy (Chivvis 2009: 26).
NATO’s key tasks identified by the Strategic Concept are defence, crisis
management, and cooperative security.
One of NATO’s challenges today is to keep its member state offi-
cials and public opinions mobilized. After 11 September 2001, and the
involvement of the Alliance in Afghanistan, it turned into a global
actor. Every step towards reform and every action needed a strong pub-
lic diplomacy and a coherent communication strategy. ‘If we want to
advance our goals and bring about change, we need to engage, listen,
discuss, persuade and ultimately influence others. This is something we
all experience in our daily lives’ (Babst 2009: 2). The drama in Bosnia
and Herzegovina, the air strikes over Kosovo, thousands of casualties in
Afghanistan and all the peace enforcement operations the Alliance con-
ducted after 1990 underlined the need to communicate and explain the
political and military decisions: ‘If we don’t have a clear communication
strategy we risk losing public opinions’.4
The key tasks of NATO’s ‘old public diplomacy’ (the pre-2003 Office of
Information and Press) were based on information and dissemination.
Less emphasis was placed on engagement and dialogue with opinion
makers and on influencing public opinion. So why has NATO changed
and strengthened its public diplomacy? There was pressure to develop
new tools of influence and a more nuanced communication com-
ing from member states. In April 1999, Alastair Campbell, then Prime
Minister Blair’s press secretary, led a group of six British officials to
Brussels as reinforcements for Jamie Shea (NATO’s spokesperson) and
his public affairs staff. Their objective was to ensure that NATO would
have the public diplomacy resources needed for the Kosovo interven-
tion (Smith 2009: 22). The ‘Kosovo lesson’ and recent involvement in
Afghanistan suggested an urgent need to engage, communicate, explain,
and ultimately to ‘brand’ two difficult missions.
In the post-Cold War era, IOs are generally competing for better vis-
ibility. Each cares about image, competitive identity and a good brand.
In fact, all IOs seek popular acceptance (legitimacy) for their existence
and their deeds. Effective perception management offers policy-makers a
more credible and less destructive tool than bombings as well as a more
effective means to shape long-term attitudes and behaviours (Collins
2000: 2–3). As we shall see below, the Kosovo episode represented the
first incentive for NATO to develop a new and more effective pub-
lic diplomacy. Some of the bombings raised questions about whether
NATO, in pursuing its often labelled ‘humanitarian war’, was respecting
all the requirements of international humanitarian law (Roberts 1999).
The Allied Force operation in Kosovo represented one concrete example
of the importance to know when and how to manage public perceptions
and expectation for an organization that, crucially, rests on the interplay
between hard and soft power. When the situation in the Balkans deteri-
orated, the link between military force and diplomacy became the key
ingredient in the international effort to solve the crisis.
In general, NATO faces the challenge to better explain to new gen-
erations and future elites what the transatlantic Alliance is all about in
the 21st century. National and international surveys clearly demonstrate
that the public at large, and particularly the post-Cold-War genera-
tion, has only vague ideas of NATO’s new missions and policies (Babst
2010: 7). If NATO expects public support for its future actions, it needs
to understand young generations – those who are likely to become the
future political and military elites. Soft power rests upon positive experi-
ences that are acquired over time. If NATO wants to conserve its appeal
it needs to retain and further develop a strong and persistent public
diplomacy that responds to the challenges posed within a globalized

world: from the change in communication patterns (new media and
new technologies) to a more critical and responsive audience, including
the younger generation.
The next section elucidates in more detail the rationales for establish-
ing NATO’s Public Diplomacy Division in 2003 and introduces its func-
tions more thoroughly. The subsequent discusses NATO’s Afghanistan
operation as a ‘hard case to brand’.
Emergence and functions of NATO’s Public

Diplomacy Division
NATO’s Public Diplomacy Division (PDD) was created in 2003 by the

then Secretary General Lord Robertson. It succeeded NATO’s Office of
Information and Press, a unit responsible for daily press and media
operations and communication activities in support of member states
and partner countries, and incorporated the NATO Science for Peace
and Security Program.5 Based on a mandate to complement the allies’
individual communications efforts, the PDD’s programmes are intended
to educate and inform public audiences about transatlantic security
issues and promote the Alliance’s policies and objectives more broadly
(Babst 2008: 4). This institutional change suggests a radical move away
from Cold War structures based on top-down communication patterns.
By contrast, the new PDD aims to get closer to the public and improve
NATO’s networking capacity by engaging with different targets. Of all
IOs currently possessing departments for communication, NATO so far
remains the only IO comprising a Public Diplomacy Division.
The professional background of the PDD’s staff is relatively diverse:
public diplomacy specialists, political scientists, policy analysts, jour-
nalists, and communication officers. More than 50 per cent of the staff
arrived in the division after several years of experience of public diplo-
macy in one of the member states at the level of ministries of defence,
of foreign affairs or national press agencies. Some staff has acquired
more practical experience during NATO’s missions.6 NATO’s spokesper-
son (currently Oana Lungescu) is understood as a key institution for the
Alliance’s relations with the press, with governments and civil society
representatives.7
Beyond its daily press business and website management, most of
PDD’s activities are intended to have long-term effects. As has been out-
lined in the previous sections, they are meant to build relationships and
networks with opinion-formers and journalists; to facilitate dialogue
among security experts, policy-makers, and NGO representatives; and

to generate interest in transatlantic issues among larger segments of the
population, in particular the ‘next generations’.8 This amounts to two
main goals of the PDD: to act as a complement to national governments’
efforts of communication; and to promote transatlantic relations.9
The PDD communicates NATO to the world by using new media,
marketing, and advertising techniques. In order to achieve the above
objectives, NATO’s PDD has formulated six key rules: (1) listen to the
public before talking or taking any decision; (2) design its public diplo-
macy according to the policy ‘what counts is not what you say but what
you do’; (3) public diplomacy must be credible and effective; (4) pub-
lic diplomacy is not always about NATO – sometimes issues are better
communicated by third parties such as think tanks and academics;
(5) public diplomacy needs to respond to the challenges of the internet
and make use of the entire communication toolbox, including social
networks; and (6) NATO’s public diplomacy requires planning, training,
and resources (Babst 2009: 4–7).
In order to understand its targets and to promote a positive image
within member states as well as partner countries such as Russia,
Ukraine, or the Western Balkans, NATO’s PDD has elaborated a range
of communication strategies. Its outreach programmes have been inten-
sified, particularly for critical target audiences such as journalists,
opinion-makers, and parliamentarians in allied nations. Information
centres have been established in several partner countries (for example,
Ukraine), and the PDD has also diversified its products so as to create
attractive programmes for younger audiences: summer schools, simu-
lation exercises, or university and school competitions. As one PDD
official puts it: ‘The goal is to connect people together. NATO is an
exclusive club: there are Insiders (NATO members) and there are Out-
siders. We want to promote the Alliance’s core values and build cultural
bridges.’10
The main targets for the PDD are decision-makers and foreign pub-
lic opinions. As another PDD official has put it: ‘If we are getting
through these two targets our mission is accomplished.’11 The strate-
gies of communication are adapted to the response of the public which
are usually measured using opinion polls which are used as an index
of how well people throughout the world or in NATO countries regard
the Alliance. According to the most recent polls capturing the Alliance’s
image, NATO’s credibility was at its all-time low during 2006 and 2007.12
This decrease of public support was associated with the negative image
of the Bush Administration. ‘NATO is perceived as a US-led organization.
For ordinary citizens, when you don’t like Bush you don’t like NATO.’13
In 2008, the Alliance’s image improved in public opinions, perhaps
attributable to the ‘Obama effect’. According to the latest Transatlantic
Trends Survey 2012 (Everts et al. 2012), public support for the Alliance
is still high in the member states and the Alliance seems to enjoy a
rather positive image. Despite the pessimism about whether ultimate
success can be achieved in Afghanistan and the continued debate over
the institution, it is regarded as ‘still essential’ by a majority in all mem-
ber states (except for Turkey). Fifty-eight per cent of EU respondents in
NATO member countries respond to this statement in the affirmative,
whereas the ratio of Americans dropped since 2012 six percentage points
to 56 per cent. There are differences between countries and figures rang-
ing from a high of 71 per cent in the Netherlands and the UK, to a low
of 45 per cent in Poland (down by six points from 2012). Turkey was the
NATO member with the lowest public support, with only 38 per cent
agreeing that NATO is ‘still essential’.14
In order to connect to the ‘digital global village’ to make its voice
heard and to increase its reputation, NATO has engaged during the
past years in a modern self-promotion using sophisticated videos and
launching an online communications platform. Directed at younger
audiences, the PDD has launched a branding campaign in 2008 for
which the CEO of Coca-Cola, Michael Stopford, was hired as NATO’s
Deputy Assistant Secretary General for strategic communication ser-
vices. Finally, in the run of the Chicago Summit in 2012, NATO has
launched the ‘We-NATO’ platform, an interactive social media online
forum with the purpose to reach out and engage directly with ‘netizens’
around the world.
In spite of its latest communication efforts, the Alliance continues
to face several challenges. NATO is by nature a politico-military struc-
ture. The PDD is part of the civilian framework and its main goal is
to focus on the ‘promotion of NATO values, norms and image as a
whole’.15 But the military structure can also publish news, briefs and
information factsheets. The Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe
(SHAPE) in Mons, Belgium, has the tools and the knowledge to commu-
nicate NATO’s actions – and thus to interfere with PDD’s goals and create
incoherence and inconsistency. For SHAPE, the term ‘public diplomacy’
is considered to be too soft. Instead, it prefers to employ the terms
‘strategic communication’ and ‘strategic planning’. The tensions over
the meaning and use of different terms are severe as PDD has no man-
date to do ‘strategic communication’. The latter is perceived as a sort of
propaganda meant to secure troops for difficult missions.16 I now turn
to the case of Afghanistan to analyse the accompanying difficulties and

applied communication strategies of NATO’s PDD.
NATO’s ISAF operation in Afghanistan: A hard case to ‘brand’
The International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) is a security and

development operation in Afghanistan established by the UN Security
Council on 20 December 2001 by resolution 1386. Initially imple-
mented by a US-led coalition with rotating lead nations and restricted to
the capital Kabul and its immediate surroundings, the command of the
ISAF operation was turned over to NATO on 11 August 2003. In October
2003, the UN Security Council authorized the expansion of the oper-
ation throughout Afghanistan (Rynning 2012). As of March 2013, its
troops amount to roughly 100,000 from 50 contributor states.17
ISAF is one of NATO’s most challenging missions in terms of com-
munications and public diplomacy. It not only involves a long-lasting
presence of the Alliance, but has so far also demanded a high total
number of civilian casualties. The communication challenges were addi-
tionally reinforced by the fact that many governments (Canada, France,
Germany, Great Britain, Spain) had argued vis-à-vis their domestic
constituencies in 2003 that the operation would merely be a recon-
struction and democracy-building mission. A majority of Europeans
and Americans (73 per cent and 79 per cent, respectively) supported
the contribution of troops to international reconstruction efforts in
Afghanistan, assisting with the training of the Afghan police and mil-
itary forces (76 per cent and 68 per cent, respectively). But they likewise
disapproved of committing troops for combat operations against the
Taliban.18 NATO members have used divergent messages to inform
about the mission, its goals, the associated risks, and the vast difficulties
in achieving ‘peace’, however defined. As the number of civilian and
military casualties grew, it was increasingly difficult to uphold the argu-
ment that this was an easy job. In fact, many member-state governments
failed to provide their public with an accurate, credible and balanced
story. This neglect has complicated NATO’s tasks to communicate on
ISAF’s actual role and the associated challenges.
The Alliance continuously tried to overcome two key communica-
tion problems. Firstly, more time and resources were needed to be
devoted to communication on Afghanistan. Secondly, since 2006 the
PDD had to coordinate the plethora of actors in the field (ISAF, journal-
ists, UN, NGOs, . . .) in order to achieve the degree of ‘unity of message’
deemed necessary for a persuasive campaign in NATO countries and in
Afghanistan. After all, as Nye states, ‘The world of traditional power pol-
itics is typically about whose military or economy wins. Politics in an
information age may ultimately be about whose story wins’ (Nye 2004a:
106). If NATO wants to keep the foreign public opinions in its favour,
it needs to continually assess ISAF’s progress in political, economic, and
social terms – as modest as it may seem. Diego Ruiz Palmer, a former
official in NATO’s Operations Division, noted, ‘We have been making
progress but we have difficulty in measuring this progress in aggregate
terms, in ways that can be easily explained and understood and can
facilitate our planning as well as our messaging, and have a compelling
impact on the Afghan people and our electorates alike’ (Ruiz Palmer
2009: 17).
In terms of resources and strategies of communication, ISAF was
always a priority for NATO since it started commanding the opera-
tion in mid-August 2003. In 2007, the allies agreed to upgrade once
again NATO’s communication capabilities and created the Media and
Operations Centre (MOC). Based in Brussels, its main goal is to fos-
ter cooperation among NATO headquarters in Brussels, ISAF in Kabul,
and contributing nations. The MOC is also in charge of media planning
activities and monitors local, regional, and international press coverage
for ISAF.
In the field, ISAF headquarters in Kabul is the centre of NATO’s com-
munication activities. The ISAF commander and his spokesperson serve
as the main contact points for the press. The regional commands as
well as all troop contributing nations have their own spokespersons
who interact mainly with their respective national journalists. These
spokespersons receive guidelines both from Brussels’ MOC and from
their national militaries. They hence have to combine these two guide-
lines without contradicting each other (Peters 2010: 9). Another branch
of NATO’s military communication (called ‘information operation’)
operates on the ground. It is responsible for communicating with the
Afghan population. In so doing it engages in people-to-people contact
and distributes the free ‘ISAF-News’ newspaper.19
In spite of all communication efforts, the ISAF operation is still far
from popular. War-torn Afghanistan has progressed towards promotion
and protection of human rights, women rights, freedom of expression,
and education – especially women’s education. It has held two successful
rounds of presidential and parliamentary elections, provided public ser-
vices, and improved the public infrastructure. Although the Alliance has
contributed to these improvements, public opinions are far from enthu-
siastic. Disillusionment with warfare, coupled with economic troubles,
has given European defence cuts strong momentum which adds to

a difficult overall situation. In May 2012, France has decided to pull
out most of its troops. This decision is indicative of the high level of
what could be labelled ‘intervention fatigue’ among NATO’s European
members.
After ISAF has been led by NATO for more than ten years, the same
challenges remain: how to avoid excessive criticism, how to report, and
how to keep everybody engaged? From a PDD perspective, NATO should
try to harmonize its political and military approaches to communication
in order to reach out to civilian target audiences in member states and
partner countries.20 Keeping the support of foreign publics for ISAF is
not an easy task. This is especially so when the Alliance is compared with
other IOs engaged in peace promotion and post-conflict reconstruction,
such as the UN or the EU, which are often considered (less intrusive)
competitors.
Conclusion
My chapter has elucidated the politico-historical, socio-economic, and

cultural environments within which NATO transformed its policies and
strategies of communication. I have shown that since the end of the
Cold War, crucial moments in the Alliance’s post-Cold War existence
(new doctrines, operations, enlargement rounds, etc.) were preceded by
a strong and improved strategy of communication that gradually led
to the surfacing of a modern public diplomacy with the aim to influ-
ence public opinion. The above analysis of NATO’s emerging public
diplomacy in the context of a new external environment allows me to
formulate some more general conclusions.
Firstly, NATO is adaptable. The development of its public diplomacy
shows that the Alliance has constantly used its experiences and lessons
learned to adapt, to innovate and to convince. It might also prove
capable to unite its civilian and military voices and improve its crisis
communication strategies. As an amalgamation of nations and geopolit-
ical experiences, NATO seeks unity in diversity. Hence, the formulation
of its public diplomacy is often the product of several compromises
between diverse national strategic cultures.
Secondly, NATO is resilient. A decade of war in Afghanistan suffices to
wear down most alliances, but NATO is still there. The communications
practices for ISAF in Afghanistan have provided the Alliance with new
lessons on how and when to use public diplomacy efficiently to create a
supportive environment for its actions. It also showed that all support is
based on coherence in communications policies and upon legitimacy –
the view that NATO is worthy to be sustained and supported.
Thirdly, the Alliance spares no means to increase its soft power – a
crucial tool for an organization whose identity has rested for a long
time primarily on its hard power. NATO has developed a ‘competitive
identity’ and continues to mobilize strategies, activities, innovations,
and communications in a concerted drive to prove that it deserves the
economic and political support necessary to achieve its goals.
Notes
1. Examples include UK’s Public Diplomacy Board, established in 2002 or South
Korea’s Presidential Council on Nation Branding, founded in 2009.
2. Interviews, NATO headquarters, Brussels, 26 March 2009.
3. NATO’s membership evolved from 12 founding members to 28 members.
5. Interviews with the Head Corporate Communications Section, PDD,
NATO headquarters, Brussels, 26 March 2009.
6. Interviews, Head of NATO Countries Section, PDD, NATO headquarters,
Brussels, 26 March 2009.
7. In 1999 NATO spokesman Jamie Shea conducted the daily briefing on
Kosovo at NATO headquarters.
8. NATO’s Public Diplomacy Division, http://www.nato.int/cps/en/natolive/
structure.htm.
11. Interviews, Executive Officer, PDD, NATO headquarters, Brussels, 26 March
2009.
12. While majorities of the French, German, and British publics continued to
view NATO as essential to their country’s security, support has fallen in all
three countries. In Germany, support for NATO fell from 74 per cent in 2002
to 55 per cent in 2007, and in the UK support has declined from 76 per
cent in 2002 to 64 per cent in 2007. In France, support for NATO has seen
a smaller decline, from 61 per cent in 2002 to 55 per cent in 2007. See
Transatlantic Trends 2007 (Kennedy et al. 2007: 16).
13. Interviews, Deputy Head Technology and Communication Section, PDD,
NATO headquarters, Brussels, 26 March 2009.
14. Transatlantic Trends 2012, www.transatlantictrends.org.
16. Interviews NATO headquarters, Brussels, 26 March 2009.
17. NATO-ISAF, http://www.nato.int/nato_static/assets/pdf/pdf_2013_03/2013
0306_130306-isaf-placemat.pdf.
18. NATO-ISAF, http://www.nato.int/nato_static/assets/pdf/pdf_2013_03/2013

0306_130306-isaf-placemat.pdf.
19. The Magazine of NATO Rapid Deployable Corps, 2013.
20. The Magazine of NATO Rapid Deployable Corps, 2013.
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Anholt, Simon. (2010), Places, Identity, Image and Reputation (Basingstoke:
Palgrave Macmillan).
Babst, Stefanie. (2008), Reinventing NATO’s Public Diplomacy (Rome:
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Babst, Stefanie. (2009), ‘Public Diplomacy: The Art of Engaging and Influenc-
ing’, Speech, PfP Symposium at http://archive.atlantic-community.org/app/
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Part III
NATO’s Post-Cold War
Bureaucracy, Consensus-Building,
and Decision-Making
6
NATO Decision-Making: The
‘Consensus Rule’ Endures Despite
Challenges
Leo G. Michel
Decision-making by consensus is practised within a range of

international organizations, including the United Nations, World Trade
Organization, European Union, and International Monetary Fund.
In these organizations, consensus is not the only form of decision-
making, however. Specific provisions exist to reach decisions by alter-
native means (for example, majority or weighted voting) or to formally
block a proposal altogether, for example through exercising a veto in the
UN Security Council (Movsisyan 2008; Payton 2010). In NATO, how-
ever, decision-making by consensus is so deeply rooted in the ethos of
the Alliance that it permeates all layers of its deliberations and practical
procedures, although the 1949 North Atlantic Treaty does not spec-
ify (with a single exception) how collective decisions are to be made
(NATO 1949).
This chapter describes the institutionalized mechanisms of the ‘con-
sensus rule’ and how it reflects NATO’s specific character as an inter-
governmental organization where member states closely protect their
sovereignty. Several historical examples demonstrate how the rule has
helped NATO navigate difficult political and military situations. The
chapter also analyses various suggestions to change the rule.1
How the consensus rule works
Absent any explicit voting procedure in the 1949 Treaty, NATO devel-
oped a set of customary practices for decision-making, known simply
as the ‘consensus rule’. The rule is not binding in a legal sense. It is an
institutionalized norm that has remained essentially unchanged over
107
108 Bureaucracy, Consensus-Building, and Decision-Making
more than six decades. Through the rule, the member states maintain
tight control over all aspects of this particular international organi-
zation, ceding little (if any) margin for manoeuvre or initiative to
NATO’s top officials and international staff that support its day-to-day
operations. In sum, the Alliance has remained an international organi-
zation that resists ‘internationalization’ and ‘supranational’ attributes at
every turn.
Proposals are introduced into NATO in many ways. For example, a
national delegation may submit a proposal in writing during a meeting
of the North Atlantic Council (NAC), the senior decision-making body,
or the Military Committee (MC), composed of representatives of the
national chiefs of defence, or one of their approximately 200 subordi-
nate committees and working groups. Draft texts also may be initiated
by the Secretary General (see Hendrickson, this volume), the MC Chair-
man, or a member of the International Staff (IS) or International Military
Staff (IMS) chairing a committee or working group. The nature of the
proposal determines whether it is initiated in the NAC ‘political’ or MC
‘military’ channel. Proposals by national delegations and/or draft texts
drawn up by a NATO official generally are preceded by consultations in a
variety of forums, including bilateral or multilateral discussions in allied
capitals, allied missions at NATO headquarters, the NAC, the MC, and
their committees and working groups. Such consultations help allies to
identify possible concerns and craft mutually acceptable solutions (see
Mayer and Theiler, this volume).
The draft texts are circulated to all allies by the Secretary General (or,
if appropriate, the Chairman of the MC) or the IS or IMS chairperson
of the relevant committee, normally before a meeting to determine if a
consensus exists.2 At such a meeting, the Secretary General, MC Chair-
man, or the subordinate committee or working group chairperson may
deem a text to be agreed if none of the national Permanent Representa-
tives (or the designated representative of a national delegation) raises an
objection. There is not any ‘yes or no’ vote – by ballot, show of hands,
or orally. In effect, silence means consent.
In many cases, a written decision or statement of position is deemed
necessary, and some or all of the Permanent Representatives might
not be able to provide their respective national positions without the
approval of senior authorities in their capital. In such cases, the Secretary
General, MC Chairman, or relevant committee chairperson will circulate
the draft proposal under a ‘silence procedure’ with a specific deadline,
normally at least 24 hours. This gives allied delegations time to consult
with their respective governments. If no ally ‘breaks silence’ – that is, if
Leo G. Michel 109
no ally notifies the IS or IMS in writing of its objection before the dead-
line – the proposal is considered approved. If one or more ally breaks
silence, the proposal is normally referred back to the relevant body for
further work to reach consensus. In most cases, the ally that breaks
silence will offer additional information, alternative wording, or some
rationale for its objection, but it is not obliged to do so.
Breaking silence will prompt the NATO staff element handling the
issue to revise the draft and re-circulate it to the same group, with the
aim of accommodating the objection(s) without losing the support of
the other allies who raised no objection. Alternatively, a disagreement at
one level may be reported to a more senior group, which will then try to
resolve the issue. If no agreement is reached despite one or more addi-
tional round(s) of the silence procedure, the issue may be indefinitely
tabled without a decision being taken.
NATO does not publicly identify which countries break silence,
although national positions may be leaked (sometimes by the country
breaking silence) if the issue is contentious. Moreover, as there is no
formal voting procedure, there also is no formal abstention procedure.
The Secretary General aids consensus-building through informal dis-
cussions at NATO headquarters with individual allies or groups of
allies. He also can influence alliance deliberations through his public
statements, private meetings, and correspondence with senior officials,
legislators, or opinion leaders of allied governments (see Mayer and
Theiler and Hendrickson, this volume).3 However, the Secretary Gen-
eral and other NATO officials cannot overrule an ally’s position. Indeed,
any perceived effort by the Secretary General or other NATO officials to
run roughshod over any ally’s objections is apt to provoke sympathetic
objections from other allied representatives, since the latter are wary of
any precedent that could diminish their future prerogatives.
The consensus rule exemplifies the ‘one for all, all for one’ ethos
of NATO’s collective defence commitment, and reflects its structure as
an alliance of independent and sovereign countries. NATO decisions
express the collective will of its member governments, arrived at by
common consent, rather than the decision of a supranational author-
ity. Under the rule, no ally can be forced to approve a position or take
an action against its will. This is especially important for decisions on
the potential use of military force, which are among the most politically
sensitive for any ally. Even Article 5, the 1949 Treaty’s key collective
defence provision, stops short of mandating the type of assistance to
be provided by each ally in the event of an attack against the territory
of another (see NATO Treaty text).4 It is noteworthy that the US insisted
on qualified language in this article to assuage concerns in Congress that

its constitutional power to declare war not be ceded to any multilateral
organization.
At the same time, the consensus rule allows NATO to respect distinc-
tive national legislation that may bear upon the ability of allies to con-
tribute to certain NATO operations. For example, Norway and Denmark
do not allow peacetime stationing of foreign troops or nuclear weapons.
Similarly, German law requires a simple parliamentary majority to
approve military deployments outside Germany, whereas Hungarian law
requires a two thirds majority.
Through the consensus rule, NATO can build political and military
solidarity through the Alliance as a whole without imposing one-size-
fits-all standards on its diverse membership. The rule forces allies to
undertake the widest possible consultations to build support for their
ideas. No ally, large or small, can be taken for granted. Even the US,
despite its prominent role in NATO, relies on the consensus rule to
protect its interests, shape the views of other allies, and integrate ideas
offered by those allies to improve American proposal.
The consensus rule during the Cold War
Couched in broad principles and objectives, the 1949 Treaty said very
little about how the Alliance would actually function. It soon became
clear, however, that the Alliance required a ‘Strategic Concept’ to
develop a common assessment of the threats it faced and to build politi-
cal and military structures needed to execute a collective defence against
those threats. Hence, in October 1949, the MC (consisting of one rep-
resentative from each of the 12 allies), agreed by consensus to charge
a ‘Standing Group’ of military representatives – from the US, France,
and the UK – with drafting the first Strategic Concept. This decision
reflected the fact that these three countries were the leading military
powers within the Alliance; hence, they were best placed to construct
credible defence plans and identify needed national contributions and
cooperative measures. Through a process of consultations and revisions,
allies who were not in the Standing Group helped shape the Strategic
Concept to recognize that an ally’s contributions to collective defence
should be proportional to factors such as its size, population, industrial
capacity, and geography.
Similarly, the allies decided by consensus in 1950 to create an inte-
grated military command structure, reflecting the fact that the MC and
Standing Group could not replace the clear military lines of authority
Leo G. Michel 111
and command that would be necessary actually to conduct collective

defence operations in the event of war (see Krüger, this volume). Once
again, the three leading powers assumed top positions in the new com-
mand structure; American General Dwight Eisenhower, for example,
became the first Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR). But
other allies also were allocated responsibilities that ensured their voice
would be heard in both the planning and execution of wartime opera-
tions. Meanwhile, in accordance with the 1949 Treaty’s Article 10, the
allies agreed unanimously to the accession of Turkey and Greece in 1952
and the Federal Republic of Germany in 1954.
That the Alliance was capable within a few years of its creation of
establishing such an unprecedented level of multilateral defence coop-
eration while extending its membership to include the Federal Republic
of Germany is a testament to the resilience of the consensus rule (Collins
2011).5 To be sure, the perception during the Cold War that the Soviet
Union posed an existential threat to Alliance security was a critical
factor in motivating allies to reach consensus on NATO strategy, struc-
tures, and plans. But without the consensus rule, it arguably would
have been much more difficult for NATO’s member states – who were
still struggling with different levels of internal political unrest, post-
war reconstruction tasks, and nationalist resentments born from searing
memories of occupation – to have taken such dramatic steps towards
collective defence.
During the Cold War years that followed, the consensus rule demon-
strated additional attributes. It helped maintain cooperation within the
Alliance while other strains threatened to pull allies apart. This was the
case, for example, when the US forced the UK and France to end their
joint military intervention in Egypt during the 1956 Suez crisis, and
when Turkey and Greece nearly went to war over Cyprus in 1974.
The rule also helped allies to broker compromises that had power-
ful impacts on its strategic direction. Hence, the 1967 Harmel Report
committed the Alliance to a dual-track policy: it advocated the need,
emphasized by allies such as the Federal Republic of Germany, to seek
a relaxation of tensions of East–West relations while maintaining ade-
quate defence, as underscored by the US. Similarly, the 1979 ‘dual-track’
decision linked NATO’s backing for the deployment of US intermediate-
range nuclear forces in several NATO countries – a response to earlier
Soviet deployments of their SS-20 mobile missile – to negotiations
between Washington and Moscow on such systems. In 1987, those
negotiations resulted in the first global ban on an entire class of nuclear
weapons.
The consensus rule and the French connection
The flexibility inherent in the consensus rule allowed France to maintain

close ties with the Alliance following President Charles de Gaulle’s deci-
sion to withdraw from the NATO Integrated Military Structure in 1966.
In the wake of that decision, the other allies turned increasingly to the
Defense Planning Committee (DPC) to consider and decide upon most
defence matters and issues related to collective defence planning. Cre-
ated in 1963, the DPC was seldom used before 1966. Similarly, a Nuclear
Planning Group (NPG), whose membership mirrored the DPC’s, was
established soon after the French withdrawal to discuss nuclear forces
issues. Although remaining active in the NAC, France was neither bound
by, nor did it seek to impede, decisions made by consensus in the DPC
or NPG.
In 1992, as NATO considered its first out-of-area crisis response
operation – maritime and air surveillance in the Adriatic in support
of the embargo on arms deliveries to Yugoslavia (as mandated by the
UN Security Council) – the DPC allies agreed to discuss the issue in
the NAC. This eased the way for French participation in the operation,
which was favoured by Paris and broadly welcomed by other allies. This
also set a precedent for the NAC’s lead role in subsequent crisis response
operations in Bosnia, Kosovo, Macedonia, and Afghanistan. Thus, while
remaining formally outside the integrated military structure until April
2009, France was a major player in decision-making – as well as a leading
force contributor – for all four of those NATO operations.
The consensus rule and Kosovo
The 1999 NATO air campaign, Operation Allied Force, against the Fed-
eral Republic of Yugoslavia tested the consensus rule in several ways.
First, the allies debated the legitimacy of NATO military action without
an explicit UNSC resolution and later argued over the military strategy
pursued during the conflict. The consensus rule allowed allies with dif-
fering views – some emphasizing the humanitarian crisis and human
rights abuses, others worried by the precedent of NATO taking so-called
offensive action against a sovereign state – to find enough common
ground to endorse, or at least not to block, Allied Force.
The rule was particularly important for the Greek government, which
ultimately decided not to break silence on key NAC decisions autho-
rizing the use of force despite public opinion polls indicating that
some 95 per cent of the Greek population opposed NATO intervention.
Leo G. Michel 113
At the same time, Greece opted out of direct involvement in the combat
operations.
The nuance between a decision-making procedure that allows an ally
to acquiesce in a collective decision (despite its public or private reser-
vations) and a procedure that would oblige that state to cast a yes or no
vote in the NAC might appear insignificant. In practice, the nuance mat-
ters enormously. If the Permanent Representatives had been required to
raise their hands to approve Allied Force, the Greek government might
not have been able to resist the domestic political pressure to vote
against it, thereby preventing any NATO involvement – and, possibly,
any military operation whatsoever.
The consensus rule also facilitated the implementation of Allied Force.
For example, during the crisis, the NAC frequently decided not to engage
subordinate committees. This kept sensitive NAC discussions as private
as possible and facilitated its rapid decisions. The then Secretary General
Javier Solana played a key role in reconciling divergent views within the
NAC using a ‘summary of discussions’, a technique devised to avoid
putting any single ally under too much scrutiny. The NAC delegated
to Solana the authority to implement, suspend, or terminate the first
phase of the air campaign (see also Hendrickson, this volume). Thus,
the NAC ceded (by consensus) the decision to Solana to initiate a pre-
approved spectrum of airstrikes. There were differences later among
allies over target selection and mission assignments, but these generally
were solved through bilateral channels outside NATO. In sum, while
extraordinary efforts were required to maintain consensus throughout
Allied Force, they preserved NATO solidarity and ultimately achieved its
stated objectives in Kosovo.
The consensus rule and 11 September 2001
The consensus rule did not prevent the NAC from acting within
24 hours of the terrorist attacks on 11 September 2001, to invoke Article
5 for the first time in history. The decision sent a powerful message of
solidarity that the US warmly welcomed.
Some observers have blamed the consensus rule for preventing NATO
from assuming a more prominent role in the early ‘war on terrorism’
that followed the September 11 attacks, but other factors appear to
have been more important. The US, for example, had an unquestioned
right to self-defence in response to a direct attack on its territory. While
Washington appreciated allied expressions of support, it recognized
early on that NATO could not coordinate all the tools – diplomatic,
intelligence, economic, financial, law enforcement, as well as military –

needed for a sustained campaign against extremist organizations such as
al-Qaeda. Moreover, most allies had limited or no capability to support
long-range power projection in Afghanistan. Thus, Washington sup-
ported an important but not lead role for NATO. Nor did any other ally
propose a NATO ‘lead’ to attack al-Qaeda safe havens in Afghanistan – a
fact often ignored by critics of Washington’s actions at the time.
Still, the rule’s existence probably facilitated the 4 October 2001, NAC
agreement on eight specific measures of assistance requested by the US,
including the deployment of five Airborne Warning and Control Aircraft
System (AWACS) aircraft and crews to help defend US airspace.6 The
consensus procedure allowed every ally to contribute to the collective
effort in areas identified on the approved menu, but did not obligate
allies to take action in every area. On the other hand, the consensus rule
allowed one ally (not the US) to block a proposal in the NAC in late 2001
to direct NATO military authorities to develop options for supporting
humanitarian relief operations in Afghanistan.
Questioning the consensus rule
In late 2001, some US Members of Congress and officials in the George

W. Bush Administration raised questions regarding the consensus rule as
they contemplated a possible fifth round of NATO enlargement, which
was widely expected to occur at NATO’s Prague Summit in late 2002.
Washington’s hesitations regarding enlargement involved the
so-called Meciar problem. In 1998, Vladmir Meciar, Slovakia’s author-
itarian prime minister, was ousted by a broad opposition coalition, but
he remained an influential force. Some American officials and Con-
gressmen worried that if Slovak voters returned Meciar’s party to power
after Slovakia joined the Alliance, a Meciar-dominated government
might not hesitate to abuse the consensus rule and paralyse NATO if
it served his political interests. And Meciar was not a unique case; simi-
lar concerns were voiced, for example, regarding certain Romanian and
Bulgarian politicians.
The willingness of some NATO aspirants to meet defence commit-
ments to the Alliance also worried Washington. NATO’s ‘burden sharing’
debate was as old as the Alliance itself, and some officials and Members
of Congress worried that further enlargement would bring more ‘free
riders’ into the Alliance. The consensus rule clearly was not the cause
of any ally’s military deficiencies. Yet, in the view of some Americans, it
diluted efforts to exert peer pressure within NATO on weak performers.
Leo G. Michel 115
Hence, during their 2002–2003 hearings on enlargement, Senators and

Congressmen repeatedly asked Administration officials whether enlarge-
ment would make it even harder to reach a consensus on threats to the
Alliance and whether to take military action to protect common security
interests.
But it was the contentious intra-Alliance dispute over Iraq in early
2003 that convinced some Senators that the consensus rule must be
changed. The dispute was an extension of differences within the UNSC:
the UK (with American support) favoured a new UNSC resolution explic-
itly authorizing the use of force against Iraq, while France (with German
support) opposed such a step. When the US Permanent Representative
suggested in late January 2003 that NATO military authorities begin con-
tingency planning for the defence of Turkey in view of the potential
threat from Iraq, Belgium, France, Germany, and Luxembourg balked.
Such planning, they argued, was premature at best; at worst, in their
view, it would send a political signal that NATO accepted the ‘logic of
war’ with Iraq.
The dispute came to a head with Turkey’s formal request, on 10 Febru-
ary 2003, for consultations in the NAC under Article 4 of the Treaty,
which states: ‘The Parties will consult together whenever, in the opin-
ion of any of them, the territorial integrity, political independence or
security of any of the Parties is threatened’ (see NATO Treaty text).
During those consultations, the MC Chairman briefed the NAC on the
potential Iraqi threat and the timelines necessary to prepare plans to
reinforce Turkish defences. When Turkey’s Permanent Representative
asked the NAC to direct NATO military authorities to prepare such plans
for consideration by the NAC, three allied Permanent Representatives –
soon revealed to be those of Belgium, France, and Germany – again
objected. The then Secretary General George Robertson quickly circu-
lated a formal decision sheet, whereupon those three allies formally
broke silence.
The now very public argument lasted several more days before
Belgium and Germany agreed to a face-saving compromise: Turkey’s
request was moved from the NAC to the DPC, where France was not
represented. The DPC quickly reached consensus, on 16 February 2003,
on guidance to the military authorities to prepare plans to help pro-
tect Turkey through the deployment of NATO AWACS and support to
allied deployments of theatre missile assets and chemical–biological
defence capabilities. The military authorities completed their planning
in the next few days, and on 19 February 2003, the DPC authorized the
implementation of the agreed assistance to Turkey.
Although NATO officials understandably tried to put the best face pos-
sible on the incident – Robertson described it as ‘damage above, not
below, the waterline’ – its impact, particularly in Washington, should
not be underestimated. For some, the consensus rule appeared to have
outlived its usefulness. In the context of the Senate debate in May 2003
on NATO enlargement, Senator Jack Reed told his colleagues in May
2003, that the ‘antiquated’ rule must be eliminated. He advocated ‘a new
rule in NATO . . . that authorizes the members of the Alliance to suspend
the membership of any country in NATO which no longer supports the
ideals of the Alliance’ (US Congress 2003).
The Senate resolution, which passed 96–0, contained an amendment
that recommended that the US place on the NAC agenda: the NATO
consensus rule; and ‘the merits of establishing a process for suspend-
ing the membership in NATO of a member country that no longer
complies with the NATO principles of democracy, individual liberty,
and the rule of law’ (US Congress 2003). Soon thereafter, the House
of Representatives passed separate legislation requiring the Secretary of
Defense to report to appropriate committees on his recommendations
for ‘streamlining’ decision-making within NATO.
Ultimately, the Bush Administration recoiled from pressing the issue
in the NAC after it concluded that even some of its closest partners,
including the British, would not support an assault on the consensus
rule. As then Secretary of State Colin Powell explained the administra-
tion position to Senators:
We believe that the current decision-making procedures work well

and serve United States interests . . . . NATO is an alliance, and no
NATO member, including the United States, would agree to allow
Alliance decisions to be made on defence commitments without its
agreement.7
Recent developments
Since the 2003–2004 skirmishes, NATO officials and allied governments

have generally steered clear of reopening debate over the consensus
rule. In an October 2009 speech, NATO Secretary General Anders Fogh
Rasmussen opposed any change to the rule, although he added that
NATO could ‘speed up the (consensus-making) process’ by a ‘more
efficient’ use of its many committees (Rasmussen 2009).
Nevertheless, the ‘Group of Experts’ (appointed by Rasmussen to facil-
itate preparation of a new Strategic Concept) encouraged the Secretary
Leo G. Michel 117
General to offer further proposals to ‘streamline the decision-making

process’ in their May 2010 report. According to the experts, these
proposals should:
1) recognize that any departure from the consensus principle must

be approved by the NAC; 2) preserve the consensus rule for the most
important decisions such as those involving Article 5 commitments,
budgets, new missions, or new members; 3) identify means on less
vital questions for Allies to register concerns short of a veto; and 4)
establish the principle that the implementation of decisions arrived
at by consensus should not be delayed by efforts to review those
decisions at lower levels before they are carried out.
Furthermore, according to the experts, the Alliance ‘should consider giv-

ing the Secretary General or NATO military leaders certain pre-delegated
authorities, based on agreed rules of engagement, to respond in an
emergency situation such as a missile or cyber attack’ (NATO 2010).
Still, the practical impact of the Group of Experts recommendations
has been modest. Although some of the experts believed that loosening
the consensus rule in ‘non-political’ areas – for example, by giving the
Secretary General greater authorities over budget and personnel man-
agement issues – would increase efficiencies, many NATO Permanent
Representatives objected to the idea. Some feared any such move would
set an unhelpful precedent, undercutting support for consensus on pol-
icy matters; others simply may have wanted to preserve their national
equities in maintaining certain NATO positions. The suggestion that
NATO should establish fixed criteria before launching a new operation
apparently raised particular concerns, with Permanent Representatives
arguing strongly that operations should be decided on a case-by-case
basis.
NATO’s Chicago Summit declaration of May 2012 contained no
explicit reference to any review of the consensus rule, but this does
not necessarily mean that the topic has been definitively shelved. One
reason is NATO’s experience in Libya in 2011.
Germany’s abstention, on 17 March 2011, on UNSCR 1973, which
authorized member states to take ‘all necessary measures’ to protect
Libyan civilians, upset many allies. Turkey, Germany, and France hes-
itated (for different reasons) to join a consensus on a leading role for
NATO until 22 March, three days after a US–French–UK coalition ini-
tiated air strikes against Libyan dictator Qadhafi’s forces.8 Germany
then promptly removed its crew members from NATO AWACS aircraft
assigned to the arms embargo, and pulled its maritime units from
NATO operations in the Mediterranean. Moreover, during NATO’s six
month long Operation Unified Protector, only eight of the 28 allies
participated in its strike missions.
Reflecting on the aforementioned Libyan experience, some allied
defence ministers have publicly hinted that the Alliance will need to
address situations where some members decide to engage in an opera-
tion while others choose to abstain. As Dutch Minister of Defense Hans
Hillen put it in January 2012:
Is such an abstention free, or isn’t it? . . . Are costs being shared, and
if so, how? Is consensus among the 28 always mandatory or can
subgroups decide? . . . NATO needs a set of (new) rules governing sce-
narios when some Allies decide to engage while others choose to
abstain.
(Hillen 2012)
The questions raised by Hillen (among others) remain relevant as

NATO seeks to advance its ‘smart defence’ agenda, promoting greater
multinational cooperation and specialization to improve Alliance mil-
itary capabilities. Many allies are concerned that if they invest scarce
resources in common capabilities (such as AWACS) or agree to special-
ize in certain capabilities (relying on other allies for complementary
ones), they must have ‘assured access’ to those capabilities when needed.
This may pose a challenge to other allies who want to preserve their
sovereign prerogatives either to abstain from a specific operation or – if
they strongly oppose it – withdraw their national contribution entirely
from the Alliance mix, perhaps crippling the mission. This is further
complicated by the fact that allied governments have different national
legal requirements for engaging in military operations; some require
parliamentary approval, but others do not.
Possible modifications: Four options to streamline NATO’s

decision-making process
Given that NATO makes literally thousands of decisions every year and
that each of these is tied directly or indirectly to a consensus procedure,
how might NATO streamline its decision-making process? The following
examples illustrate some potential approaches.
A first option could be labelled the ‘threatened ally’ rule. Broadly
speaking, NATO military authorities prepare contingency operational
Leo G. Michel 119
plans for which the NAC provides political guidance. Historically, this
has constrained formal contingency operational planning to a relatively
small number of Article 5 scenarios, while the NAC retains authority for
initiating and approving all operational plans developed in response to a
fast-breaking crisis. As in the aforementioned February 2003 dispute, the
consensus rule can slow that initiation process. Under a ‘threatened ally’
rule, any ally (or combination of allies) could request that the NATO mil-
itary authorities prepare contingency operational planning options if it
sees a threat to its territorial integrity, political independence, or secu-
rity. The request would be automatically approved by the NAC, unless a
consensus of other allies objects.
This option would be consistent with Article 4 of the Treaty (see
NATO Treaty text). While respecting the principle of consensus, the
option shifts the burden of proof from the ‘threatened’ to the ‘non-
threatened’ allies. The latter would require a consensus to determine
that such contingency operational planning was unneeded or unwise –
a high threshold for most allies to cross. Abbreviating the NAC role
in authorizing contingency planning would mean a faster turnaround
between the appearance of a threat and the preparation of military
options. But the NAC would retain its power to decide (by consensus)
whether any of the planning options is eventually adopted.
For some allies, this option might carry a risk of politically provocative
planning requests by one or more allies to deal with grossly exagger-
ated threats. Those threats might reflect deteriorating relations between
allies or between an ally and a neighbouring country that is outside the
Alliance. However, the history of NATO should be very reassuring on
this point: there is no precedent of an ally making a frivolous proposal
to undertake contingency operational planning.
A second option to streamline NATO’s decision-making process could
be denoted the ‘SACEUR’s Discretion’ rule. Under this option, the NAC
would grant broad discretionary authority to SACEUR to prepare con-
tingency operational plans for a broad range of potential NATO military
missions. SACEUR would keep the Secretary General and MC informed
of such plans. This rule would adopt at NATO the same approach used by
the US for its Unified Combatant Commanders. The latter are expected
to keep abreast of evolving threats in their areas of responsibility and
maintain contingency operational plans to counter those threats. Such
planning is considered prudent military practice and in no way preju-
dices the President’s decision-making authority to commit US forces to
a specific operation. As in option 1, the NAC would retain its power
to decide whether any planning option should be executed. However,
the availability of SACEUR’s contingency operational planning would

shorten the time needed by the NAC to consider its response to a fast
breaking crisis.
Such an option departs from longstanding NATO practice. For some
allies, it also might delegate too much discretion to the most senior
US military officer in the Alliance. To address the aforementioned con-
cerns, the option might be modified to give the Secretary General (by
tradition, always a European) the authority to direct the SACEUR to
prepare contingency operational plans based on the Secretary General’s
sense of the NAC, that is, without recourse to a formal NAC decision.
A third option could be branded the Empowering ‘Coalitions within
NATO’. A NAC consensus would continue to be required to authorize
a NATO operation. Unlike current practice, however, the NAC could
mandate a ‘NATO committee of contributors’ (NCC), chaired by the Sec-
retary General, to carry out the operation on behalf of the Alliance. The
NCC would be comprised of allies prepared to contribute capabilities
to the operation, and it would enjoy full access to Alliance common
assets and capabilities – for example, NATO AWACS. The NCC would
approve the concept of operations, rules of engagement, military activa-
tion orders given to the SACEUR, and other needed steps to implement
the operation. The Secretary General would brief allies who are not
NCC members on developments affecting the operation, but those allies
would not participate in its daily management. Allies who choose to
remain outside the NCC could not by themselves reopen its mandate in
the NAC; to do so, they would need support from some threshold (for
example, at least one-third) of the NCC membership.
This option would preserve the consensus rule for approving NATO
operations. It would track with past practice, whereby an ally with reser-
vations about a particular operation will not break silence if there is
overwhelming sentiment in the NAC to proceed. It also would take into
account the potentially greater difficulty of reaching common threat
assessments among all allies where non-Article 5 crises outside the
Euro–Atlantic region are involved.
Removing the ability of those who are not engaged in the operation
to influence its day-to-day conduct could accelerate decision-making.
The NCC also would be inclusive rather than exclusive: no ally could
block another’s participation, and allies who are unable to contribute at
the outset would retain the option of joining the NCC at a later stage.
Finally, the NCC might be particularly appealing to allies who are also
EU members, as a similar ‘committee of contributors’ arrangement exists
in the EU Common Security and Defense Policy.
Leo G. Michel 121
However, NATO presumably would need to agree on relatively trans-

parent standards that discourage some allies from providing a minimal
contribution simply to secure a seat at the NCC table. The issue of
ensuring rough parity between an ally’s practical contribution to an
operation and its influence over operational decisions is not new, but
past NATO practice has been to deal with this behind the scenes on a
case-by-case basis.
Still, a NCC approach might erode the NATO ‘one for all, all for one’
ethos. It might make it politically more respectable for some allies to
opt out of NATO-led operations. This in turn could weaken their incen-
tives to develop the military capabilities needed to support a range of
potential NATO missions.
A fourth and last pathway suggested to streamline NATO’s decision-
making process is the ‘Consensus Minus’ Rule. A NAC consensus
would remain the preferred decision-making mechanism to authorize
a NATO operation. However, if consensus were not possible, the NAC
could authorize an operation by a process similar to the EU qualified
majority vote (QMV). Under the QMV process, the EU’s Lisbon Treaty
assigns each member a number of votes weighted on the basis of its
population, with a correction factor to give some added protection to
members with the smallest populations. However, the Lisbon Treaty
specifically exempts decisions having military or defence implications
from QMV procedures. Such decisions must be made unanimously,
although EU members have an option to abstain.
Depending on its modalities, a QMV procedure could make it very
difficult or impossible for one ally or a small number of allies to block
an operation desired by others. This option could be combined with
option 3, allowing a NCC to be mandated by QMV.
However, this option would represent a radical break with NATO
tradition. Designing and negotiating a QMV system appropriate for a
political–military alliance of sovereign states would be very contentious.
A population-based formula would be unacceptable to a number of
small and middle-sized allies, some of whom are among the most solid
contributors to NATO-led operations. Formulas based on indices such
as defence spending as a percentage of gross domestic product or the
size, readiness, and capabilities of national forces available for NATO-
assigned missions would be complicated and need regular adjustment.
Moreover, it would be impossible to gain NATO approval for a QMV
formula that did not provide at least a theoretical possibility that the
US could be outvoted in the Alliance – a possibility that Washington
would find intolerable. And it is hard to see why allies who have strongly
opposed a QMV procedure for military matters within the EU would

find it easier to swallow in NATO. As then UK Minister for Europe Denis
MacShane stated in June 2003:
The idea that an institution in Brussels can at the present time send
out a young man from my constituency or from a German or Spanish
town to risk his life, or even to die, is unthinkable for me. When we
now send our boys out, this has been decided by our government,
answerable to parliament.9
Conclusion
To paraphrase Winston Churchill’s celebrated remark about democracy,

the consensus rule is perhaps the worst way to manage the Alliance –
except for all the others. The rule, as practised thus far, has not paralysed
the Alliance. With some relatively straightforward adjustments, the rule,
like NATO itself, can adapt to the 21st-century security environment.
No ally, however, will agree to change current decision-making proce-
dures and accept an ‘internationalization’ of the Alliance in a manner
deemed contrary to its interests. This is a paradox for NATO: consensus
will be needed to alter the consensus rule.
Notes
1. Information and assessments contained in this chapter are drawn, in part,
from the author’s experience as Director for NATO Policy in the Office of the
US Secretary of Defense during 2000–2002. These are the author’s personal
views and do not necessarily reflect official policy of the US Department of
Defense.
2. Most NATO committees are chaired by an IS or IMS official; in a few
cases, notably involving nuclear plans and proliferation questions, a national
representative may chair or co-chair the relevant committee.
3. The MC Chairman traditionally has adopted a lower profile, reflecting the
NAC’s primacy.
4. Article 5 reads, in part:
The Parties agree that an armed attack against one or more of them in
Europe or North America shall be considered an attack against them all
and consequently they agree that, if such an armed attack occurs, each
of them, in exercise of the right of individual or collective self-defense
recognized by Article 51 of the Charter of the United Nations, will assist the
Party or Parties so attacked by taking forthwith, individually and in concert
with the other Parties, such action as it deems necessary [emphasis added],
including the use of armed force, to restore and maintain the security of
the North Atlantic area.
Leo G. Michel 123
5. For a more complete discussion of the early evolution of NATO structures and,
in particular, its first four Strategic Concept documents, see Collins (2011).
6. AWACS aircraft use radar and other sensors to monitor airspace and provide
data to NATO combat aircraft and/or ground-based air defences.
7. Colin Powell, letter to Senator Richard Lugar, Chairman of Committee on
Foreign Relations, 5 May 2003.
8. On 22 March 2011, NATO approved an operation to enforce the UN-mandated
arms embargo on Libya. Over the next five days, NATO approved successive
operations to enforce the ‘no fly’ zone over Libya and to conduct military
strikes to protect civilians and civilian-populated areas under threat of attack
from the Qadhafi regime.
9. Interview (in German) in Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 20 June 2003.
References
Collins, Brian. (2011), NATO: A Guide to the Issues (Santa Barbara: Praeger).
Hillen, Hans. (2012), Maintaining a ‘Triple A Alliance in an Age of Austerity’, Speech
at the Atlantic Council of the United States, 12 January 2012.
Movsisyan, Suren. (2008), ‘Decision Making by Consensus in International
Organizations as a Forum of Negotiation’, 21st Century, 1(3): 77–86.
NATO. (1949), The North Atlantic Treaty at http://www.nato.int/cps/en/natolive/
official_texts_17120.htm (accessed 29 April 2013).
NATO. (2010), NATO 2020: Assured Security; Dynamic Engagement. Analysis and
Recommendations of the Group of Experts on a New Strategic Concept for NATO
at http://www.nato.int/strategic-concept/expertsreport.pdf (accessed 29 April
2013).
Payton, Autumn Lockwood. (2010), Building a Consensus (Rule) for Inter-
national Organization at http://147.142.190.246/joomla/peio/files2011/papers/
Lockwood%20Payton%2001.10.2010.pdf (accessed 29 April 2013).
Rasmussen, Anders Forgh. (2009), New Challenges – Better Capabilities, Speech at
Bratislava Security Conference, 22 October 2009.
US Congress (2003), Congressional Record–Senate, 8 May 2003, S5882 at http://beta.
congress.gov/crec/2003/05/08/CREC-2003-05-08-pt1-PgS5881-8.pdf (accessed
29 April 2013).
7
The Changing Role of NATO’s
Secretary General
Ryan C. Hendrickson
At the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), one of the more

visible manifestations of ‘internationalization’ of the Alliance is the
heightened political significance and presence of the Secretary Gen-
eral in the post-Cold War era. Created in 1952, three years after the
Alliance’s formation, the individuals who have occupied this office since
the Cold War’s end have increasingly become policy entrepreneurs:
independent initiators of policy ideas and directions for the allies in
leading NATO towards the end they desire. During the Cold War,
this was much less the case. NATO’s Secretaries General were often
very talented diplomats, who at times exercised important indepen-
dent influence on Alliance politics. Yet, they often were limited greatly
by the political influence exercised by the Supreme Allied Comman-
der Europe (SACEUR), the Alliance’s conservative strategic outlook, and
often by the generally unadventurous leadership approaches taken by
the individuals who held this office (Jordan with Bloome 1979). In the
post-Cold War era, these leaders have produced a far greater impact,
though their influence is still limited by larger systemic and institutional
constraints. As NATO has taken on a wider set of political and military
operations, and as NATO’s strategic mandate has broadened, so too have
the opportunities for the Secretary General to successfully act as a policy
entrepreneur and internationalized actor who is turned to by the allies
for guidance and leadership in shaping policy. This new environment
has, on a number of occasions, resulted in policy impacts due to the
actions of these individuals.
This chapter provides a brief background on the creation of this office
and its history during the Cold War, follows with discussions of some
of the Secretaries General (Manfred Wörner and Javier Solana) who
124
Ryan C. Hendrickson 125
have led the Alliance through new and creative periods in the post-
Cold War era, and concludes with assessments of Jaap de Hoop Scheffer
and Anders Fogh Rasmussen, the two most recent occupants of this
office. The findings suggest that Secretaries General who have policy
impact often do so within the Alliance’s institutional settings, including
at major summits or in critical North Atlantic Council (NAC) meetings
where leadership opportunities are most ripe. Rasmussen, however, has
been like no other Secretary General, both in terms of ambition as well
as a public media presence, who has sought to lead the Alliance in new
ways, though has also faced important constraints on his ability to shape
policy.
Cold War Secretary General: Leadership constraints
Though NATO was created in April 1949, it was not until the Lisbon
Summit in February 1952 when the office of the Secretary General
was born. The Alliance did have a de facto ‘military’ head: the posi-
tion of the Supreme Allied Commander Europe came into being in
1950, who has since always been an American (see also Krüger, this
volume). The first SACEUR was American war hero General Dwight
Eisenhower. He was succeeded by American General Matthew Ridgway
who, like Eisenhower, remained as SACEUR for little more than one
year. Among Cold War SACEURs, General Lauris Norstad, who served
at NATO from 1956 until 1963, is widely viewed as NATO’s most
influential military leader, who exercised tremendous influence in shap-
ing all facets of NATO policies (Jordan 1987, 2000). It was soon,
however, clear after the SACEUR’s creation that NATO needed an indi-
vidual who could work permanently on a political basis to encourage
consensus among the allies. Given that the SACEUR was American,
the practice was established to have a European serve as the Secre-
tary General, which has remained the case since its beginning (Ismay
1960: 458).
In its infancy, the Secretary General was severely limited by his lack
of formal authority. He had no vote in the North Atlantic Council
(NAC), which remains the case today, and did not even formally lead
its meetings until 1956. This latter competence was introduced as a
result of the ‘Three Wise Men’s Report’, issued by three alliance for-
eign ministers: Canada’s Lester Pearson, Italy’s Gaetano Martino, and
Norway’s Halvard Lange. The document successfully called for the allies
to increase their levels of political consultation. In doing so, it provided
a small measure of empowerment for the Secretary General to formally
lead NAC meetings (Kaplan 2006) and hence brought about a modest
internationalization of the Alliance.
Initially, the Secretary General was tasked primarily to help build
an international secretariat with the appropriate bureaucratic bodies to
help foster cooperation and consensus among the allies (Jordan 1967).
The first Secretary General came from the UK, Hastings Lord Ismay, who
served until early 1957. The institutional limitations placed upon the
incumbent ran parallel to Lord Ismay’s preferences, who refrained from
advancing high-scale policy positions and rather preferred to speak lit-
tle within the NAC. Instead, he would simply sum up discussions of
the allies at a meeting’s end and played the role of an honest broker.
Ismay played a very important role in creating the initial institutional
framework for NATO, and in this respect had a profound institutional
impact on the Alliance as a whole, but is not considered as someone
who acted as a policy entrepreneur among the allies. Ismay generally
preferred such a role, and ambassadors’ expectations for policy lead-
ership from the Secretary General were not high (Jordan with Bloome
1979: 34–35).
Though the influence of the Secretary General has evolved and
expanded over time, the institutional powers of the office have changed
little since the mid-1950s. The Secretary General chairs the NAC (and
other key bodies), where he is able to introduce agenda items for
the allies to consider, and oversees and plans NATO’s major summits
when the allies come together to address large-scale strategic ques-
tions. He is also the primary spokesperson of the Alliance, authorized
to communicate NATO’s activities to the public and negotiate with
other organizations and partner countries – without the need for prior
approval through the NAC. In a third major role, the Secretary General
acts as the senior executive officer of NATO’s International Staff (IS), but,
crucially, not of the International Military Staff (NATO 2006: 74). At its
core, the Secretary General’s job is to foster consensus among the allies.
In this sense, it is his diplomatic powers of persuasion that are most
critical.
NATO’s Cold War years witnessed strong and talented Secretaries Gen-
eral. Among them, former Italian ambassador and defence minister,
Manlio Brosio, who served from 1964 to 1971, was viewed by many
as an especially skilled manager of the NAC, who was well respected
among the allies (Cleveland 1970). Joseph Luns, who served the longest
ever as Secretary General, from 1971 to 1984, also exercised much influ-
ence within the NAC, and was a powerful advocate for keeping NATO’s
mission limited to collective defence of its borders (Hendrickson 2006:
30–34).
The more important lesson, though, is that during the Cold War, the
Secretary General faced considerable political constraints in exercising
leadership, or as individuals worked to keep the Alliance’s strategic goals
limited. Ismay, Brosio, and Luns all generally kept the Alliance’s strategic
objectives narrow in scope (Hendrickson 2010b). One notable excep-
tion was former Belgian foreign and prime minister, Paul Henri-Spaak,
who served from 1957 to 1961. He sought to use his office as a tool to
advance various policy proposals, including a plan to extend NATO’s
reach into Africa and Asia, as well as a proposal for transatlantic eco-
nomic cooperation to assist the less developed world. None of these
proposals materialized, and Spaak’s political activism often failed due
in part to American opposition to expansion of NATO’s mission and the
increasingly nationalistic views adopted by France’s Charles de Gaulle.
In fact, Spaak resigned with such political Angst that he felt that without
an American in this office, the Secretary General would never have the
clout to demand followership from the allies and would never amount
to a meaningful position. His immediate successor, Dirk Stikker, who
served from 1961 to 1964, also has few major achievements that are
credited to his leadership initiatives (Jordan with Bloome 1979: 62–72,
127–134).1
In short, the Secretary General’s job is challenging: without an actual
vote and his IS largely dominated by member-state secondees (see
Mayer, Chapter 6 this volume) he has little political leverage to exer-
cise against the allies, though is often placed at the center of political
controversies at NATO in attempting to find consensus. In addition,
with a strong SACEUR, which was often the case in the Cold War, and
given the unilateral tendencies among allies (chiefly the US, the UK,
and France) as well as the modest institutional authority, the Secretary
General faced considerable leadership barriers. Thus, hardly ever was he
able to exercise major independent influence (Kaplan 2004; Mouritzen
1990: 11). Moreover, given the narrow strategic outlook that focused
almost exclusively on Europe’s regional defence, and the conservative
leadership preferences by most individuals who held this office, the lead-
ership that came during Secretary General Manfred Wörner’s tenure as
the Soviet Union collapsed, surprised many, and began to demonstrate
the potential powers of this office.
Post-Cold War Secretary General: New leadership

opportunities
As NATO’s strategic outlook has expanded and new functions,

mechanisms and operational roles were introduced after the Cold War,
so too has the Secretary General’s role grown in shaping alliance

decisions. As NATO has become a more critical forum for the interna-
tionalization of diplomatic and military activity, the Secretary General
has more often been turned to as an individual who can help bring
consensus to the Alliance, and act as an agent to foster multilateral
cooperation. In the post-Cold War era, this leadership is often best wit-
nessed in the institutional frameworks of the alliance. They include
summit meetings and the NAC, where the Secretary General is able to
help define the issue agenda. Yet, he still is constrained when national
positions among the allies are more entrenched. A number of examples
highlight these trends. Although each post-Cold War Secretary General
made individual contributions to NATO’s evolution, Manfred Wörner
and Javier Solana were especially significant in shaping policy directions
among the allies. They offer useful examples of how the incumbent
of this office can make an independent impact on different aspects of
alliance policies.
Wörner and Solana: Strong leaders in times of uncertainty
Manfred Wörner, who served as Secretary General from 1988 to his

death in 1994, played a critical role in reshaping the Alliance’s strategic
mission. Being the first and only German to hold this position, he had
a number of political talents, including excellent intellectual skills to
think strategically about NATO’s future challenges, but also diplomatic
tact that allowed him to maintain trust among his colleagues and politi-
cal credibility among the ambassadors. There were many contributors to
NATO’s ‘New Strategic Concept’ in 1991, which permitted the Alliance
to potentially engage in new missions, including peacekeeping opera-
tions and crisis diplomacy. Yet, in many respects this vision squared
closely with the ideas advanced and championed by Wörner himself,
who also effectively managed this issue at the 1991 Rome Summit
(Hendrickson 2010b). He also exercised powerful leadership within the
NAC, and is most famously remembered for his return to NATO head-
quarters in 1994, while suffering from cancer that soon took his life,
to lobby aggressively and successfully for NATO military action against
the Bosnian-Serbs. Though Wörner sought much more robust military
action in the Balkans than the allies were willing to accept, he is viewed
as an instrumental agent in moving the Alliance to accept the need for
military options (Hendrickson 2006: 46–63).
Like Wörner, though in different capacities, Secretary General Javier
Solana also was an agent for change, somewhat enhancing the
role of NATO in its own right. He did not use public forums to
push the allies in certain policy directions, and in this regard, was
quite conservative in how he chose to lead NATO. Rather, Solana
excelled in NATO’s institutional forums, especially when member states
turned to him to help resolve seemingly intractable intra-Alliance
differences.
One example of such leadership, and a clear case example of ‘inter-
nationalized’ leadership, occurred at NATO’s Madrid Summit in 1997,
when the allies appeared deadlocked over how to proceed with various
proposals for new membership expansion. The US and others supported
the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland, while France was actively lob-
bying for Romania’s membership as well. Italy also supported Slovenia’s
call for admission. To resolve these differences, the allies turned to
Solana, who in private diplomatic ‘confessionals’ consulted individually
with the member states to help identify possible scenarios for consen-
sus, all of which resulted in consensus for the Czech Republic, Hungary,
and Poland to join the Alliance (Asmus 2002: 247–248).
Similarly, during NATO’s bombings in Kosovo in 1999, when the
selection of targets in Serbia became increasingly contentious, the allies
turned to Solana to help in the process of identifying targets that
were acceptable to all the allies. During this military operation, Solana
also consulted closely with the SACEUR, General Wesley Clark, pro-
viding him with political advice on how to interact with the allies
(Clark 2001: 262; Norris 2005: 49–53). Again, in ‘Operation Allied
Force’, Solana took on a truly international role within the NAC in
helping the military operation succeed, while working to maintain
alliance consensus during moments of tremendous internal debate.
Such a degree of influence exercised by both Wörner and Solana con-
trasts sharply with the more limited legacies of the Cold War Secretaries
General.
Post-Cold War Secretaries General George Robertson and Willy Claes
also played critical roles during crisis moments for the allies. They
were both turned to as diplomatic arbiters to help resolve intra-Alliance
disputes during crises for the Alliance, and thus add to the notion
of a more internationalized Secretary General in the post-Cold War
era who is sought to help resolve political differences (Hendrickson
2006: 76–86, 130–136). The legacies and degree of internationalization
exercised by the two most recent Secretaries General, however, differs
considerably, which can be attributed to new leadership opportunities
and different strategic conditions, as well as personal leadership styles
of the individuals in office.
Jaap de Hoop Scheffer: Transatlantic healer
Wörner and Solana exerted strong leadership in times of high uncer-

tainty. Jaap de Hoop Scheffer and Anders Fogh Rasmussen served in
office when there were fewer such crisis moments, similar to the regional
threats to European security evident during the Balkan crises. Dutch
foreign minister de Hoop Scheffer became Secretary General in 2004
with profound intra-Alliance divisions stemming from the American
war in Iraq. Though it is debatable if the Iraq war was NATO’s great-
est crisis ever, there was no doubt that de Hoop Scheffer inherited a
climate of intense political differences between much of Europe and the
US (Andrews 2005). With such considerable systemic constraints for the
duration of his leadership, he worked to find consensus where possible,
but rarely pushed the allies to the point that would threaten an intra-
Alliance feud. Rather, he acted cautiously and deliberately within the
institutional framework to shape alliance decisions, and rarely advanced
or lobbied aggressively either in public or within the NAC for his own
political agenda.
On de Hoop Scheffer’s first day in his new position, at his initial
press conference he spoke both English and French, indicative of a
leader who understood the symbolic importance of appealing to both
sides of the Atlantic (NATO 2004). For the rest of his tenure, he pro-
ceeded cautiously, much more as a ‘secretary’ rather than a ‘general’.
Within NATO, his most important leadership role was as a consulter and
arguably ‘healer’, who was widely accessible to the NATO ambassadors
and fostered extensive intra-Alliance discussion.
One example of this leadership approach was evident in his response
to the inclusion of the seven new Prague Summit invitees to the
Alliance. To deal with the increased membership and calls from
the new members to become better integrated into the Alliance, de
Hoop Scheffer instituted ‘Tuesday breakfasts’. They preceded the long-
standing Tuesday luncheons, which had historically been used for
off-the-record exchanges between ambassadors in an effort to develop
a consultative environment outside of normal institutional constraints
(see also Mayer and Theiler, this volume). Through such efforts, as
well as his personal proclivity to encourage consultation, de Hoop
Scheffer excelled in the cultivation of the ‘NATO family’, that is,
a strong camaraderie among the ambassadors who work daily at
NATO headquarters. Not surprisingly, at NAC meetings, he covered a
wide range of topics and permitted extensive discussion among the
ambassadors.2
NATO experienced many changes during his tenure, including new

missions in Sudan, Iraq, a humanitarian operation in Pakistan, and
the anti-pirating operation in the Indian Ocean. Yet, one notable facet
of these missions, compared to previous ones, is the conservative and
rather secondary roles played across all of these missions by the Alliance,
which had either short tenures or entailed limited military commit-
ments. For example, in Sudan, the Secretary General emphasized at the
mission’s onset that there would be no NATO troops on the ground and
that the African Union should be leading the way in addressing this cri-
sis. Similarly, in Pakistan, de Hoop Scheffer moved slowly in 2005 to
rally the allies to take action, and then emphasized the strict time lim-
itations on NATO’s presence there. And with NATO’s mission in Iraq,
once an agreement had been reached after months of negotiations, de
Hoop Scheffer did no more to encourage the Alliance to go beyond the
very small number of troops who were part of the mission (Hendrickson
2005–2006).
During this term, de Hoop Scheffer proposed major organizational
and budgetary reforms and suggested a number of novel policy direc-
tions, though in the face of political resistance did not push much
beyond normal comfort levels among the allies when advancing these
ideas. Some efforts were made to strengthen the office of the Sec-
retary General. They included the creation of a Headquarters Policy
Board, which would help the Secretary General work with his Assistant
Secretaries Generals to shape policies for the allies. But overall, the orga-
nizational reform issues advanced by de Hoop Scheffer–which would
have furthered the internationalization of allied security politics–faced
stiff resistance from a number of members and hence did not produce
meaningful reform (Kriendler 2006: 6). Though he presided over the
Alliance when NATO accepted a much wider presence in Afghanistan
(including a combat role), it remains difficult to identify a particular
policy or action taken at NATO that was the result of de Hoop Scheffer’s
leadership. In effect, there was no ‘Solana moment’ when de Hoop
Scheffer proved crucial in steering the Alliance in any particular policy
direction.3
In sum, de Hoop Scheffer’s leadership activities were most clearly
evident within the NAC, and through his extensive communication
style among the allies. In this capacity, he served effectively as a healer
for an Alliance that had been deeply wounded by the severe division
over Iraq. He chose not to force the allies into decisions that would
again threaten Alliance cohesion. For these reasons, he cannot be con-
sidered an entrepreneurial policy leader who was willing to push the
allies beyond their political comfort zones, given the perceived systemic
constraints in place and his preference for conservative and incremental
policy steps.
Anders Fogh Rasmussen: Maverick leadership
In sharp contrast to de Hoop Scheffer, and in many respects to

all previous Secretaries General, Anders Fogh Rasmussen has exer-
cised leadership at NATO in profoundly different and novel ways.
Rasmussen has independently introduced new policy initiatives for the
Alliance, advanced institutional reforms, used new media forums to
promote his ideas and office, and has challenged NATO’s institutional
culture.
Most of his more political decisions appear to stem from his personal
preferences, which in some cases have run against NATO’s organiza-
tional and cultural norms. Rasmussen was elected to serve as Secretary
General at NATO’s Strasbourg-Kehl Summit in 2009. His election, as
well as his then-status as the sitting prime minister of Denmark, is
important to appreciate. He viewed his election as a selection from
his peers, that is, other Heads of State. Previous selection processes
have played out much differently, but often entailed debates among
the NAC over a period of weeks, if not months. Rasmussen’s selection
took place at the actual summit, where Heads of State came together to
address NATO’s strategic direction, and from his peers, rather than at the
ambassadorial rank. Moreover, Rasmussen’s background was as a Prime
Minister who was used to leading a country, rather than as a foreign
or defence minister, and certainly not as an ambassador, who was used
to following directives. The result is that Rasmussen, at least initially
while in office, viewed himself much less as a servant of the Council
and the member states’ ambassadors, but rather as a co-equal among
other heads of state, and therefore more as an independent agent and
policy entrepreneur who could work to steer NATO in different policy
directions (Hendrickson 2010a).
Early in his tenure, Rasmussen demonstrated that he did not feel
constrained by NATO’s organizational traditions and informal mech-
anisms, and thus was much less interested in the customary Tuesday
luncheons, or the Tuesday breakfasts initiated by de Hoop Scheffer.
Unlike the latter, Rasmussen would occasionally not attend these meet-
ings. In the NAC, where some of his predecessors have found ways
to exercise influence, he was also much less interested in having this
forum address wide-ranging debates. Instead, he preferred a narrower
agenda with more attention to time constraints. At times, he would

also fail to attend NAC meetings, which were then chaired by NATO’s
Deputy Secretary General. This behaviour won him few friends among
NATO ambassadors, who historically have relied upon the Secretary
General’s personal trust and fairness as a diplomatic arbiter to resolve
intra-Alliance disputes, which was especially evident during Javier
Solana’s tenure (Hendrickson 2010a).
Another leadership tactic that contrasts sharply with de Hoop
Scheffer, but in principle with all predecessors, is Rasmussen’s use of the
media and especially social media to advance issue items to the world’s
attention (see also Tomescu-Hatto, this volume). As indicated above, in
his function as the primary spokesman of the Alliance, he has made
extensive use of this privilege. Previous Secretaries General who took
higher-than-average benefit of the media were particularly Joseph Luns
who, during the 1970s and early 1980s, relished in his interactions with
the media at press conferences; and de Hoop Scheffer also took advan-
tage of using video presentations in the final portions of his tenure. But
Rasmussen has gone to new lengths to place himself in the media’s spot-
light. This entails a nearly weekly video release, as well as Twitter and
Facebook postings and updates. These vary in content, some of which
are simply updates on his travel, but many take personal policy positions
on the direction the Alliance should move.
This policy entrepreneurship was most evident in his first year in
office, as Rasmussen offered his own policy views on the Middle East
Peace process, Israel’s naval blockade of the Gaza Strip, the status of
women’s human rights, among other issues that the NAC had taken
no formal position on. Secretary General Wörner, on occasion, would
advance his own policy perspectives prior to seeking consensus, but
Rasmussen has exercised such practices at an unparalleled level, and
certainly pales in comparison to all of his predecessors. Such frequent
independence from the NAC is unprecedented in NATO’s history and
clearly indicative of a further internationalization of security politics
through the Alliance by way of incrementally upgrading an important
office beyond the nation-state. Yet, Rasmussen’s leadership style gener-
ated considerable concern from NATO’s ambassadors, especially in his
first year in office (Hendrickson 2010a).4 In this respect, his leadership
communication, both in substance and personal matters, is unique in
the history of NATO. Previous Secretaries General much more often
exercised leadership in the NAC and informally through private diplo-
macy, rather than through public diplomacy and outreach to the media
(Hendrickson 2006).
While it is obvious that Rasmussen has succeeded in generating more

international media attention for himself, it is less clear whether his
leadership style has in fact resulted in heightened influence for the
office. Two events, NATO’s 2010 Lisbon Summit and NATO’s 2011
bombing of Muammar Qaddafi’s regime, provide some insight on
Rasmussen’s actual ability to shape NATO’s strategic agenda. At Lisbon,
NATO agreed to a new strategic concept that placed greater emphasis on
conflict management, as well as the cultivation of new partners for the
Alliance in fulfilling this task. Prior to the summit, members empowered
Rasmussen to lead the process in writing this document. Though many
ambassadors noted in his first year that he did not consult widely with
them in the drafting process, the end result was a successful document,
and one without divisive debate or serious intra-Alliance differences at
Lisbon. Despite his personal initial distance from the NAC and NATO’s
ambassadors in his first year and his extensive social media activities,
Rasmussen was able to find consensus among the allies at this major
summit. Some scholars even argue that, in many ways, Rasmussen acted
as a ‘supranational’ actor, given that he was steering the summit agenda
and political process that resulted in alliance consensus (Noetzel and
Schreer 2012: 29).
NATO’s actions in Libya, however, provide less evidence for a strong
leadership influence. In the week leading up to the 17 March 2011 UN
Security Council vote that approved of military enforcement of a no-fly
zone over Libya, Rasmussen repeatedly emphasized and posted on his
Facebook page that ‘NATO was ready to act’ and that NATO ‘stand[s]
prepared for any eventuality’. While he noted the need for legal autho-
rization prior to any engagement, he openly offered NATO as an option
to deal with the challenge. However, once the bombings began and
the US turned to gain NATO endorsement and oversight of the oper-
ation, tremendous debate broke out between France and Turkey over
the conduct of the operation. Once NATO agreed to oversee the opera-
tion, it was still clear that there was really not a ‘NATO’ viewpoint but
rather widely varying perspectives on how and even if members would
contribute militarily to the operation (Bell and Hendrickson 2012).
Notably, Germany pulled its AWACS presence from NATO’s command
in the Mediterranean at the time,5 and journalistic sources indicate that
Rasmussen referred to Germany’s position as ‘absurd’ for not providing
any military support to the operation in Libya. In response, German
Ambassador to NATO, Martin Erdmann, allegedly walked out of a NAC
meeting in protest. As the bombings continued, neither Rasmussen,
nor the US, were able to convince other allies to join in the bombing
campaign despite considerable lobbying (Applebaum 2011; Demmer
and Shult 2012; Der Spiegel 2011).
While Rasmussen’s role during Libya has not yet been fully anal-
ysed, the public record available suggests that he overstated the degree
of unanimity in the Alliance prior to the military campaign, and
also was unable to bridge diplomatic and military differences among
allies once the bombing ensued. Only a handful of NATO allies
were willing to commit air power to the mission, and even fewer
were willing to actually strike targets. The contributing states did not
change or grow over time (Menon 2011). Thus, Rasmussen’s record
on these two issues is mixed. When the organization permitted and
requested his leadership moving into the Lisbon Summit, he took
the lead and the allies followed. When the Libyan crisis unfolded,
with transatlantic and intra-European differences over how to handle
Qaddafi apparent, he was unable to overcome these political differences,
though tried repeatedly to increase the number of states willing to use
force.
Many Secretaries General have expressed interest in organizational
reform, mostly in an effort to reduce the size of NATO’s bureaucracy
to increase efficiency. The 2010 Lisbon Summit agreement specifically
called upon the Secretary General to exercise leadership in the areas
of organizational reform, appropriate command structures, and the
management of alliance resources (NATO 2010). At the Chicago Sum-
mit in 2012, some progress was noted in command restructure and
resource allocation reforms, while discussions continue for wider orga-
nizational reform (NATO 2012).6 In this respect, Rasmussen appears
to be making some progress. Yet, in an era of fiscal austerity across
Europe, and with longstanding calls for NATO’s organizational reform,
it seems reasonable to expect that some reforms would be imple-
mented.
Rasmussen’s legacy still requires closer academic scrutiny, including
especially more analysis of the impact and role of his active media pres-
ence. The record available at this time does not suggest that he lead
the NAC akin to Manfred Wörner or Javier Solana, especially during cri-
sis moments for the alliance, which demands the cultivation of trust,
respect and credibility among the NATO ambassadors. Rasmussen is
no doubt an international actor, whose wide media presence is with-
out parallel in NATO’s history, though he still also faces systemic and
institutional constraints.
Conclusion
Empirical data presented in this chapter suggests a changing role of

NATO’s Secretary General in the post-Cold War era, who now com-
mands a wider international presence. These findings help support the
notion of an overall more influential office holder, giving rise to a cer-
tain internationalization of the Alliance as a whole. Incumbents since
1990 face fewer limits by member states and other constraints than their
Cold War predecessors. Due to an Alliance that now has a far broader
strategic mandate, and a variety of different political and military mis-
sions, more opportunities exist for the current Secretary General to act
as a policy entrepreneur in shaping Alliance decisions. As was evident
at NATO’s 2010 Lisbon Summit especially, he was turned by the mem-
ber states to guide the Alliance through the difficult policy process of
shaping and creating a new strategic doctrine. With an organization
consisting of 28 members, along with a number of increasingly close
partner states, the political demand for similar kinds of leadership at
summits is likely to continue in the future (Edström et al., 2011; see also
Matláry, this volume).
Variations clearly exist among the impacts of individuals who have
held this office post-1990, but on average they can be considered
more weighty than their Cold War predecessors. Especially in the cases
of Manfred Wörner, Javier Solana and Anders Fogh Rasmussen, the
strengthened leadership they enjoyed during their tenures (often as pol-
icy entrepreneurs) is indicative of an office more remote from immediate
member-state control. This points to an increased internationalization
of security politics wherein structures beyond the organization’s mem-
bers play a greater role. The recent decision that former Norwegian
Premier Jens Stoltenberg will take over as NATO Secretary General in
October 2014 (after Rasmussen’s tenure) may be indicative for a trend
towards selecting Secretary Generals with strong credentials as former
heads of Government.
At the same time, it is important to recognize the leadership
constraints of the office. The Secretary General still has only modest
formal powers to utilize against member states, and at its institutional
core, is still reliant upon his own personal powers of persuasion and
moderate administrative resources to convince allies to join together in
multilateral efforts to cooperate and coordinate their security activities.
For member states who remain opposed to action, as was evident during
the military strikes on Libya, Rasmussen’s calls for military engagement
were summarily rejected. In a similar vein, Jaap de Hoop Scheffer rarely
pushed the Alliance’s comfort levels, and thus rendered himself almost
entirely a secretary, who succeeded in healing many of the diplomatic
wounds inflicted during the war in Iraq. He acted not as a general
who was instrumental in leading NATO in fundamentally new policy
directions.
Notes
1. Hoogenboezem (2009) makes a different case, arguing that Stikker’s ‘Dutch’
style of diplomacy helped to resolve intra-alliance differences, which included
his ability to effectively manage political tension between the US and France
especially.
2. The material of the above two paragraphs on Jaap de Hoop Scheffer is based
primarily on the author’s background interviews with six ambassadors to
NATO, and three senior NATO IS staff members on 31 May 2010, and 1–2
June 2010).
3. Quote from a senior IS official at Ibid.
4. The revelations provided by the release of US diplomatic cables also expressed
concern by the American ambassador to NATO regarding Rasmussen’s inde-
pendence and maverick leadership style. See WikiLeaks (2010).
5. AWACS are Radar Aircraft providing reconnaissance to monitor airspace as
necessary.
6. See especially paragraph 64 of the Chicago Summit Declaration
(NATO 2012).
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8
Coping with Complexity: Informal
Political Forums at NATO’s
Headquarters
Sebastian Mayer and Olaf Theiler
This chapter introduces the theme of informal politics in international

relations. Its major part carves out post-Cold War informal political
forums in the civilian sections of NATO’s Headquarters, particularly in
its International Staff (IS). We define informal political forums (here-
after: informal forums) as political cooperation networks of three or
more actors, devoid of a legal basis, with a minimum degree of durabil-
ity and shared practices. Our chapter explores why these networks have
ballooned after 1990, what their functions are, and how they interact
with NATO‘s formal decision-making bodies which, together, form the
overall governance structure of the Alliance. Our contribution also aims
to assess the extent to which this governance structure displays signs
of internationalization as outlined in the introduction: an increasing
significance of the international level.
We conclude that the large majority of informal forums dealt with in
our chapter have supporting functions for, and are chiefly conducive
to, formal decision-making procedures wherein the need for consen-
sus ultimately applies. With regard to internationalization we find that
most informal forums point to internationalization as they contribute to
increased multilateral problem-solving at the international level, albeit
to different degrees.
As has been argued in the introduction of this volume, NATO has
a largely government-dominated decision structure, and its civilian
and military management is in possession of only little institutional
We are indebted to Anna Wolkenhauer for helpful comments on an earlier draft

of this chapter.
140
Sebastian Mayer and Olaf Theiler 141
autonomy. Member states largely hold sway over matters and the
Alliance bureaucracy lacks the attributes of a career service with an asso-
ciated strong organizational culture. However, member states as well
as the international bureaucracy are expected to adhere to formalized
international procedures with accompanying rules as laid down in the
slim North Atlantic Treaty (NAT) and especially in the numerous Terms
of Reference for individual committees and units. The decision of a
government to engage in cooperation always incurs costs compared to
acting unilaterally; and cooperation within a formalized international
organization (IO) imposes particularly severe constraints on member
states. From a rational perspective, the latter therefore use IOs only when
there is obvious potential for beneficial gains and when the costs of
cooperation are clearly outweighed by the value of its functions (Abbott
and Snidal 1998; Keohane 1984: 79, 90). Usual suspects are the oppor-
tunity to address problems of collective action and the reduction of
transaction costs (Theiler 2003: 13–14).
Notwithstanding its great degree of flexibility which is typical for
all security institutions due to the centrality of the issue area for state
survival and independence (Jervis 1983), NATO is highly institutionl-
ized and demands compliance from its members with an abundance of
self-imposed rules and regulations and inflicts political constraints. It is
not without reason that Osgood (1962) dubbed the pact an ‘entangling
alliance’. Since 1956 the Secretary General – not the representative of
the most powerful member state or, as was initially the case, members
in alphabetical order – enjoys the right to chair sessions of the North
Atlantic Council (NAC), the single most important political decision-
making body. Also, proposals on issues discussed in any of NATO’s
committees or working groups are supposed to enter the process, and
subsequently proceed, through prescribed official channels. A level of
explicit formal structure, established by a treaty or constituent docu-
ment (often with secondary legislation), is one defining criterion for IOs
as one type of institution. This distinguishes them from less system-
atic, more informal, and hence more power-driven types of governance
in international relations with unwritten procedures of policy-making,
such as loose governmental networks or impermanent ad hoc group-
ings. International actors sometimes prefer such less binding agreements
to solve political problems (Abbott and Snidal 2000; Lipson 1991).
Yet, not only within the latter, but also within treaty-based IOs
(as in any type of polity) can informal practices, arrangements, and
norms be discerned which have the potential to affect the allocation
of political power and to impact outcomes. Because NATO as a security
institution comprises less systematic and more flexible stipulations for

its institutionalized cooperation, it generally allows for great degrees of
informality. Informal forums within IOs have the potential to compete
with, or undermine, formal rules, particularly when they contribute to
hollowing out an IO by frequent evasion of formal procedures. If a few
powerful members thrash out deals behind the scenes and pre-structure
decisions within informal forums, they create faits accompli which the
less influential are then expected to nod through. This could marginal-
ize or exclude the latter with otherwise perhaps more impact on political
outcomes.
But the effects of informal forums within IOs should not automati-
cally be seen as competing and mutually exclusive with formal rules.
They may also be complementary to the latter by enhancing their
efficiency (Helmke and Levitsky 2004). For instance, taking advan-
tage of informal channels may help states to achieve a consensus on
thorny issues and hence to overcome situations of deadlock. Our con-
tribution explores informality immediately related to NATO’s politics
and centres on informal forums which are by and large conducive to
consensus-building and effective implementation. By contrast, Eilstrup-
Sangiovanni (this volume) highlights informal cooperation frameworks
outside NATO, such as provisional coalitions of the willing which
escape, or stand in opposition to, formal rules.
We find that after 1990 and particularly since 11 September 2001, an
abundance of informal forums have evolved alongside NATO’s formal
decision-making procedures at different hierarchical levels. Three key
factors account for their emergence: the increased number of member
states; the new functions NATO has taken on in addressing complex
challenges with high degrees of uncertainty; and related to this, the
need to collaborate with an abundance of third-party actors (state and
non-state) to jointly address these challenges. Against this background,
NATO’s informal forums help to manage implementation, to test the
viability of policy initiatives, and they also ease strategic debate.
We use some data from primary sources and the secondary literature
to feed our study. But the thrust of the chapter’s empirical basis stems
from insights gained by one of us (Olaf Theiler) as an inside observer
during his deployment as a national expert seconded from the German
Ministry of Defence to NATO’s International Staff from 2007 until 2012.
Hence, our key methodology used to make data accessible is that of
participant observation.
The next section discusses informal political forums in interna-
tional relations more generally and elucidates our own definition. Next,
NATO’s political headquarters and particularly it’s IS with their changes

after 1990 are briefly introduced and the significance of formal and
informal forums in Brussels illustrated. The ensuing three sections,
respectively, give a picture of NATO’s informal forums at three hierar-
chical levels: the staff-internal, the lower diplomatic, and the high-level
diplomatic echelon. Our conclusion sums up the findings and discusses
them within the context of the internationalization concept.
Informal political forums in International Relations
Informal political forums and practices are an ‘unwanted stepchild

of the social sciences’ (Brie and Stölting 2012: 19), not least because
they are methodologically more difficult to recognize than their formal
counterparts. Yet, the governance turn in the discipline of Interna-
tional Relations has put non-formal aspects of politics centre-stage
(cf. Christiansen and Neuhold 2012; Rosenau and Czempiel 1992).
In this chapter we bring up the theme of informality within IOs (for
an overview see Stone 2013). In so doing we largely follow Lauth (2000:
24–25) in his capturing of informal institutions: organized entities that
are not legitimated democratically or by a state authority and which lack
a centre which directs and co-ordinates their actions. By use of ‘infor-
mal forums’ – rather than ‘informal institutions’ – we wish to avoid
confusion about the two dissimilar meanings attached to this expres-
sion (institutions as organizational entities vs. institutions as norms and
rules). Rather than systematically assessing the output of NATO’s infor-
mal forums in Brussels, our key aim in this under-researched field is
to firstly identify the initiators of these outputs and their interaction
with formal bodies, and to merely make some broader statements on
the functions of these forums. Ultimately we define informal politi-
cal forums as political cooperation networks of three or more actors,
devoid of a legal basis, with a minimum degree of durability and shared
practices.
Informal forums in international relations include ad hoc, issue spe-
cific contact, working groups or minilateral negotiating clubs. Their
rules are not formalized on paper and their formats are often flexible and
issue-dependent. Examples include the ‘club’ of the wealthiest five in
the EU which negotiates verbal agreements before official decisions are
made (Gegout 2002) as well as informal cooperation frameworks which
have evolved around the UN (Prantl 2006). ‘Mini ministerials’ or ‘Green
Room’ diplomatic consultations prior to official negotiations at the
World Trade Organization (WTO) exclude most developing countries,
tend to undermine the one country-one vote rule and hence are inclined
to favour the most powerful (Narlikar 2005: 39). The G8 network also
debates security questions in an informal manner (Daase 2009: 290;
Fowler 2004). Haftendorn (1999) argues that for decades a few pow-
erful members gathered and used informal channels to shape NATO’s
institutional repertoires (see also Mayer 2011). Such small, informal
groups enable some states to better realize their national preferences
than would be possible under formal constraints. However, most of
the forums discussed in the following sections are complementary to
NATO’s official decision-making structure.
The significance of formal and informal forums at NATO’s

political headquarters
In this collection we look at an intergovernmental organization with

a complex structure that is only to some extent based on its founding
document, the Washington Treaty of April 1949. Therefore, our key cri-
terion to discriminate between informal and formal forums in Brussels
is that the former lack secondary legislation: Terms of Reference or other
official documents or legal acts depicting the tasks and functioning of
one or several bodies which are enacted by formal agreement. In line
with another central element of our above definition (. . . with a mini-
mum degree of durability and shared practices), we consider as informal
forums only those wherein participants meet regularly at least for a
limited period of time.
We factor out informal forums in the Alliance’s military structure
which is beyond the scope of this study. Instead, we are merely con-
cerned with informal forums in the political sections of NATO’s Head-
quarters (HQ) in Brussels, most of which can be found within the
civilian International Staff (IS). In the early 1990s, in 2002 and in 2010,
the IS has witnessed several major committee restructurings and other
administrative reforms (Dijkstra 2013). The accompanying reduction of
committees from previously 400 to currently around 100 has led to
an increased frequency of meetings. At present there are more than
3,000 annual gatherings at NATO’s HQ, most of which within formal
settings.1 Neither the basic structure of the HQ and the central role
of the NAC, nor the essence of its key decision-making procedure, the
highly resilient practice to reach a consensus (see Michel, this volume),
have changed after 1990. Furthermore, the numbers of Brussels’ full-
time staff have only slightly increased after the Cold War: as of 2012
it amounts to roughly 4,000 overall, of which about 2,000 are national
civilian or military representatives and 1,700 employed by the IS and the

International Military Staff (IMS). Only the remaining 300 employees
now representing NATO’s partner countries have contributed to a mod-
est overall workforce increase (NATO 2012). Yet, there is a clear trend
within the post-Cold War IS for prioritizing policy substance over sup-
port functions by sharply increasing the number of policy grades staff,
made possible by deeply cutting the technical workforce so as to allow
for the required funding (Dijkstra 2013: 8–10).
Headed by the Secretary General, the IS is an ‘advisory and adminis-
trative body that supports the delegations of NATO members at different
committee levels and helps implement their decisions’ (NATO 2012a).
It also offers specific expertise as well as the necessary institutional
knowledge and memory, thereby aiding member governments to work
in accordance with agreed rules and procedures. The IS’ workforce
of roughly 1,200 is currently organized in seven divisions with dif-
ferent functional responsibilities: Political Affairs and Security Policy
(PASP), Defence Policy and Planning (DPP), Operations (OPS), Defence
Investment (DI), Emerging Security Challenges (ESC), Public Diplomacy
(PDD), and Executive Management (EM). Each of these divisions is
supervised by an Assistant Secretary General (ASG) and one or two
Deputy Assistant Secretary Generals (DASGs). Only the latter are occa-
sionally recruited from the IS’ permanent staff, but above all incumbents
are nationally seconded.2 Until recently, most of these posts carried flags
and were thus regarded as national fiefdoms. This customary practice
was maintained until Secretary General Rasmussen came into office in
August 2009. Provided with an unprecedented authority as a former
Prime Minister and a strong mandate from the Heads of State and Gov-
ernment to reform the Alliance, he was able to introduce a degree of
competition for vacant positions. Yet, the largest member states still
usually succeed in claiming no less than one of the top-level posts.
Predominantly after the Cold War and even more so since 11
September 2001, a multifaceted and fluid set of informal forums has
evolved alongside formal procedures in the IS. They foster information-
sharing as well as decision-shaping and -making: by enabling the
informal exchange of information and opinions; by permitting govern-
ments with differing views to discuss their concerns; and by allowing
small groups of national representatives to create pressure groups so as
to spearhead initiatives.
The informal political forums at NATO as they have developed since
1990 can be distinguished by the interaction of five different sets of
actors (see Table 8.1), thus allowing us to focus on three clusters of
Table 8.1 Clusters of interaction: Informal institutions at NATO Headquarters
146
Actors International Staff/Int. Delegations Ambassadors Secretary Ministers

Military Staff General/Private Office
Actors
International Pre-Meetings Diplomatic Events Private Office Meeting,

Staff/Int. Inter-Staff Groups Tiger Committee-Away Days Executive Steering
Military Staff Teams/Task Forces Individual meetings Meeting,
Steering Groups Informal Steering HQ Planning Board,
Groups HQ Management Board
Delegations Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events

Individual meetings Informal Networks Individual meetings
Committee-Away days Special Interest Groups
Informal Steering Committee-Seminars
Groups
Ambassadors∗ Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events

NAC-Away days NAC-Away days Pre-Meetings
NAC-Seminars NAC-Seminars
Coffee, Lunch, Coffee, Lunch,
Informal NAC Informal NAC
Secretary Private Office Meeting, Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events
General/ Executive Steering Individual meetings NAC-Away days National Visits Office
Private Office Meeting, NAC-Seminars Calls/Bilaterals
Headquarters Policy Coffee, Lunch, Informal Ministerials
Board, Head Quarter Informal NAC Working Lunches or
Management Board Dinners
Ministers∗ Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events Diplomatic Events

Pre-Meetings National Visits Informal Ministerials
Office Calls/Bilaterals Working Lunches or
Informal Ministerials Dinners
Working Lunches or
Dinners
Shades: light gray = Cluster 1 – staff-internal gray = Cluster 2 – lower diplomatic level dark gray = Cluster 3 – higher diplomatic level
Text: Regular = ad hoc meeting form Bold/italics = institutionalized but short term Bold = Institutionalized meeting format
Source: Own compilation. ∗The chart is addressing NATO nations only, not relationships with partners, neither troop contributing nations nor any
other kind of partners.
informal forums according to their level of hierarchy (marked in dif-

ferent shades of gray): the staff-internal, the lower diplomatic, and the
high-level diplomatic echelon. Informal forums at the national level or
those involving NATO members beyond the sidelines of the Alliance
are not addressed (but see Eilstrup-Sangiovanni, this volume). We delin-
eate informal forums grouped according to the three clusters, focusing
on the more institutionalized informal forms while addressing at least
some examples of ad hoc informal forums in each cluster, and discuss
their functions in turn in the subsequent three sections.
Staff-internal informal forums: Managing implementation,

promoting new initiatives
Informal forums depicted as a first cluster (light gray) have emerged at

the staff-internal level. They help to better manage the implementation
of agreed-upon decisions within an increasingly complex international
bureaucracy. Many staff-level formal committees in the realm of the
IS have the potential to impact policy outcomes owed to their respon-
sibility to prepare the initial draft of each policy document. Informal
forums support them in doing so: they help mediate between national
representatives with conflicting preferences, and participants suggest
their own ideas and initiatives which may then win broader support.
Hence, these forums often act as ‘policy entrepreneurs’ which promote
new initiatives. We discuss these informal forums top-down, starting at
the highest staff level: the Secretary General and his Private Office (PO).
The Secretary General is authorized to head the IS, but in practice
his deputies are in charge of supervising its day-to-day business. The
PO, which includes a Policy Planning Staff, was created to monitor and
steer the daily bureaucratic business and make sure that NAC decisions
are properly implemented. The roots of the PO lie in the Cold War
but its size has significantly increased after 1990. It is ‘neither a full-
scale cabinet office nor an office that merely oversees the paper flow,
but an awkward amalgam of the two’ (Kriendler 2006: 6). A number
of ASGs with functional responsibilities residing in that bureau oversee
IS divisions. Two of the most influential informal forums instigated and
controlled by the PO are the Headquarters Policy Board (HQPB) and the
Private Office Meeting (POM).
The HQPB is the most political among the cooperation networks
discussed in this section. It comprises a gathering of the IS’ highest rank-
ing personnel and embraces also those of other administrative units –
including the Director General of the IMS. Originally set up to discuss
daily business on a weekly basis, the frequency of HQPB has diminished

over time. This was chiefly due to the heavy travel schedule of the Sec-
retary General. Under the chairmanship of Jaap de Hoop Scheffer, the
HQPB predominantly discussed long-term projects and issues relevant
for upcoming summits or NAC sessions in Brussels. During this time,
HQPB assemblies were proactively prepared by pre-HQPB meetings (a
separate, lower-level gathering). These were chaired by the head of the
PO’s Policy Planning Unit and comprised executive officers of all divi-
sions and independent offices. The key task of these meetings was to
prepare and revise policy papers before they were considered ripe for
discussion among ASGs and the Secretary General in the HQPB.
Current Secretary General Anders Fogh Rasmussen changed the meet-
ing frequency as well as the functions of the HQPB. The pre-HQPB
meetings were abandoned and regular meetings now only take place
approximately every other month. They came to serve merely as a
brainstorming forum for potential topics of interest for the Secretary
General, particularly long-term developments and far-ranging ideas
about NATO’s future work. Rasmussen selects specific subjects for dis-
cussion, sometimes based on suggestions of one or several ASGs. This is
an important source for his potential to affect policy outcomes.
Another informal forum is the Private Office Meeting (POM) which
convenes every Wednesday morning before the NAC assembles. Chaired
by the PO’s director, the POM consists of heads of NATO’s offices and
divisions as well as the Deputy Directors of the PO. POM sessions
prepare the Secretary General in his role as chair of the NAC which
includes the right of initiative. This role enables him to influence the
decision-making of the NAC by agenda-setting and by summing up the
discussion, thereby giving it his personal spin and adding to his lead-
ership potential (see Hendrickson and Michel, this volume). The POM
also serves to assign responsibilities, duties or specific tasks to the heads
of divisions and offices or to disseminate information received from
national delegations, which are then debated in the NAC.
Weekly meetings of ASGs, another informal forum, were originally
established in order to help decrease turf battles and to enhance
information-sharing among divisions. After a while it evolved into an
informal steering group beneath the Secretary General’s personal man-
agement. ASGs assemble once per week and discuss all ongoing business
related to their portfolios. They also exchange this information with
national delegations.
Among staff-internal informal forums discussed in this section, work-
ing and steering groups as well as task forces are grouped at the lowest
hierarchical level. Their key function is coordinative: to help organize

staff work which often depends on input from different administrative
units at Boulevard Léopold. Most of these informal forums have a clear
tasking or purpose, a short time of existence, and a clearly circumscribed
list of participants. Such working groups or task forces are likely to be
established by a division when it feels there is a need to collect input or
to produce a joint paper with all relevant available expertise. But some of
these task forces have also longer time horizons and a broader agenda.
Examples include task forces on the Comprehensive Approach or on
NATO’s partnership policy.
Some steering groups are set up by the IS in order to relieve for-
mal committee sessions from time-consuming discussions when they
fear that their potentially contentious initiatives might be criticized
by one or several members. It is in such cases that the IS invites
those national representatives unambiguously advocating a given ini-
tiative to be included in a policy draft prior to formal procedures.
Some of this work is done in bilateral (IS and one nation) but
frequently also in multilateral informal forums. Sceptics might also
be invited so that their resistance can be cushioned before formal
committee meetings. This may help to save the adoption of pro-
posals from possible failure. A steering group then helps to test the
ground for compromise. In so doing, they help to reduce the costs
of reaching consensus and avoid open confrontation in formal set-
tings. This is important since national representatives wish to save
their face once having made a statement in a formal session which
reduces the chances for compromise. Steering groups, in contrast, help
achieve compromise as they allow for more open and less constrained
debates.
The mediating and entrepreneurial roles outlined in this section are
facilitated by the shared identity of the IS with a degree of loyalty
towards a common purpose and neutrality with regard to national
preferences (Tuschhoff 1999: 148–150), providing the IS with the role
of an honest broker in situations of deadlock. Despite the ultimate
need for consensus in the NAC and other official committees, there
is a higher degree of influence exerted by the IS on NATO’s policy-
making after 1990, to a significant degree through the novel networks
we have outlined in this section. The IS’ important supportive role
in consensus-building, but also the increasing contact density among
national representatives and international employees in Brussels point
to an internationalization of security and defence politics through the
Alliance.
Lower-level diplomatic informal forums: Testing-grounds

for policy initiatives
Similar to many of the forums discussed in the preceding section, infor-

mal forums within the second cluster (see the medium gray cluster in
Table 8.1) serve to discuss preferences and act as testing-grounds for pol-
icy initiatives. But instead of NATO staff, they are chiefly comprised
of lower ranking national representatives active in Brussels. Likewise
adding to the process of internationalization, they assemble in informal
settings where they engage in information-gathering, make out emerg-
ing positions and explore possibilities for new initiatives or subsequent
coalition-building. They have preparatory functions for meetings of for-
mal lower-level committees with their more binding procedures and the
ultimate need for consensus.
These lower-level diplomatic informal gatherings as well as the car-
rying of news over the office grapevine are important communication
channels. They are used to form networks and to disseminate infor-
mation, and in doing so often jumpstart or facilitate official activities.
Informal assemblies at this level take place in and outside the HQ
compound, often next to social events. The latter are based on pri-
vate invitation (and are hence exclusive) or are organized through
an embassy or permanent representation. The frequency and political
impact of these forums varies.
Occasionally, national delegations spearhead joint initiatives in the
form of letters or non-papers which are supposed to impact the Secre-
tary General or the NAC as a whole. One example is the paper on the
implementation of UN Security Council Resolution 1325, initiated in
2012 by Norway and henceforth supported by a group of NATO gov-
ernments. It eventually led to the establishment of a NATO Special
Representative of the Secretary General for Women, Peace and Security
(NATO 2012b). Joint initiatives are also organized when national dele-
gations are in need of expertise they cannot acquire from their capitals
in due time or which only NATO’s bureaucracy has available. In this
latter case, some IS staff come together with national representatives at
a scheduled event. In doing so, they circumvent formal or procedural
obstacles that could block or weaken a joint initiative. These forums
also give the IS the opportunity to shape national proposals.
Another type of lower-level diplomatic informal forums are spon-
sored visits, speeches or round tables of academics where civil society
activists, NGO representatives or national officials from NATO members
with specific expertise meet and exchange their views. Representing

‘permanent dialogues’ that allow for external ideas and suggestions to
be heard and perhaps incorporated into NATO’s policies, they also pro-
vide chances for individual members to drive forward their distinctive
initiatives and preferences. It is no surprise that these forums have
emerged only after the Cold War since it was only since then that
NATO developed relations with NGOs (see Williams, this volume). These
informal meetings are often organized in cooperation with NATO’s Pub-
lic Diplomacy Division which is continually in touch with many of
these non-state actors (see Tomescu-Hatto, this volume). Some of these
sponsored visits or round tables are scheduled by a national delega-
tion. Depending on the level and status of a guest chosen either by
the host nation or a committee, this can be organized with an open
invitation to everyone interested in the HQ. They may also take place
in the premises of the hosting delegation with a more exclusive list
of invitees. For instance, some nations like Sweden, Germany or the
US frequently offered briefings on field experience from their Provincial
Reconstruction Team Commanders to the members of the Operations
Policy Committee.
Subject-specific groups, which are closely linked to NATO’s decision-
making process, are another category of informal forums at the lower
diplomatic level. These are meetings chiefly comprised of national rep-
resentatives with largely overlapping preferences in a given issue area.
These meetings can acquire an almost formal character, such as the
regular meetings of nations active in the South of Afghanistan. These
meetings are organized by the US Delegation or the Northern group of
nations headed by Germany as the lead nation of ISAF’s Regional Com-
mand North. Other groupings, such as the Friends of Children in Armed
Conflict (pertaining to UN-Resolution 1860), have less immediate practi-
cal relevance. Discussing subjects at the margins of NATO’s core business
with only a few interested members, such groupings nonetheless have
the potential to spark political initiatives.
In a nutshell, lower-level diplomatic informal forums, which are dom-
inated by national representatives, help disseminate information, serve
to introduce innovative ideas and discuss national preferences. They
particularly act as testing-grounds for policy initiatives of coalitions
of member states, occasionally including the IS. While many of these
forums have exclusive lists of participants hence with the potential to
change the allocation of power in their favour, it is difficult to mea-
sure their overall impact. Most of these forums are widely known and
accepted by non-participants as part of NATO’s day-to-day political

business. This suggests that labelling them as ‘competing’ with formal
structures might be premature, if not downright wrong.
High-level diplomatic informal forums: Easing

strategic debate
High-level diplomatic informal forums dealt with in this section are

top-level settings where ambassadors, ministers and other high-scale
officials, including senior IS staff, convene (see the dark gray cluster
in Table 8.1). These forums have emerged narrowly alongside NATO’s
official decision-making channels, often in the broader context of NAC
meetings. Compared to the forums of the preceding two sections, they
must therefore be seen as an essential offshoot of formal structures. The
schedules of many of these forums are also more tightly planned and
administrated than those of lower-level forums. Less strictly adminis-
tered high-level diplomatic forums include behind-the-scene gatherings
or likeminded groupings. The key function of all forums in this cluster
is to ease strategic debate which is more constrained in official settings.
There is a smaller number of informal forums at this highest level
compared to the previous two. This is due to two main reasons. Firstly,
ministers and other high-scale national representatives who dominate at
this level have fewer opportunities to meet informally in the first place
as they show up only occasionally at Brussel’s HQ. Secondly, these high-
scale representatives meet more often in bilateral formats than actors
at lower levels and hence fall out of our definition of informal forums
(. . . networks of three or more actors).
In order to establish forums for informal exchange at the ministe-
rial level, three out of the five established ‘ministerials’ (two meetings
of Foreign Ministers, three at Defence Ministers’ level) were informal
in nature, implying that no decisions are taken. Since the distinction
among the ministerials could not survive the real live needs for decision-
making in times of crises (and the last 10–15 years can be seen as a
constant series of crises), short formal sessions were re-introduced even
into informal meetings in order to allow decision-making whenever it
deems necessary. Vice versa, also additional forms of informal gatherings
during formal ministerial meetings have been introduced.
The most prominent informal forum at the high-level diplomatic ech-
elon is the so called ‘transatlantic dinner’ of NATO’s foreign and/or
defence ministers (sometimes including Heads of State or Government).
Although its origins are difficult to ascertain, it seems safe to say that this
forum was established around 1999 based on a US government initiative

in order to enhance casual political exchange within the Alliance.
Transatlantic dinners are held in an embassy or other venue in the sur-
roundings of a NATO ministerial or summit by invitation of a hosting
nation. The emphasis of these meetings is on issues of transatlantic
interest. Over time, an informal ‘working lunch’ and/or ‘working din-
ner’ (for the Ministers of Defence) were added to the schedule of the offi-
cial meetings more regularly. This helped to enhance the time available
for relaxed informal exchange of opinion among ministers. By now,
these are deeply embedded parts of any ministerial or summit meeting.
The most senior high-level diplomatic informal forums within
NATO’s headquarters are informal NAC meetings at the ambassadorial
level.3 The growing size of the NAC following the first round of NATO’s
post-Cold War enlargement in 1999 and complaints about the Alliance
losing its function as the main forum for transatlantic security dialogue
led to the development of these meetings. The pressing need for setting
up such forums gained salience as a result of the turmoil in NATO after
11 September 2001, and the Iraq crisis in 2003, when serious differences
about the perception of new threats like terrorism and the best way
to respond to them became obvious (Theiler 2004). Against the back-
ground of these critical events, allegations surfaced inside the Alliance
about the lack of political exchange in the NAC (Süddeutsche Zeitung
2005). This points to the perceived need for more informal forums
in times of uncertainty with a more fluid external environment and
shorter time horizons for strategic planning and implementation (see
also Eilstrup-Sangiovanni, this volume).
Following the Prague Summit in November 2002, hoping that this
would stimulate policy debate, the NAC established informal gatherings
besides formal meetings at the ministerial echelon. Yet, the tight sched-
ule of NAC meetings continued to be overburdened with formal issues
(such as the official agreement of documents) while there was little space
for policy debate. This led to frequent complaints that NAC meetings at
all levels (ambassadorial, ministerial) had been relegated to merely read-
ing out prepared statements – rather than providing a forum for spirited
strategic dialogue.
Against this backdrop, Jaap de Hoop Scheffer acknowledged the need
to improve NATO’s political consultation machinery during his tenure
as Secretary General between 2004 and 2009. He introduced periodic
informal meetings of the NAC at the ambassadorial level where national
representatives should be given a better chance to discuss their opinions
and explain their national positions more openly than in formal NAC
sessions. Devoid of official note-taking as a written proof of national

positions and the pressure to reach a consensus, informal forums pro-
vide a less densely regulated institutional environment with fewer obli-
gations. Hence, they are conducive to more vibrant political discussions
before formal positions are taken. De Hoop Scheffer convened these
informal NAC meetings whenever it seemed necessary, sometimes four
or five times per week. They were simply distinguished by the time at
which they took place: ‘coffee’ in the morning, ‘lunch’ around midday
(which was always organized by one of the delegations), and ‘tea’ for
meetings occasionally held in the afternoon (since 2011, ‘coffees’ and
‘teas’ are simply referred to as ‘informal Council meetings’). However,
due to the abundance of informal forums which were supposed to pro-
voke more lively debate, national Permanent Representatives eventually
experienced a ‘meeting-fatigue’.
When Anders Fogh Rasmussen assumed the office of Secretary General
in September 2009, he therefore streamlined the number of informal
NAC meetings. At the time of writing (2012–2013) there are merely four
fixed time slots for informal NAC meetings: each Tuesday one meeting
in the morning and a lunch held at the invitation of one of the Perma-
nent Representatives, and as a minimum two informal meetings every
Wednesday.
Food-for-thought and non-papers as well as informal letters to the
Secretary General, which also belong to the third cluster, are important
informal techniques for NATO’s information-sharing and to achieve
consensus. The former chiefly serve the purpose to elucidate initiatives
in more detail or to rally support for them. By contrast, informal letters
are by and large supposed to trigger action on behalf of the Secretary
General and his IS with regard to a specific issue or policy initiative.
Most of these letters are formulated by a single nation or prepared and
co-signed by a small group of likeminded states.
Yet, the impact of these papers varies greatly and is difficult to predict.
Some are no more than starting points for further discussion, during
which their arguments can be easily watered down or even abandoned
as non-agreeable in the formal structure. But given that they express
the view of the most active nations in a given issue area, these papers
generally do have the potential to pave the way for specific initiatives or
NATO action. Letters often carry so much political weight that the PO
and IS cannot refuse to act in line with their content. And sometimes the
language of a paper finds its way into committee papers to be adopted
by consensus.
Taken together, informal forums at the high level diplomatic eche-
lon can be considered a response to an increasingly uncertain external
environment with more complex challenges necessitating more room

for consultation. Informality allows representatives and involved IS
staff to casually exchange their views – without the pressure to stick
to national positions. This makes it easier to achieve compromise
in controversial discussions. Most of these forums are therefore, too,
indicative of internationalization: national representatives working in
them facilitate compromise, partially untied from national directions.
Yet, altogether, NATO clearly remains an intergovernmental organiza-
tion with its deeply embedded consensus rule as the ultimate marker for
national sovereignty.
Conclusion
In this chapter we have discerned a number of informal forums at

NATO’s political headquarters: political cooperation networks of three
or more actors, devoid of a legal basis, with a minimum degree of dura-
bility and shared practices. The great majority of these structures are
complementary to formal rules. They tend to enhance the efficiency of
the latter by achieving mutually acceptable solutions for the ambiguous
post-Cold War security challenges. Not only are these challenges less dis-
tinct than threats perceived during bipolarity. What is more, the number
of potential veto players within NATO has ballooned after 1990 (from
16 to 28). Finally, the increased set of state and non-state actors NATO
cooperates with after 1990 adds to the need for creating new forums
for communication, cooperation and coordination (none of which we
were able to cover in our chapter). In a nutshell, these forums alleviate
the implementation of increasingly sophisticated and far-off operations,
they help actors to learn about the impacts of policy proposals within a
highly complex and uncertain environment, and they eventually facili-
tate compromise by providing NATO nations with flexible groupings for
informal negotiations and bargaining.
At all three hierarchical levels (albeit with variation) can infor-
mal forums be identified in which representatives of NATO’s bureau-
cracy participate. These forums often represent key sources for the
entrepreneurial potential of the IS and the leadership ability of its
Secretary General who is sometimes able to steer policy outcomes in
specific directions (see Hendrickson, this volume). Inasmuch as these
potentials have increased after 1990 we can talk about an internation-
alization of security and defence politics through NATO. Likewise does
the growing cooperation among national representatives within infor-
mal forums – ceteris paribus – point to internationalization as long as
they contribute to joint problem-solving. As we have amply shown, this
is predominantly the case. Hence, intergovernmental forums, too, con-

tribute to an increasing importance of authorities beyond the nation-
state (although to a lower degree as national representatives are more
subject to direct governmental control than international actors such as
the Secretary General).
Taken together, the post-Cold War governance structure at NATO’s
Headquarters, comprising formal and informal structures, represents a
political order in which transgovernmental and transnational contacts
and pressure to reach consensus alter underlying national preferences
by common practices that constrain national decision-making while
offering new chances for power accumulation in exchange.
Notes
1. These figures are from an internal, non-quotable NATO paper from 2010.
2. The label ‘seconded’ is used in some IOs to denote IO staff that is paid by the
sending state. Somewhat different, in NATO ‘seconded’ merely implies that
an employee is sent by a member state although NATO pays for him or her.
To denote employees working for NATO that are both sent and paid for by
one member state, NATO uses the label ‘Voluntary National Contributions’.
3. Note that NATO summits are in fact also NAC sessions, albeit at the highest
possible level.
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Konkurrierender Nationalinteressen (Baden-Baden: Nomos).
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the Enlargement of NATO and the EU’, in Hans J. Giessmann (ed.), Security
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fect Unions. Security Institutions Over Time and Space (Oxford: Oxford University
Press), 140–161.
9
Enduring Rules, Changing
Practices: NATO’s Post-Cold War
Military Committee and
International Military Staff
Jo G. Gade and Paal Sigurd Hilde
The Military Committee (MC) is the highest ranking military author-

ity in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). In many ways,
it represents the essence of NATO as a military alliance of democratic
states: It is a consensus-based committee of all member states’ chiefs of
defence.1 While representativeness and consensus are sources of legiti-
macy and thus strength, the overall significance of the MC in NATO has
varied over time. As Douglas L. Bland observed in his seminal study of
the MC: ‘The Military Committee has experienced periods of relative
great influence on NATO strategy, while at other times it has almost
been irrelevant to the outcome of alliance policies’ (Bland 1991: 23).
This chapter has two aims. The first and main aim is to trace the
post-Cold War development of the organizational structure and working
practices of the MC and the multinational military body supporting it,
the International Military Staff (IMS). While we show that the formal,
institutional structure of both have changed little in the two decades
since the end of the Cold War, we argue that their working practices
have changed quite significantly. In addition to an overall pressure for
increased efficiency to cut costs, we identify three main drivers of these
changing practices: increased NATO involvement in crisis response and
peace support operations, increased need for rapid decision-making, and
the increasingly all-pervasive political nature of NATO’s tasks and oper-
ations. These drivers have changed both the overall roles of the two
bodies at NATO headquarters and the way they are tasked to handle
pressing issues. In sum, however, we argue that while these drivers and
159
related changes have been important, the personality of NATO’s civilian

and military leaders plays a significant role (see also Hendrickson, this
volume). The trends we identify are therefore unlikely to be linear.
Our second aim is to identify the extent to which a process of inter-
nationalization may be identified. Internationalization, in this book, is
understood as a process through which national procedures of planning,
decision-making, and policy implementation are linked with – or shift
to – NATO and thus enhance NATO’s significance. Given that the MC is
a consensus organ of national representatives, signs of internationaliza-
tion will include, firstly, a weakening of the consensus principle as well
as an increased influence of the Chairman of the Military Committee
(CMC) and the IMS. Both are NATO, as opposed to national entities.2
Secondly, a shift of influence away from the MC to other more inter-
national bodies (such as NATO’s strategic commanders, notably to the
Supreme Allied Commander Europe, SACEUR) will also be seen as signs
of internationalization. On this point, we conclude that while a process
of internationalization may arguably be identified, it is not clear-cut,
and that the role of personalities again is clearly important.
Writing about the organizational and bureaucratic development of
NATO is challenging both in general and in particular from an academic
point of view. Little information about the internal processes in NATO is
publically available; indeed, most records are classified. This difficulty
often means that interviews remain the sole option available to schol-
ars. Even for those with privileged access, the non-public or classified
nature of information makes proper academic referencing difficult. Due
to this challenge, parts of this chapter are (like other contributions to
this collection) short on references. Overall, the given account is based
on three main sources that cannot be referenced: a range of interviews;3
background consultation of a few key documents; and, to some extent,
the personal recollections of one of the authors (Rear Admiral Jo G. Gade
has served a total of nine years in the IMS, including from 2008 to 2011
as Director of the Plans and Policy Division).
The origins and functions of the Military Committee and

International Military Staff
Before turning to our analysis of the post-Cold War evolution of the

MC and IMS, it is useful to take a brief look at the origins and roles
of the military part of NATO headquarters. At its first meeting, on
17 September 1949, the North Atlantic Council (NAC, of NATO foreign
Jo G. Gade and Paal Sigurd Hilde 161
ministers) directed the Defence Committee (of NATO defence ministers)

to establish a military structure for NATO, including a Military Commit-
tee (see also Krüger, this volume). On 6 October 1949, the MC convened
for its first meeting (NATO 1949a). Initially, the MC had regular but
infrequent meetings at the Chief of Defence level. On 18 December
1950, however, the NAC approved the establishment of a Military Rep-
resentative Committee (Bland 1991: 152; NATO 1950). In 1957, this
committee was given its present name, the ‘Military Committee in
Permanent Session’, MC/PS (NATO 1957a).
The MC and IMS we know today came into existence after the with-
drawal of France from NATO’s integrated military structure in March
1966. The composition, procedures, and responsibilities of the MC are
set in the MC 57 series of documents, which provides the framework for
NATO’s overall military organization. MC 57 saw its last, larger revision
as far back as 1981.4 Subsequent attempts to revise the documents have
all stranded. There has been no consensus on how to define the overall
role of the MC and, more specifically, on its functions vis-à-vis strategic
commanders, primarily SACEUR. While the number of MC representa-
tives has increased due to the enlargement of NATO and the return of
France into NATO’s integrated military structure after 1990, the formal
framework under which the MC operates has thus changed little in the
past 30 years. NATO documents define the MC as ‘the senior military
authority in the Alliance’, whose principal role
is to provide direction and advice on military policy and strat-

egy. [ . . . ] The MC is an integral part of the policy and decision-
making process of the Alliance. It provides the essential link between
the political decision-making process and the integrated command
structures of NATO.
(NATO 2010a: 3–2)
The MC, in other words, is responsible to the NAC for the overall con-
duct of the Alliance’s military affairs. It performs this responsibility,
firstly, by advising the NAC and the Secretary General on military pol-
icy and strategy; and secondly by giving guidance to the Alliance’s two
strategic commanders – based on political guidance from the NAC and
the Secretary General, and its own decisions.
The MC in Chief of Defence Session (MC/CS) represents the senior
decision-making format and normally meets three times in a year. Out-
side these meetings, Chiefs of Defence are represented by Permanent
Military Representatives, who convene at NATO headquarters as the

MC in Permanent Session several times a week. The CMC chairs meet-
ings in both formats. A non-US, four-star general or admiral, the CMC
is NATO’s most senior military official. The CMC is elected by the
MC/CS, typically for a three-year term, and serves as ‘the principal
military advisor to the Secretary General and the conduit through
which consensus-based advice from NATO’s 28 Chiefs of Defence is
brought forward to the political decision-making bodies of NATO’
(NATO 2012a).
As in the NAC and other NATO bodies, decisions in the MC are
normally made by consensus. Consensus is either worked out in sub-
committees, the MC Working Groups (MCWG), or hammered out in
meetings of Permanent Representatives or Chiefs of Defence. Should
the MC fail to agree, however, the Committee may offer military advice
in form of a Chairman’s Memorandum. Its military advice is thus pre-
sented as the advice of the CMC, based on the majority view in the
MC and taking note of dissenting opinions. Chairman’s memoranda
were extremely rarely, if ever, used until the end of the 1990s – as
far as the authors are able to establish. In the 2000s, however, CMCs
have used this instrument more often. They did so in situations where
swift action was needed, but consensus had been blocked by one or
several members. This was generally opposition based on political con-
siderations with only indirect relevance to the military issue at hand.
As we shall argue below, the more frequent (though still rare) use of
Chairman’s memoranda may be interpreted as a modest shift towards
internationalization.
The work of the MC is supported by the IMS, which acts as its
secretariat and executive organ. Established in 1967, the IMS has its
structure, roles and responsibilities set in the MC 2 series of docu-
ments, which have been updated a total of five times since 1990.5 Its
staff comprises approximately 320 military and 90 civilian personnel.
This number has only slightly changed after 1990. It is headed by a
Director General (DGIMS),6 a three-star general or admiral, who is usu-
ally appointed for a three-year term. The functions of the IMS are to
plan, assess and recommend military policy and advice for MC con-
sideration and to facilitate its work – notably by developing consensus
positions with national delegations. Likewise, it ensures that MC and
NAC policies and decisions are properly implemented in NATO’s mili-
tary organization. While DGIMS and the IMS are primarily accountable
to the MC, they also support the work of the Chairman and Deputy
Chairman of the MC.7
Organizational change of the International Military Staff

and the Military Committee: The perpetual status quo
During the Cold War, the MC’s and IMS’ most important roles were
to develop the military policy of the Alliance, to guide force plan-
ning, and to supervise the development of (and formally adopt) NATO’s
defence plans. Besides the continual air surveillance and policing mis-
sion, the only ‘operations’ under NATO command and control were
the standing maritime forces’ activities, which included deterrence
patrol, maritime diplomacy, and exercises. The IMS was organized and
operated accordingly. Its director was in charge of six divisions, as
shown in Figure 9.1, each headed by an Assistant Director. Although
the nature of the IMS’ work changed substantially in the post-Cold
War period, its overall organizational structure has remained mainly
unchanged.
One of the new tasks NATO adopted after the end of the Cold War
was cooperation and partnership. This new portfolio brought organiza-
tional change to the IMS. Already in July 1990, NATO reached out to
its former ideological adversaries in the Warsaw Pact by offering dia-
logue and cooperation (NATO 1990). This offer took on an institutional
form with the creation of the North Atlantic Cooperation Council in
1991. In 1994, cooperation was deepened with the establishment of the
Partnership for Peace (Moore 2007). In the IMS, the new task was first
reflected in the establishment of a Military Cooperation Branch in the
Plans and Policy Division (in 1994) and the appointment of a second
Deputy Assistant Director in that division responsible for partner issues.
Director
International
Military Staff
SITCEN
Finance
Secretariat Public
information
Armaments and Logistics and Communications

Intelligence Operations Plans and policy
standardization resources and information
division division division
division division systems division
Figure 9.1 NATO’s International Military Staff in 1992

Source: NATO (1992: 99).
The partnership agenda quickly grew, and in 1997 the Military Coop-
eration Branch was expanded into a separate division: the Cooperation
and Regional Security division.
The second major post-Cold War organizational change in the IMS
came as a result of changes in the IMS’ responsibility for armaments
and standardization. Two likely, important rationales for this change
were the changing nature of military requirements, and the overall pres-
sure to streamline and make the staff work at NATO headquarters more
cost-effective.8 In 1997, the Armaments and Standardization Division
was disbanded. The standardization portfolio was moved out of the IMS
to what in 2001 eventually became the NATO Standardization Agency
(NSA 2013). The armaments portfolio was transferred to the Logistics
and Resources Division, which for some years was named the Logis-
tics, Armaments and Resources division, before regaining its traditional
name.
At the time of writing (spring 2013), the IMS is organized into five
functional divisions, each headed by a director, and a communications
staff (NATO 2012b). As Figure 9.2 shows, the overall structure is essen-
tially the same as in 1992, apart from the removal of the Armaments
and Standardization and addition of the Cooperation and Regional
Security divisions. Smaller, though important changes, included the
wider role of the Communications and Information Systems (CIS) divi-
sion (renamed the NATO Headquarters Consultation, Command and
Director General
International
Military Staff
Financial
SITCEN*
controller
Office of human
Public affairs resources
Legal advisor
advisor
NATO office of
gender
perspectives
Executive
coordinator
IMS Support activity
Cooperation and Logistics and NATO

Intelligence Operations Plans and policy
regional security resources Headquarters C3
division division division
division division staff*
Figure 9.2 NATO’s International Military Staff in 2012

∗ The SITCEN and NATO Headquarters C3 Staff also report to an Assistant Secretary General
in the International Staff.
Source: NATO (2012b).
Control Staff), which we shall return to below. Within the support

structure of the Director General IMS, the MC Secretariat was renamed
Office of the Executive Coordinator, and a legal adviser and the Office
on Women in NATO Forces (presently the NATO Office on Gender
Perspectives) were added.
In line with the substantial downsizing of the member states’ mil-
itary forces and NATO’s command structure in the 1990s, both the
International Staff (IS) and IMS came under pressure to cut costs and
work more efficiently. Emphasis was placed on avoiding duplication
of staff effort and support functions. The establishment in 1997–1998
of the NATO Headquarters Consultation, Command and Control Staff
may be seen in this light. The new unit serves NATO headquarters as
a whole, being under dual IMS and IS leadership.9 Previously, only the
IMS Situation Centre had held such an all-headquarters role.
For several years, some allies have consistently demanded a more thor-
ough reorganization and rationalization of NATO’s international staffs.
Notably, there have been repeated calls for an integration of the civilian
IS and the military IMS into one secretariat. By doing so, NATO would
follow the increasing number of member states that have integrated
their civilian (ministry of defence) and military (general staff or equiva-
lent) leaderships. So far, such a radical move has stranded on opposition
rooted partly in a more traditional interpretation of the role of the mil-
itary in some member states, but at least partly also on reluctance to
surrender senior (flag level) military positions in the organization.
Many of the organizational changes noted above were introduced in
1997, when IMS reform was made as a part of a wider NATO Command
Structure reform approved that year. In the context of a further, more
far-reaching reorganization of NATO’s Command Structure in 2002–
2003, the MC failed to reach consensus on substantial changes to the
IMS. Yet, the MC agreed in 2004 on the conduct of an IMS-specific
review. A small Fundamental Review Team was formed, led by Air Vice
Marshal Grahame Jones of the UK Royal Air Force. Before the group
delivered its final report in September 2005, Secretary General Jaap
de Hoop Scheffer initiated his NATO headquarters reform initiative in
March 2005 (Kriendler 2006). Consequently, the MC decided to imple-
ment only those recommendations from the team’s report that did not
entail structural changes.
Anders Fogh Rasmussen took over as Secretary General on 1 August
2009. As former prime minister of Denmark, he brought a new type of
leadership to NATO headquarters (Hendrickson 2010 and this volume).
His more proactive and hard-nosed style included a strong initiative
to reform NATO. He took an active role in pushing for a review, and

subsequent reform, of both the IS and the IMS. As the declaration
from the May 2012 Chicago Summit showed, his attempts has enjoyed
the support of NATO heads of state and government: they welcomed
the ‘ongoing review of the IS, and the forthcoming review of the
IMS’ (NATO 2012c). This forthcoming IMS review will consist of both
in-house work at NATO headquarters and advice from an independent
advisory team. The statement from Chicago that NATO heads of state
and government ‘look forward to the continuation of these reforms in
line with those being carried out by nations’, may be seen to suggest
an aim of integrating the IS and IMS. This issue remains controver-
sial, though, and integration may not be achieved in the short term.
The IMS leadership aims, however, to establish an organization that bet-
ter facilitates supporting NATO in achieving the three core tasks set in
the 2010 Strategic Concept: collective defence, crisis management, and
cooperative security. It remains to be seen if this will include organi-
zational changes. In the case of the IS, little today suggests that major
organizational changes will be possible in the short term.
Changing working practices of the MC and IMS:

Three drivers
As has been shown above, the formal institutional structure of both the
MC and IMS have barely changed since 1990. By contrast, their work-
ing practices have adapted to new circumstances and hence changed
significantly. In addition to the above-mentioned overall demands for
cost-cutting, three key drivers which induce pressure for reform and
thus for altered practices may be identified: NATO’s greater involvement
in crisis response and peace support operations, the enhanced need
for rapid decision-making, and the increasingly all-pervasive political
nature of NATO’s tasks and operations. In the following three subsec-
tions, we turn to each of these drivers. We place particular emphasis on
the last one, as we consider it the most all-encompassing and important.
Greater involvement in crisis response and peace

support operations
The MC has never been expected to lead the Alliance in war. Command
and control over NATO forces at war and in operations has since the
early 1950s been the responsibility of NATO’s strategic commanders,
notably the Supreme Allied Commander Europe and Supreme Allied
Commander Atlantic (SACLANT).10 This was reflected in the terms of
reference for the two commanders, MC 53 for SACEUR and MC 58 for

SACLANT (NATO 1955: 6; NATO 1957b: 3; see also Krüger, this volume).
SACEUR has long represented a military centre of gravity in NATO
that, at times, has seemed in competition with the role and influence of
the MC. Always occupied by a US four-star general or admiral proposed
by the US president and formally appointed by NATO defence minis-
ters,11 this prestigious position has seen a number of highly regarded
and influential commanders. Moreover, both SACEUR and SACLANT12
have in their terms of reference always been ‘authorized to have direct
access to national Chiefs of Staff and to communicate with their
respective Defence Ministers, and Heads of Government, directly as nec-
essary to facilitate the accomplishment of his mission’ (NATO 1955:
10; NATO 1957b: 6). This gives the strategic commanders the abil-
ity to bypass NATO’s international bureaucracy in Brussels as a whole
(including the MC), and communicate with member states directly.
When NATO in the early 1990s gradually became engaged in crisis
response and peace support operations, the overall command and con-
trol of NATO’s efforts inevitably fell to SACEUR. His command, Allied
Command Europe (from 2003: Allied Command Operations (ACO)), has
since had overall responsibility for the conduct of a long list of opera-
tions, with those in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Kosovo, and Afghanistan
representing the biggest.
The MC has a role in endorsing or recommending amendments to
SACEUR’s proposed concepts and plans for NATO operations, notably
to aspects such as command and control of forces and Rules of Engage-
ment. Its role in relation to the actual conduct of the operations is much
less pronounced, however, as SACEUR reports directly to the NAC and
Secretary General.13 The great political significance of operations, and
their subsequent domination of NATO’s agenda, has thus served to leave
the MC outside the decision-making spotlight.
When they advise the NAC on issues related to their commands, both
SACEUR and SACT should inform the MC. Yet, the nature of the link
between the NAC and the MC depends largely on the personalities of
those currently serving as SACEUR, CMC, and Secretary General. The
closer the relationship between SACEUR and the Secretary General (and
the NAC), the greater the challenge is for the role of the MC, espe-
cially when a political decision is urgently needed. The MC will not
automatically be asked by the Secretary General or the NAC to provide
consensus military views on the input and advice provided by SACEUR.
This leaves it up to the MC to take the initiative and carve out a role for
itself by offering timely and proper military advice. In the sense that this
shifts decision-shaping, if not decision-making, away from the allies to

NATO military leaders, it represents a shift towards internationalization.
Enhanced need for rapid decision-making

The second driver of change to MC and IMS working practices is closely
linked to the previous: the increased need for rapid decision-making.
During the Cold War, MC business was chiefly repetitive with work pre-
dominantly being conducted in a standardized and sequential manner.
If the Military Representatives had to get instructions from their Chiefs
of Defence, the IMS had to argue hard if it insisted on a response time
of less than six weeks. Most papers were classified and were sent either
by regular mail or courier. When repeated consultations with capitals
were necessary on a given issue, reaching consensus could hence take a
long time. Once consensus had been reached in the MC, responsibility
for the issue would, if required, be passed to the IS, which would pre-
pare for a political decision in the NAC or other political committee.
This policy-making procedure with clearly distinguishable and sequen-
tial steps placed both the MC and IMS in an influential position for two
reasons. Firstly, the MC working groups were often the arena in which
military issues were first discussed with all member states represented,
giving the MC the first opportunity to formulate consensus positions.
Secondly, the sequential nature of the decision-making process implied
that the political side at NATO headquarters had to wait for advice from
the MC before it could reach a decision on an issue.
After the Cold War, the time available for the MC to provide inputs
was reduced drastically. One major reason for this has been the allies’
need for timely information and early political engagement in order to
cope with media interest and questions raised on the domestic politi-
cal scene. NATO operations have been important in this sense. In an
increasingly high-speed information society, the ‘battle rhythm’ in the
IMS and MC has had to change. The Cold War practice of weekly MC
meetings was clearly no longer sufficient. Moreover, the traditional,
sequential proceedings in NATO’s decision-making often ran counter to
the need for an early engagement of political actors on evolving issues.
The impact of a reliable, secure electronic distribution of classi-
fied documents and the greater political–military interaction described
below (both at the level of NATO headquarters and in member states’
capitals), have enabled an increased tempo in the work of both MC and
IMS. In many ways, short deadlines and thus shorter time for national
representatives to react to, for instance, draft texts presented by the IMS,
may be seen to have increased the IMS’ influence on the formulation of
NATO policy. Allies now frequently face short silence procedures of days
or even hours, during which they have to react to complex and large
documents and where no reaction entails acceptance. The influence this
leaves in the drafting process for the IMS may, arguably, be interpreted
as an increase in internationalization of security and defence politics.
The requirement for rapid decision-making also represents a challenge
to the role of the MC. For it to be relevant, it has to be able to pro-
vide sound military advice that adds value to a process, prior to a final
decision in the NAC. If the MC is not able to do that, either because
allies insert political issues into the discussion in the MC, or the advice
is so watered down to achieve consensus it adds little value, the MC
undermines its own position. In general, it is a challenge that allies
introduce politically sensitive views in the discussion in the MC, instead
of addressing them in the NAC or one of its political committees. In
time-constrained decision-making processes, such blockage of consen-
sus has led to an increased resort to Chairman’s memoranda. While
use of this instrument is still rare and has varied strongly among the
holders of the Chairman’s office, there has overall been a clear trend
towards a more frequent use of this instrument. In effect, the use of
such memoranda represents a shift away from the consensus principle
to majority decision-making and to a greater role for the CMC and can
hence likewise be interpreted as a sign of internationalization.
Political nature of NATO’s post-Cold War tasks and operations

The third, and in our view most important, driver explored here is the
increasingly all-pervasive political nature of NATO’s activities, including
tasks that were previously more clearly military. One visible example of
this is the formulation of NATO’s Strategic Concepts. Before 1990, with
one exception, these were highly classified MC documents that gave
details on how NATO should prepare for, and defend against, an attack
from the Soviet Union or Warsaw Pact (Pedlow 1997).14 The context in
which these documents were adopted was highly political. This was par-
ticularly so with the Strategic Concepts of 1957 (MC 14/2) and 1968 (MC
14/3) which introduced the new doctrines of massive retaliation and
flexible response, respectively (de Wijk 1997: 7–9).15 Yet, once a political
consensus was achieved for moving ahead with a strategy change, the
actual drafting of the Strategic Concepts were done by NATO military
bodies, and the MC approved the result (Pedlow 1997: xxi–xxv).
In 1989, when the allies decided to adopt a new Strategic Concept,
the Strategic Planning Branch of the IMS Plans and Policy Division was
once again tasked with preparing a review of NATO’s strategy (de Wijk
1997: 13–17). However, the changes in the external environment were

so fundamental that members decided to change NATO’s Strategic Con-
cept from a classified, military planning document into a public or polit-
ical one. Due to this entirely different character, the task of drafting was
subsequently given to the IS-led Strategy Review Group. Subsequently,
the concept was adopted by the NAC rather than the MC, as was the case
during the Cold War (de Wijk 1997: 20–45). The preparation of the 1999
Strategic Concept was also led by the IS, while the drafting of the 2010
concept took a novel form in the personal responsibility given by the
member states to the NATO Secretary General (NATO 2009).
As a consequence, the MC has lost its lead role in codifying overall
NATO strategy. It remains responsible for the documents guiding the
military implementation of the Strategic Concepts.16 These documents
again form an important part of the basis for the development of other,
key MC documents setting NATO military policy (Deni 2007: 38–53).17
In this sense, the MC retains its essential role in establishing consen-
sus military positions and acting as custodians of the key documents
regulating the military development and functioning of NATO.
Even in the work on overtly military issues, however, the role of
the civilian and political side at NATO headquarters has become more
explicit and institutionalized. A good example is the issue of the
NATO Command Structure (NCS). During the Cold War, the estab-
lishment and development of the NCS, in particular the command
of and location of NATO headquarters, has involved strong political
considerations (Pedlow 1993). Despite this, the formal responsibility
for reforming the command structure has been held by the MC and
NATO’s military authorities. In the 1990s, this was still the case, as
seen for instance in the significance of the Long Term Study initiated
by the NATO Chiefs of Defence in April 1994, for the reforms adopted
(Deni 2007: 42–44; de Wijk 1997: 101–106). In both the 2002–2003 and
2010–2011 reorganization processes, however, Senior Officials Groups
composed of senior civilian officials (policy directors) from NATO cap-
itals, formed the most important platform for reaching consensus on
the new NCS structure (Hilde 2011). The clearly political nature of the
decisions that had to be made was the key reason for the choice of this
approach, instead of trying to reach consensus in the MC. Moreover,
as with the drafting of the Strategic Concept, in 2010–2011, Secretary
General Anders Fogh Rasmussen was given personal responsibility for
parts of the NCS reform process. Fogh Rasmussen turned not to the MC,
but to the CMC and the two strategic commanders (the ‘twelve stars’)
for military advice and assistance. Notably, in the final, difficult task
of reaching consensus on the location of commands, Fogh Rasmussen
sought – in a very closely held process – the advice of the CMC and
SACEUR directly. He actively used SACEUR, with his mandate to directly
access member states’ military and political leaders, in the effort to ham-
mer out a compromise. In the very final phase of negotiations, Fogh
Rasmussen led the talks himself, supported by a small civilian team.
Traditionally, there has been little cooperation between the IMS and
IS. The IMS would assist the MC to reach consensus and codify its deci-
sion in a MC document. This document would then be sent to the
IS, which would assist in the approval process on the civilian, polit-
ical side. This sequential process is still in use today, but not always.
In addition to increased time pressure and the desire to establish cost-
efficient bureaucratic routines, the close link between the military and
political aspects of decision-making has in recent years served to change
working practices at NATO headquarters. Before the final discussion and
adoption in the NAC, issues can now be handled in parallel through
military and political advisory channels: by an MC working group
(addressing the military aspects, supported by the IMS), and a political
sub-committee (addressing political aspects, supported by the IS). Where
military issues are dependent on political inputs or vice versa, joint MC
working group - political committee teams (supported by both the IMS
and IS) have been used to develop joint recommendations to the NAC.
One example of this is the development of NATO’s Alliance Maritime
Strategy, which was conducted by a joint IMS–IS team in 2011.
Secretary General de Hoop Scheffer’s overall reform attempt, noted
above, stranded mainly due to opposition from member states unhappy
with the lack of consultation during the work of the Reform Group, led
by Ambassador Jesper Vahr. However, one key element of the propos-
als made by the group survived, namely the co-location of those parts
of IS and IMS working on the same type of issues. Co-location was not
entirely new, but under de Hoop Scheffer first steps towards a more gen-
eral co-location were made.18 Notably, in spring 2008, it was decided
that as a test case, parts of the IS Political Affairs and Security Policy Divi-
sion and the IMS Cooperation and Regional Security Division would be
co-located. NATO’s heads of state and government clearly indicated at
their Lisbon Summit of 2010 that they wished to move further down the
road of co-location (NATO 2010b). Consequently, in the winter of 2010–
2011, Fogh Rasmussen decided to implement a general co-location of
divisions of the IMS and IS ahead of the move to the new headquarters
building in 2016 (on reforms, see NATO 2012c). Although progress has
been slower than expected, by spring 2012 co-location was, in essence,
completed. The implementation of the co-location represents the single
greatest change to working practices (widely defined) at NATO head-
quarters since the end of the Cold War. Overall, the impression that the
authors gained in interviews is that the co-location is so far considered
a success.
Conclusion
Our analysis shows that neither the MC nor the IMS have undergone
major organizational change after the Cold War. Yet, their working
practices have been transformed significantly. We have identified three
drivers for these changed working practices: NATO’s greater involve-
ment in crisis response and peace support operations, the enhanced
need for rapid decision-making, and the all-pervasive political nature of
NATO’s tasks and operations which marks the post-Cold War era. These
drivers are closely interlinked. In particular, NATO’s engagement in
operations has been important in generating pressure for rapid decision-
making and for increasing the political sensitivities of the MC’s and
IMS’ work.
The net effect of the changes in working practices may be summa-
rized as follows. The most visible results have been a greatly increased
tempo in MC decision-making and IMS’s work, and an increasingly inte-
grated political–military process. With proposals to integrate the IMS
and IS into a single staff failing to gain consensus support, the 2012
decision to co-locate the two represent the most substantial change to
working practices at NATO headquarters in recent decades.
The more frequent (though still rare) use of Chairman’s memoranda,
that is in effect majority decisions when consensus in the MC proved
impossible in pressing issues, is in theory a very significant change.
The use of this instrument has depended greatly on the personality of
the Chairman’s office-holder, however. Its significance should therefore
not be overrated. Though an unlikely development, should the trend
of increased use of this instrument continue, it has the potential of
changing the role of the MC quite dramatically.
A further change has been the pressure that has emerged on the MC
to engage actively in order to be seen as relevant. The domination of
NATO’s agenda by operations, the conduct of which is the responsibil-
ity of SACEUR, has left the MC and IMS outside the decision-making
spotlight in NATO. Also the more explicitly political nature of many
military issues in NATO has had the effect that the MC and IMS have
been sidelined in important issues that were previously regarded as their
responsibility. For instance, while ‘the military bureaucracy of NATO’
in the 1990s still took ‘the lead’ in reviewing both NATO strategy and
its military organization (quotes from de Wijk 1997: 102), this leading
role is much less evident in the new millennium. Particularly under
Secretary General Fogh Rasmussen, the MC and IMS have on impor-
tant occasions been bypassed in Alliance military matters. It must be
underlined that in routine business, the MC and IMS by and large con-
tinue to function in a traditional manner. Moreover, the roles played by
strong personalities, notably Fogh Rasmussen, and the fact that NATO’s
engagement in operations (which for several reasons is likely to decrease
in coming years) has been an important driver, suggest these changes
may not be irreversible, nor that we necessarily face a linear trend. It is,
however, clearly the case that the role and significance of the MC and
IMS are more frequently questioned today than they were at the end
of the Cold War. This is also the case in issues that could not be cov-
ered in this chapter, such as NATO defence planning (see Tuschhoff,
this volume).
As regards the question of internationalization, our analysis shows
that it may be identified in the changes that we see in NATO’s work-
ing practices. Internationalization could be observed already during the
Cold War (see Schmidt and Krüger, this volume). The changing nature of
NATO’s tasks and its day-to-day business after the Cold War does, how-
ever, suggest that this trend may have been strengthened. For instance,
the IMS has arguably gained influence as a result of time-pressured
decision-making and close military–political coordination. The more
frequent, though rare use of Chairman’s memoranda is another change
that may be interpreted as internationalization. In effect, it bypasses the
consensus rule, hence depriving allies with opposing views of influence.
Equally significant is the more prominent and direct role the interna-
tional military heads of NATO, CMC and the two strategic commanders,
play in decisions that previously were more clearly the responsibility of
the MC.
These signs of internationalization should not be exaggerated, how-
ever. The allies, at least formally, still clearly have the final word in
NATO affairs, and NATO clearly remains an intergovernmental organiza-
tion. Moreover, internationalization may not be an irreversible process,
as suggested by the fact that it has been most evident recently under
the heavy-handed leadership of Fogh Rasmussen. However, as the shift
towards internationalization does seem to come much as a result of the
imperative for rapid political–military decision-making – an imperative

that are unlikely to disappear – the long-term significance of this trend
may increase.
Notes
1. Iceland is represented by a civilian, as it has no defence force.
2. This is a simplification, as officers working for the IMS are paid by national
governments, unlike civilian officials in the International Staff (IS), who are
paid by NATO.
3. The authors are deeply grateful to the members of the IMS and IS leadership,
present and past IMS and IS staffers, and national civilian and military repre-
sentatives who kindly agreed to help us by providing background interviews
and comments to draft versions of this chapter.
4. The first (MC 57) and second (MC 57/1) versions were adopted in February
and October 1957. The current version (MC 57/3 2nd revise) is a ‘facelift’
(that is non-substantial) revision from 2008.
5. This includes an update adopted by the MC in January 1989 and approved
by the NAC in March 1990 (MC 2/10).
6. Prior to summer 2010, the title was Director IMS (DIMS).
7. The US holds the position of Deputy CMC, a three-star admiral or general.
One of the key tasks of the Deputy CMC, and a reason why the US holds the
position, is the responsibility for nuclear policy.
8. Particularly in the armaments area there was a functional overlap with the
Defence Support Division in the IS.
9. Similarly, the NATO Headquarters Information System Services, established
in 1990 and initially only serving the IS’s IT needs, was in 1997 made into
the single IT service provider for NATO headquarters.
10. From 1952 to 1994, NATO also had a third major command, Allied Com-
mand Channel.
11. Excluding the French minister from 1966 to 2009.
12. From 2003, the Supreme Allied Commander Transformation (SACT).
13. To some degree, the commanders of larger operations also have had a direct
relationship with the NAC and Secretary General, as they generally report
on their missions to the NAC, including in ministerial and heads of state
format.
14. The exception was the first concept, dated 1 December 1949, which was a
Defence Committee document (DC 6/1).
15. Moreover, from 1967, the Strategic Concept arguably made up only one leg
of the wider, political strategy set by the Harmel Report.
16. These are MC 400 and 400/1, MC 400/2, and MC 400/3 for the strategic
concepts of 1991, 1999, and 2010, respectively.
17. Notably the MC 133 series on NATO’s operations planning, the MC 324
series on the NATO Command Structure, and, more recently, the MC 586
series on NATO forces in military operations.
18. The nuclear planning branch of the IMS Plans and Policy Division has for
many years been co-located with the nuclear part of the IS Defence Policy
and Planning Division.
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A Study of Structure and Strategy (New York: Praeger).
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NATO).
10
Perfectly Flawed? The Evolution of
NATO’s Force Generation Process
John R. Deni
Despite NATO’s decade-long involvement in Afghanistan, the high level

of military integration – defined as cooperation between alliance mem-
ber state’s militaries – achieved by the Alliance today is relatively recent.
During the Cold War, NATO efforts towards military integration and
multinationality were limited at best. Certainly the Alliance had ele-
ments of integration – a multinational military staff and a fleet of
Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) airplanes for example.
However, alliance-wide, in-depth military integration was very limited
prior to the 1990s. Reasons for the restricted level of integration were
varied and complex, as Dieter Krüger points out earlier in this volume.
After the end of the Cold War, military integration gradually inten-
sified as a result of three phenomena: an increase in NATO’s level of
ambition, a subsequent increase in the number of challenging mil-
itary operations undertaken by NATO, and a simultaneous decrease
in military force structure across the Alliance. Together, these fac-
tors led the Alliance towards greater military integration, particularly
as manifested through the further development of a process known
as ‘force generation’. Force generation is the process of identifying
and committing capabilities and national military forces necessary to
achieve the objectives of an approved operational plan for a particular
NATO operation.
The author is indebted to several anonymous interviewees who gave generously

of their time, as well as the US defence attaché offices in Brussels and The Hague.
The views expressed in this chapter are those of the author and do not necessarily
reflect those of the US Army, the US Department of Defense, or the US Govern-
ment. This work is subject to Title 17, United States Code, Sections 101 and 105.
It is in the public domain and may not be copyrighted.
176
John R. Deni 177
The chapter will begin by describing how alliance military integra-

tion developed and evolved in the 1990s, particularly through force
generation. The chapter will then examine how the process of force gen-
eration changed as a result of operations in Afghanistan. There is some
evidence from this period that integration specifically, and internation-
alization more generally, have had an impact on not only the Alliance’s
structures and decision-making practices, but also on the relative power
relationship between NATO’s international bureaucracy and its mem-
ber states. Finally, the concluding section of the chapter will argue that
both bureaucratic processes at the state level and international bargain-
ing at the system level resulted in a force generation process that today
seems perfectly flawed. That is, a system that is likely to fall short of
providing sufficient forces in most instances, yet seemingly designed
to do so in order to mitigate overall mission risk while still incentiviz-
ing member states to develop and maintain advanced, expeditionary
military capabilities.
Military integration and force generation: Changes

in the 1990s
The degree of multinational integration within NATO began to change

after the end of the Cold War as a result of three phenomena mentioned
above. All of these factors prompted the Alliance to dramatically inten-
sify and strengthen multinationalization and hence the force generation
process. Due to the intensity of defence budget and force structure cuts
though, the Alliance would actually face increasing difficulty in using
the force generation process to generate sufficient forces for military
operations. Put differently, even though defence and manpower cuts
led to intensification of force generation in the first place, the depths of
those cuts over time make it increasingly difficult for the Allies to muster
the necessary forces.
Greater ambition
As the former Yugoslavia descended into chaos throughout 1990 and
1991, NATO reluctantly decided to begin supporting peacekeeping
operations (Smith 2000: 134). The first manifestation of this new com-
mitment came in the form of the Alliance’s Strategic Concept, NATO’s
strategy, which was revised to reflect the end of the Cold War and then
released publicly in 1991. For the first time, the Alliance made clear
it was prepared to participate in the full range of crisis management
and resolution efforts, including political as well as military measures
(NATO 1991: para. 32). In June 1992, NATO foreign ministers meeting in
Oslo followed up with a slightly more explicit offer, announcing that the
Alliance would – on a case-by-case basis – support peacekeeping opera-
tions under the auspices of the Conference on Security and Cooperation
in Europe (CSCE).1 At a subsequent foreign ministerial held in Decem-
ber 1992, the Allies expanded the scope of this commitment to include
support, again on a case-by-case basis, for peacekeeping operations
under the auspices of the United Nations (UN).
These steps reflected a fundamental change for the Alliance, and the
decision was reached with no small amount of difficult negotiations
among the member states. Some feared a dilution of NATO’s primary
raison d’etre on such ‘discretionary’ missions. Others feared becoming
mired in the seemingly intractable religious–ethnic–nationalist conflicts
of the Balkans. Some, especially Germany, faced significant domestic
political and constitutional hurdles to becoming involved in military
operations beyond member-state territory (de Wijk 1997: 48–58). And
still others, such as France, preferred to see other, wholly European insti-
tutions such as the Western European Union (WEU) play such a role.
In any event, most allies were unwilling or unable to agree on what
even constituted ‘out-of-area’ or how the Alliance would operationalize
its commitments (Deni 2007: 38).
Despite these challenges, some allies favoured a somewhat more
active role for NATO outside the territory of its member states. These
allies included Canada, the Netherlands, the UK and the US, a group that
gradually achieved a critical mass of pressure within the Alliance (Smith
2000: 134).2 For them, if the Alliance was to become involved in out-of-
area conflicts, there was great appeal in sharing both the operational
burdens as well as the political risks of defending Western interests
beyond the boundaries of NATO’s member states. More broadly, for
the military institutions within each of the member states, out-of-area
operations, and specifically the force structure required to fulfil such
operations, represented a potential means of defending Ministry of
Defense funding in the context of interagency budget battles. In a sim-
ilar way, the Alliance as an organization favoured an expansion of its
mission set, in part as a means of justifying its own scope and activities
(Tuohy 1993).
Hence, there were several reasons for NATO’s growing political ambi-
tion. They included instability in the international system emanating
from the Balkans; the desire of governing parties within some mem-
ber states to reinforce their domestic political standing by spreading
John R. Deni 179
operational burdens and political risk across the entire alliance; fights
over scarce resources within the governmental bureaucracies of member
states; and the imperative of NATO to promote its own existence. For all
of these reasons, NATO’s appetite for conducting crisis response oper-
ations steadily grew throughout the 1990s and into the 21st century,
resulting ultimately in an increase in allied operations, including in such
far-flung locations as Sudan, Iraq, and Afghanistan.
Increased operations
Closely related to the above-mentioned first driver for NATO’s post-Cold
War military integration – that is, the political interest in taking on
additional non-Article 5 operations – was the increased number of oper-
ations. Following the decision by NATO member states in June 1992
to begin supporting peacekeeping operations on a case-by-case basis,
the Alliance gradually became more involved in the Bosnian war. Initial
commitments went no further than supporting UN operations or reso-
lutions, such as when NATO launched its first military operation in July
1992, Operation Maritime Monitor. The aim of this operation was quite
modest – as the name implied, to monitor compliance in the Adriatic
with UN-imposed sanctions against the former Yugoslavia. Enforcement
of the sanctions regime would have to wait.
In October 1992, NATO launched Operation Sky Monitor, an equally
modest operation aimed at Bosnian airspace. The objective of Sky Moni-
tor was simply to monitor violations of – not enforce compliance with –
UN Security Council Resolution 781, which established a ban on the
use of military aircraft in Bosnian airspace. From alliance involvement
in Bosnia, NATO participation in military operations in and beyond
Europe has only grown since the end of the Cold War, as Table 10.1
clearly shows.
This significant amount of NATO operations in often far-off locations
obviously represents a sea change from the days of the Cold War, when
the Alliance per se conducted not a single military mission. Today,
although the bedrock of the Alliance remains the Article 5 commitment,
the evidence is clear that NATO has expanded its purpose to include
defending and promoting members’ interests beyond – and in some
cases, well beyond – their own territory.3
Cuts in defence budgets and military structures

While NATO interest in participating in international crisis response
missions grew and as the Alliance began to take on more military
Table 10.1 NATO operations, 1992–2011
Name Location Date(s)
Operation Maritime Monitor Bosnia 1992

Operation Sky Monitor Bosnia 1992
Operation Deny Flight Bosnia 1993
Operation Sharp Guard Bosnia 1993
Operation Deliberate Force Bosnia 1995
IFOR (Implementation Force) Bosnia 1995–1996
SFOR (Stabilization Force) Bosnia 1996–2004
Operation Eagle Eye Kosovo 1998–1999
Operation Determined Guarantor Macedonia 1998–1999
Operation Allied Force Kosovo 1998–1999
Operation Allied Harbour Kosovo 1999
KFOR Kosovo 1999
Operation Essential Harvest Macedonia 2001
Operation Active Endeavour Mediterranean 2001
Operation Amber Fox Macedonia 2001–2002
Operation Eagle Assist US 2001–2002
Operation Allied Harmony Macedonia 2002–2003
Operation Display Deterrence Turkey 2003
ISAF Afghanistan 2003
Operation Distinguished Games Greece 2004
NATO Training Mission – Iraq Iraq 2004–2011
Hurricane Katrina Support US 2005
Pakistan Earthquake Relief Pakistan 2005–2006
Darfur Peacekeeping Support Sudan 2005–2007
AU Mission in Somalia Support Somalia 2007
Operation Allied Provider Off the Horn of Africa 2008
Operation Allied Protector Off the Horn of Africa 2009
Operation Ocean Shield Off the Horn of Africa 2009
Operation Unified Protector Libya 2011
Source: Author’s compilation, largely based on NATO’s Homepage.
operations, member states have simultaneously engaged in a dramatic

decrease in military spending. Cuts in member states’ defence budgets
began in the immediate aftermath of the Cold War’s end, as the Allies
moved to cash in on the peace dividend by slashing military budgets
and manpower. Although alliance members together agreed in 1990 to
cut the defence spending target from the equivalent of 3 per cent of
GDP to the equivalent of 2 per cent for European members of NATO,
most members implemented defence cuts unilaterally, in the absence
of any coordinated, alliance-wide strategy (Reuters 1990).4 For exam-
ple, the US cancelled major military acquisition programs, proposed
John R. Deni 181
and initiated a major troop drawdown in Europe, reduced spending on

overseas infrastructure, and announced intentions to dramatically cut
total US nuclear warhead stockpiles (Grier 1992). The UK announced
plans to dramatically downsize the British Army of the Rhine, cut the
Royal Air Force, and reduced overall end strength by 57,000 troops
(Fairhall and White 1990). Across the entire Alliance, average military
troop levels were cut by 15 per cent between 1990 and 1993, with some
members cutting far more deeply (NATO 1997).
With few exceptions, these defence cuts have been permanent. Data
reported by member states to NATO indicate that on a per capita basis,
real defence spending among many key European allies fell dramatically
in the early 1990s, and since then has either fallen further or flattened.
Figure 10.1 below illustrates this point.
Data regarding defence expenditures as a per cent of gross domestic
product tell a similar story. While few allies managed to consistently
meet the 3 per cent goal during the Cold War, even fewer have met the
reduced, post-Cold War goal of 2 per cent.
Belgium Denmark France Germany Greece

Hungary Italy Lithuania Netherlands Norway
Poland Spain Turkey UK
Figure 10.1 Defence expenditures per capita in 2000 dollars

Source: Author’s compilation from a series of annual NATO press releases on fiscal and
economic data from 1990 to 2010.
And finally, the military manpower data paint the same picture.
Namely, a trend of dramatically downsized military establishments
starting with the post-Cold War peace dividend, continued cuts at per-
haps a somewhat slower rate over the subsequent decade or more, and
then slightly accelerated cuts as the European financial crisis of the last
three to four years has unfolded, as seen below in Figure 10.2.
And as military manpower was cut, so too were the structures they
comprised – the numbered armies, the corps, divisions, and brigades. For
example, Belgium eliminated its only corps and one of its two divisions.
Belgium Denmark France Germany Greece

Hungary Italy Lithuania Netherlands Norway
Poland Spain Turkey UK
Figure 10.2 Military manpower of selected NATO member states, in thousands

Source: Author’s compilation by drawing on ‘Financial and Economic Data Relating to
NATO Defence’, NATO Press Release (PR/CP(2011)027), 10 March 2011.
John R. Deni 183
Likewise, the Netherlands eliminated its only corps and three of its four
divisions. Elsewhere, Italy cut half of its 26 combat brigades, and France
eliminated two corps, nine divisions, and one third of its regiments.
Multilateral force generation
An increase in NATO’s level of ambition, a corresponding increase in the

number of military operations undertaken by the Alliance, and a simul-
taneous reduction in the forces available to participate in these missions
led to increased military integration. In fact, this was the only means
by which the Alliance could meet growing operational demands in an
era of declining defence budgets. The increase in military integration
manifested itself in a number of ways – including the development of
combined military formations, such as the German-Netherlands Corps.
One other significant manifestation of increased multinationality was
the development of a far more robust force generation process (see also
Tuschhoff, this volume). These developments are indicative of the pro-
cess of internationalization of security and defence as outlined in the
introduction of this volume.
As the number and complexity of alliance operations worldwide
began to grow, so too did the requirements for forces to fulfill opera-
tional requirements. In the 1990s, under operations like IFOR, SFOR,
and even KFOR, forces were typically ‘generated’ by framework or lead
nations participating in each operation. For example, in implementing
the terms of the Dayton Peace Agreement, NATO divided Bosnia into
three sectors for the purposes of military operations, led respectively by
France, the UK, and the US. Each of these three lead nations took respon-
sibility for organizing the forces necessary in their sector. In such an
operation, NATO’s role as an organization in providing institutionalized
procedures for force generation was limited and relatively simple, since
the framework countries performed most of the necessary tasks, at least
initially.5 Support from countries other than the framework nation was
often secured through bilateral negotiations based on a range of other
existing commitments and obligations between the nations involved,
with little to no involvement of NATO.6 Indeed, it turned out that most
allies were eager to participate in IFOR and later SFOR. In the view of
one expert, these types of peacekeeping operations were new and excit-
ing. Hence, many allies found them quite appealing, and so ‘generating’
the forces necessary in the early days of these operations was a relatively
simple task.7 To some degree, the same phenomenon played out at least
initially in Kosovo, where the former Yugoslav territory was divided into
five military sectors led respectively by France, Germany, Italy, the UK,
and the US.8
Moreover, the defence establishments of several allies found opera-
tions like IFOR, SFOR, and KFOR useful for justifying what remained
of their defence budgets and manpower.9 For instance, as the Alliance
was preparing to conduct air operations in 1999 against Serbian tar-
gets in Kosovo in Operation Allied Force, NATO planners at SHAPE
outlined a requirement for electronic warfare assets. For an air oper-
ation like Allied Force, an air platform would have been the likely
choice, but the statement of requirements was in any event writ-
ten broadly enough to avoid specifying any particular platform.
A NATO member state came forward with an offer of a maritime plat-
form – which SHAPE accepted, primarily because that military asset
was destined for decommissioning since its typical mission set on
the Baltic Sea had been dramatically curtailed since the end of the
Cold War.10
However, as KFOR operations continued well into the next decade,
deep force cuts undertaken by many member states began to take a
major toll on their ability to provide forces for allied operations and
hence on the Alliance’s ability to fulfill its own operational require-
ments. In fact, even by the late 1990s, it appeared as if the Allies
had begun to bite off more than they could chew.11 For instance, in
early 1998, the US decided, evidently in the absence of any NATO-
promulgated drawdown criteria, to cut its force contribution to SFOR,
the Stabilization Force responsible for implementing the terms of
the Dayton Peace Agreement.12 Washington informed NATO that the
US would drop from 8,500 to 6,900 troops, mostly through reductions
in combat support and combat service support personnel. In doing
so, US leaders expected other NATO allies to make up for the reduced
US capabilities, but this did not happen (US GAO 1998: 16). The Allies
were unable, or perhaps unwilling politically, to muster the necessary
forces. Instead, NATO simply lowered its operational requirements to
accommodate the US drawdown.
Since the middle of the 2000s, the challenge of fulfilling the Alliance’s
requirements statements has only increased as the military forces of
each of the member states have contracted while military operational
requirements have grown, especially in Afghanistan. With the excep-
tion of a short dip in operational activity in the 2003–2005 timeframe,
the Alliance has steadily increased its operational commitments while
simultaneously downsizing its military manpower.
John R. Deni 185
Magnifying the force strength challenges outlined above, just as the

Allies were being asked to provide significantly more capable forces,
the kinds of operations NATO took on became increasingly complex
(Frantzen 2005: 73). During the 1990s, alliance operations entailed pri-
marily peacekeeping in mostly benign environments where political
actors, whether they be states, local governments, or non-governmental
players, had arrived at a settlement to their grievances that was usually
codified through some type of agreement or treaty. More specifically,
missions such as SFOR and KFOR were peacekeeping, not peacemak-
ing, operations in which the Alliance deployed forces only after some
minimal political consensus had been achieved among formerly warring
parties.
By contrast, NATO missions in Iraq and Afghanistan were of an
entirely different sort, far less benign than the peacekeeping missions
the Alliance had become adept at in the Balkans during the 1990s.
This new level of complexity has been defined or characterized by mis-
sions that include training, advising, mentoring, educating, conducting
internal security tasks, and conducting a variety of ‘hearts and minds’
counterinsurgency or civil affairs tasks. The specialized skill sets, as well
as unique formations such as advisory and training teams necessary for
conducting such missions were non-existent in NATO and needed to be
custom-tailored from the full-spectrum NATO member-state militaries,
cannibalizing existing formations and taking time to develop in any
great quantity, which is of course necessary for the sustained rotations
demanded by multi-year military operations.13
In addition to specialized skill sets, NATO member states have been
challenged by the expeditionary nature of operations in Afghanistan
and other areas beyond Europe’s borders. During the 1990s, deploying a
Dutch or German unit to the Balkans – some 2,000 kilometres from the
Dutch–German border – was challenging enough. After all, for the pur-
poses of the Cold War, most allied military planners in Western Europe
did not think in terms of deployments or logistical support lines beyond
a couple hundred kilometres, since they expected most NATO units to
fight in Central or Western Europe. By contrast, in the 2000s allied mil-
itaries were required to send their forces well beyond the Balkans, and
some have faced great difficulty in doing so. NATO member states have
for several years now recognized this challenge – that is, of moving away
from territorial defence forces and towards more expeditionary forces.
However, difficulties remain for many European allies in this regard as a
result of reduced defence budgets and limited political will to place land
forces in harm’s way thousands of kilometres from home.
The impact of ISAF on force generation
In response to the daunting challenges brought about by the per-

fect storm of diminished military resources and increased operational
demands, NATO both intensified and deepened its force generation
process thus feeding internationalization.14 The growing requirements
brought about by the Alliance’s deepened commitment to the Interna-
tional Security Assistance Force (ISAF) in Afghanistan have dramatically
changed the manner in which the force generation process operates.
During the early days of force generation in the 1980s, when NATO’s
role was limited and the Alliance consisted of just 16 member states, the
workload was small enough that just two staff members were needed
to support NATO’s deputy military commander (DSACEUR) in his posi-
tion as the Alliance’s force generator. Today, given the addition of a
dozen new member states, the difficulty of filling an expanded array of
high-demand, low-density capability requirements, and the complexity
of knowing and understanding allies’ willingness and ability to provide
those capabilities, both the size of the staff supporting the DSACEUR
and the nature of their duties have expanded.
Over the last several years, the SHAPE Force Generation staff support-
ing the DSACEUR grew first to an authorized strength of four. Then, due
to increased workload, the Force Generation staff has been augmented
by member states’ contributions, above the authorized level, to nine
today. Of those nine personnel, five of them work on ISAF issues alone.
NATO is undergoing significant organizational restructuring. As a result,
the authorized personnel strength for SHAPE – the so-called ‘peacetime
establishment’ (PE) – will drop from roughly 1,200 to about 950. How-
ever, the size of SHAPE’s Force Generation staff will actually increase
under the new PE to at least 11 and perhaps as many as 13.15
It may be somewhat counterintuitive to increase the size of the Force
Generation staff at a time when the Alliance’s commitment to ISAF is
slated to start shrinking. But as today’s Force Generation staff officers
have discovered, force generation is much more difficult for an oper-
ation that is coming to an end.16 Allies are increasingly unwilling to
risk being left ‘holding the bag’ – in short, nobody wants to be the
last to leave. As a result, as ISAF enters its final years, it is becoming
increasingly difficult – not easier – to fulfill the statement of military
requirements.
Over time, the staff has responded to these immense challenges by
adapting the nature of their jobs. Today, force generation staff officers
must understand burden sharing across the entire Alliance and across
John R. Deni 187
all of NATO’s many operations, often better than many member del-
egations at the Alliance’s headquarters do. They must know the array
of forces and capabilities available within each member state as well as
the national military representatives of those states do – and not sim-
ply what is on paper, but whether such forces and capabilities are truly
ready, deployable, and sustainable. Force generation staff officers must
also understand the election cycles of the various member states, since
such events play a critical role in whether and to what extent an ally
might contribute to NATO operations. They must have detailed knowl-
edge of NATO operations, including literally the lay of the land. It is
infeasible, for instance, to expect a Latvian officer to deploy and oper-
ate hundreds of kilometres from the nearest Latvian unit for reasons
of logistical support as well as potential caveats. And finally, staff offi-
cers must have a nuanced appreciation for politics, so that they can
understand a member state’s level of commitment and interest in the
military operation in question. In short, today the DSACEUR and his
supporting NATO staff officers have a depth and breadth of knowledge
that place them on far more equal footing vis-à-vis the members states
with whom they must engage on force generation. These developments
in the changing process of force generation are reflective of an ever
so slight shift in the power relationship between member states and
NATO as an organization in its own right.
In addition to expanding their numbers and their duties, ISAF has
also forced SHAPE to adapt the system of alliance-wide conferences
that punctuate the force generation process. Previously, in the 1990s,
such conferences were held on an ad hoc basis: whenever NATO was
preparing to commit military forces to an operation, a conference was
organized. This methodology seemed to make sense until the Alliance
found itself facing increased requirements on a long-term basis – such
as in ISAF, and as discussed in sections above. As a result, the Alliance
moved to an annual conference cycle, typically held every November
so that SHAPE could leverage the fall NATO defence ministerial as a
means of cajoling reluctant allies to contribute more.17 However, as the
force requirements for ISAF became larger, more complex, and more
variable over time, the Alliance found that meeting annually was insuf-
ficient. So today, the Alliance conducts both annual as well as ad hoc
force generation conferences, averaging about two per year but allowing
the pace and demands of NATO’s operations to drive the conference
requirement.18 Periodic mission review events also provide opportu-
nities for recommended force structure changes.19 Hence, the overall
intensity of collaboration between member states’ governments and
NATO’s bureaucracy has increased, which has nurtured the process of

internationalization and resulted in a more institutionalized, denser
array of rules and norms.
Other adaptations brought about by NATO’s experience in ISAF and
the internationalization of the last two decades have been relatively
more mundane, but no less important. For instance, prior to about 2006,
SHAPE relied on computerized spreadsheets – supplemented by the insti-
tutional memory of other long-time staffers – to track member state’s
contributions to allied operations.20 It was only in 2006 that SHAPE
began using an actual computerized database to handle such detailed
record keeping. This greatly facilitated the process of force generation,
since the data regarding which members contributed what forces could
now be manipulated and displayed – by population, by gross domestic
product, by land forces end strength, or by other measures – in a way
that helped facilitate the process of identifying and soliciting poten-
tial force contributions. As a result, the pressure on member states to
actually provide forces has grown (see also Tuschhoff, this volume).
Despite all the lessons NATO has learned through ISAF and the
Alliance’s subsequent adaptations, including greater military integra-
tion, force generation remains an extraordinarily challenging task.
Hence, as ISAF winds down, the offers made by member states routinely
fall short of fulfilling NATO’s own statement of requirements.
Part of this is a supply problem. For example, it is well known that
many allies simply lack the kind of expeditionary forces necessary for
the complexity of an ISAF-like operation.21 Or if they have the forces
on paper, the units are not truly deployable, trained, and ready.22
Paradoxically then, even though defence and manpower cuts led to
intensification of force generation in the first place, the depths of those
cuts over time make it increasingly difficult for the Allies to muster the
necessary forces. However, even if the forces exist and are trained and
ready, member states sometimes lack political will to employ them, and
attempt to shift the burden to other allies.23
But part of the challenge is a demand problem. To phrase this in the
form of a question: Why does NATO in general, and SHAPE in particu-
lar, continue to build statements of requirements that they could most
probably expect – given its now extensive knowledge of member states’
forces and capabilities – the Allies will be hard-pressed to fulfill? The
answer lies in both the art of military planning and the art of political
bargaining.
With regard to the former, good military planners seek to reduce risk –
to forces, armaments, equipment, and mission. Typically, the greater the
number of allied forces and the better their capabilities, the lower the
John R. Deni 189
risk to those forces. In a crude example, guarding a military base with a

battalion of 600 soldiers is less risky than guarding it with a company of
only 120 soldiers: more soldiers will typically have a greater chance of
turning back any security challenge than fewer soldiers. In this scenario,
the base could perhaps be guarded by the company, but the risk would
be higher. In the context of ISAF, NATO planners develop requirements
statements that balance risk so the Alliance can minimize casualties,
increase the odds of mission success, and reduce the negative conse-
quences of armed conflict. Lowering the bar – by cutting the minimum
military requirements – is always possible. But this comes with increased
risk or fundamental change to the operational objectives.24
To some extent, NATO writ large also seeks to keep the bar high on
military requirements as a means of prodding member states to acquire
and deploy expeditionary military capabilities.25 There are both state-
level as well as system-level implications here. First, at the level of the
state, and as discussed above, the military establishments of many allies
have a long history of using NATO requirements as a tool in domestic
political bargaining. It is easier to convince the treasury to finance the
defence budget if that budget is based on international commitments.
Second, at the level of the international system, the US has long per-
ceived a certain degree of inequality in the sharing of burdens with its
European allies. Washington therefore engages in political bargaining
with its allies, using the mission requirements developed by the Alliance
to cajole them into developing and deploying expeditionary assets in
defence of Western interests far beyond European territory.
Hence, there are strong institutional motivations for keeping the bar
high when it comes to operational requirements and the subsequent
generation of forces: both at the level of the system and at that of the
state. Because of this though, the system of force generation is seemingly
destined to produce sub-optimal outcomes most of the time. Once they
commit to a military operation, allies on both sides of the Atlantic are
strongly incentivized to promulgate robust statements of requirements
to reduce risk, and yet the individual allies lack the capabilities and/or
will to fulfill all of those requirements. Therefore, in a sense, the force
generation process – which in many ways represents a classic collective
goods problem – appears to be designed to fail.
Conclusion: The future of NATO force generation
The challenges the Alliance has endured in force generation are not
simply the result of a lack of political consensus, as some have alleged.26
Today, NATO’s force generation process – the means by which the
Alliance identifies and commits the military forces necessary to con-

duct an operation – is fundamentally flawed, and nearly perfectly so, for
very complex reasons. On the one hand, there is significant evidence
of an alliance process that routinely results in shortfalls of equip-
ment and units that NATO’s own planners say it needs for a particular
operation.
On the other hand though, the force generation process has been
crafted and shaped by the bureaucratic interests and processes within
member states as well as the interests of individual member states
bargaining with one another at the systemic level to produce just
such suboptimal results. This ironic outcome – a manifestation of
internationalization that is flawed but which satisfies the interests of
nearly all involved, save for perhaps the operational commander on the
ground – is in many ways a function of the paradoxical position the
Alliance finds itself in today.
Even as the ISAF mission winds down, the alliance has proven –
through recent or ongoing operations in Afghanistan, North Africa, and
Sub-Saharan Africa, as well as off the Horn of Africa – that it has an
expanded appetite for, and commitment to, missions beyond Europe’s
territory, which is coupled with diminished defence resources and capa-
bilities across all of the Allies. This means that the force generation
process – and the multinational integration it exemplifies – is never
going to flawlessly produce the requisite number and type of personnel
and units for NATO missions. While this may be an acceptable out-
come from many perspectives, the fact is that force generation will only
become increasingly difficult as defence budgets fall farther and farther,
compelling greater multinationalization and hence internationalization
but simultaneously shrinking the available pool of deployable, capable
forces. Otherwise, or until the Alliance dramatically scales back its evi-
dently global ambitions, NATO may lose the ‘perfectly flawed’ balance
it has managed to maintain so far.
Notes
1. This was itself a compromise between those that favoured greater involve-
ment by NATO outside of alliance member-states territory – like the
Americans and the British – and those that were more reluctant – such as
the French and Spanish. (The CSCE was later rechristened the Organization
for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE).)
2. Of course, these allies were also helped in this endeavour by the stream
of dire headlines and television news reports from Croatia and especially
Bosnia, which helped to sway politicians in less eager member states.
John R. Deni 191
3. Dozens of official statements from ministerial level meetings and summits

prove the same point.
4. During the Cold War, few allies met the 3 per cent threshold (Deni 2007: 35).
5. Interview with a retired NATO officer previously assigned to SHAPE’s force
generation office, 19 March 2012. See also Joyce (2005: 13).
6. Correspondence with a retired NATO officer previously assigned to SHAPE’s
force generation office, 11 April 2012.
generation office, 19 March 2012.
generation office, 19 March 2012. See also Myers and Whitney (1999: 21).
9. The defense establishments of several allies have a long history of doing
this with regard to NATO’s defense planning requirements – that is, using
NATO’s Cold War-era planning requirements to justify defense budgets and
end strength.
10. Email correspondence with a retired allied military officer who previously
served on the SHAPE Force Generation staff, 08 March 2012. Other more
recent examples include British and Italian deployments of aircraft in sup-
port of Operation Unified Protector over Libya – aircraft that were chosen
primarily as a means of garnering additional resources for such units or as a
means of preventing their elimination. Email correspondence with an allied
military officer who previously served on the SHAPE Force Generation staff,
08 March 2012.
11. See for example, Sallot (1999: A18).
12. At the time, sources at both US European Command in Germany and
NATO headquarters in Brussels believed that cost and other political con-
siderations were driving drawdown decisions. In any case, NATO lacked any
drawdown criteria in January 1998 when the US decision was made (US GAO
1998: 22).
13. Interview with a former allied military officer who previously served on
the SHAPE Force Generation staff, 19 March 2012. Interview with an allied
military officer serving on the SHAPE Force Generation staff, 22 March 2012.
14. The Alliance also began to use NATO funding for contracting capabilities,
created new multinational structures under a NATO flag, and started to reim-
burse member states for providing scarce and expensive key theatre enablers
in support of multinational formations.
15. Interview with an allied military officer serving on the SHAPE Force Genera-
tion staff, 22 March 2012.
16. Interview with an allied military officer serving on the SHAPE Force Gener-
ation staff, 22 March 2012. Interview with an allied military officer serving
on the SHAPE Force Generation staff, 07 March 2012.
17. Interview with an allied military officer who previously served on the SHAPE
Force Generation staff, 08 February 2012.
18. Interview with an allied military officer serving on the SHAPE Force Genera-
tion staff, 07 March 2012.
19. Correspondence with an allied military officer who previously served on the
SHAPE Force Generation staff, 14 April 2012.
21. See for example Gates (2011).

22. Interview with a former allied military officer who previously served on the
SHAPE Force Generation staff, 19 March 2012.
23. This behaviour is nothing new – see Wallace (2002) for a discussion of this
phenomenon, past and present.
24. Nonetheless, planners cannot constantly aim too high in defining
requirements – otherwise, they lose credibility. Balance is the critical goal.
26. See Joyce (2005), who makes the point that ‘force generation works
best when there is a high level of political cohesion amongst member
nations’.
References
Deni, John R. (2007), Alliance Management and Maintenance (Farnham: Ashgate).
de Wijk, Rob. (1997), NATO on the Brink of the New Millennium: The Battle for
Consensus (United Kingdom: Brassey’s).
Fairhall, David and Michael White. (1990),‘Ministers Back Cuts in Defence: Pack-
age Halves West German Strength Over Five Years’, The Guardian (London)
(26 July).
Frantzen, Henning A. (2005), NATO and Peace Support Operations, 1991–1999:
Policies and Doctrines (London: Routledge).
Gates, Robert M. (2011), Reflections on the Status and Future of the Transatlantic
Alliance, speech given at the Security and Defence Forum (10 June), at http://
www.securitydefenceagenda.org/Contentnavigation/Activities/Activities
overview/tabid/1292/EventType/EventView/EventId/1070/EventDateID/1087/
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(accessed 01 July 2013).
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Monitor, (31 January): 3.
Joyce, Mark. (2005), ‘Reforming NATO Force Generation: Progress, Problems, and
Outstanding Challenges’, Royal United Services Institute, (October): 13.
Myers, Steven Lee and Craig R. Whitney. (1999), ‘Peacekeeping Force of 50,000
Allied Troops to Enter Kosovo as Yugoslav Forces Withdraw’, The New York
Times, (04 June): 21.
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NATO. (1997), ‘Financial and Economic Data Relating to NATO Defence’,
NATO Press Release, M-DPC-2(97)147, (2 December 1997).
Reuters. (1990), ‘Targets for Defense Spending May be Scrapped by NATO’, from
the Reuters wire service, as printed in The Toronto Star, (18 May 1990): A5.
Sallot, Jeff. (1999), ‘Deal Shifts Attention to Peacekeeping Mission’, The Globe and
Mail, (04 June): A18.
Smith, Martin A. (2000), NATO in the First Decade after the Cold War (Dordrecht:
Kluwer Academic Publishers).
Thies, Wallace J. (2002), Friendly Rivals: Bargaining and Burden-Shifting in
NATO (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe).
John R. Deni 193
Tuohy, William. (1993), ‘After the Cold War: It’s “Out of Area or Out of
Business” ’, Los Angeles Times, (13 August): 5.
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11
The Impact of NATO’s Defence
Planning and Force Generation on
Member States
Christian Tuschhoff
Why do NATO members engage in collective action1 despite their

self-interest in free riding? Member states provide national forces for
collective defence purposes; they accept allied commanders when con-
ducting military operations; and they voluntarily engage in common
training, allied exercises, or even permanent operations such as air
defence or reconnaissance and surveillance. This volume suggests that
NATO is more than the sum of its parts. I argue, more specifically, that
it is the organization itself that generates the necessary incentives for
member states to agree on collective action and comply with common
policies above and beyond their original preferences.
Collective action in NATO can be explained by the institutional
design of bureaucratic routines – most significantly standard operat-
ing procedures (SOPs). These routine processes link international and
national actors in ways that produce unintentional behaviour con-
ducive to collective action. Once in place, SOPs are internalized through
regular practices even if occasionally modified and refined. They reduce
the range of member states’ implementation choices by setting the
outer limits; they provide menus to choose from under specified cir-
cumstances rather than allowing for ad hoc redefinitions of the full
range of choices; they provide standards against which national poli-
cies can be measured and therefore set the basis for transparency and
I gratefully acknowledge helpful comments on earlier drafts of this chapter by

Ambassador Lawrence Butler, Karen E. Donfried, Gunther Hellmann, Glendon
C. Pitts, Jakob Schissler, Reinhard Wolf, and the editor of this volume.
194
Christian Tuschhoff 195
compliance; and they coordinate national and multilateral procedures

for military planning and operations to encourage compatibility and
responsiveness. Finally, SOPs work below the surface of public scrutiny.
In short, while the decision-making procedure of unanimity is
left untouched (see Michel, this volume), SOPs move the exercise
(Herschinger et al. 2011) of national autonomy towards collective action
and alliance-friendly behaviour. This is a process designated as ‘interna-
tionalization’ in the introduction of this volume. To that effect, SOPs
provide a thicker institutional structure; they subject national capa-
bilities to institutional constraints; and they alter underlying national
preferences. Taken together, SOPs hence imply that institutions do make
a difference, and thereby move the ‘neorealist baseline’ of international
organizations (see Mayer, introduction) towards the institutionalist
paradigm. I illustrate this general argument by focusing on how two
SOPs – defence planning and force generation – coordinate multilateral
and national processes and foster compliance.
NATO’s defence planning 1966–2009
Holger Pfeiffer, a former NATO official, argued that NATO’s defence and
force planning is the ‘glue which holds the Alliance together’ because
‘being committed, and able, to come to each other’s aid through a
common effort is after all what an Alliance [ . . . ] is all about’ (Pfeiffer
2008: 106). This quote appropriately identifies NATO’s defence plan-
ning as the key mechanism facilitating alliance cohesion and collective
action.
Until 2009, NATO’s defence planning procedures (Figure 11.1)
achieved these goals, firstly, by converting broader political commit-
ments into more specific military requirements. This was the case
when the Defense Planning Committee (DPC) broke down a previ-
ously adopted Ministerial Guidance into ‘Force Proposals’ for the major
NATO commands. The DPC also set ‘Force Goals’ which required mem-
ber states to precisely identify their future contributions for a time
horizon of the subsequent six years. In the annual ‘Defense Plan-
ning Questionnaire’ (DPQ) issued by the DPC, member states were
asked to designate specific forces and assets for collective defence and
contingency-planning purposes. Secondly, member states then pre-
cisely responded in their annual responses (‘country chapters’) to the
DPQ by elucidating how they intended to meet these requirements.
NATO’s International Staff (IS) and authorized military then exam-
ined country chapters and issued a report wherein deviations between
NATO NATO 5
Ministerial force Defense Consid- year
DPC planning eration by
guidance goals force
(DPQ) review ministers plans
Trilateral/
Draft multilateral
DRC Draft
force examination
guidance
goals DPQ
response
Suitability
Military MC force and risk
MC
appreciation proposals assessment
MNCs
MNCs force
proposals
DPQ
response/
Nations country plans
Figure 11.1 NATO’s defence planning procedure 1966–2009

Sources: Wendt and Brown (1986: 5), United States Joint Forces Command and Transforma-
tion (n.y.).
Note: Black filled frames refer to the main documents produced in the planning process. The
dashed arrows line indicates a two year cycle, the continuous arrows line an annual cycle.
set targets (force goals) and nationally specified commitments were

disclosed. These assessments of member states’ plans by the major
NATO commanders focused on force capabilities and evaluated their
impact on operations and missions. In subsequent multilateral meet-
ings, NATO experts and member state representatives then sought to
reconcile potential differences between national and allied force plans.
Thirdly, the DPC reviewed member state contributions and their exam-
ination by the DRC and MC to inform the North Atlantic Council
(NAC), NATO’s most important political decision-making body, about
the achievement of NATO’s Force Plans for the next five years. Force
Plans were issued annually and were compulsory for the following
year. Those for wider time horizons were considered less binding. As a
rule, the shorter the time horizons, the more binding accompanying
commitments were (NATO Information Service 1989: 219–223; United
States Joint Forces Command and Allied Command Transformation n.y.;
Wendt and Brown 1986).
It is crucial to note that the DPQ works like a tax form in domes-
tic affairs. It sets out categories that are broken down into detailed
line items and boxes member states have to respond to. National
governments may fill in their responses, but are not allowed to change
the format – line items and boxes – of the questionnaire. For this reason,
the level of precision is extremely high and allows for both a high degree
of standardization of the information surveyed and international com-
parability. What is more, particularly smaller members have a strong
incentive to abandon national standards in favour of NATO standards
in order to avoid the costly duplication of defence planning standards
that have to be made compatible to NATO ones.
Because the system has already been practiced for decades, most cod-
ing problems could be eliminated. The information gathered is not only
highly reliable and valid. It also produces a large degree of transparency
of current and future military capabilities of member states and the
Alliance as a whole.
The defence planning procedure constrained member states by setting
strict deadlines within annual or biannual cycles. These mechanisms
of regularity were able to effectively limit shirking and evasion, that
is the escaping of assigned responsibilities. A multilateral surveillance
of national commitments, performance and compliance was firmly in
place. Monitoring guaranteed that national shortfalls could be detected.
The procedure then obliged national governments to give good reason
for any mismatch between force goals and actual contributions. Insid-
ers estimated that member states accepted, on average, about 70 per
cent of NATO’s force goals and actually implemented about 50 per cent
(Giegerich 2008; Sperling 2004, 2010; Thomson 1985; Wendt and Brown
1986).2 From a participating insider’s perspective, these figures might
be deeply disappointing, particularly when measured against agreed-
upon force goals. However, it can be assumed that the long-run practice
of allied defence planning resulted in a silently agreed upon norm on
mutually acceptable shortfalls.
The achieved levels of accepted force goals and implementation were
still higher than they would have been without the existence of a
defence planning system as one study has shown (Megens 1994). A
comparison with the European Union also indicates that strictly volun-
tary defence planning processes achieve considerably lower success rates
(Biscop and Algieri 2008; Kelemen 2002; Witney 2008, 2011). Efforts
have been made outside NATO’s defence planning process to induce a
higher degree of compliance with force goals, such as the Long-Term
Defense Program, the Defense Capability Initiative (DCI) or the Prague
Capabilities Commitment (PCC). But they failed to produce superior
results (Baldauf 1984; Brauss 2008).
NATO’s defence planning since 2009
In 2009, NATO modified its defence planning system and renamed

it ‘NATO Defence Planning Process’ (NDPP). This new system builds
on the old one and keeps key mechanisms intact such as the cyclical
nature of planning stages, established deadlines, the coordination of
multilateral and national planning procedures as well as the milestone
documents ministerial guidance and annual DPQs (NATO Public Diplo-
macy Division 2006: 51–56). But all NATO defence planning elements
have now been put under the common roof of NDPP. This modification
reflects the need in the post-Cold War security environment to be able
to prepare for operational flexibility and to closely coordinate military
and civilian measures. The new system also seeks to further close the
gap between political commitments and national contributions, as well
as to eliminate sluggishness between the military and civilian planning
units of the Alliance (NATO 2012; Sturm 2005).
In order to strengthen national commitments, the NDPP incorporated
a so-called Comprehensive Political Guidance (CPG) – a guiding doc-
ument in between NATO’s Strategic Concept and the ministerial
guidance. Every four years heads of state and government issue a new
CPG and set the ‘Level of Ambition’ (LoA). The latter are then broken
down into ‘Minimum Capabilities Requirements’ (MCR) which serve as
a standard to measure national commitments and identify shortfalls.
A resulting report prioritizes capability gaps in order to guide national
governments towards closing the most urgent gaps first. Subsequently,
NATO planners apportion these overall targets to challenge individual
member states. In negotiations, national and NATO officials establish
agreed targets and facilitate implementation in a continuous effort.
Finally, NATO surveys the resulting national capabilities, writes progress
reports and issues an Annual Capabilities Report (Bahle 2010; Pekala
n.y.). The implementation and review of member state performance is
greatly enhanced by a common data base called TOPFAS (see below). The
NDPP clearly aims at strengthening the links between multilateral and
national planning processes at all stages to better synchronize efforts.
While the NDPP does not change the prerogative and veto power of the
member states per se, it does seek to move national planning bureau-
cracies towards the multilateral goals to which their political leadership
has already agreed. In essence, it aims at changing the national prefer-
ences in the multilateral direction and hence contributes to the process
of internationalization.
In light of past experience it would be extremely optimistic to expect

member states to meet all agreed targets within the established time
frame. Broader political commitments are particularly likely to be met by
some, but by no means all allies. One example is the decision by defence
ministers at NATO’s Istanbul Summit in June 2004 where they decided
to enable 40 per cent of national land forces for out-of-area operations,
while 8 per cent of land forces should be kept on permanent readiness
for such missions (Sturm 2005).3 However, ultimately NATO allies will
establish a common standard about the reasonable share of agreed tar-
gets to be met in time, and other targets that require a longer time
horizon. One can expect that more specifically defined targets are com-
plied with at a higher rate compared to broader ones. Moreover, the
shorter the planning horizon of agreed targets, the more likely it is that
member states meet their commitments.
NATO’s force generation and activation
While the defence planning procedure binds NATO’s international

apparatus and members together when both prepare for unknown
contingencies, force generation ties them together when the Alliance
prepares for a mission (see Deni, this volume). During the Cold War,
NATO focused on Article 5 missions, that is the defence against an attack
on one or more allies. Military planners developed a single war plan
which was approved by the NAC, and members assigned forces in case
the war plan had to be implemented. They also agreed on several alarm
plans that spelled out the conditions under which they would trans-
fer their operational command of assigned forces to allied commanders
(Tuschhoff 2002).
Yet, these comparatively simple pre-delegation procedures did not
meet the requirements of the post-Cold War security environment. After
1990, NATO had to prepare not only for Article 5 missions but also
for a wide range of other contingencies – from humanitarian disaster
relief to peace enforcement. Whereas September 11, 2001, demonstrated
that NATO’s procedure for Article 5 missions still works reasonably well
(Tuschhoff 2003), the Alliance became more often engaged in so-called
‘crisis response’ or ‘non-Article 5’ missions. For these missions, force
generation procedures and rules governing the transfer of authority had
to be developed on a case by case basis. However, the development of
procedures as well as the drafting of plans proved to be complicated
and time-consuming although swift reaction would have been essential.
Even as the NAC unanimously decided to deploy a crisis response

operation, members hesitated to contribute required forces and to trans-
fer authority to NATO commanders (Joyce 2005). In other words, force
generation and the transfer of authority presented new collective action
problems for NATO within the new external environment.
In order to increase its military effectiveness in non-Article 5 situa-
tions, NATO developed new ‘force activation’ SOPs which are outlined
in the classified MC 133/4 document (NATO Standardization Agency
(NSA) 2011). These new procedures spell out how members are expected
to contribute to agreed operations and how to transfer authority to
appropriate allied commanders. They aim at more predictability and
higher decision-making speed. Furthermore, they endeavour to induce
stronger commitments by reducing the gap between the political deci-
sion to launch an operation and the decision to contribute the required
national forces.
The force generation procedure addresses the collective action prob-
lem by moving top-down from the NAC’s decision to initiate a military
operation to member states’ Transfer of Authority (TOA). NATO com-
mands and agencies draft the key documents in ways demonstrating
that their request for the next step in the process logically and strictly
derives from the political decisions by the NAC. Moreover, the SACEUR
informs subordinate commanders and member states about key dates
and deadlines that need to be met. Figure 11.2 presents the typical force
generation and activation procedure as a step-by-step sequence. Yet, in
reality, most steps are carried out simultaneously.
After the NAC agrees on a new operation, the SACEUR appoints a joint
force commander who drafts an operational plan (OPLAN) and a prelim-
inary statement of requirements (SOR). Once the Military Committee
has endorsed these plans, the NAC approves them and issues a force
activation directive (FAD). The SACEUR then sends an activation warn-
ing (ACTWARN) message to the member states and informs them about
the provisional Combined Joint Statement of Requirements (CJSOR).
Subsequently, the DSACEUR and the force commander convene a force
generation conference of member states typically represented by the
National Military Representative to NATO (NMR). In this conference,
NATO officials ask member representatives to provide the capabilities
listed in the SOR. The rationale is to commit national governments to
as many items on the SOR as possible. As a result, member states send a
Force Preparation (FORCEPREP) message to NATO specifying their con-
tributions to the proposed operation. At this stage, the SACEUR may
possibly issue an Activation of Pre-deployment (ACTPRED) message,
NAC: Initiating directive
ACO subordinate: Operations plan (OPLAN) and draft statement of requirements (SOR)
MC: Endorsement of OPLAN and SOR NAC: Approval of OPLAN
NAC: Force activation directive (FAD)
T
ACO: Force activation warning (ACTWARN) and Provisional combined joint statement of requirement (CJSOR)
o
p ACO: Force generation conference and draft CJSOR
- ACO: Force activation request (ACTREQ)
Member states: Force preparation (FORCEPREP) messages

D
o ACO: Activation and predeployment (ACTPRED)
w
n ACO: Force balancing conference until agreement on SOR
NAC: Execution directive (NED)
ACO: Activation order (ACTORD)
Member states: Transfer of authority message (TOA)
NAC: North Atlantic Council

ACO: Allied Command Operations (SHAPE)
MC: Military Committee
Figure 11.2 Force activation and transfer of authority

Sources: NATO Standardization Agency (2011); NATO (2010); and Joyce (2005). Author’s com-
pilation by drawing on ‘Financial and Economic Data Relating to NATO Defence’, NATO Press
Release (PR/CP(2011)027), 10 March 2011.
indicating his intent to pre-deploy certain elements of the new force

in order to prepare for the subsequent full deployment.
Based on member states’ FORCEPREP messages as well as on their
report on the degree to which national contributions match the SOR,
the DSACEUR and the force commander identify the shortfalls and anal-
yse the potential risks of capability gaps that cannot be filled. They also
convene a Force Balancing Conference with member states that aim
at balancing shortfalls until the force commander is satisfied with the
result. Once force balancing is complete, the NAC approves the finalized
OPLAN and the SOR by issuing a NATO Execution Directive (NED). This
directive authorizes the SACEUR to send an Activation Order (ACTORD)
message to the capability-providing governments. In response, mem-
bers send a TOA message to SACEUR that places national forces
under NATO operational command and control. This message may
also include restrictions on the use of these capabilities – so-called
‘caveats’. ACTORD also initiates the deployment of NATO headquarters
and forces and releases the necessary NATO common funding for the
operation (Joyce 2005; NATO 2010, 2011, n.y.; NATO Standardization

Agency 2011).
Before 2009, force generation conferences were convened only on an
ad hoc basis when a new operation had to be resourced. Meanwhile, the
Allied Command Operations (ACO) convenes a so-called Global Force
Generation Conference every year. These cyclical conferences allow
NATO, represented by the DSACEUR, to give an overview of all ongo-
ing operations and member state contributions with an emphasis on a
fair burden-sharing.
Internationalization by software planning tools

National governments have the potential to easily evade the force gen-
eration and activation processes: They are capable to block the NAC
from authorizing the SACEUR at critical junctures, and they may also
stubbornly refuse to contribute national contingents during force gen-
eration conferences and the force balancing process. NATO therefore
introduced an instrument which enables the ACO and the SACEUR
to keep a tight grip on the planning procedure: the Tool for Opera-
tions Planning Functional Area Services (TOPFAS) software, which was
introduced in 2003. In a nutshell, TOPFAS helps to manage opera-
tional planning by providing huge databases which include not only
all existing operational plans, but also enormously detailed and com-
parable information on member states’ military capabilities. TOPFAS is
widely shared within NATO’s military organization and agencies. It also
interfaces with NATO’s defence planning process, the Intelligence Infor-
mation System, and the Logistics Management System. It tracks all SORs
and provides an audit trail that links NACs initiating directive to spe-
cific items on the SOR in order to confer political authority to specific
requirements – at least implicitly. Henceforth, national governments
can be blamed by their ‘peers’ for dishonesty and hypocrisy unless
required capabilities are provided.
To be able to identify shortfalls, TOPFAS distinguishes between
‘assigned’ and ‘implied’ tasks. While the former refer to the precise word-
ing of the NAC’s Initiating Directive, the latter describes the necessary
support of the former. TOPFAS also makes a distinction between ‘generic
units’ that can carry out a task in theory, and ‘named units’ that actually
exist but still need to be requested and released. Moreover, the soft-
ware saves updated information on all armaments and equipment that
a unit has at its disposal according to a standardized Reportable Items
Code (RIC). This code – standardized across national forces – allows
planners to assess and select the appropriate unit for a given task in
an operational plan. Some items are even scored by a Figure of Merit

(FoM) which allows for assessing the quality of a national unit. Hence,
TOPFAS greatly supports all phases of NATO’s operational planning pro-
cess. Most planning documents, such as the SOR or the Allied Forces List
(AFL), are directly created and continuously tracked by the software –
supported by its databases. TOPFAS puts its primary users, NATO’s oper-
ation planners, commanders, and headquarters, in a superior position
vis-à-vis national government representatives. The former now possess,
and are able to manage, exclusive information which the latter do not
easily have access to (Thuve n.y.).
The Allied Command Operations (ACO) uses the above-illustrated
planning tools to draft three kinds of plans: firstly, crisis response plans
that are generated when the NAC wishes to respond to an unforeseen
event. In these cases the planning process is carried out under severe
time constraints. Secondly, the ACO plans for collective defence pur-
poses and develops a standing defence plan. And thirdly, ACO plans for
specified contingencies that might become real security threats. The last
two types of plans can be developed without time constraints. However,
they support the crisis response plans because they can be used, as a
whole or in part, as easily modifiable templates. They can then be taken
off the TOPFAS shelf and tailored to the specifics of a crisis operation.
Just as defence planning, the force generation and activation pro-
cedure leaves the essence of member state autonomy and veto power
in the NAC untouched. National governments can veto any deci-
sion of the NAC or refuse to contribute forces to an allied operation:
either by failing to participate in the procedure, or by declining the
transfer of authority (see Michel, this volume). However, the new
procedure as outlined above strongly discourages such uncooperative
behaviour. By approving MC133/4 ‘NATO’s Operations Planning’, mem-
ber states committed themselves to the procedure and the step-by-step
process which makes participation mandatory. Non-participation is eas-
ily detectable and would be considered a violation of membership
obligations.
The division of the new force generation and activation procedure
into smaller steps aims at making it more difficult to refuse participation
on general grounds. Once national governments become engaged in the
process it is much harder for them to disengage than to move on. This
pressure to stay engaged is moreover enhanced by several features of the
procedure. Firstly, the ACO led by SACEUR strives for the utmost consis-
tency of operations planning. It argues that the NAC’s initiating direc-
tive already encompasses all requirements spelled out in subsequent
planning documents, most importantly the SOR. The SACEUR thereby

invokes prior agreement and commitment and downplays the political
nature of subsequent decisions. Secondly, the procedure is a continuous
process (at least for ongoing operations) because troop rotations require
permanent new force requests and approvals (Joyce 2005). In addition,
by establishing an annual cycle of a Global Force Generation Con-
ference, the ACO enhanced the practice of permanence. Thirdly, any
defection of a member state – a refusal to participate in a phase or in the
entire process – will be immediately detected by its peers and by NATO’s
bureaucracy. This will result in a severe loss of reputation. Transparency
amongst member states is both instant and automatic. Finally, the
procedure is explicitly organized as a consultation process that allows
member governments to introduce their concerns but at the same time
draws them into the practice which reinforces their commitment.
The ACO with its subordinate military headquarters possesses a plan-
ning capability that cannot be easily replicated in most member states.
TOPFAS provides a powerful infrastructure that puts the ACO in the
driver’s seat of operations planning that most national governments
are simply unable to match. Instead, they are largely dependent on
NATO which develops the necessary plans and documents. Once the
ACO has set the agenda it cannot be easily rejected on reasonable
grounds. Member states would need to make a substantial effort in order
to dismiss ACO plans. They are therefore more inclined to play along
than to oppose. Furthermore, TOPFAS deeply penetrates the military
organizations of member states because its databases store incredi-
bly detailed data on national forces. Planners can instantly judge the
suitability and availability of virtually every national unit considered
for request. Such transparency makes it hard for national govern-
ments to reasonably justify the unavailability of requested units. And
TOPFAS also enables ACO planners to craft fair burden-sharing arrange-
ments amongst member states when they request certain units for a
particular task in their operations plan. They will request those units
from members which have not been recently employed by NATO and
will spare those which have often and most recently been used.
This anticipation of the ‘I am overburdened already’ argument fac-
tored in the plans deteriorates national governments’ ability to refuse
specific requests based on unfair burden-sharing arguments. In sum,
governments are greatly encouraged to exercise their autonomy in
an alliance-friendly manner and the procedure discourages evasion.
However, member state defections or the refusal to contribute speci-
fied requests do occur despite these discouragements. John Deni (this
volume) argues, for instance, that military commanders are never pro-
vided with all the forces they requested because the force generation
process is ‘perfectly flawed’. Although member states usually provide
sufficient forces for commanders to carry out a mission, there are
exceptions. I now turn to one such deviating case.
Case of defection: Germany and the intervention in Libya

The analysis of deviating cases is instructive because it sheds light on
the conditions under which these NATO procedures do not lead to
desired outcomes. They also provide insights on the extent of defec-
tion. The most prominent ‘defection’ case during the past years has
been Germany’s refusal to participate in operation Unified Protector in
Libya.
As a non-permanent member of the UN Security Council, Germany
voted ‘abstain’ on UN resolution 1973 on 17 March 2011 (International
Institute for Strategic Studies 2011: 18, 203–204; Sattar 2011c). When
NATO initiated the planning and authorized Operation Unified Protec-
tor, Germany approved the decision but indicated that it would not
participate with its own forces. Subsequently, it pulled out its troops
from NATO’s AWACS radar surveillance force that operated as part of
Unified Protector. It also returned navy ships operating in the Stand-
ing NATO Maritime Group 1 (SNMG 1) to national command in order
to avoid any involvement in the execution of Unified Protector (ban
2011; Berliner Umschau 2011; F.A.Z 2011). However, to compensate for
its non-participation in the mission, Germany agreed to participate in
AWACS missions to manage the air traffic above Afghanistan. This move
freed-up other allied AWACS units which were hence able to serve in
Unified Protector. Moreover, Germany pulled back neither its officers
serving in NATO’s Allied Joint Forces Command Naples, Italy, nor its
subordinate headquarters responsible for Unified Protector.
The German government made these decisions under exceptional
circumstances of domestic politics. The parties of the CDU/CSU-FDP
governing coalition faced an uphill battle in crucial state elections in
the state of Baden-Württemberg. After the accident of the Japanese
nuclear power plant in Fukushima, it already had to reverse course on
its energy policy and therefore struggled with credibility issues. As the
use of force is generally unpopular in Germany, the governing coalition
parties did not have the guts to further challenge already angry voters by
actively participating in Unified Protector. Moreover, opposition parties
in the German parliament – often supporting the governing coali-
tion on the use of force despite public scepticism (Kreps 2010) – were
either divided or opposed participation. Therefore, Unified Protector

faced an unusually broad party and elite consensus against Germany’s
participation (Seibel 2011).
The force generation and activation procedure for Unified Protector
therefore failed to facilitate Germany’s participation because of excep-
tional domestic circumstances. As a consequence, Germany faced a loss
of international reputation as a reliable ally that has been severely felt
among political elites. In hindsight, many considered their policies
a disastrous mistake (Busse 2011a; Fischer 2011; International Insti-
tute for Strategic Studies 2011: 203–204; K.F 2011; Rühl 2011; Sattar
2011a). However, the government used its remaining room for maneu-
ver to support NATO indirectly in three ways. Firstly, it did not veto
the operation in the NAC (Busse 2011b, 2011c; nbu./T.G 2011). Sec-
ondly, it restricted its non-participation to forces whose use required
parliamentary approval but stayed engaged where a vote by parliament
was not required, for example the Joint Forces Command (löw 2011a;
Löwenstein 2011; Rühl 2011). Thirdly, it indirectly supported Unified
Protector because it freed up other allies’ AWACS staff and also allowed
allies to use German territory as a logistical base for the operation (Busse
2011c; F.A.Z 2011; löw 2011b; Sattar 2011b). Germany’s refusal to con-
tribute its armed forces is therefore an example amongst rare cases when
overwhelming domestic political issues prevail over NATO’s top-down
force generation procedure. Yet, the extent of Germany’s defection from
the established cooperation process was determined by the reach of
domestic politics.4 The German defection amounted neither to a veto
in the NAC nor to a withdrawal of officers serving in the responsible
joint headquarters.
Conclusion
Many studies analysing the relationship between NATO and its mem-
bers emphasize representation in the NAC and the veto power in the
highest decision-making body (for example Michel, this volume). They
therefore conclude that the relationship between the NATO organiza-
tion and member states is primarily governed by the unanimity voting
rule. According to this view, NATO is nothing more than an instru-
ment of member states (see Mayer, introduction), and collective action
is possible only at the lowest common denominator. I have shown
that this relationship is more complex by analysing other critical links
below member state representation in the NAC. SOPs govern the NATO–
member state relationship on matters critical to collective action. These
procedures have been confirmed, refined, and enhanced by continuing

practice.
Member states’ agreement to SOPs and their continuing practice do
not alter the unanimity voting rule but change the incentive how
national governments exercise their autonomy away from national pref-
erence towards collective action. Once SOPs have been established,
they limit the available choices of member states in several ways: They
establish pathways determining alternative routes towards an outcome.
Member states may choose among the alternatives but cannot estab-
lish new routes. Timetables and cycles form straightjackets encouraging
national governments to provide information or make decisions at
set deadlines. Agreed time horizons work towards tightening national
commitments because the shorter the time horizon the more bind-
ing a commitment. Member states must report their capabilities and
future efforts in a given format of detailed line items. Such standardiza-
tion of information not only increases transparency and comparability
across member states but also severely limits possibilities of evasion
and increases chances of detection during review. Information sharing
enhances transparency and facilitates peer review scrutiny. A continu-
ing practice can build and maintain new practices of acceptable and
unacceptable evasion by pricing types of deviating behaviour in terms of
reputational costs. SOPs are organized as consultations seeking to engage
member states and thereby tightening their commitments to both, the
desired outcome of a planning process and the procedure as an institu-
tion. The more member states become engaged, the less they are able to
eventually evade without disappointing their partners and undermin-
ing their credibility. Delegated authority to developing common plans
and documents transfers agenda-setting powers to NATO commanders
and headquarters. While these plans can be modified in consultation
processes, they can hardly be rejected or replaced altogether. Most mem-
ber states do not match NATO’s military expertise and staff power to
develop viable alternative plans. NATO employs a powerful software
infrastructure to support defence planning and force generation that
deeply penetrates member states.
SOPs do not alter national autonomy but affect the costs and bene-
fits of its practice. The analysis showed that under certain circumstances
member states might be willing to carry the costs of reputational loss.
This happened when Germany refused to participate in NATO’s opera-
tion Unified Protector. The government opted against participation in
the use of force because it feared that domestic costs of participating
would outweigh the international ones. However, even in this extreme
case, Germany’s execution of veto power was incomplete. Germany

carefully avoided blocking collective action among allies prepared to use
force. Moreover, to some extent it even supported them in their effort to
launch a successful mission. The agreed SOPs facilitated such carefully
calibrated opting out policy by avoiding all or nothing choices in favour
of a series of decisions that individually did not endanger the desired
collective outcome. The built-in flexibility of SOPs therefore facilitates
collective action because it facilitates damage control of the exercise of
national veto, too.
Notes
1. Collective action refers to ‘activities that require the coordination of efforts by
two or more individuals’ (Sandler 1992: xvii). See also Olson (1971). On the
application of collective action theory on alliances see Olson and Zeckhauser
(1966) and Sandler and Hartley (1999).
2. No independent evaluation is publicly available and it is unclear whether
the 50 per cent implementation estimate refers to implementation in time
or implementation eventually.
3. For example, the German Army will reach an overall strength of some 61,300
troops after completion of the current army reform. The NATO goals therefore
would require that 24,520 troops can engage in out of area operations and
4,900 troops be permanently ready for such a mission. However, the defence
ministry indicated that the Army will be able to contribute up to 5,000 troops
for international crisis management (Bundesministerium der Verteidigung
2012: 39). This is well short of the goal of 40 per cent. Yet, on some capa-
bilities such has headquarters for tactical operations national offers overshoot
NATO’s request because these assets offer disproportionate influence (Deni
2004, 2007).
4. According to the defence ministry, Germany refused to contribute to ‘execu-
tive measures’ but not to services in support of its allies (löw 2011a).
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Part IV
NATO’s Relations with
Third-Party Actors
12
NATO’s Troubled Relations with
Partner Organizations:
A Resource-Dependence
Explanation
Rafael Biermann
This chapter investigates NATO’s interactions with other international

organizations (IOs) since 1990.1 During the Cold War, the Alliance was
a stand-alone organization with only minor ad hoc relations to other
organizations (Kaplan 2010). Today, NATO not only entertains struc-
tured relations with an abundance of partner states (see Matláry, this
volume), but also its ties with other IOs have multiplied.
This phenomenon goes along with a process of internationalization,
understood in this volume as an increasing importance of an IO vis-
à-vis its member states. One dimension of internationalization is the
emergence of relations among IOs, which amount to a governance
network of interacting organizations (Mayer 2009: 47–50, 171–187).
Member states generally have difficulties to steer such networks towards
desired outcomes while they are able to shape and control an individual
organization more easily.
This contribution follows a dual objective. The first is empirical stock-
taking. The chapter offers a general overview of NATO’s relations with
other IOs and discusses its relationships with the Organization for Secu-
rity and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) and the United Nations (UN)
in more detail. A second objective is theory-testing. The overview serves
to advance and test some hypotheses on factors determining the size of
‘organization-sets’, that is the group of organizations a given organiza-
tion (here NATO) has direct links with. Furthermore, the case studies
test a number of hypotheses derived from resource dependence the-
ory. The UN and the OSCE are selected because they highlight to
215
216 NATO’s Relations with Third-Party Actors
varying degrees obstacles that undermine otherwise profitable resource

exchange relationships. The aim is to arrive at a number of generalizable
conclusions about interorganizational networking, which contributes to
theory-building in a young, yet rapidly growing research programme
(Biermann 2011a). To complement data from the hitherto sparse empir-
ical literature on this topic, insights from a number of interviews with
high-ranking NATO officials conducted in Brussels in February 2011 are
added.
The next section introduces the theoretical framework, after which I
discuss NATO’s organization-set. This is followed by the case studies on
the NATO–OSCE and the NATO–UN dyads, respectively. My conclusion
compares both dyads and points to theoretical implications. The main
findings are that NATO’s organization-set is quite limited due to its char-
acter as a single-purpose organization, classification requirements, little
discretion for its headquarters, and NATO’s adverse image among poten-
tial partners. Even though the Alliance is increasingly internationalized,
that is embedded in a network of interacting IOs, it remains a compara-
tively self-contained organization. As regards bilateral partnerships, the
mutual benefits of substantial resource exchange are the major stimu-
lus for cooperation. However, relations with all partner organizations
are troubled. Cooperation with the UN and the OSCE, in particular, are
impeded by the flip side of resource exchange: frictions over questions
of authority and autonomy arising from asymmetric relationships. The
limited density of ties and their modest institutionalization reflect this
state of affairs.
Theoretical framework
In this chapter, I take NATO as the unit of analysis and trace its interac-
tions with those IOs it substantially cooperates with. Such an approach
has become popular in studies on the EU and its partner organizations
(Jørgensen 2010; Jørgensen and Laatikainen 2013), yet has rarely been
applied to NATO (but see Yost 2007). Studies on the Alliance almost
exclusively cover dyadic relationships, that is cooperation between two
partners. Hardly ever have two or more dyads been compared, and the
investigation of entire networks also represents a void in the academic
literature.
A number of scholars from organization theory provide conceptual
tools which I utilize in order to help fill this gap. Evan (1978) intro-
duced the heuristic concept of ‘organization set’ which ‘consists of those
organizations with which a focal organization has direct links’ (Aldrich
Rafael Biermann 217
and Whetten 1981: 386). Direct links imply bilateral interaction among
organizations (single-step ties), whereas indirect links are mediated via
a third party.2 NATO’s organization-set can be analysed along a range of
different dimensions. In this chapter, I focus on the depth of coopera-
tion and the size of its organization-set. In order to explain the depth
of cooperation and the sometimes conflictive nature within dyads of
IOs, I draw on resource dependence theory which starts from a ratio-
nalist cost–benefit analysis. It argues that cooperation is spurred when
IOs need access to resources possessed by another organization, espe-
cially when this resource is critical and cannot be substituted (Pfeffer
and Salancik 2003: 46–50). Resources can be tangible, such as money,
assets and personnel, or intangible, such as information and legitimacy
(Biermann 2011b).
However, for resource exchange to occur, reciprocity is a key prereq-
uisite (Pfeffer and Salancik 2003: 52–54). Exchange relationships can
be more or less symmetric over time. Asymmetric relations move the
supply side into a position of power and control, the demand side
into a vulnerable position of dependence, which stimulates autonomy
concerns. Thus, asymmetric (unbalanced) relationships are particularly
prone to disruption. In order to reduce their dependence, organizations
might thus try to minimize cooperation by employing strategies that
substitute, duplicate or diversify resources hitherto attained from other
organizations (Biermann 2008: 168).
The depth of cooperation is reflected in the density of ties between
two IOs. The stronger their ties, the more substantial the coop-
eration (Biermann 2008: 165). The strength can range from mere
representation in joint meetings and information-sharing to perma-
nent liaison arrangements and interorganizational agreements up to
common projects with joint decision-making. In general, increas-
ing cooperation should result in more institutionalization, defined as
the amount of regular cooperation channels and procedures formally
agreed upon.
The size of organization-sets, that is ‘the sheer number of input and
output organizations with which the focal organization interacts’ (Evan
1978: 81), affects the degree of internationalization of an organization.
The larger the set, the more an organization is embedded in networks of
interacting organizations and the more challenging member-state con-
trol should be. From organization and institutionalist theory in general I
derive two structural determinants: I expect the size of an organization-
set to vary according to the extent of institutional overlap and to the
issue-area concerned.
Regarding overlap, organizations only cooperate substantially with

those organizations with similar functional and geographic scope. Other
organizations hardly matter (Biermann 2008: 155; Galbreath 2010).
Thus, the more IOs overlap functionally, the more potential there is
for cooperation. In particular, multi-purpose organizations such as the
UN or the EU can reach out to more organizations than single-purpose
organizations. The same is true for IOs with a broader geographical scope
compared to those with a more restricted area of operations. As to the
impact of issue-area (the second structural factor), partnering is more
restricted among ‘high politics’ than among ‘low politics’ organizations,
for two reasons. Firstly, organizations focusing on ‘high politics’, such as
national security, see greater needs to protect sensitive information. This
hampers information-sharing, which is the prerequisite for substantial
cooperation. The problem is most severe for security institutions pro-
viding collective defence and operating in combat or what NATO calls
‘non-permissive’ environments. Secondly, governments are more restric-
tive about delegating authority to international bureaucracies on ‘high
politics’ than in ‘low politics’ issues because highly sensitive issues are
at stake (Cox and Jacobson 1973: 389). Consequently, international
bureaucracies have less discretion to cooperate substantially.
Following these propositions, I formulate two expectations. Firstly,
NATO should be a highly attractive partner due to its unique and non-
substitutable hard power resources. The depth of cooperation should
depend on the capacity of partner organizations to offer attractive
resources in exchange – otherwise cooperation is not profitable for
NATO; or the partnership is strongly asymmetric, stimulating autonomy
conflicts that would tend to erode the partnership. Secondly, NATO is
a single-purpose, ‘high politics’ organization. This inherently limits the
size of its organization-set and thus its internationalization.
The validity of the propositions advanced above and the expectations
derived from them will be tested in the subsequent sections. I first turn
to the size of NATO’s organization-set, after which I present the case
studies in order to investigate the depth of NATO’s cooperation with the
OSCE and the UN.
NATO’s limited organization-set
NATO is cooperating with an impressive and rapidly growing number

of states worldwide (see Matláry, this volume). Although ties with IOs
have also multiplied compared to the Cold War era, the set of organiza-
tions NATO is cooperating with is strikingly limited. Within this set one
Rafael Biermann 219
can distinguish a wide and a narrow circle of partner organizations. The

narrow circle comprises all IOs with which the Alliance entertains con-
tinuous and substantial, though not necessarily formalized senior and
staff level relations: at present foremost the UN and the EU, but also the
OSCE and increasingly the African Union.3 In the field in Afghanistan
and elsewhere, cooperation is often close. The wider circle additionally
includes organizations NATO only occasionally cooperates with, mostly
in crisis-specific situations, such as the International Criminal Tribunal
for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) or the UN High Commissioner on
Refugees (UNHCR).4
Yet, NATO still is a state-centric organization, privileging regional
(such as the Mediterranean Dialogue) and bilateral cooperation formats
(such as the NATO–Russia Council) with individual governments. Draw-
ing on the above theoretical discussion I discern five reasons specifying
why NATO has direct links with only a small number of organizations.
Firstly, as a single-purpose organization NATO’s area of expertise is
restricted to security. Even more so, despite significant attempts to widen
its concept of security, the focus still is on military security. The number
of IOs available for cooperation in this field is strongly limited. However,
due to the fact that NATO is one actor in complex networks of crisis
management and that mission success depends on synergy, overlap with
relevant organizations working in adjacent issue-areas such as refugee
return or humanitarian aid is substantial, necessitating at least some
basic information-sharing.
Secondly, as a classical ‘high politics’ organization NATO has a
hard time balancing transparency and secrecy. Whereas information-
sharing within NATO needs to be intense to organize effective collec-
tive defence and crisis management, information-sharing with external
actors requires the guarding of sensitive data. Force protection and
mission success in non-permissive environments such as Afghanistan
crucially depend on avoiding the leakage of vital information. Fre-
quent complaints about NATO’s classification practice by officials from
the UN and other organizations (Harsch 2012: 13; van Ham 2006: 33)
demonstrate that NATO’s rather restrictive transparency rules seriously
undermine cooperation.
Thirdly and relatedly, NATO as an organization can only cooperate
with other organizations when member states commission it to do so.
Even though recent studies begin to uncover distinct preferences of
NATO’s bureaucracy, especially the Secretariat (Hendrickson 2006; Kille
and Hendrickson 2011), its authority to engage in meaningful cooper-
ation with partner organizations is circumscribed as long as member
states maintain that national security is ‘too sensitive to be left to

international organizations’ (Megens 1998: 120).
Fourth, NATO’s cooperation efforts are also hampered by attempts of
partner organizations to keep NATO at a distance. Fears about a ‘milita-
rization’ and US interference are major reasons. These fears seem to be
particularly widespread among private humanitarian relief and human
rights organizations, which frequently voice concerns about compro-
mising their ‘neutrality’ by overtly cooperating with NATO (Jacobson
2008: 35–40). Similar concerns are also uttered in the UN General
Assembly or in UN specialized agencies (Smith-Windsor 2011: 35; Yost
2007: 35).
Finally, the Alliance further restricts cooperation for political reasons.
It is striking that NATO is not cooperating with the Comprehen-
sive Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) and the Shanghai Coopera-
tion Organization (SCO).5 According to Yost (2007: 174), the CSTO is
courting NATO, which is, however, ‘reluctant to lend legitimacy and
standing’ to an organization representing Russia’s ‘near abroad’ ambi-
tions.
These arguments imply that the size of an organization-set does not
only depend on the amount of institutional overlap and the nature of
the issue-area concerned, but also on images of the focal organization
and political preferences. In the next section I turn to NATO’s relations
with the OSCE and the UN, testing the resource dependence hypotheses
presented above.
NATO–OSCE relations: Slack after a promising start
Former NATO Secretary General Manfred Wörner approached the

European Community (EC), the Western European Union (WEU), and
the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE) in late
1990 proposing a ‘framework of interlocking institutions’. The idea was
a non-hierarchical division of labour that would delimit the role of each
organization in a complementary fashion (Nerlich 1994: 285). Whereas
meetings with the EC Commission and the WEU General Secretariat
faded out, negotiations with the CSCE Secretariat led to an exchange of
letters, the substance of which was published in coordinated unilateral
statements (de Witte 2004: 46–47; Peters 1997: 392). Thus, in June 1992
the NATO Council declared its willingness ‘to support, on a case-by-
case basis ( . . . ), peacekeeping activities under the responsibility of the
CSCE, including by making available Alliance resources’. A month later
the CSCE Helsinki Summit declared the CSCE a regional arrangement
Rafael Biermann 221
under Chapter VIII of the UN Charter. It echoed that the CSCE ‘may
benefit from resources and possible experience and expertise of . . . EC,
NATO and the WEU, and could therefore request them to make their
resources available in order to support it in carrying out peacekeeping
activities’ (quoted in de Witte 2004: 48–49).
These coordinated statements opened the spectre for CSCE
peacekeeping operations based on NATO assets and capabilities. The
CSCE’s potential benefit was obvious: at a time when it was perceived
as the natural avenue to manage the transition into a Europe whole
and free, it would gain access to headquarters, expertise and manpower
it was painfully lacking in the unfolding Yugoslav crisis. Dependence
on NATO was strong, because alternative suppliers of resources critical
for peacekeeping were not available (apart from the UN). Conversely,
NATO, being propelled into peace operations based on the rationale of
‘out of area or out of business’, welcomed the affirmation of its future
role in European security. By offering its assets it discouraged the CSCE
to acquire its own. However, accepting CSCE leadership and being por-
trayed as a ‘subcontractor’ hardly suited NATO’s self-image (Zaagman
2000: 111–114). Thus, it is not surprising that this early arrangement
of NATO resource provision did not materialize. In fact, the CSCE was
never authorized to deploy a peacekeeping operation but rather focused
on long-term monitoring missions in the future.
Still, NATO–OSCE cooperation ‘intensified steadily’ during the 1990s,
particularly the ‘excellent state of cooperation on the ground’ (Zannier
1997: 257–262). In post-Dayton Bosnia (since 1995) both organiza-
tions deployed parallel missions. The OSCE profited strongly from
NATO which provided a secure environment for the elections organized
by the OSCE. NATO also trained and counselled OSCE verification and
arms control experts (Zaagman 2000: 115–116). In Kosovo, the unarmed
inspectors of the largest OSCE mission so far, the Kosovo Verification
Mission, could not have been deployed to monitor the implementa-
tion of the Holbrooke–Milosevic Agreement of October 1998 without
protection by NATO’s Extraction Force in Macedonia. After NATO’s
air campaign ended in June 1999, its Kosovo Force (KFOR) operation
provided a secure environment for the international civilian presence,
including the OSCE mission.
NATO’s motives for cooperating with the OSCE were more complex.
It traded its tangible hard power resources for the legitimacy and repu-
tation that cooperation with the OSCE promised. Cooperation with the
Kosovo Verification Mission was a special case, amounting to resource
pooling. NATO was strongly interested in gaining access to the OSCE’s
verification results – an important supplement to its own air surveil-

lance images. The result was confidential and close information-sharing
(Yost 2007: 115). However, around the turn of the century, NATO–OSCE
relations deteriorated. Growing asymmetry is the root cause, with three
more particular reasons standing out.
Firstly, the relative importance of the OSCE and NATO in European
security governance had visibly shifted (Peters 2004: 384) in favour
of the latter. NATO had outlived its post-Cold War legitimacy cri-
sis and consolidated its position as an indispensable security provider
whereas the OSCE was on the verge of institutional decline. Although
during the 1990s Russia promoted the latter as an alternative to
the Alliance, particularly the US and the UK were not willing to
invest in NATO’s potential rival (Zaagman 2000: 110). In addition,
the more the EU upgraded its own security role, the more EU gov-
ernments lost interest in the OSCE. And once a disappointed Moscow
turned away from the OSCE and began to heavily criticize the OSCE’s
lopsided geographic (Eastern Europe) and functional (human rights)
focus and called for budget and mission cuts, the OSCE lost its
last major advocate (Hopmann 2008: 83–85). In hindsight, the year
1999 in which the EU’s Common Security and Defense Policy was
born, the Kosovo war alienated Russia, and the drawn-out negoti-
ations on the Charter for European Security ended with a fig-leaf
document, might be identified as the turning point of the OSCE’s
relevance.
These trends impacted both organizations individually as well as their
bilateral cooperation. Whereas the OSCE turned out to be increasingly
‘under-governed, under-financed, and under-staffed’ (Dean 2000: 432),
NATO gained confidence and increased its autonomy. For the Alliance,
the added value of cooperating with the OSCE hence decreased signif-
icantly. In fact, the latter faced internal deadlock which reduced its
capacity to act, and both its field staff and budget dropped by half
within seven years (Hopmann 2008: 79–80). Russian objections against
closer NATO–OSCE cooperation, fuelled by a profound NATO–Russia
alienation over Kosovo and the issue of NATO enlargement, caused
additional difficulties in interorganizational cooperation.
Secondly, once the relative importance of the two IOs had turned
upside down, concerns about organizational autonomy surfaced. Objec-
tions stemmed almost exclusively from the OSCE. It was addressed in
particular to NATO (and the EU) duplicating the OSCE’s core func-
tions: NATO was moving into both its geographic turf in Central and
Eastern Europe, and its functional domains of conflict prevention,
Rafael Biermann 223
peacekeeping, and peace building. In fact, NATO was ‘OSCE-ified’ while

the OSCE was ‘hollowed out’ (Peters 2004: 399; Zaagman 2000: 120).
Interpersonal relations did little to rescue a once close relation-
ship. In fact, there was a lack of personal continuity due to the annual
rotation of the OSCE Chairman-in-Office. Another was the purely
administrative role of the OSCE Secretary General. Weak ties among
NATO and OSCE today reflect the limited scope of the partnership. The
OSCE’s modest Afghanistan involvement left aside, during the past
decade the two have not embarked on new parallel missions or major
joint initiatives. With former cooperation topics losing relevance (such
as arms control in the Western Balkans) and the challenge of counter-
terrorism moving up front, the OSCE is no longer a major partner in
the places NATO prioritizes. At present, the substance of cooperation
is chiefly restricted to mutual representation in formal meetings and
information-sharing. Cooperation remains declaratory on the political
level, though more substantial (but rather discreet and informal) in
the field. Staff talks were institutionalized in 1998, but were recently
reduced from four to two times per year. Initial suggestions to conclude
a framework agreement were put aside (Yost 2007: 122). No permanent
liaison arrangements and no regular top-level meetings are currently in
place. Former NATO Secretary General Jaap de Hoop Scheffer admitted
that contacts ‘remain rudimentary’, adding: ‘we can, and must, do a lot
better’ (cited in van Ham 2006: 34).
NATO–UN relations: Fragile cooperation after a bumpy start
NATO has stronger and more long-term incentives to cooperate with the
UN than with the OSCE. The resource exchange logic is obvious: the UN
Security Council provides its umbrella of legitimacy for NATO missions.
This is also pivotal for consensus-building within the Alliance. The UN
is moreover able to provide its civilian capabilities, while NATO offers
to an overstretched and underfunded UN its capacities for planning
and executing large-scale, high-tech, sustainable long-distance opera-
tions. Due to the uniqueness of these resources and the rising demand,
interdependence is considerable (Kaplan 2010: 211).
However, right from the outset fundamental differences over asym-
metry and autonomy divided the two. Already during the San Francisco
negotiations over the UN charter in 1945, founders were torn between
the need to accept regional organizations for burden-sharing pur-
poses and the desire to subordinate them to Security Council pri-
macy. Eventually the UN insisted on three pillars: Security Council
authorization for all peace enforcement action (Article 53, 1), the
requirement to keep the Council ‘fully informed’ (Article 54), and a
stipulation that obligations under the Charter always have to take
precedence over obligations under ‘any other international agreement’
(Article 103).
NATO’s ‘aversion to explicit subservience’ under the UN (Smith-
Windsor 2011: 27) surfaced in 1948 during the Pentagon negotiations
when NATO was founded. The Europeans refused to categorize NATO as
a regional organization under the UN Charter, worried about Soviet
or Chinese vetoes against NATO taking action. As a result, NATO’s
Washington Treaty of 1949 avoids any references in this respect. Dur-
ing the Cold War, the experience with Security Council deadlock
confirmed for many, now including the US, the prudence of this
autonomy-maximizing approach.
During the Cold War, this conflict over authority had no operational
consequences. It only erupted once UN peace operations multiplied,
NATO moved into crisis management and both were set to cooper-
ate. The breakup of Yugoslavia was the trigger. Once the EC ‘dumped
the problem of Bosnia into the UN’s lap’ (Kaplan 2010: 139), Secretary-
General Boutros-Ghali issued several requests urging the Alliance to help
implement the ambitious Security Council resolutions, ranging from the
arms embargo to the sanctions regime and the flight ban (Smith 1995:
71). In December 1992 the NATO Council confirmed ‘the preparedness
of our Alliance to support, on a case-by-case basis and in accordance
with our own procedures, peacekeeping operations under the authority
of the UN Security Council, which has the primary responsibility for
international peace and security’ (quoted from Smith 2004: 156). The
conflict on principle seemed to fade away.
Cooperation saw a promising start. The UN Secretariat, which was in
dire need of capabilities that only NATO was able to provide, pushed
a reluctant NATO into a burden-sharing agreement. NATO’s then Sec-
retary General Manfred Wörner skilfully used the UN requests and
the legitimacy it provided to move the allies out of area. However,
disillusionment and stereotyping, even bitterness, followed (Kaplan
2010: 139–168). Most controversial were the dual-key arrangements.
They required UN consent each time NATO air power was used to
enforce the no-fly zone and protect the safe areas. It was an unprece-
dented experiment in resource pooling which required an integrated
chain of command. Frustration mounted within NATO, especially in
Washington, where the UN’s severe reservations to authorize air strikes
were interpreted as inviting Serb aggression and undermining NATO’s
Rafael Biermann 225
effectiveness and credibility. Admiral Leighton Smith, commanding

NATO forces in Bosnia, admitted later: ‘I hated the dual key. I thought it
was the worst thing we could possibly have become involved in’ (quoted
in Smith 2004: 157). After Srebrenica, NATO Secretary General Willy
Claes unilaterally renounced the arrangements, launched NATO’s air
campaign which ended three years of agony within days, and forced
the UN to accept a fait accompli. NATO–UN cooperation eventually
collapsed.
This episode turned out to be the worst in NATO–UN relations so
far. The controversy was fuelled by the UN’s insistence on its pri-
macy and NATO’s quest for autonomy. The Alliance had let UN norms
govern the rules of engagement and became hostage to UN vetoes
restricting NATO’s capacity to act. In the other Bosnia missions where
NATO provided resources autonomously based on a UN mandate (such
as monitoring the embargo in the Adriatic or supplying humanitarian
aid via air drop), cooperation was smooth. However, where both moved
into joint decision-making, the conflict on principle exploded. This was
a step too far.
Subsequently, NATO started pursuing a demarcation policy vis-à-
vis the UN, placing emphasis on its autonomy. Conversely, the UN
struggled to guard its own primacy and to actively control NATO:
through insistence on Security Council authorization or by way of
classifying NATO as a regional organization. Since Bosnia, the rela-
tionship between the two organizations fluctuates between cooperation
and demarcation, be it in Kosovo, Afghanistan, the Horn of Africa or
Libya.
NATO’s autonomy-privileging approach has four major consequences.
Firstly, already in 1995 the then NATO Secretary General Claes warned
that there may ‘be circumstances which oblige NATO to act on its own
initiative in the absence of a UN mandate’ (quoted in Smith 2004:
165). NATO’s ‘self-authorization’ in Kosovo 1999 was in line with this
principle, which remains valid to date.
Secondly, when deployed in support of UN missions, NATO insists on
complete operational autonomy, or what it calls unified command and
control (Kaplan 2010: 156, 207; Leurdijk 2000: 121). This is reflected
in the dualism of civil and military implementation, which guides
all NATO contributions to international peace building since Dayton.
It implies a separate chain of command for NATO and autonomous rules
of engagement, that is no more dual keys or what is now called ‘subcon-
tracting’. The stand-alone concepts for NATO missions are elaborated
exclusively within the Alliance.
Thirdly, NATO tends to ‘hijack’ UN mandates, which means it inter-

prets and acts upon them in a manner often not in line with the intent
and interests of at least some of the Council members. Thus, Russia (and
also the African Union) strongly opposed NATO’s broad interpretation
of Security Council Resolution 1973 on Libya in 2011 which de facto
resulted in NATO paving the way for a regime change (Biermann 2014).
The structural problem is that ‘NATO’s interest in working with the UN
often ends once the alliance has obtained a Security Council mandate
for the use of force’ (Harsch 2012: 18).
Fourthly and related to the last point, NATO does not refrain from
bypassing the UN when it perceives its own mission success under-
mined in the field. In Afghanistan, an increasingly impatient NATO has
embarked on a substitution strategy, called ‘gap-filling’, which dupli-
cates the efforts of the notoriously understaffed UN Assistance Mission
in Afghanistan (UNAMA). The surge of NATO personnel in 2009 has
aggravated the resource asymmetry between UNAMA and ISAF, pushing
NATO further into civilian reconstruction and eroding its willingness
even to share information with UNAMA (Harsch 2012). Thus, it took
four years until NATO began reporting to the Security Council on
ISAF, for regular reporting is viewed as ‘an unwelcome suggestion of
subordination’ (Yost 2007: 56).
NATO is the only organization openly challenging the UN’s claim
for primacy in global politics. The unresolved authority issue remains
a source of friction on both sides. It stimulates mutual negative images
based on the distinct hard and soft power cultures in NATO and the
UN, respectively. In fact, Bosnia had path-dependent effects. Especially
in the US, it gave rise to a perception of the UN as an all-inclusive
organization with a vast gap between ambition and resources. Put more
bluntly: an inefficient and unreliable partner which a much more cohe-
sive, resourceful and proficient NATO should only selectively and on its
own terms cooperate with. The strongly emotional dimension of this
attitude is neatly captured in a comment of the then Secretary General
Claes: if NATO is not free to ‘set the rules . . ., they [the UN] will have
to find other idiots to support peacekeeping’ (quoted from Kille and
Hendrickson 2010: 508).
Conversely, NATO is perceived in New York as constantly under-
mining the UN’s authority. The ‘insult’ (according to Boutros-Ghali’s
memoirs, quoted in Kaplan 2010: 163) felt in New York after having
been sidelined in Bosnia triggered deep reservations over NATO being
an instrument of US hegemony. Suspicions of US unilateralism, mili-
tarism and a neglect of international law loaded the partnership with
Rafael Biermann 227
‘intrinsic limits’ (Yost 2007: 59). This adds to the image that some within
the UN still hold of NATO as a ‘Cold War military machine’ (Harsch and
Varwick 2009: 5). Scepticism appears to be strongest within the UN’s
humanitarian agencies which insist that the military should respect
the ‘humanitarian space’. But this applies also to the General Assembly
where major troop contributing countries from the non-OECD world
perceive NATO as a Western club of former colonial powers still med-
dling in their internal affairs, while at the same time hardly contributing
to UN-implemented operations. Some non-OECD representatives even
suspect that NATO’s increasingly global reach might marginalize or even
supersede the UN (Smith-Windsor 2011).
Depending on the individual characters, personal relations between
the two Secretaries General have contributed to both alleviating and
aggravating frictions (Kille and Hendrickson 2011). The ‘accommodat-
ing personalities’ of Annan and Solana helped to mitigate the severe
crisis on Kosovo (Kaplan 2010: 167). Before the intervention, Annan’s
‘tacit approval’ of NATO’s coercive strategy allowed them to closely
orchestrate their organizations. During the Kosovo intervention, Annan
refrained from publicly criticizing NATO, and Solana closely coordi-
nated with him his conflict resolution diplomacy. Afterwards, the UN
Security Council’s lead role had been re-affirmed by the Alliance (Kille
and Hendrickson 2010: 518). This stands in contrast to the enormously
strained relations between Boutros-Ghali and Wörner as well as Claes
(Kaplan 2010: 143, 162).
Due to the above complications, the institutionalization of the
NATO–UN dyad remains limited. Day-to-day ties are dense indeed
since interaction is essential for both periodic legal authorization of
NATO operations and the success of parallel missions on the ground.
However, due to the critical voices in both organizations, the two
are confined to low-key collaboration which remains ad hoc, rather
informal and largely a function of individual personalities.
Overall, we can observe a pattern of NATO courting the UN to better
structure contacts while the UN responds to such offers only hesi-
tantly. For instance, the 2008 Joint Declaration on UN/NATO Secretariat
Cooperation was pushed by NATO. It had been negotiated between
the two Secretariats in order to bypass both the General Assembly and
the Security Council. Negotiations endured for three years. For face-
saving reasons, the UN waited until similar agreements were signed
with the EU, the AU, and ASEAN. Eventually, a ‘quiet signing’ occurred.
Still, the document was called ‘illegal’ by a Russia that tried to under-
mine the NATO–UN rapprochement (Harsch and Varwick 2009: 9).
Joint Declarations on UN/CSTO and UN/SCO Secretariat Cooperation

followed suit. The UN/NATO declaration, which is devoid of much
substance, hardly improved relations between the two organizations.
Permanent liaison arrangements between the two headquarters are
minimal (Kille and Hendrickson 2011; Smith-Windsor 2011). Until
2010, there was only one NATO liaison officer serving intermittently at
the UN’s Department of Peacekeeping Operations interfacing with the
entire UN system. Then a civilian liaison officer was added. NATO has
not even been granted an observer status within the General Assembly,
as is the case with both the CSTO and the SCO. Vice versa, only the
UN Office of Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) manned
a liaison since 1999 at NATO. Yet, it has been downgraded in 2007
to an office responsible for relations with all organizations residing in
Brussels. Contrast this with the EU which has concluded two substan-
tial framework agreements with the UN as well as multiple agreements
with UN agencies. There are also biennial high-level meetings between
the EU Council President and the UN Secretary General and well-
staffed EU Delegations in New York, Geneva, Nairobi, Paris, Rome, and
Vienna.
Conclusion
This chapter has investigated the size of NATO’s organization-set and

the depth of cooperation with individual partners, in particular with
the OSCE and the UN. I ascertained that NATO’s set of partner orga-
nizations is rather limited. Surely, internationalization has taken place:
NATO is embedded within an increasingly global network of interacting
security institutions. However, the process is slow, cautious, and riddled
with setbacks. The Alliance is still a rather self-contained organization
which attempts to retain a high degree of autonomy. These limits to
internationalization correspond with member-state interests to remain
in control of interorganizational affairs.6
The two structural variables posed in the theoretical framework
(amount of institutional overlap and the issue-area concerned) explain
much of this reality. NATO as a single-purpose organization focusing
largely on military security has only a small number of IOs working
in the same field, even though the complex nature of crisis man-
agement necessitates some coordination with partners specialized in
adjacent tasks. Furthermore, the ‘high politics’ nature of NATO seri-
ously impedes information-sharing and limits the discretion of NATO’s
bureaucracy.
Rafael Biermann 229
However, I showed that two other factors impact on the size of

organization-sets: images and legitimacy. As to images, initially I
assumed that NATO should be a highly attractive partner due to its
unique resource base. However, attractiveness depends on image. Images
build on predispositions stemming from organizational cultures and
associated feelings of affinity or otherness. NATO is needed, but not
loved. IOs with a soft power attitude that favour a distinctly civilian
approach to security tend to keep the Alliance at a distance. As to
legitimacy, IOs obviously avoid cooperating with partners they deem
illegitimate, as NATO’s dissociation from CSTO and SCO indicates.
Overall, NATO is a difficult partner, and this is probably inevitable
due to the structural parameters. Relations with all the major part-
ners, including the EU and the AU, are strained.7 However, three trends
will help to expand NATO’s geographic and functional scope and thus
broaden the number of potential partners: NATO’s increasingly global
reach; its growing, though controversial profile in civil reconstruc-
tion; and its preoccupation with new security risks such as energy or
cyberspace.
As to the depth of cooperation, the case studies on NATO’s cooper-
ation with the OSCE and the UN demonstrate the explanatory power
of resource dependence theory. The mutual profitability of resource
exchange stimulated cooperation in 1992. In both cases, NATO offered
its tangible hard security resources which turned out to be indispens-
able and irreplaceable. The Alliance, on the other hand, gained access
mainly to intangible soft security resources, especially legitimacy and
reputation.
In principle, this exchange formula remains valid until today. How-
ever, the vector of subsequent relations stands in marked contrast:
NATO–UN relations collapsed with the first major project, the dual-key
arrangements, received another blow over Kosovo, recovered there-
after, and are currently cautiously on the rise. NATO–OSCE relations
intensified until Kosovo and have since lost momentum.
With regard to the factors that discourage cooperation, resource
dependence predictions do play a crucial role. The major obstacle in
NATO–OSCE relations is increasing asymmetry, that is the widening gulf
between the resource base and standing of both organizations. Cooper-
ation worked best when resource needs were reciprocal and cooperation
balanced. Once NATO had re-established itself in post-Cold War secu-
rity governance and the OSCE began to decline, complementarity broke
down. The reservations of pivotal member states against substantial
NATO–OSCE cooperation drove this process. Autonomy concerns are
a second, though subordinate factor which largely follows asymmetry.

The more unequal the partnership became, the more it inspired OSCE
complaints about duplication and marginalization.
NATO–UN relations resemble more closely what Pfeffer and Salancik
(2003: 41) call ‘symbiotic interdependence’, which is a positive-sum
relationship of mutually profitable resource exchange. Both partners
need one another, and this explains why cooperation commenced
time and again after serious setbacks. The interplay of asymmetry
and autonomy is more subtle in this case. It is the UN’s claim of
primacy, put into doubt by the UN’s own resource shortcomings,
and NATO’s unwillingness to subordinate, which drives both apart.
The result is a permanent conflict over authority, with the UN try-
ing to assert control and NATO trying to escape dependence. The
major instruments NATO employs are its readiness to sideline Secu-
rity Council mandates, its refusal to be categorized as a regional
organization under the UN Charter, its insistence on a separate
chain of command as well as its habits of hijacking Security Coun-
cil mandates, bypassing UN missions and irregular reporting to the
Security Council. The pending authority issue leaves the relation-
ship prone to disruption, in particular if joint decision-making is at
stake.
However, resource dependence can be alleviated or compounded by
images and interpersonal relations. Images influence not only the size of
an organization-set, but also the depth of cooperation with individual
partners. They are shaped by experiences of cooperation and conflict.
In NATO–UN relations, the recurrent conflicts spurred intense stereo-
typing. They multiplied the reservations against NATO’s hard power
approach harboured within the UN. The quality of interpersonal rela-
tions on the executive-head level was another intervening variable, at
times stimulating, at others undermining cooperation.
Future research should focus on studying further dyads of NATO’s
organization-set, in particular NATO’s relations with the African Union.
Much has been written on the ‘frozen conflict’ between NATO and
the EU, but little attention has been paid to testing resource depen-
dence. On NATO–AU relations, empirical research is even almost
non-existent (but see Schjodt 2010). Relations with the wider cir-
cle organizations, such as the International Conference on Former
Yugoslavia, are not yet academically studied. A comparison of NATO’s
relations with non-governmental organizations focusing on resource
dependence could offer an explanation for the comparably limited
public–private partnerships NATO entertains (Jacobson 2008; Mayer
2008).
Rafael Biermann 231
Notes
1. In this article, I follow the editor’s understanding of IOs as international
governmental organizations, even though some recent historical research sub-
sumes both governmental and nongovernmental organizations under that
term (see, for example, Reinalda 2009: 5).
2. Thus, NATO has direct links with the EU by meeting regularly at headquar-
ters and field levels. It has indirect links with many other IOs via the joint
participation in multilateral fora, such as with the European Bank for Recon-
struction and Development and the International Monetary Fund with which
NATO officials meet within the Peace Implementation Council in Bosnia.
3. According to one interview partner, the UN is ‘partner number one, followed
by a large gap, then the EU’, which is ‘still struggling internally’.
4. NATO concluded a MoU with the ICTY to organize arrest and transferal of
suspected war criminals by the NATO forces in Bosnia and coordinated closely
with the UNHCR during the Kosovo crisis.
5. The CSTO is the Russia-inspired alliance in the post-Soviet space, the CSO an
alliance in Central Asia organized by China and Russia.
6. It might be for this reason that within NATO, in contrast to other IOs, there
is no office dedicated to coordinate partnering. Day-to-day cooperation spans
multiple departments according to functional needs, without strategic direc-
tion and central oversight; interviews of the author in Brussels, Feburary
2011.
7. The AU has sharply criticized the NATO air campaign in Libya as ‘arrogant and
provocative’; see African Union Statement on the NATO Invasion of Libya,
22 June 2011, http://www.normangirvan.info/au-statement-libya-un/.
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13
In the Line of Fire: NATO–NGO
Relations from Bosnia
to Afghanistan
M. J. Williams
With the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, the subsequent dissolution
of the Warsaw Pact, and collapse of the Soviet Union, some theorists
expected that the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) would no
longer be necessary, resulting in the dissolution of the Alliance and a
return to power politics among the former NATO allies (Mearsheimer
1990). Such predictions proved not only wrong, in that NATO con-
tinued to exist, they also failed to appreciate the extent to which the
Alliance would be utilized in the 1990s and 2000s (see Flockhart, this
volume). NATO’s new operations, however, are exceedingly different
from the previous, defensively ordered mandate. Rather than con-
fronting state-based threats via the concept of traditional and nuclear
deterrence, NATO today must proactively engage in conflict and crisis
management.
NATO forces can win a military conflict and can attempt to impose
a peace and provide a basis for security in ‘post-conflict’ operations.
But the Alliance cannot ‘win’ these conflicts in any comprehensive
fashion that factors in a much broader plan of engagement to address
poor economies, low development, and impoverished societies (Bain
2003; Caplan 2005; Chesterman 2004; del Castillo 2008; Ignatieff 2003;
Paris 2004; Wilde 2008; Williams 2011b). Such cases necessitate the
involvement of NATO with a variety of institutions, including interna-
tional organizations (IOs) and non-governmental organizations (NGOs)
that provide a variety of development and humanitarian relief services
(Williams 2011c). This is part of a wider trend within international
relations for government and non-governmental organizations to work
234
M. J. Williams 235
together.1 This is also captured in the notion of internationalization as

understood in this volume.
Since Rafael Bierman explores the NATO–IO relationship in this edited
collection, the focus of this chapter are the particular challenges of
NATO–NGO relations. After a quarter century of conflict interventions,
the latter remain as problematic as relations with other IOs. This chapter
seeks to understand the nature of these problems, to look for avenues to
possibly overcome these challenges, and to provide an overview of how
involvement with NGOs has changed the way NATO operates.
This chapter concludes with the assessment that NATO has not been
deaf to the complaints of NGOs about NATO’s operating procedures dur-
ing interventions. In fact, a fair amount of responsibility for the poor
nature of NATO–NGO relations lies with NGOs – a diverse group, with
varied interests and little ‘responsibility’ vis-à-vis their donors, the com-
munities where they operate or to IOs. But structurally NATO remains
poorly suited to engage the NGO community and to allow it to proac-
tively engage NATO. Focusing on policy, rather than theory, this chapter
provides further support to the theoretical argument of Gheciu (2011)
that NATO and NGOs are engaged in a ‘competitive process’ to define
which entities are the ‘experts’ in state-building and stabilization.
If this process is viewed as zero-sum, then all involved will lose. But
if the organizations involved seek to address current problems, some
progress towards a more sustainable approach to NATO–NGO relations
in stabilization operations may be achieved.
Terms and structures: NGOs and NATO
Before moving into a historical review of the NATO–NGO relationship

since 1991, it is necessary to clarify a few terms and structures. In this
chapter, ‘military intervention’ refers to the application of military force
to a specific problem in a specific country, or possibly region. The term
‘humanitarian intervention’ is not used as the application of the word
‘humanitarian’ carries with it an attempt to impose some sort of nor-
mative legitimacy on an intervention. This, no matter the intentions
of the group undertaking the intervention, obfuscates analytically the
ability to study such operations. This chapter does not engage with the
debate on legitimacy of ‘humanitarian’ interventions, and thus in this
work the more analytically clear ‘intervention’ or ‘military intervention’
will be used.
NGOs are difficult to define. These groups may be religious, secu-
lar, professional, academic, trade based, sector based, gender based, etc.
In scope and size they may be international, regional, national, or local.

Accountability among NGOs varies; larger NGOs tend to be held to a
higher level of accountability than local ones. The goals of NGOs differ
widely from group to group, but two broad categories can be identified:
‘human rights’ NGOs, such as Amnesty International, which some-
times – though not always – have a multi-mandate; and ‘humanitarian’
NGOs, such as the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC),
which are by definition single-mandate organizations. While the former
propagate a specific value set, the latter exist solely to alleviate humani-
tarian emergencies.2 Yet, the line between the two categories has blurred
greatly with many multi-mandate organizations selling themselves as
impartial ‘humanitarian’ organizations when in fact they promote a
Western normative agenda.3
Within NATO’s strongly intergovernmental decision-making setting,
NGOs do not have access to the Alliance’s deliberations and cannot
attend North Atlantic Council (NAC) or Military Committee (MC) meet-
ings. They have no regular access to NATO’s headquarters to lobby, and
the Alliance provides no accreditation procedure for NGOs: there is no
office in Brussels to act as a standing liaison with the NGO commu-
nity (Mayer 2008). Since 1991, NGOs have been largely left out in the
cold as the Alliance has adapted from a defence alliance into a proac-
tive risk manager. Although this has changed somewhat, progress is still
lacking, which ultimately hinders NATO’s ability to achieve operational
goals. The root basis for many of the challenges is contention over the
legitimacy of NATO intervention.
As Bennet (2011), Sida (2005), and the IASC (2011) note, there is a
complicated narrative from the NGO community on issues of interna-
tional interventions in crisis situations. International law and norms do
recognize the ability of states to intervene in crisis situations. The propa-
gation of ‘The Responsibility to Protect’ (R2P) within the United Nations
has helped to codify the responsibility of states and IOs to intervene in
cases of gross human rights abuses and humanitarian crises (Paris 2012).
NGOs have often called for more attention to be paid to victims of con-
flict. While this does not equate to call for intervention, in some cases
NGOs have clearly argued for intervention. This has promoted critical
commentary on the role NGOs play in advancing the road to war by
some such as Connor Foley (2008). While the focus of this chapter is
not on the initial politics of intervention, it is important to preface a
study of NGO–NATO relations in various interventions over the last 20
years with this background as it is the starting point for many of the
operational challenges that NATO and NGO face working together in
M. J. Williams 237
the field. Over the last ten years in Afghanistan, NATO has received
scathing criticism from many NGOs. At the same time, the role that
some NGOs play in precipitating such interventions, and their lack of
accountability in doing so, is often hypocritically left to the side.
Early experiences in NATO–NGO relations:

Bosnia and Kosovo
From 1992 to 1995, fighting occurred between various groups in Bosnia

and Herzegovina (BiH) as a result of the disintegration of Yugoslavia.
The international community and the US were worried about the emerg-
ing humanitarian crisis. Numerous NGOs were engaged on the ground,
the most notable organizations being Medicines Sans Frontiers (MSF),
International Rescue Committee (IRC), Mercy Corps, and Catholic Relief
Services. The presence of the NGOs became increasingly important
in that they were the first line of defence against the emerging cri-
sis. Some also provided information to the US and various European
governments that was otherwise unavailable to national intelligence
services. US resources on the ground, including CIA, were sparse and
according to some reports, the NGO presence became the eyes and ears
of American policy-makers in Bosnia (de Mars 2005). This does not
mean that NGOs actively provided intelligence to policy-makers. Rather,
NGO reports shaped perceptions of the crisis unfolding on the ground.
The implementation of the 1995 Dayton agreement saw the creation
of the NATO-led Implementation Force (IFOR) mission as well as mil-
lions of dollars of assistance for humanitarian and development tasks.
The result, according to a study by Irvine and Halterman (2012), was a
massive proliferation of NGOs operating in Bosnia with mixed results.
As the military took over responsibility for the ‘mission’ in Bosnia,
the role of NGOs began to change. Firstly, the proliferation of NGOs on
the ground meant that they were now competing with one and other
for funding. This led to splits within the NGO community to maintain
proprietary interests in Bosnia. The ‘plan’ for NGO–military cooperation
was based on previous operations in places such as Somalia, but to call
it a ‘strategy’ would be over-egging the pudding. NATO provided infor-
mation sessions on the security environment to NGOs, but they were
not taken into account in terms of operational planning. In fact, the
NATO–NGO relationship was based on NATO ‘informing’ NGOs rather
than consulting them. The military command and control structure did
not provide an appropriate ‘plug-in’ for NGOs to interact with the mili-
tary. Once Dayton was implemented, NGOs shifted from designing and
implementing their own programmers to applying programmes devel-

oped by USAID in Washington. The result was that NGOs went from
being their own institutions to, in the words of Fawcett and Tanner
(2000) being ‘coordinated contractors’. This upset existing long-term
NGO development programmes in BiH in favour of projects driven by
short- and medium-term international political–military objectives. Fur-
thermore, the myriad layers of institutions, with different intuitional
priorities and drivers made the international approach to Bosnia scat-
tered at best (Williams 2011b). The NGOs that were present before the
war, and would remain long after, were largely sidelined.
Similar to Bosnia, prior to the NATO bombing campaign in 1999,
there was sustained, if limited NGO involvement in Kosovo. The few
organizations that the Belgrade government invited to become active in
Kosovo were large, international NGOs. They included the IRC, Mercy
Corps, Catholic Relief Services, and Doctors of the World. The burden
and oversight of NGOs during this period was low. They implemented
their own agendas, in line with the wider goals of their financial spon-
sors in the US and Europe. In this phase of the conflict, the NGOs on
the ground continued to be superior to US or European governments in
their ability to understand the territory, belligerent movements, infor-
mation collection, and logistical capability (Rieff 2000; Stoddard et al.
2006). Their reporting on the situation on the ground played a role in
developing a pro-intervention sentiment in the US and Europe.
After the cessation of NATO’s bombing campaign in the first half of
1999 and the removal of the oppressive government in Belgrade, the
floodgates for development were opened. Prior to NATO involvement,
11 NGOs operated in Kosovo. Following the start of the Kosovo Force
(KFOR) operation, there were over 400 NGOs in Kosovo by the start of
2000 (Currion 2010). Observers took to calling many of these organiza-
tions that flooded into Kosovo after the NATO war as ‘briefcase NGOs’
(Fowler 1997). They essentially were just start-ups in the region chasing
readily available money from North American and European donors.
The proliferation of NGOs on the ground was facilitated, according to
Currion, because ‘Kosovo was small and secure, making it significantly
easier for INGOs [international NGOs] to develop their work’ (Irvine and
Halterman 2012: 37).
The role of NGOs evolved from being original sources for develop-
ment and information on the country to being contractors for Western
governments. Organizations were forced to compete for bids offered
by governments, thereby compelling them to renounce their own
programmes in favour of the funder’s priority.
M. J. Williams 239
The cases of Bosnia and Kosovo offer us some critical insights into
NATO–NGO relationships in the 1990s, foreshadowing problems that
would reoccur in Afghanistan, as well as areas for cooperation and
coordination. In both Bosnia and Kosovo, NGOs were on the ground
and operating in both theatres long before the military intervention
occurred. And many NGOs stayed on long after the primary focus
of NATO and Western governments shifted elsewhere. This continu-
ity of involvement is important and highlights why NATO should
work closely with NGOs. Firstly, NGOs often know far more about the
local politics and lay of the land then external military forces. Sec-
ondly, NGOs know what development projects are needed, where they
are needed and how to work with the local population. Thirdly, the
NGOs have a long-term programmatic agenda rather than a short- or
medium-term approach, often driven by Western democratic politics.
Conceptual and structural changes in the ISAF operation in

Afghanistan
Due to the rather aggressive policies of the George W. Bush Adminis-

tration, the Afghanistan International Security Assistance Force (ISAF)
operation was far more politically polarized than NATO’s previous oper-
ations in the Balkans (Rhodes 2004). In contrast to the Balkans missions,
in Afghanistan the political conflict in the country was never resolved
(Barakat 2002) before the start of the ‘reconstruction’ mission. As such,
NATO and NGOs are essentially ‘at war’ together in Afghanistan – much
to the dismay of all involved. At times over the last ten years, it has even
seemed that NATO and the NGOs were at war with each other.
A number of NGOs had been operating in Afghanistan to some
degree before the ouster of the Taliban, although their activities were
often extremely curtailed by the Taliban government (Marsdan 2003).
NATO officials realized after starting their engagement in 2003 that
they would also need to focus on development rather than just military
operations to succeed in Afghanistan. NATO policy-makers concluded
that to ‘win’ in Afghanistan they had to implement a development
agenda alongside their military operation. This marked a major depar-
ture from previous operations in Bosnia and Kosovo. No organization,
including NATO, had taken on such a massive social, economic, and
security project as was being proposed. NATO, as a military alliance,
was not prepared for such a wide mission scope. To alleviate the lack
of civilian capacity within the allied governments and the coordination
problems with civilian organizations outside NATO, the Alliance began
to develop its own thinking on crisis management and state-building.

This was labelled the ‘comprehensive approach’ (CA). Its aim is to link
up development and reconstruction with military effect. It would end
up being the first step in an ever-growing militarization of development.
The CA within NATO developed out of the Concerted Planning and
Action (CPA) initiative, pushed into Alliance discussions by Denmark
in 2004. The CPA initiative actually grew out of the experiences of the
1990s and early 2000s. NATO allies began to recognize that a shared
understanding of complex stabilization missions and the collaboration
necessary to resolve them were lacking at the tactical level. These short-
falls needed to be addressed not only at the operational level, however,
but also at the strategic level with NATO and across national govern-
ments. In essence, this was not simply a NATO issue. In fact, it was
a national issue with each government needing to better sync-up the
three aspects of state power as employed by various ministries of state:
economic, military, and diplomatic power. The use of development and
(re)construction to further military objectives was not unique to the
1990s, however. It was part of a long-term trend with roots back to the
French in Algeria and the US in Vietnam. The idea behind CPA is not
necessarily to create new capabilities, but rather to fully exploit existing
capacity for the missions at hand.
The British based their interpretation of the CA on four major pillars:
(1) proactive cross-government approach, (2) shared understanding,
(3) outcome-based thinking, and (4) collaborative working. In other
words, government’s ministries should be forward-thinking, anticipat-
ing crises and working together to alleviate them (Joint Discussion Note
2006). Planning should embody a shared understanding of the issue at
hand, framed of course within the cultures of their ministry. Outcome-
based thinking oriented towards headline government objectives is
ideally the main focus of each pillar engaged in the cross-government
CA. This approach must be reinforced by familiarity, trust, and trans-
parency across government, providing better connectivity between and
within government ministries. This process at the national level should
be transcribed to the international level with each organization working
to achieve the headline goals of an internationally mandated operation,
such as the implementation of the Bonn Agreement in Afghanistan.
The reality of the CA has not been as efficient as the theory behind
it (Williams 2011a). Although development and reconstruction are sup-
posedly integral to the concept, the overriding objectives of the CA are
primarily military in nature. Force protection and the advancement of
the military goals remain the key objectives.
M. J. Williams 241
From concept to action: The Provincial

Reconstruction Teams
The military dominance of the operations in Afghanistan is illus-

trated well in NATO’s efforts to instrumentalize the nascent CA in
Afghanistan – the Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT). The PRT fol-
lowed on from ad hoc civil–military enterprises such as the Combined
Joint Civil Military Operations Task Force created during the invasion of
Afghanistan in 2001 (Oliker 2001). PRTs are small, joint civil–military
cells used to expand legitimate governance across Afghanistan and
enhancing security through security-sector reform and reconstruction
efforts. PRTs were meant to fill the ‘security-development dilemma’:
how to promote development when security was needed, but secu-
rity was seen as facilitated through development; that is ‘winning
hearts and minds’ of the people so as to undermine support for
insurgents.
Essentially, the problem was that there could be no development
without security. But there would also be little long-term security if
development did not follow soon after ‘peace’ was established. The PRT
was conceptualized a way to bring development capabilities to semi-
permissive, that are relatively unstable and insecure, areas. In reality, it
was making the best of a situation where there were too few deployed
military forces (Jones 2008). After a period of informal development, the
PRT approach was formalized in the PRT Working Principles Document
published in February 2003. It was there that the primary objectives of
the PRT – security, reconstruction, and central government support –
were codified. By October 2004, the US and other NATO allies had
established approximately 19 PRTs in Afghanistan.
PRTs vary in size and composition from nation to nation. By 2010,
it was possible to identify three dominant PRT models in Afghanistan.
The ‘American model’ is comprised of around 80 personnel, three to five
of whom are civilians. A military commander who focuses on deliver-
ing ‘quick impact projects’ in hostile areas leads the team. The ‘British
model’ has a higher percentage of civilians, roughly 30 out of 100 per-
sonnel, and a civilian leads the group. The emphasis is not on doing, but
teaching: local capacity-building in short. The British PRTs also operate
in hostile environments. The third model is the German. Their PRTs
tend to be very large, around 400 personnel with about 20 of them civil-
ians. The German PRTs are run by joint command (one civilian and
one military) with a focus on long-term development strategies. They
operate in permissive environments.
The civilian side of a PRT generally includes political advisors and

development specialists. A PRT usually has a headquarters, a civil–
military relations team, as well as engineers, security, a medical team,
linguists, military observer teams, and interpreters. PRTs are not meant
to be offensive in nature. They are intended for reconstruction and
development, not heavy combat. Moreover, the presence of civilians
complicates any combat efforts as they must be protected and sheltered
by the military due to duty of care issues. A PRT in a hostile zone will
not be effective inasmuch as its civilian component will be unable to
operate. PRTs can differ radically from one another. And while they are
all supposedly working towards a common objective, those run by civil-
ians are answerable to their home country, not the ISAF command or
the NATO leadership. Thus, domestic political constraints greatly impact
PRT operational priorities and the ‘rules of engagement’ on the ground.
The lack of PRT uniformity has resulted not least in uneven efforts
throughout Afghanistan.
Flexibility was considered a key factor for PRT success. But, as Michael
McNerney (2006) illustrated, it also set up PRTs to be all things to all
people. Frankly, they were not as effective as they could have been
had their mission and roles been more precisely defined. In addition to
intergovernmental cooperation problems, the PRTs also suffered from
external relations issues and have been heavily criticized on various
fronts (Jakobsen 2005; Save the Children 2004; Sky 2007). The criticism
from humanitarian organizations is essentially that the assistance pro-
vided by PRTs can blur the differences between humanitarian NGOs and
military forces in the eyes of Afghans. The very nature of PRTs, argue
the critics, ‘militarizes’ assistance. Humanitarian aid workers do not
believe that military assistance should be called humanitarian, and they
also have problems with the idea of ‘coordinating’ with the military.
Although they are open to de-conflicting and to communication and
intelligence-sharing, humanitarian aid workers repeatedly state their
independence from the military mission. Some of the most strident
critics argue that the military makes it less, rather than more, feasible
for civilians to work in a conflict zone as it becomes more difficult to
establish the necessary trust.
Although civilian agents were increasingly targeted by the insurgency
as the ISAF military mission (and PRTs) expanded across the country,
it is impossible to make a cause and effect connection between the
expansion and attacks on civilians. Nonetheless, the fact that the PRTs
actually engage in development activities, rather than simply provide
a secure environment, does mark a significant turning point in the
M. J. Williams 243
implementation of stabilization missions. Things had been very differ-

ent in the Balkans, for example. And there are, in fact, solid grounds for
concerns about PRTs. PRTs constitute one-third of the military engage-
ment in Afghanistan. The other two forms of engagement are of course
Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF) and ISAF. Thus, there is plenty of
room for confusion among the local population as to the differences
between PRTs, OEF, and ISAF. And because PRTs look rather civilian, the
division between them and NGOs can easily blur, with dangerous con-
sequences for aid workers confused for soldiers by hostile civilians or
insurgents.
NGOs respond to NATO operations
Developing the CA and implementing the PRTs was a response within

NATO to the challenges in Afghanistan and was partially based on
lessons learned in Bosnia and Kosovo. NATO wanted to avoid some
of the challenges of command and control in managing civil–military
actions on the ground. Given that NGOs could not be subordinated
to military control, the PRT supposedly provided an answer to this
dilemma incorporating military, diplomatic, and development assets
for allied governments into one joint body. But this did not remove
coordination challenges. Since PRTs were nationally run, they fol-
lowed national priorities making cross-alliance priority and strategy
setting difficult. Once again, however, NATO was only one cog in a
much larger machinery of Afghan reconstruction. As in Bosnia and
Kosovo, a massive bureaucratic international administration(s) moved
into Afghanistan. Actors on the ground included the United Nations
Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA), a plethora of UN agencies,
European Union Commission Office, European Special Representative,
not to mention within NATO the military-led ISAF as well as the
NATO Senior Civilian Representative (SCR).
Of course a variety of NGOs are present as well. NATO set out to
engage with NGOs, clearly stating that ‘military actors have become
increasingly involved in operations other than war’. Some NGOs had
long-standing operations in Afghanistan, some followed the flow of
global donor dollars to Afghanistan following the 2001 removal of the
Taliban. Complicating matters further, Afghanistan saw a proliferation
of Private Military Companies assuming some responsibility for ‘secu-
rity’ in various ways on the ground in Afghanistan. All of these inputs
naturally overloaded the weak structures of the Afghan government and
provided a complex network of actors for NGOs to engage. None of this
was conducive to successful cooperative relations between NATO and

NGOs (to say, nothing of inter-organizational rivalry between the UN,
NATO, EU, and so on was prolific and highly problematic).
NATO’s implementation of PRTs supposedly provided it with an ‘in-
house’ development capacity under its command and control. The PRTs
engaged not just in security operations, but also development opera-
tions. Not only did PRTs pursue development tasks, they also apparently
appropriate NGO protocols such as driving around in unmarked white
vehicles – generally a sign of unarmed humanitarian workers (Jaeger
2007; Pugliese 2009). The ‘militarization’ of development in this fash-
ion was strongly resisted by NGOs. At the NATO summit in 2009, ten
NGOs delivered an open statement on the situation. In this chapter,
it was clearly stated that the NGOs were not simply concerned about
particular actions of specific PRTs, but the modus operandi of the
PRTs relative to stabilization operations in Afghanistan (Stopes 2009).
The NGOs argued that NATO was actually violating the Civil-Military
Guidelines, adopted in 2008 under UN auspices. NATO’s approach to
development was slapdash and would not hold out in the long term.
The obsession with ‘quick-impact’ projects was senseless and did not
contribute to longer-term development goals. Conflating military goals
with development objectives continued, according to one NGO to poor
performance in both sectors (Jakobson 2012: 88). Competency and com-
mand were problems within NATO civil–military structures as much as
it was between NATO and outside NGOs. It is difficult to expect NATO to
get to grips with NGO interaction when at the national level and NATO
level there are differing views on command and control.
The case of the UK insertion into Helmand in 2006 is illustrative of
many of the problems that arise from civil–military relations. Planning
for the UK deployment occurred in late 2005. It was supposedly the first
joint planning done across the UK government, including the UK Min-
istry of Defence, Foreign Office, and the Department for International
Development. The process was facilitated by the then Post-Conflict
Reconstruction Unit (PCRU), now called the Stabilization Unit (SU).
Although the UK’s 16th Air Assault Brigade under the command of
Brigadier Ed Butler was to implement the plan, the brigadier did not
feel the plan went into sufficient military depth to be sufficient. Hence,
he undertook his own planning, which he then implemented when
deployed. There was supposed to be a double command with a civilian
and the brigadier, but this never materialized. What was supposed to be
a 36-hour insertion operation turned into a multi-day operation with
platoon houses spread out over an amazing distance. The military then
M. J. Williams 245
called on the civilians to come in and do development. But the mission

had gone so off the civilian planning and so far across the Afghan land-
scape of Helmand that the civilians could not put resources in place to
‘stabilize’ the area ‘won’ by 16th air assault. In many cases, UK forces
would end up pulling back, only to have to fight to regain the territory
at a later date (Williams 2011b: 113).
Beyond the problems within national deployments, the responsibility
for the mission was no much helped by the two different operations on
the ground in Afghanistan – ISAF and OEF. Although this operation was
outside the ISAF chain of command, negative fallout from OEF opera-
tions gone poorly (particularly civilian casualties) affected NATO and,
of course, helped to poison the environment within which NGOs had
to operate. NATO had no control and was often unaware of what was
happening within OEF, making it difficult for them to anticipate prob-
lems and diffuse issues arising from OEF operations. All of these factors
contributed to what Peter Viggo Jakobson (2012) called a ‘vicious cir-
cle’: NGOs were put off by an inability to engage with NATO (and other
IOs in theatre). The multi-pillar structure of the mission, made it dif-
ficult to find the right partner for NGOs to work with. Furthermore,
NGO concerns over NATO’s quick impact projects and other develop-
ment activities undertake in the name of military security made them
sceptical about engaging a partner when one could be identified within
NATO. The result was that NGOs pulled out of my development oper-
ations they had underway in Afghanistan. NATO, rather than engaging
partners, was left alone to pick up the slack with too few troops and not
enough development expertise among civilian staffers.
Lessons to learn?
Throughout NATO’s three most recent operations (Bosnia, Kosovo,

and Afghanistan), a clear trajectory of NATO–NGO relations can be
identified. Building on the experience in Bosnia, NATO instituted
liaison officers to manage relations between KFOR and NGOs. Rela-
tionships also improved in Kosovo partially because of the familiar-
ity between NATO officials and NGOs that had previously worked
together in Bosnia. To further this trend, NATO began to invite civilian
NGO employees to the NATO Defense College in Rome to participate in
seminars and courses. This helped to foster better cooperation at the per-
sonal level, but problems remained at the institutional level. Culturally,
militaries are hierarchical organizations based on the chain of command
and respect for authority. This culture runs directly against the culture of
most, if not all, NGOs. Thus, institutional changes are required if NGOs
and NATO are to work better together.
Setting realistic objectives, and not pursuing social transformation,
will most likely make it easier to manage NATO–NGO relations. Despite
the fact that Bosnia and Kosovo were not ‘hot’ stabilization missions,
they are both still wracked with problems. Some commentators believe
that Bosnia is an outright failure (see Schindler 2012). If the situations in
Bosnia and Kosovo remain difficult, what hope is there in Afghanistan
where the conflict has been put to the side rather than resolved?
Structurally, a number of changes could occur to improve NATO–NGO
relations. A major improvement for the quality of operations in general
would be longer service terms in theatre. In interventions, the military
commander of the NATO mission should serve for three years. Also,
the Senior Civilian Representative and the Military Commander should
both serve at the pleasure of an International High Commissioner (IHC)
who is ultimately in command of the entire stabilization operation.
The trend, especially in the US, to stop politics when conflict begins
and allow the military total digression to run the operation is a recipe
for failure as evident in Afghanistan. The apolitical culture of Western
approaches to such conflicts must be adjusted.
To propagate longer-term NATO–NGO relations, NATO should insti-
tute a standing committee on NATO–NGO relations. This committee
should meet four times per year and would aim to develop a stronger
understanding of the participatory organizations among the members.
The idea is to create synergy from NATO’s quick impact against the
more medium- and long-term projects of the NGOs. All international
aid should be placed into a ‘national trust fund’ that is administered
by the International Commissioner in conjunction with the host gov-
ernment. Currently, funds in Afghanistan are placed in such a fund,
but the money is still dominated by donor priorities. Ideally, projects
should come from the host government and be given out by the host
government pending approval and audit by the commissioner’s office.
This will provide one contact point for NGOs seeking financial assis-
tance for ongoing missions. This would represent one stream of NGO
funding – tender-specific funding. NGOs could of course recruit money
from outside of theatre and should continue to receive normal operat-
ing donations for supporting nations regardless of specific tenders in a
target country.
Specifically, multi-mandate organizations that institute human rights
agendas as well as humanitarian aid need to recognize that they are
delivering a normative agenda that hostile actors in combat zones most
M. J. Williams 247
likely oppose, thus making them targets. NGOs never bother to offer
evidence of how many workers are in Afghanistan, what projects they
are providing, and about the increase in the number of aid workers since
2001. They also do not address the major progress made on a number
of humanitarian issues. It is also not acceptable for NGOs to pretend
that they are not partial in their programming or that in many ways life
in Afghanistan for many has improved (Krähenbühl 2012). NATO can
do much to improve its interaction and approach to NGOs. But the
latter need to also consider their role in interventions, the real purpose
of their missions, and the reality of ‘human rights’ and ‘humanitarian’
operations in the zones where they operate.
Conclusion
NATO and NGOs are both competing to be service providers for ‘sta-
bilization’ operations. Currently, this competition is natural, but the
conflict between NATO and NGOs does little to further the human-
itarian response. Structural problems will not change overnight, but
there are improvements that could be made to overcome the current
problems.
Ultimately, NATO and NGOs have very different missions. Work-
ing side-by-side will remain difficult, but it is something both NATO
and the NGO community must continue to discuss. Difficult, how-
ever, does not mean that cooperation is impossible. But ‘cooperation’
(rather than ‘integration’, ‘subordination’, or ‘co-option’) is the opera-
tive word. This will require NATO not only to just be more transparent,
but also to create genuine structures to engage NGOs and to allow them
to engage NATO at the strategic and operational level. NGOs for their
part must be more honest about the role they play in current opera-
tions. They must endeavour to work together rather than against each
other. They must also carefully delineate what they do and do not do
and adhere to those policies. Like it or not future security challenges
will continue to force NATO and NGOs to operate in the same theatres.
Changing the relationship requires both sides to be introspective and
engaging.
As NATO becomes a more globalized and internationalized actor, it
will increasingly need to deal with an array of other actors to address
complex security issues. Although the Alliance’s missions have changed
greatly from the Cold War, the institution has adapted relatively little
to the new strategic environment. This must change if the Alliance is to
prosper with an ever more internationalized mandate.
Notes
1. On this issue, see United Nations Resolution 1244 (1999), S/RES/1244, 10 June
1999 (on Kosovo) as well as the 2008 Guidelines for the Interaction of Human-
itarian Actors and Military Actors in Afghanistan available here: http://www.
afgana.org/showart.php?id=323&rubrica=223.
2. They deliver assistance impartial to combatants and the views of those
they are helping (which is in accordance with the 1994 Red Cross Code of
Conduct).
3. As noble as the goal of woman’s literacy might be for example, there is no
getting away from the fact that this is a human rights issue derived from a
Western normative agenda and not a humanitarian issue.
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14
Partners versus Members? NATO as
an Arena for Coalitions
In this chapter, I discuss the importance of burden-sharing partnerships

with NATO as a development that is, as I argue, symptomatic of the
evolution of the Alliance into becoming an arena or platform for coali-
tions of the ‘willing and able’. After the end of the Cold War, we live
in an era where armed attacks against one or several Alliance mem-
bers, obliging others to respond immediately (although not necessarily
by military means), have become rare and unlikely. As a result, the
organization has increasingly turned into a ‘two-tiered’ or ‘multi-tiered’
alliance. Current operations are mostly Article 4 and hence, unlike
Article 5 cases, voluntary. This implies that partners, as well as members,
may contribute. Moreover, few members seem to be willing and able
to make a contribution,1 something that inter alia the Libya operation
has shown – only eight allies were actually willing to contribute combat
capabilities. In other operations, like ISAF, all members contribute, but
only a few with risk-willing capabilities. All ‘show the flag’, but few are
willing and able to contribute to sharp operations that require top skill
and risk-willingness.
In NATO’s currently valid Strategic Concept, the necessity for a part-
nership policy is visibly highlighted: ‘The promotion of Euro-Atlantic
security is best assured through a wide network of partner relations with
countries and organizations around the globe. These partnerships make
a concrete and valued contribution to the success of NATO’s fundamen-
tal tasks’ (NATO 2010). The section continues to underline how flexible
NATO will be in the time ahead: ‘We will enhance our partnerships
through flexible formats that bring NATO and partners together – across
and beyond existing frameworks’ (NATO 2010). NATO is also prepared
to give partners in operations a ‘structural role in shaping strategy and
251
decisions on NATO-led missions to which they contribute’ (NATO 2010,

my emphasis).
These are interesting new thoughts about coalition warfare. NATO
clearly requires military contributions from its partners, but the same is
true the other way round: in return for their contributions to operations,
partner governments obtain political influence (Edstrøm et al. 2011).
The latter is what is ‘offered’ for the first time in a Strategic Concept in
the quotation above. From the perspective of the US, such a partner-
ship policy has been a reality for quite some time. The extensive policy
of partnerships is a new way of ensuring political and military strength
(Kay 2011). In many ways, NATO seems to be introducing the same kind
of partnership policy – the willing and able can contribute to operations,
whereas members of the Alliance can opt out, as they are entitled to. A
vivid illustration of this on the political level was Germany’s absten-
tion on the UNSC resolution on Libya (res. 73/11) along with, inter
alia, Russia and China. Although the Libya operation only became a
NATO operation after five days, it is nonetheless illustrative of the cur-
rent degree of a lack of common strategic vision in NATO that a major
member did not agree with other close allies in this case. In short, in
NATO there is very great variety in politico-strategic thinking today, to
the extent that there is hardly anything in common beyond Article 5,
and operations reflect this fact.
NATO has come to rely on partners. In ISAF, partners like Australia
played key roles in the war-fighting in the South of Afghanistan.
The partners that bring substantial military capabilities and economic
resources to the table clearly benefit the Alliance. Partners themselves
achieve NATO interoperability and close ties at the operational and tacti-
cal level, and manage to transcend their neutral stances at home, in their
domestic debates, as in the cases of Sweden and Finland, two prominent
NATO partners. Neutrality as a policy is almost an ‘untouchable’ in these
countries. But the ability of partnering with NATO has enabled them to
redefine neutrality to allow for participation in sharp operations abroad.
Thus, there are benefits for NATO as well as for partners.
Partnering with NATO may also be a vehicle for moderniza-
tion, reform and transformation of sometimes outdated armed
forces – sometimes even for rich economies such as Sweden with their
overall very capable armies (Edstrøm 2011: 156). In fact, Sweden is
perhaps more important in NATO today than states that are formal
members but do not contribute to coalition warfare. The extensive
‘arena’ function that NATO therefore has today implies that partners
and members are of similar ‘usefulness’ to a growing extent.
Janne Haaland Matláry 253
This chapter explores the implications of this. In its remainder I first

present the argument that NATO today, although it remains a military
alliance with its Article 5 security guarantee, nonetheless has turned into
an arena for state-to-state cooperation. The latter role is the most impor-
tant one in today’s security policy situation. The argument continues
with an assessment of why states contribute substantial military capac-
ities to dangerous operations. I claim that their foremost rationale is to
be close to the US as the only remaining superpower. Sometimes pure
geopolitical reasons dominate, as in the Polish case, sometimes general
foreign policy reasons, as in the Danish or British cases. The reasoning
behind contributions varies, but central to them is the objective to be a
close collaborator of the US. This phenomenon is generally referred to
as ‘alliance dependence’ in the security policy literature, a term coined
by Glenn Snyder (1984). I argue that such dependence is more salient
after the Cold War than before because states fear abandonment rather
than entrapment with the hegemonic power (the US). Thus, partnering
has security policy advantages for states that opt for it, and happens
both inside and outside of NATO. It follows that members and partners
are much in the same situation today – your standing depends on your
contribution.
The importance of Article 4 operations after the Cold War
After the Cold War, full-fledged military invasions – the type of war asso-
ciated with existential security threats – are no more likely in Europe.
NATO no more develops military contingency plans for such scenarios.
The only types of attack that resemble such scenarios lately are the con-
ventional attack on Georgia in 2008 and the cyber-attacks on the same
state simultaneously. Thus, Article 5 of the Washington treaty, which
contains the mutual assistance clause, has lost much of its relevance for
the Alliance in terms of actual military operations, albeit perhaps not in
terms of general deterrence.
NATO’s proximity to Russia implies a permanent security problem
which is, however, much less severe than in the Cold War. But the
basic geo-political issue of great power/small state neighbours remains:
states bordering Russia (such as Norway or Azerbaijan) are often con-
cerned about possible future conflicts. They therefore seek to develop
close relations with the US. Enlargement of NATO to the East came at
a time of Russian weakness, but the Kremlin kept protesting against
this alleged ‘encirclement’. The drama surrounding Russia’s attack on
Georgia in 2008 underscored the high degree of uncertainty that Russia’s
neighbours feel. As Strobe Talbott put it, ‘for months . . . . powerful play-
ers in Moscow were looking for a pretext for an invasion’ (Asmus 2010:
viii). The shadow of the past has not gone away as the old notion of
‘spheres of interest’ was revived in Europe by this invasion.
However, one reason about threat and risks to NATO, the assumption
of any analysis must be that the US remains the backbone of NATO.
Lord Ismay was right to argue that ‘to keep the Americans in’ was the
Alliance’s key objective. During the Cold War, the key implication of this
objective was to ‘keep the Russians out’. Today, the purpose of NATO is
unclear and contested among member states. Yet, the importance of
‘keeping the Americans in’ clearly remains.
In the cases of Afghanistan and Libya, significant, risk-willing, and
professional military contributions have become the key input factor
for NATO member states participating in these missions. Paradoxically,
such contributions are vital to the security of member states because
Article 5 situations are unlikely. What matters to the US and other major
allies is not deterrence in Europe, but significant contributions around
the globe. All security concerns – threats and risks ‘below’ Article 5 – are
likely to demand political and military ‘backing’ from allies with which
one has developed close security relations.
Thus, the main rationale for NATO membership has always been and
remains existential security, the so-called Article 5 guarantee. But after
1990, the overarching existential threat from the Soviet Union is gone.
However, Russia as a source of small-scale threats and overall instabil-
ity has remained a politically important issue. It still plays a key role
in the security thinking of states bordering Russia. During the draft-
ing of NATO’s new Strategic Concept in 2010 and 2011, Norway, the
Baltics, and the central Europeans formed a caucus that emphasized the
importance of remaining ‘in area’. In the concept itself, the magnitude
of this collective defence function is recognized for the first time since
1990, and work towards military exercises and contingency planning is
mentioned.
The ‘alliance dilemma’, formulated by Snyder in 1984, is defined
in present NATO by fear of abandonment rather than of entrapment.
Whereas there was a direct dependency between the US and its European
allies during the Cold War, allies were comparatively confident – with
the possible exception of France under de Gaulle – that they would not
be abandoned (Snyder 1984: 484). But with the waning of bipolarity
and the emergence of a multipolar system, the threat has become more
diffuse and variously interpreted. Hence, ‘abandonment outweighs
entrapment fears’ (Snyder 1984: 484).
Ringsmose (2010) has studied the NATO policy of Denmark, one of

the key contributors in coalition warfare, both in Iraq and Afghanistan.
His main conclusion is that the key determinant for contributions
was the overarching Danish interest in a strong partnership with the
US. Denmark has no geo-political security calculus to consider, sur-
rounded as it is by NATO states. The Danish abandonment of its
submarines testifies to this. Yet, Denmark strongly backs US policy,
to the point of being one of the most loyal supporters and contrib-
utors to US-led coalitions. Ringsmose (2010) argues that for Norway,
the geo-political relationship with Russia determines coalition con-
tributions, whereas the main point for Denmark is general foreign
and security policy. In sum, ‘keeping the US in’ drives contributions,
but the specific reasons vary, such as in the cases of Norway and
Denmark.
Thus, the perception of the importance of alliance dependence may
not be related to national security concerns, contrary to realist theory.
The Norwegian and Danish cases are paralleled in the Central-European
cases, which like Norway seek US proximity because of geo-politics;
and in the British and Dutch cases, which are global partners with the
US, although they do not have national geo-political security concerns.
These two groups of states in NATO are usually termed ‘traditional-
ists’ (the states concerned with Russia and Article 5) and ‘globalists’
(the states concerned with the global relevance of NATO) (Noetzel and
Schreer 2009). But we notice that states of both groups wish close
relations with the US, albeit for different reasons.
Snyder (1984) argues that five factors determine allies’ calculation of
dependence on the hegemon in an alliance, in this case the US: (1) the
state’s dependence on the alliance, (2) the strategic interest it has in the
ally, (3) how explicit the commitment of the alliance is, (4) whether
interests are conflictual, and (5) knowledge of ally behaviour from the
past. For some states, these security concerns explain contributions –
Eastern Europe and Norway. For others, general foreign policy standing
is the key explanans, probably so in the case of Denmark. The realist
emphasis on security concerns must be modified to include more gen-
eral foreign policy reasons why states want closeness to Washington.
This applies also to great powers like the UK. In London, there is a wish
to wield influence in Washington and to remain the key partner for the
US in Europe (Matláry 2009; Wallace and Phillips 2009). In the Danish
case, there is no security challenge for the state itself, surrounded as it
is by friendly states. But like Poland, it seeks a major role for itself in
NATO through contributions and closeness to the US. Thus, NATO has
become more of an arena than an alliance in day-to-day security policy.

This opens up new possibilities for partners.
States today, even great powers like Britain or France, opt for inter-
national organizations (IOs) as arenas of cooperation. In Europe, great
powers pursue multilateral security policies. It can be argued that both
states prefer a multilateral deployment after the Cold War, also in
their former colonies in Africa (Matláry 2009). States need multilateral
organizations for their foreign policy in order for it to be legitimate.
Few states in Europe act alone, especially when they use force, and
NATO has the attraction of integrated command and control func-
tions like no other organization. It is therefore more interesting than
a coalition of the willing, although big states have their own national
headquarters.
NATO is nonetheless the preferred arena for large military actors.
Being inside an IO has always been preferred by small states, as the
rules that bind also include great powers. But today even great pow-
ers shy away from using military force unilaterally, as this entails less
legitimacy and carries more risk than before. Barnett and Duvall (2005)
argue that states prefer to exercise indirect power through the shaping of
rules and decisions within IOs. It follows that the arena function of IOs
is currently of greater importance than it was before 1990. We should
therefore expect both members and partners in NATO to prefer this IO
as an arena for bilateral and multilateral cooperation.
If this is so, then NATO is important as an arena and increasingly so.
But the main political dynamic is between the US, on the one hand, and
remaining NATO members and partners, on the other. Moreover, if Arti-
cle 5 contingencies remain unlikely as during the past two decades, then
the boundary between members and partners will remain rather fuzzy.
Even the border violations from June to November 2012 (of Turkey by
Syria) have not resulted in Article 5 invocations by the former, which
have twice called for consultations under Article 4. This was also the case
when the Turkish border was violated in the ‘spillovers’ in the run-up to
the Iraq war in 2003. At that time, the Turks asked for NATO assistance
under Article 4, something which severely split the Alliance. Hence,
Article 5 situations are very rare, with September 11, 2001 being an
exception when the North Atlantic Council (NAC) declared it an Article
5 but was rebuffed by the US which wanted full control of its response.
My point is simply that absent the threat of inter-state war in the
Euro-Atlantic area, most NATO cases will be under Article 4, and thus
voluntary. This makes for a political dynamic where those who fight
together, stay together. Moreover, the fact that both members and
partners find it useful and perhaps necessary to contribute begs the

question of why contribute.
The importance of partner contributions
Once, when a small NATO member repeatedly voiced criticism at the

NAC, the US ambassador bent over and asked his British counter-part:
‘So what do they contribute?’2 In the Alliance, the burden-sharing
debate around risk-willingness is the key one after the Cold War, and
influence is gained on a one-to-one basis: those that contribute, gain
influence, hopefully in Washington, but certainly in a given operation.
They may gain security through this, or prestige, or meet national inter-
est needs. Like the partnership policy of the US is a key to American
global politics, the same partner concept seems now to develop at
NATO. It can be argued that the partners contribute, in order to gain mil-
itary interoperability, political influence in NATO and political influence
in Washington. One may add that this is also why members contribute
(Matláry and Petersson 2013).
NATO after Afghanistan is an alliance where the fundamental secu-
rity contract, Article 5, still underpins the alliance and keeps it together,
but where the political dynamics of the alliance have changed in major
ways. The realities of coalition warfare have become very clear in terms
of the demands for risk-willing, significant military capacities. Some
European allies participate in ISAF despite high costs in terms of life
and treasure, but many more offer only token participation. States that
want closeness to the US must contribute risk-willing, relevant military
capacities to global operations. These states are part of the first tier of
NATO, the inner circle. As stated, in NATO, states will first and foremost
seek closeness to the US. Some states achieve this through their contri-
butions to current operations. Others do not, who then are relegated
to the second tier (hence the characterization of NATO as a ‘two-tier’
alliance).
Such a classification immediately begs the question of how important
it is to be in this ‘inner circle’. Given that the Article 5 guarantee is a
public good in NATO, that is one that all members enjoy regardless of
military contributions, avoiding risky operations seems entirely ratio-
nal (see also Tuschhoff, this volume). Yet, many states have contributed
to ISAF, Libya, and other operations. This is a puzzle from the point
of view of alliance theory in the realist tradition, which assumes that
states remain in alliances in order to balance against, and deter, threats
(Thies 2009; Waltz 1979). But it is puzzling also from the perspective of
collective action theory which predicts that states should free-ride, and
that the larger allies would have to carry most of the burden (Olson and
Zeckhauser 1966). This has been the case in general with NATO in the
Cold War period: the US has remained the security guarantee.
After the Cold War, absent a common threat, we should expect states
to refuse the risk and cost of military involvement in far-away lands –
where the public goods produced are even less consequential for all
NATO members. In short, we should expect free-riding to be more preva-
lent. Yet, some states opt for extensive contributions to such operations,
while others offer only token ones.
Scholars classify groups of states within NATO. Some speak of four
groups of states where the US is in a class by itself, followed by
Britain and France, beyond these states like Denmark, Canada, the
Netherlands, Poland, and perhaps Norway, followed by Spain and Italy.
This classification is based on the degree of risk-willing, relevant mili-
tary contributions to operations like ISAF. In our recent study (Matláry
and Petersson 2013) we found this kind of classification based on ‘ability
and willingness’ to be quite accurate. France and the UK are the leading
powers; around them are those states who will contribute to risky oper-
ations, the Netherlands, the Danes, the Norwegians, and sometimes the
Poles and Hungarians. But in addition, there are partners like Australia,
Sweden, and Finland. We can identify such groups also in other IOs, for
example in the EU, where the inner core in security policy is made up of
the contributing states to any one mission, but led by France and Britain
(Matláry 2009).
In sum, there are strong incentives for contributing useful military
assets to operations where the US is central, as this is a way to ensure
that one’s country ‘imports’ security in a world where state-to-state wars
are largely a thing of the past, particularly in the European region and
on its rim. The use of force is today more for state interests, and will
happen when such interests are sufficiently at stake.
The political logic of a ‘tiered’ NATO
The NATO alliance was ‘frozen’ as an actor throughout the Cold War,
and the role of small- and medium-sized states was basically to defend
their own territories. Expeditionary warfare was undertaken on a reg-
ular basis by France and the UK, as exceptions in Europe. Only after
1990 can we start to assess the fruitfulness of alliance theories and secu-
rity and defence hypotheses about the political dynamics of NATO.
In the Cold War, all European states were part of the same invasion
scenario, and there was little choice in security matters once a member
of NATO.
‘Keeping the Americans in’ remains the key objective for Europeans,
but this is much more difficult now than in the Cold War. On a real-
ist logic one must ask what the Americans need NATO for, and the
answer in realist terms is one centred on security interests. Of such
there are bases in Europe useful to the US, some military contributions
from Europeans to operations, and the fact that Europe keeps its own
region peaceful. When applying a realist logic, we see that it is ratio-
nal for Europeans to contribute to global operations in order to keep
the US interested in NATO. We also see that the US has less interest
in NATO than the Europeans; the latter are the demandeurs. But we
must add that this is so only on a realist logic. If we consider political
legitimacy as important, it is clear that a NATO-operation has more legit-
imacy than a US-operation, especially if there is a UN mandate. And if
we consider political influence on Europe important, then NATO is the
main channel for the US into Europe. Thus, for more general foreign
policy reasons, NATO is of great importance to the US, indeed.
The point of the above is to convey that in general, members as well
as partners can be expected to want to contribute to global operations
where the US is leading. They do so because of the basic security logic of
Article 5, aiming to ‘keep the Americans in’ in an era of diffuse threats
and risks. On this model, the fundamental logic is a realist one: to keep
close to the hegemonic power for protection. Yet, also more general
foreign policy motives explain why states seek closeness to the US.
We observed initially that multilateralism is common to both small
and large states today. Small states in particular seem to seek power
within international organizations as they do not have the great power
option. Building international regimes, institutions, and law are not
power-neutral activities, but are as much a result of strategic thinking
as is coercive diplomacy. States seek closeness to the main players in an
organization – in NATO the US – but act within the organization itself.
Where realism predicts that states act alone or in concert with others,
disregarding the IO, it would seem that the use of force today needs
legitimacy and multilateralism in order to be acceptable. Legitimacy has
become much more important than before.
Barnett and Duvall (2005) criticize the liberal institutionalist liter-
ature on the score that it ignores power and presents international
cooperation and the concept of governance as benign arrangements for
solving ‘cooperation problems’. Their perspective on power allows for
the analysis of strategic action on the part of states inside international
organizations. When in bello is governed, it is almost always inside an

international organization, the UN, the EU, or NATO, and states have
power as a function of their military contribution. Not contributing
militarily does not provide power, as Japan has realized in its effort to
become powerful through being the world’s biggest aid donor. ‘Check-
book diplomacy . . . has been judged a failure. Japan spent 13 billion
dollars to help pay for the first Gulf War in 1990. But when Kuwait pub-
lished a roll-call of countries, the great bankroller was not mentioned.’
The problem for a country like Japan is similar to that of Germany: one
is restrained from opting for risky military contributions.
The need for legitimacy when using force is important for great pow-
ers today. France and Britain would not be acceptable today if they used
military power alone or would act increasingly through bilateral coali-
tions. In fact, coalitions of the willing without a formal organization as
its ‘seat’ appear to be inacceptable in Europe (Matláry 2006).
In sum, states in NATO will seek closeness to the hegemon of the orga-
nization for various reasons – some on a realist security calculus rooted
in Article 5, others because they want a general foreign standing that
is good and because they improve their standing in NATO through rele-
vant, risk-willing contributions. As indicated above, states work through
the IO in the strategic pursuit of their interests and power today, and
increasingly so. This applies also to great powers.
I argue that states primarily seek closeness to the US as a general secu-
rity guarantee by ‘keeping the Americans in’ NATO and for the sake
of international status, standing, and influence. States have different
priorities in this regard: states with geo-political concerns – Norway
and Central-Europe – have to think of deterrence for situations ‘below’
Article 5. States that do not have such concerns, like Denmark, seek a
preeminent international role in foreign and security policy. And great
powers like the UK want to maintain their status in the world and are
expected to take global responsibility for security.
Coalitions of the ‘Willing and Able’ in the NATO arena:

Examples
I will now illustrate the argument above by some case studies of recent
wars (Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya) and contributions to these, looking
at a country that contributes for geo-political reasons (Poland) and one
that cultivates the general foreign policy relationship to Washington:
the UK. The UK stands out among NATO members with its ‘special
relationship’ to the US since the Second World War.3
What is the UK required to do in order to maintain a special relation-

ship with the US? This relationship is the most extensive bilateral one
within NATO, and one that has lasted since World War II. The British
share in, and use, US military technology like no other state, being the
only country to share in all F-35 technology and using US nuclear arms.
Further, the US has major bases in the UK and in British overseas ter-
ritories like Diego Garcia. No doubt, the British armaments industry
benefits from privileged access to the US market and producers, and
in theatre, British troops are always in second place to the US only.
Britain’s former imperial position in the world has disappeared, but the
status as a great power is largely maintained through its closeness to the
Americans. Thus, the main point for the British is not security of own
home-land, but influence in the world.
For Poland the issue at stake is security, but the requirements are the
same: provide useful resources for the US. When president Obama vis-
ited Europe in May 2011, he made a stop in Poland and highlighted
the importance of the close bilateral relationship. The importance of the
‘special relationship’ with Britain is much greater, as his speeches there
earlier in the week testified to, but the fact that Poland was on the
itinerary was itself important. In Poland Obama underlined that the fact
that the missile shield is now NATO policy and not a bilateral Polish–
American or Czech–American policy does not make the bilateral rela-
tionship any less important. Yet in terms of bilateralism this difference
is crucial as both states have sought bilateral agreements on military
bases with the US, like other demandeurs for security, such as Norway,
has always sought. Having American troops on own soil is regarded
as a solid security guarantee because it would involve the Americans
immediately in a crisis. Having US bases or NATO headquarters is thus
prized. In the missile shield case, the US developed its bilateral policy
of agreements with these two countries into a common NATO policy
during the making of the latest Strategic Concept for the organization
in 2010.
The Poles have followed a policy of trying to get US forces stationed in
Poland. This would serve Polish security needs, but not American needs.
Under President Bush, a bilateral agreement on the missile interceptors
was made outside the NATO framework. Another agreement was made
with the Czech Republic on a radar to detect missiles. Together, these
two agreements with the US would provide protection against prospec-
tive intermediate-range Iranian missiles with nuclear warheads. When
president Obama assumed office in 2009 he changed this policy into a
multilateral NATO policy, much to the dismay of both Poland and the
Czech Republic. They feared losing American interest in their territorial

security without the stationing of military installations on their soil.
And Obama’s visit to Poland in May 2011 acted as a compensation for
this development. During that visit he repeatedly stated that the US has
a special relationship with Poland.
The missile shield was adopted at the NATO summit in November
2010 in Lisbon and will comprise sea-borne interceptors in the
Mediterranean first, then land-based ones by 2015 in Romania and
by 2018 in Poland. Poland is thus still in a special position. One can
conclude that the US has tried to ‘sweeten the pill’ by this measure.
The Poles have been extremely eager to secure a US commitment, and
have also placed the largest number of troops in military operations car-
ried out by NATO. ISAF is the best illustration of this. Poland was one
of the signatories of the so-called ‘Letter of Eight’ which was written by
eight NATO and EU members that disagreed with the French-German-
Russian stance on the Iraq war. Only five states agreed to launch the
attack together – the US, UK, Spain, Denmark, and Italy. But along
with these five were three others: Poland, the Czech Republic, and
Portugal. The ‘Letter of Eight’ was later expanded to other states in Cen-
tral Europe. The former Czech president Havel took the initiative, and
wanted by this action to underline that the French and German protests
against the war – states that Donald Rumsfeld called ‘old Europe’ – were
not representative of Europe or the EU.
The Iraq war represented a big crisis in NATO – ‘a near death-
experience’ as one diplomat put it. The consensual procedure was upset
when France, Belgium, and Germany refused to let Turkey have Article 4
consultations on security for their own borders when they requested it.
The US was also denied the use of Turkish air fields, and Rumsfeld’s dic-
tum ‘the mission determines the coalition’ seems realized. NATO was
split down the middle, the EU was in very deep inner disagreement, and
many states in Europe refused to participate in the war itself as coalition
partners.
The UK joined the US as always in their special relationship, and
the unconditional support by Tony Blair has later come under massive
scrutiny. But also Poland participated, with battalion-size contributions.
The Polish Defence Minister, later foreign minister, Radek Sikorski, has
remained very close to Washington. And since the power relationship
between the US and Poland is much more unequal than the US–UK
one, the Poles have had to accept US terms for it. They have repeat-
edly called for revocation of visas for Poles travelling to the US, without
success, and have often complained about not getting anything ‘back’
for their support in Iraq. In general, the Poles have been much more
explicit about the motivation for supporting the US here and there: it is
related to Polish national interest, not to the situation in the operation.
Looking at Afghanistan, we also see major contributions from Poland.
Poland had the regional command – one of five such – for the eastern
part of Afghanistan, the Ghazni province, and fields 2530 troops.4 Other
Central Europeans are also present. Hungary has a PRT and 335 troops,
the Czechs likewise, with 485 troops and the Slovaks are in the South,
in Kandahar, with 300. The Polish contribution stood out as a major
one, however. The assumption of one of five regional commands is sig-
nificant. The Poles have also suffered losses in ISAF without domestic
protest and can be said to play a leading role with real military clout.
The other states from Central Europe contribute fairly much. As has
been mentioned, both Hungary and the Czechs run a PRT, which is the
‘standard’ for small and medium-sized NATO states. Only the Slovaks
fight in the South, but they have no PRT. Since ISAF is NATO’s biggest
and sharpest operation ever, led by the US, it is only to be expected
that all these states remain engaged there. Not to contribute would be a
certain sign of passivity in NATO and vis-à-vis the US.
But when we turn to the operation in Libya, however, there are
no Central Europeans involved. In Operation Unified Protector, which
started on 23 March 2012, as a coalition with a robust UN mandate, 11
states participated, all from Western Europe. The role of the US in this
operation was not a leading one. In fact, the US did not want to play a
major role. However, it had to do so, belatedly. Yet it is significant that
Poland was not a contributor to this operation – for which it was criti-
cized by Robert Gates, former US Secretary of Defense, in his last speech
to NATO ministers.
In sum, we see that Poland plays the key role in the Central Europeans
group of states and that Poland tries hard to develop a ‘special rela-
tionship’ with the US. It is consistent in making contributions to
operations where the US plays the key role and asks for such contri-
butions. The same pattern is evident in the Danish case. This suggests
that both Poland and Denmark are motivated by closeness to the US in
their decision-making. In the British case, troop contributions to all
three operations have been substantial, Britain leading with France in
the Libyan operation. Thus, voluntary contributions to operations are
premised on different national interests, and when the US was not in the
lead, as in the Libyan case, there was logically no Polish contribution.
The UK contributed as a leading nation along with France, and the

French-British cooperation explains this (Matláry and Petersson 2013).
The point is that there are various ‘coalitions of the willing’ among
members, showing that NATO today functions like an arena.
Conclusion: Partners like members?
The ‘arena function’ makes for a logic whereby members and part-
ners play much of the same roles – if they contribute risk-willing,
relevant military capacity, they matter accordingly. We should there-
fore not talk about partners as one group, just as one should not
treat members of NATO as one group. As with the German example
regarding the Libya resolution, the members today are so diverse in
their political preferences that they openly disagree in security policy –
Iraq was also a case of this. The operations in Afghanistan and Libya
have underscored the trend towards NATO as an arena for the willing
and able. In ISAF, all members and many partners were participants,
albeit only a few of them, including partner Australia, fought in the
dangerous South. NATO exhibited unequal burden-sharing. Even more
pronounced, this trend continued in Libya: Only eight members were
in combat operations, and partners like Sweden signed up for partici-
pation while NATO member Germany not only abstained on the UN
resolution, but also withdrew its crew from NATO AWACS planes in the
operation.
Neither ISAF nor ‘Operation Unified Protector’ was mandatory. They
were voluntary. That they were seen as such by major NATO members
makes it very clear that NATO is perceived as an arena and not as a com-
mon actor today. Realism explains the underlying logic of why states
like Poland and Norway contribute, but general foreign policy stand-
ing seems to explain why Denmark, Sweden, and the UK contribute.
Thus, NATO remains a military alliance where closeness to the hege-
monic power is the key. But this closeness is sought for various reasons
which are not always related to security. Moreover, partners and mem-
bers alike treat NATO as an arena of building closeness to the US and
other key military actors, like the UK. Whether one is a member or a
partner plays increasingly less a role.
Most partners and some members seek closeness to the US, but sev-
eral do not – like Germany. The ‘pull’ factor of alliance dependence has
lost some of its force in post-modern Europe. NATO is an arena for the
willing and able, with a degree of pluralism never seen before in the
Alliance’s history. Thus, to study the political dynamics of the alliance
today we need theories that go beyond both alliance theory, realism and
other theories of security policy.
Notes
1. For a comparison of eight NATO members in this regard, see Matláry and
Petersson (2013).
2. I am indebted to former Norwegian NATO ambassador Kai Eide for this
anecdote – he sat between the two ambassadors.
3. Norway used to claim a similarly special relationship in the Cold War, and
Denmark has also developed a close relationship with Washington after 1990
when it changed its strategic culture.
4. Figures from NATO headquarters as of 16 May 2011.
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Part V
External Power Structures
and Global Security
15
Informal Cooperation beyond the
Alliance
Mette Eilstrup-Sangiovanni
A large literature charts NATO’s post-Cold War transformation from a

close-knit, defensive alliance to a more versatile, multifaceted security
organization. This literature focuses mainly on changes to the formal
institutional makeup of the Alliance, such as the adoption of new
Strategic Concepts, inclusion of new member states, and reform of com-
mand and decision procedures. Less analytical attention has been paid
to changing patterns of informal cooperation within and around the
Alliance. Indeed, while scholars have identified a growing tendency to
supplement formal NATO cooperation with ad hoc, flexible forms of col-
laboration this tendency is often cited as a sign of disintegration of the
Alliance (for example, Noetzel and Schreer 2009) rather than an integral
part of NATO’s post-bipolar institutional practice, which is conducive to
the continued functioning of the Alliance.
This chapter focuses explicitly on forms of informal cooperation
involving NATO members, but occurring beyond the official institu-
tional boundaries of the Alliance. Perhaps the most visible instantiation
of ad hoc, informal cooperation are the short-term ‘coalitions-of-the-
willing’ that have brought together NATO and non-NATO countries to
intervene militarily in places such as Afghanistan and Iraq. However,
‘extramural’ security cooperation also takes other, less visible forms,
including Anglo-American special intelligence-sharing, the G8’s infor-
mal Counter-terrorism Action Group or the US-led Proliferation Security
Initiative (PSI). What characterises these initiatives is that they bring
together prominent NATO members (often in concert with powerful
third-party states) in order to address issues that fall generally within
the institutional scope and mandate of NATO but that are nonetheless
pursued outside the formal institutional boundaries of the Alliance.
269
270 External Power Structures and Global Security
In what follows, I adopt a broadly rational institutionalist approach to

explore factors that may encourage greater reliance on informal coop-
eration among NATO members. Assuming that shifts in institutional
design and practice are primarily explained by reference to the chang-
ing incentives of dominant member states, I focus mainly on the role of
the US in initiating informal cooperation.
I advance three arguments. Firstly, growing reliance on ad hoc coop-
eration is driven by systemic changes in the post-bipolar strategic
environment, which place more diverse and less predictable demands
on military resources – especially those of the US – than was the case
during bipolarity. These changes have generated demand for flexible
forms of cooperation, which allow allies to enlist the capabilities and
expertise of third-party states on a case-by-case basis. Secondly, a new
strategic focus, combined with a rapid expansion of membership, has
resulted in a broadening of NATO’s institutional scope and mandate and
in enhanced centralization of decision-making. This process of ‘interna-
tionalization’ and ‘institutionalization’ has in turn served to push some
issues outside the formal boundaries of the Alliance where institutional
constraints on decision-making remain low. Thirdly, the end of bipolar-
ity has shifted the balance of power among NATO members further in
favour of the US, thereby reducing Washington’s incentives to provide
institutionalized voice opportunities or assurances to European allies.
This has reinforced the inclination by the US to evade NATO’s formal
institutional constraints.
To focus my analysis, I examine cooperation on non-proliferation as a
lens through which to illuminate broader changes in cooperation within
the Alliance. Non-proliferation is a central component of America’s post-
Cold War security strategy. Yet, Washington has shown considerable
reluctance in channelling core aspects of its global non-proliferation
policy through NATO. Instead, ad hoc initiatives such as the PSI and
the Cooperative Threat Reduction Program have been focal points for
cooperation between the America and its NATO allies. The rest of this
chapter seeks to illuminate why this has been the case.
Formal and informal institutions in international relations
Although informal institutions have attracted growing attention from

IR scholars, there is little agreement on what separates informal from
formal structures. Often, informal institutions are defined simply as
agreements that lack binding force (that is, ‘soft law’) or more broadly as
agreements enforced by unwritten conventions or norms of behaviour
Mette Eilstrup-Sangiovanni 271
(see Brie and Stolting 2011: 19–20). By contrast, formal institutions are
generally characterized by being to some degree legalized. International
lawyers define legalization in terms of ‘obligation’ (implying that actors
are bound by a rule or commitment under international law), ‘precision’
(implying that rules are detailed and precise), and ‘delegation’ (mean-
ing that third parties are granted authority to implement, interpret, and
apply the rules of agreements as well as to resolve disputes) (Abbott
et al. 2000). In practice, of course, few international agreements impose
detailed legal obligations on states or delegate significant authority to
institutional agents to implement agreements or adjudicate disputes.
However, we may think of formal institutions as agreements and prac-
tices that are instituted according to rules and procedures, which are
recognized as legal in clearly defined contexts (Brie and Stolting 2011:
19). Such agreements tend to be written down in detailed documents
specifying the precise obligations of state parties.
Informal institutions or agreements, conversely, exhibit low levels of
legalization. They are typically not constituted by treaty or executive
degree, and the rules that govern interaction are neither legally nor pro-
cedurally binding on states. Informal agreements may be unwritten.
Even when written, rules and objectives tend to be stated in vague,
general terms that make them open to broad interpretation. A fur-
ther difference pertains to the mode of decision-making. While formal
institutions are often configured as representative organizations where
official votes are taken and majority rule may apply, informal institu-
tions tend to rely purely on deliberation and consensus-seeking without
formal voting taking place.
When conceptualizing informal cooperation, it is helpful to distin-
guish two views of informal institutions according to how they emerge
and what their relationship is to formal institutions. The first describes
informal institutions as indigenous to formal institutions. On this view,
informal institutions comprise social interactions that occur ‘along-
side formalized interactions in international organizations’ (Brie and
Stolting 2011: 20; Helmke and Levitsky 2004: 726). These informal insti-
tutions (conventions, norms of behaviour, stable expectations) are not
consciously shaped and controlled by actors but arise endogenously
from exchanges within formal frameworks (Helmke and Levitsky 2004:
730). They tend to complement zand strengthen formal institutions by
creating incentives to comply with formal rules.
The second conceptualization views informal institutions as exogenous
to formal institutions. On this view, informal institutions comprise
explicit rules, norms, and decision-making procedures (written or
unwritten) that arise outside officially authorized channels. In contrast

to indigenous informal institutions, this second kind of informal insti-
tution is deliberately created and maintained by actors for the purpose
of achieving joint political objectives.
In this chapter, I am interested in the second kind. Thus, I define
informal institutions as explicit and purposefully created frameworks
for deliberation, exchange, and joint action. Such informal institutions
may stand in different relationships to formal international organiza-
tions. Sometimes, informal institutions may arise alongside the official
decision-making bodies of IOs in order to improve their functioning.
An example is the exclusive ‘negotiating clubs’ that operate within
many IOs, where powerful member states debate issues informally
before they are considered jointly with other members (Conzelmann
2011: 221–222). Gegout (2002) describes how a ‘Quint’ consisting of the
US, Britain, France, Germany, and Italy conduct unofficial negotiations
on EU foreign policy issues before they are placed before the Council.
Elsewhere in this volume, Mayer and Theiler draw attention to infor-
mal aspects of NATO cooperation, which include regular lunches dur-
ing which national representatives conduct off-the-record discussions.
Such ‘negotiating clubs’ are mostly complementary to official decision-
making structures. Although they operate without a formal institutional
mandate, and although they favour representation from larger states,
informal negotiation clubs are a prerequisite for consensus-building and
effective implementation in many large IOs. They provide the ‘oil’, so
to speak, that makes the heavy machinery of formal organizations turn.
Informal institutions may also operate independently and partly in
contradiction of existing IOs. In this case, rather than complementing
formal frameworks for decision-making and implementation, informal
frameworks may emerge with the explicit purpose of sidestepping or
subverting formal decision processes. The coalitions of the willing that
fought in Iraq and Afghanistan provide an example. Military action by
these coalitions was not ancillary or complementary to official delibera-
tion and action by NATO. Rather, these coalitions presented alternative
sites for cooperation that bypassed NATO altogether.
Insofar as states rely on informal cooperation to supersede or bypass
official frameworks, thereby diminishing formal constraints on policy
making, we can speak of ‘informalization’ of cooperation (see Mayer
2011). It is beyond the bounds of this chapter to probe whether infor-
mal cooperation among NATO members has increased generally since
the end of the Cold War. Instead I use a combination of theoretical
analysis and empirical scrutiny of a few cases of ad hoc cooperation
to identify factors that may be pushing towards greater informalization

in particular instances.
Advantages of informalization
Scholars have long sought to explain variation in the reliance on for-

mal versus informal institutions. Aust (1986: 789) and Lipson pointed
to benefits such as ‘speed’, ‘low costs’, ‘confidentiality’, and ‘flexibility’
as advantages of informal cooperation. In the 1990s and 2000s, interna-
tional lawyers expanded on political notions of informal cooperation by
highlighting the benefits of ‘soft law’ as a basis for international agree-
ments (Abbott and Snidal 1998; Abbott et al. 2000; Kahler 2000). Here
I briefly consider how these alleged advantages apply to international
security cooperation.
Enhanced speed and reduced costs

An often-cited advantage of informal institutions is that they are fast
and cheap to construct (Lipson 1991). Formal treaty negotiations are
often slow, and implementation is delayed by complex domestic ratifi-
cation procedures. Informal agreements, conversely, need no ratification
or implementing legislation and can often take immediate effect. Yet,
benefits of speed fail to explain why states sometimes favour informal
institutions as a basis for international cooperation, but at other times
opt for formal agreements. Fast action is generally favourable, partic-
ularly when addressing issues of national and international security,
which are often imbued with urgency. Hence a desire for fast agreement
and action does not account for variation in institutional design.
A more useful way of thinking about institutional choice in the
context of international security cooperation is to consider time hori-
zons. According to standard regime theory, an important reason why
states create international institutions is to reduce the transaction costs
of repeated interaction (Keohane and Axelrod 1985). Formal institu-
tions do this by collecting and distributing information, interpreting
and enforcing rules, and (possibly) negotiating supplementary agree-
ments. Since they do not provide centralized information-gathering or
monitoring, however, informal institutions are less likely to reduce the
transaction costs of long-term cooperation. Moreover, the vague, non-
binding rules that form the basis of informal agreements may leave
scope for frequent renegotiation, thereby increasing bargaining costs.
Clearly, the long-term transaction-cost benefits associated with for-
mal cooperation must be weighed against higher initial contracting
costs. Delegation of information-gathering, monitoring, and enforce-

ment functions to IOs often requires prolonged negotiation and con-
tracting. Such an investment makes sense only if states anticipate that
cooperation will endure. If time horizons are short – as is the case where
cooperation aims to address a one-off situation or problem – informal
cooperation may ceteris paribus be more cost-effective. Thus, short
time horizons should predispose states towards informal institutional
designs.
Excluding spoilers
An important advantage of informal cooperation in contexts where
formal institutional structures are already in place is that it need not
involve all parties to an existing formal agreement. Formal institu-
tions typically entitle all members to participate in collective decision-
making. An informal approach, conversely, allows a few committed
parties to initiate cooperation without consulting others. This makes
it easier to get cooperation off the ground since ‘spoilers’ – preference
outliers that are likely to either stall or water down agreement – can be
excluded from influence. Importantly, as Conzelmann notes, participa-
tion in informal consultation and rule making tends to be ‘based on
the possession of resources rather than a formal mandate’ (Conzelmann
2011: 221–222). By keeping collaboration informal, sub-groups of the
‘willing and able’ can thus act without having to compromise with
countries that demand a formal say on an issue but may have little to
contribute in material terms.
Including non-members
As well as serving as a tool of exclusion, informal cooperation can
also facilitate selective inclusion of third-party states. Importantly, states
with relevant resources can be co-opted on a case-by-case basis, without
being offered any of the benefits associated with a more permanent, for-
mal partnership. From the perspective of leading states, this may reduce
the costs of side-payments required to facilitate cooperation. A defining
feature of a multilateral treaty organization such as NATO is that it rests
on principles of inclusivity and non-discrimination. The ‘all for one’
ethos underpinning NATO’s collective security guarantee implies that
all member states enjoy similar terms of participation and formal equal-
ity of influence (see Michel, this volume). As Verdier (2008) notes, this
principle is both inflexible and costly insofar as every prospective con-
tributor to cooperation must be granted equal terms and incentives to
participate. Conversely, reliance on informal frameworks allows leading
states to offer other contributors incentives that are tailored to meet

their individual reservation points. A similar strategy would be politi-
cally costly in the context of a formal treaty-regime since inequitable
terms of partnership would defy prevailing norms stressing the formal
equality of member states (see Mitchell and Kielbach 2001).
The US invasion of Iraq demonstrates the potential cost-saving fea-
tures of informal cooperation. The US expended considerable political
and financial capital to persuade countries such as Turkey and Poland
to come on board, whereas others, such as the UK, needed no persua-
sion. Allies such as France and Germany, whose consent would have
been prohibitively costly to ensure were bypassed altogether. Overall, a
strategy of offering select side-payments to individual NATO members
and willing third-party states was probably a faster and less costly way of
assembling a multilateral force than having to convince European Allies
in general to support NATO-led action.
Reducing domestic constraints

Many scholars portray informal institutions as means to reduce
domestic-level impediments to international cooperation. Treaty agree-
ments often require legislatures to vote directly on ratification and
implementing legislation. Moreover, official negotiations are often sub-
ject to intense public scrutiny – even when no formal ratification is
required. Thus, informal modes of international cooperation may be
chosen in order to pursue policies that are unpopular domestically.
Whilst it is difficult to substantiate this point, there are reasons to con-
clude that domestic policy constraints are a growing concern for security
policy-makers. As Walt (1997) argues, in a multipolar system, domestic
politics will be an increasingly important factor in formulating security
policy, if only because perceptions of a broader range of choice with
respect to allies and strategic priorities widens the range of ‘acceptable’
public debate. European security debates since the end of the Cold War
appears to bear this out. As Noetzel and Schreer (2009: 222) note, France
has had a vigorous domestic debate on whether to be within NATO or
the CSDP, and German debates on security policy have also grown more
introspective. Such domestic ‘politicization’ of security policy may push
states towards informal cooperation, which passes more easily under the
domestic political radar screen.
Reducing institutional constraints on power

When scholars highlight transaction cost savings from informal coop-
eration, the alternative they have in mind is often a process of formal
institution-building through which states acquire new contractual obli-

gations. Frequently, however, states face a choice of whether to address
a joint problem through existing formal institutions or whether to
approach it in an ad hoc, informal manner. Where an institutional
mandate already exists, and formal rules and procedures, perhaps even
administrative support structures, are in place, institutionalist theory
predicts that reliance on formal institutions reduce the costs of coop-
eration. Institutions lower transaction costs by supplying expertise and
information-gathering capacities, by offering a focal point for negoti-
ations, and by linking new problems to the general cluster of issues
addressed by an institution thereby facilitating compromise (Keohane
1984). To be sure, fresh negotiations may be required to expand or adapt
current agreements to address new problems. But states will not be start-
ing from scratch, and institutional support structures will be in place to
facilitate agreement.
This reasoning would seem to apply clearly to cooperation among
NATO allies. As scholars have noted, NATO’s general assets – which
include a permanent command chain, interoperable military assets,
joint military doctrine and force planning structures – are useful in
addressing a wide array of threats (Mattelaer 2011; Wallander 2000).
Given the fungibility of NATO assets, there would appear to be sub-
stantial benefits from conducting cooperation on new security issues
under NATO’s aegis. Yet, cooperation on many ‘new threats’, including
counter-proliferation (discussed below) occurs outside NATO. Why?
A plausible answer turns on the political and bureaucratic costs
associated with gaining agreement within a highly institutionalized
organization such as NATO. Formal institutions demand compliance
with rules and procedures that constrain deliberation and decision-
making. As is the case with most formal multilateral organizations,
the structure of NATO’s decision-making procedures is fundamentally
egalitarian, institutionalizing rights for all members to propose pol-
icy and allowing weaker members to block initiatives by withholding
consensus. On the other hand, NATO’s informal procedures are largely
power-driven. From the perspective of powerful states, informal coop-
eration allows for greater exercise of control than formal cooperation
by virtue of being subject to fewer institutional constraints. This is
particularly true when member states have heterogeneous preferences,
which increases the risk that other states will form blocking coalitions.
As preferences grow more diverse, therefore, strong states may favour
cooperation through informal institutions, which are less likely to be
captured by weaker members.
Informalization and the new NATO
Given the benefits of informal cooperation, one might wonder why

informality is not uniformly the cooperative mode of choice, at least for
powerful states. There are, however, important drawbacks to informality.
Firstly, informal institutions suffer from a credibility deficit. Generally
speaking, institutions enhance the credibility of international agree-
ments by lengthening the shadow of the future (Keohane 1984) and by
solving second-order problems of monitoring and enforcement. This is
true of formal, treaty-based organizations where high entry costs serve
to screen committed parties and centralized verification and enforce-
ment ensures there are high potential costs to reneging on agreements
(Abbott and Snidal 2000: 427; Lipson 1991: 512). It is less true of infor-
mal arrangements where barriers to entry are low and decentralized
implementation and verification makes it difficult for countries to raise
compliance issues (Powell 1990: 318). When explaining informalization
in NATO we thus need to ask: what (if anything) has changed so as
to make flexibility and low contracting costs more attractive relative to
institutional credibility? I point to three categories of changes.
A fluid strategic environment and shorter time horizons

The most obvious explanation for informalization of cooperation
among NATO members is changes in the global strategic environment.
During the Cold War, the Allies had a single overriding strategic goal: to
deter the Soviet Union. This provided a clear focal point for cooperation
and gave strong direction to joint strategy. With the end of the Cold
War, the geo-strategic agendas of most NATO states have grown more
complex. The end of bipolar conflict brought to the fore threats from
failed and failing states, from natural disasters and resource scarcity,
and from global terrorism. The post-Cold War strategic environment
not only features a broader range of threats, but also a greater number
of potential security partners as the shift to multipolarity means states
have more options of alignment (Walt 1997: 163). These changes make
it harder for states to anticipate the long-term consequences of specific
cooperative measures. What are the most pressing security problems?
Who are the relevant allies in a given conflict area? Transaction cost the-
ory suggests that in an uncertain and constantly changing environment,
actors will avoid binding large amounts of resources into formal, legal-
ized institutions that ‘lock-in’ agreement and constrain future choices
(see Kahler 2000). Instead, they will seek institutional flexibility in
order to protect against unanticipated costs or adverse distributional
consequences (see Lipson 1991: 500; Rosendorff and Milner 2001: 831).
This implies that new cooperative endeavours are more likely to be of a
flexible, non-binding nature.
In addition to strategic uncertainty, the end of bipolarity has increased
preference heterogeneity among NATO members. During the Cold War,
cooperation within NATO was based on a relatively unified threat per-
ception. Clearly NATO was not free of conflict over strategic ends and
means, as witnessed by for example disagreement about the proper con-
figuration of ‘flexible response’, by French withdrawal from NATO’s
military structure in 1966 or by US anxiety over Germany’s Ostpolitik
in the 1980s. Yet, both America and its European allies had an overrid-
ing interest in containing Soviet expansion, which served to fix interests
and facilitate compromise.
By contrast, current security threats are felt and perceived differently
by different member states. Hence, uniformity of vision and willing-
ness to compromise is less forthcoming, as fissures over Iraq and Libya
have shown. Heterogeneous preferences imply that collective decision
frameworks are increasingly subject to deadlock. In areas where stronger
member states have sufficient power to ‘go it alone’ they may there-
fore choose to bypass NATO. This can mean acting alone, or – more
frequently – acting in coalition with small groups of likeminded states
that can be brought on board cheaply, and whose involvement place
fewer constraints on subsequent formulation of strategy.
The US decision to reject NATO oversight of the intervention in
Afghanistan is indicative of a growing intolerance of the institutional
constraints associated with formal NATO cooperation. Rather than wait-
ing for NATO to act in unison, the US jumpstarted the mission aided
by a few allies. Only later, when major combat operations were over,
was NATO brought in. Nevertheless, Rumsfeld’s famed assertion that
‘the mission determines the coalition’ not the coalition the mission
(Washington Post, 21 October 2001) is not indicative of a fundamental
shift in US thinking. From Washington’s perspective, the mission has
always determined the coalition. During the Cold War, this was unprob-
lematic. Any large-scale mission involving the US and one or more
European allies would almost automatically invite a military response
from the full NATO membership. Today, the automatic intersection of
joint strategic interests and the contours of NATOs membership are
much less probable.
A closely related dynamic is a shortening of time horizons. During
the Cold War, threats faced by NATO were relatively stable. The bipolar
conflict locked East and West in a four-decade military standoff. This
made long-term strategic planning a priority, and dictating detailed,

formal institutional constraints as a means to enhance the credibil-
ity of agreements. By contrast, current threats from failed states and
global terrorism are of a more temporary and mutable kind, and do not
necessarily require long-term cooperation between intervening parties.
Hence, there is less inducement to formalize cooperation and greater
incentives to rely on flexible short–term fixes.
Growing institutional constraints

Informalization cannot be understood purely as a response to changes
in the strategic environment, but must also be viewed in context of an
ongoing institutional transformation of NATO itself. NATO has under-
gone several rounds of institutional reform since 1990. In 1991 the
Alliance published a new Strategic Concept, which affirmed that the
core purpose of the Alliance remained collective defence but which
defined threats to allied security as ‘multifaceted’, having economic,
social and political dimensions. As a result, alliance functions have
expanded in new directions: opposing the proliferation of weapons of
mass destruction (WMD); supporting EU-led crisis management; and
serving as a general ‘toolbox’ for ad hoc security operations (Yost 2010).
The Alliance has also established formal partnerships with a range of
countries. A North Atlantic Cooperation Council was created in 1991,
followed by the Partnership for Peace programme in 1994, and the Euro-
Atlantic Partnership Council in 1999. Most importantly, between 1990
and 2004 NATO added 12 new members.
The broadening of both strategic focus and of membership has in
turn necessitated reform of NATO decision-making and implementa-
tion structures as authors in the previous chapters of this volume have
demonstrated. One result of such reform has been that NATO’s bureau-
cracy has increased in scope, amounting to an internationalization of
decision-making: new bodies have been created to coordinate, imple-
ment and oversee expanded tasks (Mayer 2011: 19). At the same time,
a larger and more heterogeneous membership has necessitated greater
delegation of competences to central institutions.
While designed to enable NATO to adjust to new security chal-
lenges, the net effect of successive rounds of reform and expansion
has been to increase institutional complexity. Crucially, in an enlarged
Alliance there are additional veto players that can complicate delibera-
tions and block consensus in the North Atlantic Council (NAC). Member
states have sought to instigate a process of formal adaptation to cope
with growing institutional complexity. In 2003, US Congress passed
legislation requiring the Secretary of Defence to report on his recom-

mendations for ‘streamlining defence, military, and security decision-
making within NATO’.1 Yet the Bush Administration soon abandoned
the issue, recognizing that even its closest partners (for example, the
British), would be unwilling to part with the consensus rule, which is
seen as integral to the Alliance’s collective ethos. Thus, for the fore-
seeable future, NATO remains a strictly intergovernmental organization
with the NAC as the single political decision-making body, operating by
consensus (see Michel 2003 and in this volume). Meanwhile, member
states are coping with institutional complexity and lacking consensus
by (a) forming smaller negotiation clubs in which issues can be dis-
cussed informally to facilitate consensus (see Mayer and Theiler, this
volume), and (b) by-passing NATO altogether on issues where formal
consensus seem plainly out of reach, or where political and technical
institutional constraints associated with operating under a NATO aegis
are intolerable.
Changing balance of power in favour of the US

Realist logic predicts that alliances are likely to collapse if one mem-
ber state grows significantly stronger than its peers – both because the
rising power will have less need for allied support, and because other
states will view it as a potential threat (Walt 1997: 159). Whilst NATO is
not about to collapse, a changing intra-alliance balance-of-power can
be seen to weaken the basis for allied cooperation. During most of the
Cold War, cooperation between the US and its Allies essentially took
the form of what Morrow (1991) has dubbed a ‘asymmetric alliance’.
In this alliance, America provided security for its partners, in return
for which they offered policy concessions (such as the use of military
bases or coordination or sub-ordination of their foreign policies). While
Europeans gained added security, the major payoff to the US was in
the form of enhanced policy autonomy and guarantees that European
states would not engage in opportunistic behaviour vis-à-vis the USSR
(Morrow 1991).
This basic trade-off was made possible by core features of the bipolar
system. The bipolar nuclear standoff meant that there were significant
positive externalities to US defence policy, making it reasonably cheap
for the US to extend security to its allies. At the same time, the bipo-
lar conflict caused strategic outlooks to align closely across the Atlantic.
As Friedberg quips: ‘Cold-War debates over diplomacy, burden-sharing,
alliance military strategy, and export controls were much like squab-
bles of an essentially stable family ( . . . ) both sides knew that, in the
end, they were stuck with one another’ (Friedberg 1994: 191). In this
circumstance, formal power-sharing entailed low risks from a US per-
spective: in theory, America’s allies were ‘co-authors’ of allied policy, in
practice, there could be little doubt that Washington would dictate allied
strategy (Lundestad 2012: 113–114).
Today, greater heterogeneity of allied security-policy preferences
means there are greater risks to the US of tying itself to collective
decision-making and power-sharing structures. During bipolarity, Soviet
threat provided a clear incentive for Washington to be attentive to
European demands (see Calleo 2009: 7–8). After all, Europeans con-
trolled the territory that would have become the most likely battlefield
in a major war between the two opposing alliances – and the US was
willing to pay a price to keep them in line (Tuschhoff 1999: 143). Today,
however, the US depends less on the unity and credibility of NATO as
a collective security pact. Thus, as Matláry (this volume) recounts, the
US is no longer willing to issue a blanket institutionalized guarantee
of support for European security objectives. It insists that protection
and influence in Washington be ‘paid for’ through individual military
contributions. As America’s involvement in European security takes on
more of a quid pro quo character, Washington is likely to favour ad hoc
bilateral or mini-lateral cooperation over working through an egalitarian
and increasingly deadlocked formal alliance.
Informal cooperation on non-proliferation
I have argued that three categories of change combine to drive up the

relative costs of cooperation within post-Cold War NATO: a fluid, uncer-
tain strategic environment which leads to shorter time horizons and
increases preference heterogeneity; growing institutional constraints;
and a changing balance of power in favour of the US. In areas where
major powers are able to ‘go it alone’ we may therefore expect them
increasingly to bypass the Alliance. In this section I explore how these
dynamics play out in the area of non-proliferation cooperation.
Non-proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD) is a key ele-
ment of the Euro-Atlantic security architecture. During the Cold War,
Washington and its European allies pursued non-proliferation through
a combination of informal bilateral diplomacy and reliance on formal,
treaty-based arms control, disarmament and non-proliferation agree-
ments. These included, inter alia, the Non-Proliferation Treaty (1968),
the Biological Weapons Convention (BWC 1972), the Conventional
Weapons Convention (1980) and the Chemical Weapons Convention
(1993). NATO as an organization does not belong to any arms control

related treaty or regime but encourages its members to implement their
obligations under such treaties fully.
With the end of the Cold War, critical fissures began to emerge
in the global non-proliferation regime. The 1990s witnessed prolifera-
tion of WMD components from states in the former Soviet Union to
countries such as North Korea and Iran. Evidence also emerged of clan-
destine nuclear programmes in Iraq and Libya. At its 2006 Riga Summit,
NATO identified the spread of WMD and the possibility that terrorists
will acquire WMD as one among the principal current threats to the
Alliance. At the Strasbourg-Kehl Summit in 2009, NATO Heads of State
and Government endorsed a ‘Comprehensive, Strategic-Level Policy for
Preventing the Proliferation of WMD’. So far, however, NATO’s policy on
non-proliferation has been limited to regular consultations, intelligence
and information-sharing, and public diplomacy.
The absence of a comprehensive non-proliferation policy in NATO is
somewhat puzzling. Since the late 1990s, a more interventionist non-
proliferation policy has been a top priority in Washington. It would
thus appear sensible, from a US perspective, to strengthen existing
treaty frameworks and call on NATO to take a more active role in non-
proliferation. Yet, so far Washington has pursued the opposite strategy.
In the course of the last decade, the US has withdrawn from the Anti-
Ballistic Missile Treaty, blocked the Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban
Treaty, opposed tougher verification of the Biological Weapons Con-
vention, and watered down UN agreements aimed at controlling the
proliferation of small arms (Kupchan 2012: 15). Rather than channelling
new aspects of its non-proliferation policy through existing IOs such
as NATO, the US has chosen to rely on informal cooperation with
small groups of close allies. Examples include the G8 Non-proliferation
Experts Group and the G8 Global Partnership Against the Spread of
WMD and the controversial Proliferation Security Initiative (PSI).
The PSI provides a very useful illustration of the dynamics and allures
of informal cooperation. Launched by President George W. Bush in May
2003, the PSI (or ‘the initiative’) seeks to ‘stop shipments of WMD,
delivery systems, and related materials flowing to and from states and
non-state actors of proliferation concern’. It urges participating states
to board and search vessels suspected of carrying WMD materiel and, if
appropriate, seize their cargoes. Although the PSI boasts the support of
close to 100 countries, the number of states that have formally adopted
the PSI Interdiction Principles and are members of the Operational
Expert Groups is only around 20.
In organizational terms, the PSI is decidedly informal. It does not

rest on a treaty agreement, it has no central secretariat and no budget.
Indeed, members refer to it as an ‘activity’ rather than an organization
(Proliferation Security Initiative 2003). The ‘rules’ governing PSI activi-
ties are highly flexible. No guidelines exist for when or how to undertake
interdictions, and there is no requirement to report activities to other
members (Belcher 2009). The objectives of cooperation are also ill-
defined. PSI members do not specify the types of WMD transfers they are
targeting, but speak in general terms of ‘nuclear, chemical, or biological
weapons, delivery systems and related materials’ without defining these
terms (Joseph 2004). Targets of interdiction are described enigmatically
as ‘those countries or entities that the PSI participants involved establish
should be subject to interdiction activities because they are engaged in
proliferation’ (US DoS).
An important aspect of the PSI is that it lacks an explicit legal
basis. It does not grant legal authority to stop vessels in international
waters or to seize cargo. Rather, the PSI is based exclusively in the
authority that governments possess under existing national and inter-
national laws (Byers 2004: 529). Yet, current international law does
not criminalize trade in WMD materiel, and there are thus no pro-
visions allowing states to stop and search foreign vessels simply on
suspicion of transporting WMD.2 Washington has come under heavy
criticism for PSI, which has been described by states such as China,
India and Brazil as ‘discriminatory’ and by some European allies as
plainly illegal (Joseph 2004; Richardson 2006: 8–9). So why proceed in
this way?
A straightforward explanation for reliance on informal cooperation
on non-proliferation is growing environmental uncertainty and short-
ened time horizons. During the Cold War, relative stability in strategic
relations meant that non-proliferation agreements were rarely subject
to sudden shocks (Lipson 1991: 520). The modern weapons systems
that fuelled the early decades of bipolar conflict – in particular long-
range nuclear missiles and submarine launched missiles – required
long lead times to build and deploy. As a result, the balance of mili-
tary capacity and technological advantage was expected to shift slowly
within specific weapons categories (Lipson 1991: 520). Moreover, since
advanced weaponry was concentrated in the hands of fewer states,
potential sources of proliferation could be relatively easily identified.
This meant that the long-term costs and benefits of striking formal
agreements to curb proliferation of specific weapons categories could be
projected with some confidence. In this strategic environment, the main
concern of policy-makers was, not flexibility but rather the credibility of

international agreements.
By comparison, current proliferation threats are unpredictable in
nature. A general diffusion of military technology and hardware means
that a growing number of countries are on the brink of develop-
ing advanced nuclear and chemical weapons programmes. It is thus
uncertain where tomorrow’s proliferation threats will emerge, or whose
cooperation will be needed to address those threats. Thus, institu-
tional responses must be flexible enough to keep pace with con-
stantly evolving proliferation threats. An informal approach satisfies this
demand. As observers note, by not specifying what items are subject to
interdiction under what conditions, the PSI maximizes flexibility. For
example, a shipment of dual-use components can be treated differently
depending on its origin and destination (Joseph 2004). Moreover, the
informal basis of cooperation means that the PSI can easily be either
disbanded or expanded as strategic developments dictate.
A second driver of informalization has been divergent preferences
with respect to non-proliferation in general and counter-proliferation
more specifically. In many ways, NATO would be an obvious institu-
tional anchor for cooperation on military-based counter proliferation.
Initiatives aimed at defusing proliferation incentives are already under-
taken by other IOs. However, NATO is well placed to reinforce existing
efforts through military assisted interdiction in situations where tradi-
tional non-proliferation mechanisms (such as export controls) fail. After
all, the majority of the PSI’s core members are also NATO members,
and NATO’s command and control and surveillance and intelligence
assets would be very useful for counter-proliferation operations. Follow-
ing the release of the US Counterproliferation Initiative in 1994, the
NAC established a series of committees and working groups to study mil-
itary aspects of counter-proliferation. But while the NAC acknowledged
officially that traditional non-proliferation efforts were insufficient to
meet current threats,3 it failed to reach consensus on a joint counter-
proliferation policy. A key reason seems to have been diverging threat
perceptions. France worried greatly about WMD proliferation to coun-
tries in North Africa. On the contrary, Germany, along with many
smaller European states, perceived a low level of threat from prolifera-
tion and saw little need for a more offensive counter-proliferation policy
(Larsen 1997: 32). Such divergence made it difficult to reach a formal
agreement.
Even if agreement on NATO-led counter-proliferation were to be
reached, a NATO-led approach might impose unwanted constraints on
US policy. A NATO-led policy on interdiction, for example, would have

to be agreed by all member states, hence resulting in a lowest-common-
denominator agreement. Moreover, individual interdiction efforts
would be subject to collective deliberation and formal oversight by the
NAC. This could pose considerable problems. France has complained
on several occasions about an aggressive US interdiction stance vis-à-
vis Iran, and even the British have raised concerns over the moral and
legal implications of some activities considered in the American Counter
Proliferation Initiative, including forceful interdiction. However, since
interdictions within the PSI framework are not subject to a formal collec-
tive decision process, such objections can more easily be brushed aside.
A third incentive for informalization has been cost savings. A NATO-
led policy on counter-proliferation would likely have to offer broadly
equal terms of participation for all members. By contrast, the informal
nature of the PSI has allowed the US to extend cooperation to other
states on a case-by-case basis, thereby reducing the costs of introducing
a more interventionist global counter-proliferation policy. Informality
has also smoothed the process of co-opting third-party states. To over-
come the problem of a lacking legal basis for interdiction, the US has
signed bilateral ‘ship-boarding agreements’ with a number of key flag
or transit states. Such agreements allow US officials to board and search
ships registered under these flags anywhere in international waters on
short notice. In doing so, rather than offer the types of positive benefits
that might ensue from a formal cooperative relationship (for example,
access to intelligence or technology transfers), the US has struck indi-
vidual deals using either carrots (offers of economic support) or, more
frequently, sticks in the form of threats of withdrawing financial aid to
compel transit states to agree.4 This again can be seen to have lowered
the costs of regime supply.
In short, informal cooperation beyond NATO has allowed the US to
minimize constraints on policy and cut costs. It is important to note,
however, that a US-led ‘Coalition of the Willing’ has been a plau-
sible tool of American counter-proliferation policy only because the
number of states whose collaboration is needed to sustain effective
cooperation on interdiction is small. The US (and to a lesser extent
Britain) dominates maritime interdiction by virtue of the global reach
and strength of its navy (Etzioni 2009). By enlisting the cooperation
of a small but resourceful coalition of the willing, Washington has
succeeded in building joint capacity. At the same time, it escapes the
constraints on decision-making and action that often plague a large,
formal organization like NATO. Since the founding of the PSI, France
has suggested linking it to NATO, thereby enabling PSI operations to

make use of NATO’s intelligence and surveillance assets. Yet, a confi-
dential report from a British official who attended closed PSI-meetings
in 2003 reveals that Washington has explicitly rejected this proposal,
citing an explicit desire to ‘avoid institutionalizing’ PSI.5
Conclusion
I have pointed to several factors – including strategic uncertainty, diver-

gent preferences, growing institutional constraints, and a widening gap
in effective power between allies – which push towards informalization
of transatlantic security cooperation. This does not mean that NATO has
lost its relevance. The Alliance continues to be useful to its members,
both as a tool for coordinating strategic planning and military action
and as a source of legitimacy for allied security policies. However, given
growing institutional constraints and diminished incentives to ensure
a united front vis-à-vis a common threat, in situations where prefer-
ences diverge and time horizons are short, sub-groups of capable states
are likely to act on their own. Thus, at the same time as we have seen
a process of ‘internationalization’ of NATO in the post-bipolar era, we
witness a simultaneous ‘informalization’ of some aspects of transatlantic
security cooperation. The two processes go hand in hand.
Notes
1. The ‘Group of Experts’ appointed by Rasmussen to facilitate a new Strategic
Concept addressed the subject of institutional reform in its May 2010 report
and affirmed the need to streamline collective decision procedures.
2. Art. 110 of UNCLOS states that ships shall enjoy ‘innocent passage’ on the
high seas, meaning that they have complete immunity from the jurisdiction
of any state other than the flag state.
3. ‘The Alliance’s New Strategic Concept’, Communique of NATO heads of state
and government, Rome Summit Meeting 7 December 1991, para. 18.
4. US, DoS, http://www.state.gov/t/isn/index.htm‘PSI Ship Boarding Agreements’.
5. Confidential notes of a meeting shared with the author by an officer of the
British Armed forces, 2007.
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16
NATO’s Transformation and Global
Security
Sean Kay and Magnus Petersson
In terms of its temporal coverage supplementing the contribution of

Trine Flockhart in Part II of this volume, this chapter examines the
implications of ongoing changes in the global security environment for
the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) since the early 2000s.
It demonstrates that NATO’s relevance as a security institution has been
a reflection of the global distribution of power since its founding in
1949. Today, NATO faces new emerging global security challenges. But
its capacity for adapting to these challenges has not been met by a
commensurate investment of resources and will by the member states.
We argue that as a consequence members must prioritize better.
This chapter surveys the general trends relevant to global security and
assesses how NATO has adapted to this emerging international situa-
tion. It does so on a more abstract level than most chapters in parts I–IV
of this volume. The overview shows that while NATO did a solid job of
adjusting to the immediate post-Cold War environment, the global secu-
rity trends pose greater challenges to the future of the institution. The
chapter concludes with a case for how best to realign NATO to make the
transatlantic security relationship durable for the 21st century. We argue
that NATO should be refocusing and rebalancing, for example focus on,
and take responsibility for, European security, and create an acceptable
transatlantic burden-sharing situation.
Firstly, we will describe the global security environment and its chal-
lenges, in particular the economic, cultural, and political challenges.
After that, we discuss NATO’s management of these challenges. Finally,
we draw some conclusions regarding NATO as a more regional than
global institution in the future.
289
The global security environment and its challenges
Compared to national and international security, global security is a

relatively new, often normatively laden, term in world politics that
focuses the discussion of security on the impact of globalization and
new variations on the role of power in the international system
(Haftendorn 1991). Globalization expands the diversity of interactions
among nation-states and across their borders. The expansion and accel-
eration of trade, travel, communications, and other manifestations of
economic, social, and political interdependence alter the way power is
channelled (Kay 2011b: 3).
The global security environment creates a range of diffused opportu-
nities to shape security outcomes, and thus initiative no longer lies with
the traditionally dominant nation-state. It is, for example, believed that
climate change, especially the ice melting in the High North, will cause
a competition between the great powers over territory and resources,
and a greater commercial activity in the area which, in turn, could lead
to security problems (Haftendorn 2011; Macalister 2010; Zysk 2011).
However, globalization can also create a demand for sustaining
and adapting institutions like NATO as a means of facilitating global
problem-solving. During the Cold War, NATO reflected the common
interests of Western powers in deterring aggression from the Soviet
Union. The end of the Cold War provided NATO an opportunity to
help consolidate democracy and peaceful international relations across
Europe via membership enlargement, and serve as a tool for crisis man-
agement in the Balkans (Gheciu 2005; Larsdotter 2012; Schimmelfennig
2003).
Early in the 21st century, however, global security challenges are rais-
ing new dilemmas and exposing deepening weaknesses in the existing
structure and alignment of NATO. Globalization posits a wide and com-
plicated range of security challenges for states and other actors in the
international system. As Stanley Hoffmann notes, globalization is ‘the
clash between the fragmentation of states (and the state system) and
the progress of economic, cultural, and political integration’ (Hoffmann
2002: 104). The benefits of globalization are great, but it also carries new
challenges.
The economic globalization poses, according to Hoffmann, ‘a cen-
tral dilemma between efficiency and fairness’. The specialization and
integration of the economies creates wealth at the same time as
it does not favour social justice: ‘Economic globalization has thus
become a formidable cause of inequality among and within states,
Sean Kay and Magnus Petersson 291
and the concern for global competitiveness limits the aptitude of

states and other actors to address this problem’ (Hoffmann 2002:
107–108). The cultural globalization, Hoffmann continues, creates a ‘key
choice between uniformization (often termed “Americanization”) and
diversity’:
The result is both a ‘disenchantment of the world’ (in Max Weber’s

words) and a reaction against uniformity. The latter takes form in a
renaissance of local cultures and languages as well as assaults against
Western culture, which is denounced as an arrogant bearer of a
secular, revolutionary ideology and a mask for U.S. hegemony.
(2002: 108)
The political globalization, finally, is according to Hoffmann ‘character-

ized by the preponderance of the US and its political institutions and by
a vast array of international and regional organizations and transgov-
ernmental networks [ . . . ] It is also marked by private institutions that
are neither governmental nor purely national’ (Hoffmann 2002: 108).
Added to this are new means of exercising power – locally, nationally,
regionally, and globally – by a range of actors challenging the tradi-
tional dominance of the nation-state in the global distribution of power.
The West is undoubtedly facing these economical, cultural, and political
challenges.
Economical challenges and burden-sharing
Both Europe and the US struggle economically. As Robert A. Pape (2009)

has shown, the US’s relative global share of the gross world product has
been in dramatic decline, in fact one of the steepest declines in world
history, while China continues to rise. Meanwhile, the Eurozone crisis
has made defence investment unappealing, and by early 2012 threat-
ened to damage the global economic system. The crisis has created
serious tensions between northern Europe and southern Europe and it
is not over yet (IISS 2012).
The economic crises in Europe and the US have also created serious
tensions between the US and most of NATO’s European allies regard-
ing burden-sharing within the Alliance. In an article published after the
Libya War on the topic, Ellen Hallams and Benjamin Schreer argue that
[i]t is abundantly clear that the US is serious about forging a new

model of burden-sharing. While the US is not ‘turning away’ from
Europe, Europe is now a region of diminished strategic priority in

the context of shifting patterns of world order. American administra-
tions will also struggle domestically to justify underwriting European
security to the same degree as previously.
(2012: 324)
Most famous are perhaps former US secretary of Defense, Robert Gates,

frequent criticism of the burden-sharing within the Alliance. In Gate’s
final policy speech on NATO’s future in Brussels, 10 June 2011, his mes-
sage was clear. The ISAF mission in Afghanistan had exposed ‘significant
shortcomings in NATO – in military capabilities, and in political will’.
The Libya operation showed similar shortcomings that had the poten-
tial to ‘jeopardize the alliance’s ability to conduct an integrated, effective
and sustained air-sea campaign’. In short, he argued that NATO had
become a two-tiered alliance. The (European) NATO members, he con-
tinued, had to find out new approaches ‘to boosting combat capabilities’
to avoid ‘collective military irrelevance’, and to avoid that future US
political leaders ‘may not consider the return on America’s investment
in NATO worth the cost’ (Gates 2011). The huge cuts in the US defence
budget that were decided during 2012 have made this problem even
worse (Kay 2013).
Cultural challenges and the war on terror
Defining security in global terms places a high value on the ability to

exercise ‘soft power’ – via a range of non-military tools to achieve out-
comes commensurate to one’s interests. Soft power gains are made by
setting examples with one’s actions that others might wish to emu-
late. Key tools of soft power are credibility of commitments, gaining
legitimacy for state action, and the ability to build effective multilateral
coalitions for global problem solving (Nye 2004).
During the Cold War, and the immediate post-Cold War period,
NATO’s appeal as a beacon of freedom was heighted by its defensive pos-
ture with the focus on collective defence and shared decision-making.
After the Cold War, NATO emphasized common ‘Euro-Atlantic values’
and set policy goals, via membership enlargement and humanitarian
interventions, of spreading these values (Kay 2004).
However, Western culture, liberal democracy, human rights, and so on
is, as Hoffmann argues, often seen as ‘hegemonic’ and threatening local
religious and cultural beliefs in other parts of the world. The US strat-
egy shift after September 11, 2001 when containment was replaced by
rollback, that is ‘full-scale war against a rogue state to achieve regime

change’ (Dueck 2006: 227), has increased these fears and led to more
problems than have been solved. The strategy of containment during
the Cold War was largely successful, and the rollback strategy after
11 September 2001 has lead to failure (Shapiro 2007).
Some actors that do not subscribe to the Western cultural ‘uni-
formism’ try to counteract and combat it with different means, such
as terrorism, insurgencies, cyber attacks, and other types of informa-
tion operations. Common to these global security challenges for the
West are that they often are asymmetric. Asymmetric tactics are used to
overcome conventional military superiority by small or weaker state –
or non-state – actors. They are often associated with violence – like
terrorism or insurgent tactics. However, new technology, like cyber
attack and other targeting of vulnerable infrastructure essential to oper-
ating modern states, and especially military capabilities is a growing
risk. Asymmetric tactics can also turn coalition military operations into
complicated political affairs that hinder action in crisis management.
Multiple, complex channels of information-sharing can diffuse power
away from state mechanisms into the hands of individuals and groups,
thus placing ideas and contests over them onto the agenda of world
politics via new forms of information flows that are widely accessi-
ble as in the 2011 ‘Arab Spring’. This dynamic can make it harder for
states to manipulate information and thus places a premium on using
information both effectively and credibly.
Political challenges and the environment
NATO is historically well positioned for managing security relationships

among states and for deterring conventional military threats. Key his-
torical tensions between France and Germany, Greece, and Turkey, for
example, have been settled via NATO and European integration. Europe
has come to reflect a zone of peaceful relations among states. The only
conceivable external threat is Russia. But since it has been in a deep
decline for over two decades, its military capabilities do not seriously
threaten any NATO member, and most NATO allies have if not always
positive, at least steady working relations with Moscow.
Earth is undergoing stresses unlike any humankind has previously
experienced. Issues like population growth, demographics, environmen-
tal changes, water supplies, urbanization and migration, food security,
energy security, and transnational disease can all transcend borders
and decrease state capacity to manage problems. Catastrophic natural
disasters, like the 2010 earthquakes in Haiti and the 2011 earthquake
and nuclear crisis in Japan indicate the need to have a capacity for
mobilizing international responses. The global demand for energy con-
sumption can lead to a disconnect between ambition and capacity – as
the US experienced in the British Petroleum oil leak in 2010. Energy
flows have affected security decision-making in Europe. For example,
growing dependence by Germany on the flows of Russian natural gas
has impacted how Germany calibrates its policy towards Russia. These
kinds of connections between nature, crises, and economic develop-
ment are at the core of the 21st-century security dynamic – scenarios
for which the role of military alliances is diminished. For example, the
NATO allies might be better off spending scarce resources on renewable
energy investment than investing in the Alliance and its capabilities.
NATO’s management of the global security challenges
NATO’s transformation after the Cold War can be seen against this
evolving global power distribution. In the following, we will give a
picture of what NATO has done, more concrete, to manage the global
challenges.
Management of economic challenges

NATO has appeared disconnected from the most urgent challenge in
Europe – the Eurozone crisis which came to a head in 2012. Eco-
nomic uncertainty was now a major threat to Europe, but NATO was
irrelevant to this problem – except that spending on defence seemed
especially problematic. New ideas, like ‘smart defence’ approved at the
2012 NATO summit sought to bridge this gap by helping the Allies to
pool resources: ‘By aligning the use of their fixed military infrastruc-
ture, sharing facilities and services, or buying and maintaining the next
generation of weapons together, countries can preserve capability which
would otherwise be lost to budget cuts’ (Major et al. 2012: 2).
However, allies were unlikely to sacrifice national sovereignty in
defence industry and planning to the interests of the Alliance. Fur-
thermore, if any ally opts out of multinational force structures, the
entire architecture can collapse (see also Deni, this volume). NATO had
thus come to reflect a major structural imbalance at the transatlantic
level – exposed in the Libya war in 2011 when the US sought to
lead from behind, but the Allies could not coordinate without a sus-
tained American logistical commitment. The US seemed to recognize
this in 2012 with its announced ‘pivot’ towards Asia in terms of defence
priorities and the beginning of a process of cutting the American troop

presence in Europe.
Management of cultural challenges

NATO’s legitimacy as a regional organization referring to the UN char-
ter in its Washington Treaty and as a grouping of democracies gives it
soft power influence in global security (see Tomescu-Hatto, this volume).
Its members have shown willingness to use hard power for soft power
objectives like humanitarian intervention. NATO has, however, experi-
enced internal decision-making problems due to institutional rules and
procedures which can negatively affect the ability to act in a timely or
consistent manner which can undermine credibility of commitment to
advancing values (see Michel, this volume).
NATO has also tried to adapt to the two major asymmetrical threats
it has encountered – terrorism and insurgencies. A military alliance
is simply not well equipped to manage terrorism which is mainly an
intelligence-sharing and policing problem. NATO also found itself seri-
ously challenged by adversaries in Kosovo, Afghanistan, and Libya who
were able to turn NATO decision-making processes against the institu-
tion. These conflicts also exposed deep asymmetries of burden-sharing
within NATO military operations.
The cyber attacks on Estonia in 2007 led to an acceleration of NATO’s
policy toward cyber security. NATO’s first cyber defence policy was
adopted in early 2008, and a Cooperative Cyber Defense Centre of
Excellence (CCD CoE) was established in Tallinn in May the same year.
In addition, NATO’s Cyber Defence Management Authority (CDMA) was
created in Brussels to initiate and coordinate response to cyber attacks
against the allies (McGee 2011).
The war between two of NATO’s partners, Russia and Georgia, in 2008,
that also contained elements of cyber attacks on Georgian government
agencies, put even more pressure on NATO that the issue of cyber secu-
rity had to be followed up more permanently and from a strategic level.
Since then, the defence ministers have approved a cyber defence con-
cept in March 2011, and a revised cyber defence policy plus a cyber
defence action plan in June 2011. At the moment, NATO is working
with implementing these decisions and documents (Petersson 2013).
NATO is not a transparent organization. It does not publish minutes
or transcripts of its decision-making and public debate and the parlia-
mentary oversight of the organization is limited, though better public
information can be gained via the NATO Parliamentary Assembly.
NATO has struggled with this as its strategic communications efforts
often paper over internal problems and often result in ‘spin’ rather
than as a good basis for public information. NATO documents offer a
‘NATO story’ – rather than the full record. This secrecy is often necessary
for achieving consensus to do something and for intelligence-sharing
and military operations – but also conflicts with NATO’s role as a reflec-
tion of an alliance of democracies. NATO leadership must thus present
a compelling case to a new generation of parliamentarians and publics
who know little of NATO’s origins, fruition, or adaptation.
A good example of this dilemma is the process that produced
NATO’s 2010 new ‘Strategic Concept’ (NATO 2010b). The working group
recruited for advising and drafting, led by former US Secretary of State
Madeline Albright, was comprised only of people who would not raise
fundamental questions about the Alliance (NATO 2010a). There was
no ‘B’ team to challenge these assumptions. Consequently, the docu-
ment said nothing about the most serious issue that now confronted the
vitality of the Alliance – the 2008 global financial crisis and its exacerba-
tion in the Eurozone and decline in American interest in maintaining
existing troop numbers in Europe. This was a very serious omission
for in June 2011 the US Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates, stated that
NATO faced a ‘dim’ and ‘dismal’ future if it did not radically change
(Gates 2011) – something that the 2010 strategic review apparently
missed.
Management of political challenges

NATO is used to, and plays an important role in, the collective defence
function enshrined in its founding. The organization also serves as
an integrative mechanism for defence information-sharing and trans-
parency. The NATO allies are thus, at the conventional level, secure
and the risk of defence nationalization in Europe is low. NATO has
also developed new mechanisms, such as theatre-based ballistic mis-
sile defence, as a means of deterrence for example against a state
with emerging nuclear ambitions, first and foremost Iran (Tertrais
2011). The result is that NATO has done far better than many crit-
ics would have expected, but at the same time runs into limits as to
global security challenges, relative ambition, and realities of national
interests.
NATO’s International Staff in Brussels and the member states rec-
ognize the challenge of global security and its implications. Shortly
before the Lisbon Summit in 2010, NATO established a new division
in its organizational structure, the Emerging Security Challenges Divi-
sion (ESCD), that is supposed to deal with non-traditional risks and
challenges: terrorism, weapons of mass destruction, cyber defence, and

energy security (Petersson 2013).
NATO has also considered concepts like a ‘global NATO’; considered
a ‘comprehensive approach’ to security with a greater civilian element;
it has moved away from collective defence and more towards security
management; and its leaders are now positioning the organization to
serve as a hub for global partnerships which help facilitate multilateral
cooperation. NATO was, however, at the same time damaged as ambi-
tion outpaced will and capacity. In particular, European contributions
to the common defence in NATO had fallen so that one ally, the US,
was providing 75 per cent of defence contributions. This led to a situa-
tion where, in the 1995 Bosnia war, one-half of the troops were non-US.
However, by the 2005 take-over by NATO of the mission in Afghanistan
the Allies provided only one-quarter of the troops and many imposed
serious limits on how they could be used. Only a small handful of allies
offered combat forces to the Afghan war (Kay 2013).
Public opinion also reflects deepening fissures and frustrations across
the Atlantic (see also Tomsecu-Hatto, this volume). The Pew Global
Attitudes survey, for example, reported on transatlantic perspectives on
military intervention in late 2011. The survey shows that 75 per cent of
Americans agree that it is ‘sometimes necessary to use military force to
maintain order in the world’ – while European attitudes decline from
Britain’s 70 per cent; France’s 62 per cent; Spain’s 62 per cent; and
Germany’s very low 50 per cent. This is significant as these are the largest
and most capable military powers in Europe (Pew Research Center 2011).
The transatlantic alliance is also split over the need for institutional
legitimacy for military intervention – generally seen as attained via
a United Nations mandate. Americans are split on this issue with
45 per cent saying it is necessary and 46 per cent arguing it only com-
plicates military operations. In Germany, 76 per cent want the UN
mandate and, respectively, in Spain it is 74 per cent, Britain 67 per cent,
and France, 66 per cent. This is an important structural divide: as a
rule, most Americans also want to know that allies are with them in
military interventions, but doing so means gaining a UN mandate. Cru-
cially, Americans are turning inward in ways that they have not since
World War II. In the Pew survey, only 39 per cent of Americans agree
that the US should help other countries while 52 per cent say America
should handle its own problems and let others manage as best they
can. Europeans, however, are not going to spend more on defence and
thus find it harder to influence American military planning. Worse,
while Europeans want American engagement, continued perceptions of
European free-riding further exacerbates isolationist trends in America

(Pew Research Center 2011).
These operational and political dilemmas came to a head in the 2011
NATO war in Libya. Military and paramilitary forces aligned with the
brutal government of Muammar Qadhafi were repressing rebels seeking
to oust his government. It appeared that absent external support, the
rebels would be crushed at the city of Bengazi. Two key NATO allies –
Britain and France – pushed for intervention and the US agreed to go
along – but also ‘leading from behind’ – putting the allies up front.
Within days the same political and operational dilemmas that hampered
the military cohesion and effectiveness of Kosovo and Afghanistan oper-
ations emerged, but even worse. Germany refused to participate – and
even walked out of the North Atlantic Council at a key moment of
debate. Only a handful of countries agreed to send but limited airpower
and no ground forces were contemplated. NATO could not agree on the
actual mission – humanitarian assistance or regime change. NATO could
not agree on a plan for post-conflict peace building. NATO could not
operate without key staging, logistical, and intelligence assets that only
the US could provide. Decisive outcomes, consequently, could not be
achieved as intended at the outset and there was no ‘Plan B’ for failure
(Marcus 2011).
The allies lacked available aircraft and capacity in precision-guided
weaponry, and sustainability of air operations. Of the countries that pro-
vided strike aircraft – Britain and France with 20 each and an additional
six each from Belgium, Canada, Denmark, and Norway. All of these
(non UK and French) planes were American-made and updated to be
compatible with, and dependent on, American operating systems. Even
after taking a reduced role in early April 2011, the US was still flying
25 per cent of the air activity over Libya – mainly intelligence, jamming,
and refuelling operations (de Young and Jaffe 2011). For its part, Britain
likely used as much as 20 per cent of its cruise missile capacity in the
first weeks of the war (Harding 2011). NATO was eventually successful –
with Qadhafi killed by his own people (in October 2011) and the relative
costs of $ 1 billion for the US and no allied lives being impressive.
Finally, NATO can play, and has played, a major role in disaster relief
and information-sharing on environmental and energy security and
other emerging threats connected to ‘nature’. But the limited role of
the military in addressing these issues exposes the growing disconnect
between NATO as a military organization and emerging threats. More-
over, spending on NATO can be a bad allocation of resources relative to
new kinds of global security challenges.
Reflections and recommendations
With deepening economic crises and war-weary publics, NATO faces a

prolonged period of American retrenchment and deeper European cuts
in defence spending. Failure to adjust will spell further decline in rel-
evance for the organization. Three key elements of a new American
defence strategy announced in early 2012 make it hard to escape the
logic of a major realignment in NATO (Department of Defense 2012).
First, there is a clear statement that Asia is the priority for American
national security planning – and it would not be possible to do this in
a serious way without major cuts and changes in America’s force pos-
ture in Europe. Second, major troop reductions are coming – including
shrinking the size of the US Army from 570,000 to possibly as low
as 490,000. These cuts have to come from somewhere and Europe is
the obvious place to start. Third, the US states that (also with original
italics): ‘Whenever possible, we will develop innovative, low-cost, and small-
footprint approaches to achieve our security objectives, relying on exercises,
rotational presence, and advisory capabilities’ (Department of Defense
2012: 4).
If there is any place in America’s global footprint where this approach
is most immediately applicable, it is Europe. Three specific shifts within
NATO can help to rebalance this essential relationship and sustain a
degree of capacity for military intervention among the Allies. One of
these shifts is to limit America’s role in NATO to Article V missions. This
means placing the US position in NATO in strategic reserve – hedging
against future great power difficulties or shocks to the international sys-
tem affecting the US and Europe. Given that the general threat level
is very low and warning times long, this means limiting for the fore-
seeable future American involvement in NATO to missile defence and
officer liaison activity for defence planning and information-sharing.
The US would not just walk away, but rather set a clear goal of working
with the Allies over a period of time to help them get to a point where
they can sustain a Balkans-style peace support operation and a Libya war
without the US. Other ‘emerging threats’ would be handled either with
Europe in a lead role within NATO or by the European Union – that is
cyber attack, sanctions regimes, counter-terrorism, and peace operations
in or around the European area.
A second shift according to this approach means dramatic reduc-
tions in American military personnel stationed in Europe, likely from
tens of thousands down to hundreds – mainly manning missile defence
operations and in support roles in planning headquarters. This would
likely also mean, in a third shift, relocating the US European Command

(EUCOM) in Stuttgart, Germany, to the US. There is no command or
operational activity done through EUCOM that cannot be done from
an American location (modelled, for example, after the fact that wars
in Iraq and Afghanistan have been run from Florida and the US Cen-
tral Command). Remaining major US bases in Europe would be either
closed or handed over to Europeans as part of the new operational pri-
orities for European defence. Pre-deployed equipment and integration
planning would remain in the event of any Article V threat, or any seri-
ous non-collective defence operations that in the end required American
engagement (Kay 2012).
The arguments against this set of recommendations are understand-
able, but based on assertions, not facts. Some critics assert that ‘Europe
is not ready’ to stand on its own – and that means that America must
stay and lead. This is a fallacy which proves itself only by a willingness
to stay with the status quo which doubles down a ‘dim’ and ‘dismal’
future. Another argument is that Europe is needed as a vital platform
for American power projection. Yet, a massive amount of American
troop flows into the Persian Gulf have gone through Shannon Airport
in Ireland – not a NATO member (Kay 2011a).
In other words, bilateral arrangements for air and naval access can
address this need in crises. Yet another argument is that if America is
not there as an anchor in Europe, the Europeans will re-nationalize and
instinctively return to nationalism and war. This ignores the entire story
of progress in Europe since 1945. It ignores, in particular, the fact that
at the most dangerous moment to NATO, the very early years of the
Cold War, there was almost nothing there: no headquarters, no staff,
no Secretary General, no integrated military command structure (see
Schmidt and Krüger, this volume).
Today, Europe is reaping the rewards of decades of success. Europe is
moving well beyond historically derived assumptions about national-
istic competition. For example, in 2010 the British and French leaders
announced that they will integrate their military capabilities bilaterally
and at a level of depth, amounting to internationalization, as defined in
the introduction of this volume, that was never achieved in NATO. This
includes creating a joint expeditionary force, shared use of aircraft car-
riers, and combined efforts on nuclear weapons safety and effectiveness
including unprecedented information-sharing on nuclear programmes
(see also Deni, this volume). The deal went into precise as detail on
sharing programmes on parts, maintenance and training for crews of
military transport aircraft – independent of reliance on America’s heavy
transport aircraft. They also planned cooperation on drone planes and

a range of technologies for nuclear submarines and military satellites
(Burns 2010).
The British and French agreement was announced to last for 50 years
and is a model for integration growing from within the European ele-
ments of NATO. America can play a lead role in fostering that and align
with the common interest articulated by British Prime Minister David
Cameron. In announcing the agreement with France, Cameron said that
the new arrangement would save ‘millions of pounds’ in part of the
larger dynamic of cutting Britain’s defence spending. He added: ‘It is
about defending our national interest. It is about practical, hard-headed
cooperation between two sovereign countries.’ Cameron went even fur-
ther and stressed that this is something that should be welcomed in
Washington because: ‘They’d like us to have the biggest bang for our
buck that we possibly can’ (Burns 2010).
Conclusion
NATO has been a major element of global security since its inception in
1949. It was a structural manifestation of the global balance of power
during the Cold War. The Alliance was then a key mechanism for con-
solidating post-Cold War order and democracy-building in central and
eastern Europe, especially the Balkans. As its ambitions spread beyond
Europe, however, the will and capacity to deliver began to disconnect
the Alliance from basic realities. The Alliance recognized new challenges
but grew further disconnected from capacity to meet them. The Allies
do have the capacity to meet a wide range of challenges. But whether
NATO is the best means of doing that remains to be seen. Most likely,
the Alliance now enters a period in which it continues to survive, but its
relevance to global security outcomes declines. This provides the orga-
nization with an opportunity to refocus on basic purposes, beginning
with collective defence and rebalancing the transatlantic relationship.
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17
Conclusion: NATO’s Transformed
Provision of Security
Sebastian Mayer
After the end of the Cold War, NATO’s institutional complexity has
considerably increased. The Alliance has assumed new tasks beyond
collective defence for which resources have been made available, and
existing military structures were transformed so as to enable the pact
to conduct novel tasks, including peacekeeping and peace enforcement.
The preceding chapters have particularly described the institutionaliza-
tion of added functions, new or adapted administrative bodies, as well
as the associated processes and operational roles.
NATO is understood here as an international organization (IO) pri-
marily made up of states, able to take action vis-à-vis its environment
in the issue area of external security. It has agentic qualities as it com-
prises governing bodies as well as a secretariat which perform a number
of executive functions delegated by its members with certain degrees
of discretion. For the assessment of NATO’s changing institutional
structure and political processes, the heuristic framework of ‘interna-
tionalization’ has been applied which points to a particular form of
institutional change. By no means to be equated with supranationaliza-
tion (only an extreme value internationalization may take on), the term
denotes a process by which national procedures of planning, decision-
making, or implementation of a policy area are linked with – or shift
to – IOs and thus enhance their significance (Mayer 2009: 41–56). The
authors have reacted to this framework by exploring the extent to which
internationalization has occurred in their respective chapter topics.
The historical contributions by Gustav Schmidt and Dieter Krüger in
Part I describe the formation of NATO’s political and military structures
that have evolved since 1949. They trace the establishment of intergov-
ernmental bodies such as the North Atlantic Council and the Military
Committee (MC) as well as the integrated chain of command with their
304
Sebastian Mayer 305
emerging processes of consensus-building and joint problem-solving.

Other institutions or schemes indicative of an internationalization of
security and defence politics include the office of the Secretary Gen-
eral whose privileges grew over time, the Annual Review process with
its binding commitments for force generation, and the integrated com-
mand structure, more generally. While both authors highlight that the
perceived threat of a belligerent Soviet Union has largely driven NATO’s
institutionalization, Krüger makes the case that the internationaliza-
tion of warfare with its roots in the First World War has decisively
shaped the Alliance’s integrated military structure. Both Schmidt and
Krüger underline that despite fierce opposition by some NATO mem-
bers against a conferral of competences and alleged losses of national
sovereignty, NATO’s emerging multilateral structures gained credibility
over time in their eyes. After difficult learning processes and compro-
mises on their national interests and sensitivities, members increasingly
considered NATO’s international structures as acceptable. Their notions
of national sovereignty – a varying norm rather than a fixed, absolute
concept – henceforth changed, acknowledging that there is a trade-off
between sovereignty and power, influence and interest.
In Part II of the collection, Trine Flockhart and Odette Tomescu-
Hatto discuss NATO’s new identity and point out the altered external
security environment in which the Alliance found itself in the 1990s
and beyond. Arguing that changed structural forces in the post-Cold
War international system do not suffice to explain NATO’s persistence
and rejuvenated existence, Flockhart reasons from a constructivist per-
spective that agency was a key factor for the Alliance’s transformation
and its ability to adapt to the new environment. Despite a number
of resilient practices (such as the ‘consensus rule’) which endured,
Flockhart maintains that deliberate action and collective constructions
of a novel identity during the 1990s were crucial for NATO in countering
threats to its raison d’être. Next, Odette Tomescu-Hatto provides impor-
tant insights into how NATO attempts to sustain this newly acquired
identity. Largely drawing on the communication studies scholarship,
she outlines novel techniques which the Alliance now employs to cre-
ate a supportive environment for its actions. In doing so, the Alliance
capitalizes on the potential of soft power: the ability to shape what
others want. Fundamentally distinct from the pre-2003 Office of Infor-
mation and Press, NATO’s new Public Diplomacy Division seeks to
sustain the Alliance’s identity and to mould perceptions of external
audiences which may act as constraints on NATO’s policies. This raises
the important issue of NATO’s legitimacy and its struggle for gaining
306 Conclusion: NATO’s Transformed Provision of Security
international credibility which are particularly jeopardized when the

Alliance is confronted with civilian casualties and only mediocre success
in its operations. As polling data provided by Tomescu-Hatto suggest,
NATO sometimes encounters major difficulties in winning the support
of domestic audiences in allied countries as well as the ‘hearts and
minds’ of the people in target states.
Internationalization through post-Cold War NATO
In their historical chapters, Gustav Schmidt and Dieter Krüger send an

important reminder that security and defence politics of NATO allies
had been internationalized to a significant degree already prior to 1990.
Contributors in Part III of the collection witness yet increased lev-
els of internationalization in the post-Cold War environment wherein
new notions of security have emerged, a context in which NATO has
acquired its new identity with associated expectations about appropri-
ate behaviour. The provision of security for the physically abused and
for refugees are emphasised as part of the larger context of ‘human
security’. A new norm is emerging, addressing the failures of preventing
and stopping genocide or other crimes against humanity (ICISS 2001).
To this end, foreign interventions by civilian and military means –
predominantly within multilateral IO frameworks – have become an
established practice. Unlike unilateral interventions in the past cen-
turies, the aims and strategies of current multilateral interventions
serve to reconstruct or strengthen state structures, nurture democracy,
and prevent widespread suffering or casualties within target countries
(Finnemore 2003).
Against this background, NATO has been transformed from a threat-
oriented military alliance to a complex security management institution
(Wallander and Keohane 1999: 46). Post-Cold War ‘boots on the ground’
operations in the Balkans, Afghanistan, and elsewhere to address the
above challenges require complex sets of capabilities, infrastructures,
and strategies that member states alone have difficulties to provide.
Ryan C. Hendrickson shows in Chapter 7 that NATO’s post-Cold
War Secretaries General enjoy a heightened political significance. As
autonomous initiators of policy ideas and by directing the Alliance
towards specific ends, incumbents are now able to impact upon out-
comes to larger degrees than their predecessors – as the cases of Wörner,
Solana, or Rasmussen show. This clearly points to internationalization.
The less clear-cut strategies to cope with the new external environment,
and the extensively increased number of allies as veto players in the
Sebastian Mayer 307
North Atlantic Council and other forums, provide office holders more
leadership opportunities.
In Chapter 8, Sebastian Mayer and Olaf Theiler address informal polit-
ical forums at NATO’s headquarters that have evolved after 1990 and
particularly since 11 September 2001. They trace off-the-record cooper-
ation networks with shared practices located at different hierarchical
levels. This includes Private Office Meetings, permanent dialogues,
or subject-specific working groups. Largely running in harmony with
NATO’s official decision-making structure, these forums help to manage
implementation, to test the viability of policy initiatives, and to ease
strategic debate. In so doing they foster information-sharing as well as
decision-shaping and decision-making. Inasmuch as they contribute to
multilateral problem-solving in Brussels, they also embody internation-
alization. Connecting to Hendrickson’s insights on entrepreneurship,
particularly informal forums at the staff and lower-diplomatic levels pro-
vide important preparatory resources for the Secretary General and his
top-level employees from the IS as they mediate between national repre-
sentatives with conflicting preferences. Acting as policy entrepreneurs,
participants of NATO’s bureaucracy in such forums may also suggest
their own ideas and initiatives which might win broader support.
Turning to the military bodies at NATO’s headquarters, Jo G. Gade
and Paal Sigurd Hilde (in Chapter 9) explore the roles and functioning
of the MC and the International Military Staff (IMS). Arguing that their
rules remain largely constant after 1990, they observe that practices have
changed quite substantially particularly due to three factors: NATO’s
greater involvement in crisis response and peace support operations,
the associated need for rapid decision-making, and the political nature
of NATO’s post-Cold War tasks and operations. In particular, practices
have changed so as to speed up decision-making processes in both mil-
itary bodies. The authors also note that the more frequent (though still
rare) use of Chairman’s Memoranda within the MC – an instrument
effectively embodying majority voting – points to a modest amount of
internationalization. Yet, as Hendrickson notes with regard to the Sec-
retaries General, Gade and Hilde are also aware of the strong impact of
personalities on how often these memoranda are actually used.
In his chapter on the ‘consensus rule’, Leo G. Michel shows that this
deeply embedded practice – which permeates all layers of NATO’s for-
mal procedures, including its committee structure – remains valid after
the Cold War. However, a number of examples where the consensus
rule was applied and the portrayal of debates over streamlining this
‘rule’ make obvious that this sovereignty-sensitive decision procedure
causes a number of difficulties in an environment where rapid decision-

making is of crucial importance. All proposals to amend the ‘rule’,
which Michel briefly outlines, imply greater levels of internationaliza-
tion. They include the idea to provide more discretionary powers to
the Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR), to introduce qual-
ified majority voting, or to mandate a committee of contributors which
excludes non-participants in a given operation. The (cautious) introduc-
tion of qualified majority voting ‘through the back-door’ in the form of
Chairman’s Memoranda which Gade and Hilde observe in their chapter
is also indicative of the increasing awareness by NATO practitioners that
greater limitations of national sovereignty might be indispensable in
order to improve the quality of external security as a collective good in
a substantially changed environment, hence highlighting the associated
trade-off between sovereignty and effectiveness.
Regarding defence planning, force generation, and military integra-
tion, John R. Deni shows in Chapter 10 that the depth of military
integration after 1990 has significantly increased, which, too, points
to an internationalization of security and defence politics. He names
NATO’s sharply risen level of ambition, the increased number of opera-
tions during the past two decades, and the intensity of defence budget
cuts in member states as key drivers. They have led to closer military
integration, a pooling and division of labour of national military ele-
ments, and generally a strengthened process of force generation which
all imply a growing interlinking of national power structures. Unprece-
dented levels of military integration are also recognized by Sean Kay
and Magnus Petersson in their outlook on the Alliance’s future in
Chapter 16.
Drawing more specifically on neoinstitutionalist assumptions and
insights from bureaucratic politics, Christian Tuschhoff (Chapter 11)
looks in greater detail at how the processes of defence planning and
force generation function and how they impact on member states. He
notes that bureaucratic routines and institutionalized schemes associ-
ated with these processes increase transparency, coordinate national
and multilateral planning procedures, and provide common standards.
In doing so, these structures foster national responsiveness to, and
compliance with, joint policies that are not necessarily in line with
national preferences. Tuschhoff shows that novel planning schemes
introduced in 2009 have accelerated the process of internationaliza-
tion even further: through new information systems, NATO’s military
bureaucracy has improved the precision of data. This allows for a better
comparison of national contributions and hence a tighter monitoring
Sebastian Mayer 309
of member-state commitments which tends to discourage defection.

Overall, this enhances the significance of NATO as an IO.
Emerging relations of an IO with state and other non-state actors are
indicative of a broader trend towards an ‘opening up’ of IOs (Tallberg
et al. 2013) and add to a security regime of interacting units. Mem-
ber states have difficulties to steer such security networks towards
desired outcomes while they are able to shape and control an individ-
ual organization much easier. Interorganizational relations are therefore
also seen as indicative of internationalization (Mayer 2009: 171–201).
Rafael Biermann shows in Chapter 12 that NATO has in fact devel-
oped relations with a number of IOs after 1990, whereas the Alliance
was largely a stand-alone organization before. Yet, the current num-
ber of interorganizational relationships (the ‘organization-set’) remains
comparatively limited. This is due, Biermann argues, to NATO being
a single-purpose organization which allows for less functional overlap
with other organizations than is the case with multi-issue organiza-
tions such as the EU or the UN. Biermann notes that classification
requirements and NATO’s adverse image among many potential part-
ners are also inhibiting factors to a wider organization set. Looking at
cooperation with the UN and the Organization for Security and Co-
operation in Europe more specifically, he shows that close relations
along the two dyads are particularly impeded by frictions over questions
of authority and autonomy which arise from asymmetric relationships
wherein the two IOs barely have resources to offer that NATO really
requires.
Essentially reflecting Biermann’s findings, M.J. Williams notes
in Chapter 13 that the relationships between NATO and non-
governmental organizations (NGOs) remain informal and are hardly
developed at the political level. While Williams does discern ad hoc deal-
ings in the field with an abundance of NGOs, these types of interaction
are no more than a pure necessity in operational environments where
Western actors are required to develop comprehensive strategies involv-
ing a host of instruments. This dictates collaboration among numerous
actors, above all in the context of civil–military relations. But Williams
states that NATO’s interactions with NGOs largely depend on personal
contacts. By contrast, more formalized cooperation in the field which
would better structure their relationships is still lacking, as is particularly
a formalized strategic cooperation at the level of NATO’s headquarters.
Echoing Biermann’s findings regarding other IOs, Williams concludes
that NATO so far remains largely inaccessible for the NGO community
at a political level. The Alliance’s partnerships with non-NATO troop
contributors are also an important feature that marks the Alliance’s

post-Cold War politics. In this regard, and concluding Part IV of the
volume, Janne Haaland Matláry argues in Chapter 14 that risk-willing
partners play an increasingly important role in NATO’s operations.
Overall, NATO does seek to retain its operational autonomy and
remains a difficult point of access when collaborating with third-party
actors. But ultimately the Alliance provides security in concert with a
wide variety of international state and non-state actors operating with
dissimilar mandates and with different comparative advantages in a
sense of ‘networked security’.
In conclusion, the globalized and transnational nature of NATO’s
new challenges beyond collective defence with their multidimensional,
cross-boundary character stands out as a key factor leading to inter-
nationalization. These new challenges have rendered the function of
territorial boundaries less effective. The increased burdens accompany-
ing often far-off operations in times of budgetary constraints add to the
need to find common solutions within IOs such as NATO. Moreover,
the membership increase in NATO has likewise boosted the costs for
negotiation, consensus-building, and decision-making. This has called
for (heightened roles of) transaction-reducing and meditating institu-
tions such as NATO’s Secretary General. Finally, the need to provide
legitimacy for disputed military operations can best be satisfied through
legalized, treaty-based IOs with their rule-bound institutional mecha-
nisms. Against this background, NATO members have accepted new
notions of sovereignty with greater levels of internationalization.
Limits to internationalization
The process of internationalization through NATO’s changing provision

of security after the Cold War stays within limits, however. NATO clearly
remains a government-dominated institution with powerful member
states being most critical in the formulation of collective political deci-
sions. Within the member-state–IO relationship, the control that the
former may generally exercise over the latter can take on several forms.
It includes – in descending order starting with a supranational gover-
nance structure – endowing an IO bureaucracy with delegated powers
so that it is able to make independent political decisions; the delega-
tion of decision-making powers to a committee (such as the UN Security
Council); the making of decisions through a simple or qualified major-
ity voting of member states; or decision-making through consensus
(Koremenos et al. 2001: 772).
Sebastian Mayer 311
Despite some inroads made to soften the highly resilient consensus

rule, the ultimate marker for national sovereignty, there is no doubt
that the control that NATO’s members exert over the international
bureaucracy at Bouelvard Léopold remains exceptionally tight. Most
NATO employees in Brussels are still rotated in short intervals of a few
years. Both the civilian IS and the IMS therefore fall short of devel-
oping into a career service akin to that of the European Union with
an institutional memory, a particular ésprit de corps, and significant
information asymmetries vis-à-vis member governments. Leo G. Michel
demonstrates in Chapter 6 that despite the problems associated with
consensual decision-making in an environment characterized by com-
plex and ambiguous political challenges, member states have so far
refused to loosen their control and accept schemes conceding more
powers to NATO’s bureaucracy in this regard. The informal forums
revealed in Chapter 8 have largely evolved to help speed up consensus-
building and decision-making procedures without formally sacrificing
the consensus rule. The same is generally true with the changed prac-
tices in the MC and IMS as outlined by Jo G. Gade and Paal Sigurd Hilde.
It remains to be seen whether the above-noted signs for alleviating the
consensus principle are indicative of a more salient trend towards less
sovereignty-sensitive forms of decision-making within the Alliance.
In contrast to the informal forums alongside formal decision-making
discussed by Mayer and Theiler, informal structures deliberately crafted
outside treaty-based institutional frameworks (such as ‘coalitions of the
willing’) oppose or escape formal rules. In Chapter 15, Mette Eilstrup-
Sangiovanni discusses the advantages of such forms of informal coop-
eration for the states pursuing them. She argues that the post-Cold War
environment is characterized by strategic uncertainty with often diver-
gent state preferences and a widening gap in effective power between
allies. Acknowledging increased levels of internationalization observed
by other authors in the volume, she also notes an associated institu-
tional thickness of the Alliance. She goes on to claim, however, that
this increased institutional density is often considered an institutional
constraint which particularly powerful member states wish to break free
from: the mighty are induced to opt for informal arrangements which
avoid associated problems and costs. Stand-alone informal initiatives
without a legal basis such as the Proliferation Security Initiative (PSI)
enhance the speed of crafting cooperation, allow for selective inclu-
sion of useful non-members, and face fewer domestic-level obstacles
due to their lesser visibility. Eilstrup-Sangiovanni admits, however, that
treaty-based IOs do remain vital sources of legitimacy and valuable tools
for coordinating multilateral operations. These latter arguments are in

agreement with Janne Haaland Matláry who contends that post-Cold
War NATO has been transformed into a rather loose, yet useful and
legitimacy-providing arena for coalitions of (risk) willing members and
partners.
Notwithstanding their extraordinary scientific importance for bet-
ter understanding informal aspects of international relations, both the
informalization and the arena argument require further empirical evi-
dence. The question under which conditions states may find that the
benefits of informalization outweigh the transaction costs-reducing and
legitimacy-generating advantages of treaty-based IOs (and vice versa)
call for further scrutiny. Even in cases where initially ad hoc coalitions
outside the Alliance had been deployed, such as in Afghanistan or Libya,
subsequently national forces had been subordinated under NATO’s inte-
grated military command. But why, if ad hoc coalitions of the willing
are apparently more beneficial? What explains this variation in institu-
tional choice over time? And why have powerful NATO members agreed
over and over again to delegate yet more responsibilities to the Alliance,
as laid down in its three post-Cold War Strategic Concepts? Likewise
is the amount of NATO operations with fundamentally varying sets of
members and partners still too small to infer a full-fledged trend towards
‘NATO as arena’. The list of potential non-NATO partners with note-
worthy capabilities shrinks greatly after discounting the large number
of states with merely symbolic contributions of a few troops – be they
risk-willing or not. But despite their need for further scrutiny, Eilstrup-
Sangiovanni and Matláry generally bring up the important question of
whether or not more institutionalized structures are less conducive for
collective decision-making. Both chapters (chapters 14 and 15) gener-
ally send an important reminder that the degree of internationalization
is still contested among member states, and that informality and state
power continue to be important features of world politics.
Taken together, the (limited) processes of internationalization after
the Cold War through the Alliance have led to shifts in the locus of
governance. Governments clearly remain the dominant actors in the
relationship with NATO’s bureaucracy, and it is hard to imagine that the
latter deviates substantially from the political preferences of its most
powerful members. States remain key shapers of political processes, and
they retain the ultimate responsibility to employ external force.
But internationalization through NATO does imply adaptation and
changes in national policies and transcends national parochialism. The
process has led to a political order characterized by more fragmented
Sebastian Mayer 313
responsibilities in which transgovernmental and transnational contacts

and the pressure to reach consensus alter underlying national prefer-
ences. Thicker institutional structures of common rules and practices
shape policy outcomes, and newly created schemes subject national
capabilities to institutional and physical constraints. Instead of a pro-
cess of transference of national elements to the international level, the
transformed monopoly of force of NATO’s members is best captured in
terms of institutionally embedded (Herschinger et al. 2011).
NATO as an organization and bureaucracy: Pathways to

further research
Chapters in this collection have started to somewhat fill the void of

NATO as an organization and bureaucracy although this field remains
largely under-researched. In this section I reveal a number of more spe-
cific lacunae in this field and suggest some avenues of high promise for
further research. No claims are made for these gaps to be exhaustive,
and only occasional reference is made to authors and analytical angles
I deem most helpful in proceeding further along these avenues.
One such pathway is the exploration of additional administrative
bodies and their practices – particularly units and offices in the inte-
grated military structure such as the SACEUR and Supreme Headquarters
Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE), but also in Brussels. It would be especially
worthwhile to shed more light on the recruiting practices at NATO’s
headquarters which impact on staff loyalties and hence their ability to
form a career service as outlined above. In this context, it is also valuable
to discern more systematically the preferences of NATO’s bureaucracy
which, however, is a notoriously difficult task as with any IO bureau-
cracy. Based on such insights, more informed claims can then be made
about the roles NATO plays, ranging between the two ideal-typical
roles of ‘rule’ and ‘fool’ (Duffield 2008) and the associated variations in
institutional autonomy: the degree of independence from interference
allowing for some purposive action. In order to specify the preferences
of NATO’s bureaucracy, it is generally useful to consider insights from
the sociological, cognitive, and bureaucratic politics literatures.
What requires further scrutiny, too, are the interactions among
administrative units and offices, including operational headquarters
in the field. Although contributors to this collection have provided
a number of inbuilt case studies revealing political processes between
NATO’s bureaucracy and member states (such as in the Afghanistan
or Libya missions), more systematic case studies on NATO’s operations
would yield more detailed information on decision-making processes

which have a relevance for the strengthening, refinement, or falsifica-
tion of hypotheses on NATO’s institutional change sketched out in this
collection.
As has been outlined in the introduction of this volume, neo-
institutionalism (upon which the internationalization concept builds)
provides a fertile conceptual and theoretical basis for examining the
above questions. This applies especially to the third-generation research
on formal models of international institutions which explores, among
others, the specific functioning of IOs, including the impact of their
bureaucratic expertise (Gilligan and Johns 2012: 228–238).
There is a dearth of theoretically informed studies on multinational-
ization, role specialization, and asset pooling (the joint development,
purchase, or operation of military equipment), all of which affect the
pursuit of national security. The new institutional economics schol-
arship on transaction costs (Williamson 2000) is particularly valuable
to help explain specific institutional manifestations of such phenom-
ena (for one application to NATO, see Wallander 2000). Transaction
cost theory hypothesizes that IO members wish to profit from effi-
ciency gains of multilateral cooperation while having a preference for
keeping ex ante (such as the costs of achieving an agreement) and
ex post (such as the costs of implementing an agreement) transaction
costs low. Although specific and functionally differentiated assets in
the NATO context (such as strategic airlift capabilities) allow for sig-
nificant efficiency gains since they evade costly duplication across all
members, their flip side is that they function only in concert and
require high degrees of transparency and trust. This can be difficult
under conditions of high uncertainty with a high risk for defection.
Applied to security institutions, transaction cost theory therefore claims
that multinationalization, role specialization, and asset pooling trigger a
demand for institutionalized arrangements with highly binding rules so
as to avoid defection, hence the assumption of national preferences for
more binding commitments through internationalization (Weiss 2011:
29–38).
Related to this latter point, research priorities closely connected to
NATO as an organization of its own right also include the preferences of
allied members pertaining to NATO’s institutional design and its level of
internationalization more generally. While a usual suspects list of sup-
porters and opponents of a more densely institutionalized Alliance with
more binding rules can be quickly created, systematic explorations of
Sebastian Mayer 315
member-state preferences on NATO’s institutional design still requires

more scholarly investigation.
Another suggestion for a research avenue is the relationship between
internationalization and informalization which calls for further elabo-
ration across unit and system levels of analysis (see Mayer 2011). Is it
possible to identify causal mechanisms between the two phenomena
outlined in this collection? Can informalization, perhaps, be thought of
as a response to internationalization as Eilstrup-Sangiovanni argues in
her chapter? or is there a more intricate relationship between the two?
Normative-theoretical scholarship may facilitate the evaluation of
observed informal structures within and beyond the Alliance. The ques-
tion of whether or not informal politics with its impact on power
allocation and outcomes should be deemed desirable is largely case-
dependent. Consider the informally expanded competences of the EU
parliament in the Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) over
time with its greater ability for oversight and transparency. Some may
castigate this as ‘agency slack’, while others might warmly welcome this
as democracy-enhancing. Behind-the-door pre-decisions beyond official
channels outside an IO may be greeted by some observers as indis-
pensable in order to enable effective agreements. Yet, there are likely
to be others who regard these practices as suspicious at best, down-
right harmful and undemocratic at worst, as they reduce transparency,
circumvent domestic parliamentary requirements, and preclude other,
maybe normatively more desirable, political solutions. These and other
tensions between central normative goods – security, democracy, and
the rule of law – clearly underline that informal politics is a Janus-faced
phenomenon.
A last pathway suggested here for a better understanding of NATO
comprises the issue of the Alliance’s legitimacy and democratic account-
ability which awaits further clarification. Only sketchily have these top-
ics been covered in our collection. But how, precisely, does NATO react
in situations where its military interventions are subject of great con-
troversy? How are legitimacy claims justified, and on which normative
sources does NATO draw? What strategies other than increasing the
effectiveness of its operations (output legitimacy) can the Alliance
engage in to generate more legitimacy? What role does the NATO Par-
liamentary Assembly – a consultative interparliamentary organization
that provides a link between NATO and member parliaments – play in
securing parliamentary and public support for the Alliance? There is an
extensive literature on the legitimacy and democratic accountability of
international (security) organizations on which research along this path-

way may draw (cf. Coicaud and Heiskanen 2001; Ku and Jacobson 2003;
Zaum 2013; Zürn and Ecker-Ehrhardt 2013).
More than two decades ago, Helga Haftendorn (1991: 12–16) has
called for bridging different concepts of security with their associated
research agendas. I follow her plea by suggesting more joint research
that integrates insights from practitioners and strategic scholars, on the
one hand, and theoretically interested academics, on the other. While
both have often followed deep-rooted ways of thinking within their
entrenched boundaries, exploring NATO as an organization in its own
right will largely benefit from such collaboration as this volume has
amply demonstrated.
Looking ahead: NATO in the 21st century
A NATO that soon moves to new premises with more office space
than the EU’s gigantic Berlaymont building or the UN Headquarters in
New York is unlikely to vanish in the near future. Declinists forecast-
ing NATO’s demise have been proven wrong. The related crisis rhetoric
(‘NATO in its worst crisis ever’) with its often vague terminology, super-
ficial comparisons, and exaggerated claims (Thies 2009: 1–24) that has
been voiced ad nauseam in the past years has also somewhat subsided.
The Alliance, as few would now deny, is not fading away.
Yet, NATO does face a number of critical questions. As Sean Kay and
Magnus Petersson as well as John R. Deni point out in their chapters,
it has difficulties in mustering sufficient resources for the tasks it per-
forms. While some authors have once cheerfully called for an alliance
with an expanded geographic reach and extended range of operations
(Daalder and Goldgeier 2006), with the deepening economic crisis,
accompanying shortfalls in defence-spending as well as increased legit-
imacy claims of critical audiences, this scenario now seems less likely.
After NATO withdraws its combat forces from the International Secu-
rity Assistance Force (ISAF) operation by the end of 2014, it remains
to be seen which large-scale operations its members are henceforth
willing to take on and what impact lessons drawn from Afghanistan
will have on the future of the Alliance. In all likelihood, as Kay and
Petersson highlight, will NATO have to focus geographically and/or
functionally.
Despite this probability for a less committed alliance, there is strong
evidence in the foregoing chapters that the key factors feeding the pro-
cess of internationalization (complexity of challenges, need for rapid
Sebastian Mayer 317
decision-making, budgetary constraints, and increased negotiation, and

decision costs) are salient trends which are unlikely to disappear soon.
Hence, the institutional embedding of national procedures seems to
represent a long-term development towards strengthening the Alliance
with associated military integration and constraints on national security
and defence policies.
References
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(2013), The Opening Up of International Organizations: Transnational Access in
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Timeline: NATO’s
Bureaucratic-Institutional
Development since 1949
1949
4 April The North Atlantic Treaty is signed in Washington by 12
states and enters into force on 24 August 1949. Based on
Article 9, the North Atlantic Council (NAC) is
established. NATO’s first (provisional) Headquarters
established in Washington, DC.
17 September The Defence Planning Committee, the Military
Committee, the Military Standing Group, and five
Regional Planning Groups are created during the first
session of the NAC.
18 November The Defence Financial and Economic Committee and
the Military Production and Supply Board are
established during the second session of the NAC.
1950
18 December Establishment of the Military Representative
Committee. In 1957, this committee was renamed
Military Committee in Permanent Session.
19 December The North Atlantic Council appoints General Dwight
D. Eisenhower to be the first Supreme Allied
Commander Europe (SACEUR).
1951
Formation of the civilian International Staff at NATO
Headquarters.
January Establishment of the Military Standardization Agency
in London to enhance the military effectiveness and
efficiency of the NATO.
2 April Allied Command Europe (ACE) becomes operational
with the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe
(SHAPE).
3 May NAC reorganized. Various government departments are
replaced by Permanent Representatives with broad
competences. The Defence Committee and the Defence
Financial and Economic Committee are incorporated
into the NAC.
9 October First meeting of the Temporary Council Committee
(TCC) in Paris.
19 November Inauguration of the NATO Defence College in Paris. The
College is being transferred to Rome on 10 October 1966.
319
320 Timeline: NATO’s Bureaucratic-Institutional Development since 1949
1952
30 January The Supreme Allied Commander Atlantic (SACLANT)
was established.
20–25 February The structure of the Alliance reorganized in the NAC
meeting in Lisbon. NATO becomes a permanent
organization with a headquarters in Paris. The NAC
decides to create the post of a Secretary General who
would head an international secretariat.
21 February The NAC establishes the Channel Command.
10 April Allied Command Atlantic (ACLANT) becomes
operational, with a headquarters at Norfolk, Virginia,
USA.
28 August Member states sign a protocol on the Status of an
International Military Headquarters in Paris.
1957
The NAC establishes the Committee of Political
Advisers which is chaired by the Assistant Secretary
General for Political Affairs.
1961
13–15 December At a ministerial meeting of the NAC in Paris, the
establishment of a mobile task force is announced.
1966
14 December The Defence Planning Committee establishes the
Nuclear Defence Affairs Committee (NDAC) and the
Nuclear Planning Group (NPG).
1967
Establishment of the International Military Staff which
serves as the secretariat and executive organ of the
Military Committee.
18 January Inauguration of the NATO Defence College in Rome.
31 March Official opening ceremony of the Supreme
Headquarters Allied Powers Europe at Casteau, near
Mons, Belgium.
16 October NATO headquarters moves to Brussels, the current
location.
13–14 December The Defence Planning Committee adopts NATO’s new
Strategic Concept of flexible response and approves the
establishment of a Standing Naval Force Atlantic
(STANAVFORLANT).
1968
13 November Formation of the EUROGROUP, a regular meeting of
defence ministers from ten West European
NATO member states.
Timeline: NATO’s Bureaucratic-Institutional Development since 1949 321
1969
28 May The Naval On-Call Force, Mediterranean
(NAVOCFORMED) is established.
6 November The NAC, after a suggestion by US President Nixon,
establishes the Committee on the Challenges of
Modern Society (CCMS).
1973
11 May Inauguration of the Standing Naval Force Channel
(STANAVFORCHAN).
1977
12 October Nuclear Planning Group – High Level Group on
theatre nuclear force modernization is created.
1978
5–6 December Approval of the Airborne Early Warning and Control
System (AWACS) for radar surveillance.
1979
11 April Establishment of the Special Group to study arms
control aspects of theatre nuclear systems (the Special
Group concluded its work on 11 December 1979).
1980
24 January The Special Consultative Group on arms control
involving theatre nuclear forces is established.
1991
7 January The NATO Air Command and Control System
Management Agency (NACMA) is established in order
to implement the NATO Air Command and Control
System (ACCS) Programme, a new air defence system.
28–29 May Within the Defence Planning Committee and the
NPG, ministers agree on the basis of a new NATO force
structure.
20 December First meeting of the North Atlantic Cooperation
Council.
1992
10 April Inaugural Meeting of the NATO Military Committee in
Cooperation Session with Chiefs of Defence and Chiefs
of General Staff of Central and Eastern European States.
30 April Standing Naval Force Mediterranean
(STANAVFORMED) replaces NATO’s Naval On-Call Force
for the Mediterranean.
2 October NATO’s new Allied Command Europe (ACE) Rapid
Reaction Corps (ARRC) is inaugurated at Bielefeld,
Germany.
1993
7 December EUROGROUP ministers announce that the
EUROGROUP will cease to exist as of 1 January 1994.
The informal Eurogroup comprised all NATO members
except the US, Canada, Iceland, and France, and was to
provide a forum for European concerns related to NATO.
Several of its subgroups to be incorporated either into
NATO or into the Western European Union.
1994
10–11 January At the Brussels Summit, heads of state and government
launch the Partnership for Peace (PfP). The concept of
Combined Joint Task Forces is endorsed, as well as
other measures to support the development of a
European Security and Defence Identity.
January PfP Staff Element (PSE) is established.
28 April Opening ceremonies of the Partnership Coordination
Cell, co-located with SHAPE at Mons, Belgium.
1995
24 January NATO Standardization Organization established to
better coordinate allied policies and programmes.
1996
1 July Establishment of a new NATO Consultation, Command
and Control (C3) Agency.
October Establishment of the Capabilities Co-ordination Cell
within the International Military Staff.
1997
30 May Last meeting of the North Atlantic Cooperation Council
(NACC) and inaugural meeting of the Euro-Atlantic
Partnership Council (EAPC) in Sintra, Portugal.
18 July First meeting of the NATO–Russia Permanent Joint
Council (PJC) at Ambassadorial level in Brussels.
9 October Ukraine and Hungary become the first
non-NATO countries to open diplomatic missions to the
Alliance.
2 December NATO defence ministers agree on a new military
command structure, to be implemented between 1999
and 2003. The Cold War command structure was reduced
from 78 headquarters to 20 with two overarching
Strategic Commanders (SC) – one for the Atlantic and
one for Europe, with three regional commanders under
the SACLANT and two under the SACEUR.
1998
19 November First meeting of the NATO–Russia Joint Science and
Technological Cooperation Committee in Moscow,
Russia.
Timeline: NATO’s Bureaucratic-Institutional Development since 1949 323
1999
23 April Opening of the NATO Liaison Office in Kyiv, Ukraine.
29 June The first PfP Training Centre opens in Ankara, Turkey.
2001
August Formation of the NATO Standardization Agency as the
executive branch of the Standardization Organization
(which was established in 1995).
2002
28 May The NATO–Russia Council replaces the NATO–Russia
Permanent Joint Council.
21–22 November At the Prague Summit, the Alliance’s heads of state and
government approve the defence ministers’ report,
which reflects the agreed minimum military requirement
and provided the outline of a leaner, more efficient,
effective, and deployable NATO command structure.
2003
January NATO’s Public Diplomacy Division (PDD) established.
June The Defence Planning Committee (DPC), one of
NATO’s top decision-making bodies, dissolved under the
committee reform and its functions taken over by the
NAC.
July A new command structure, based on work by NATO’s
military authorities, replaces the one devised in 1997.
The number of headquarters reduced to 10. At the
strategic level, the former Allied Command Europe (ACE)
is replaced by the Allied Command for Operations
(ACO). The Allied Command Transformation (ACT),
situated in Norfolk, USA, replaces the Allied Command
Atlantic (ACLANT).
November Terrorist Threat Intelligence Unit (TTIU) is founded at
NATO Headquarters. The TTIU replaces the temporary
cell that was put in place soon after the 11 September
2001 terrorist attacks.
2007
10 May Inauguration of the NATO Office of Resources
(NOR). This new independent office within NATO’s
International Staff is created in order to reorganize
activities in support of the Senior Resource Board, the
Infrastructure Committee, and the Civil and Military
Budget Committees.
2010
10 June Due to a request by defence ministers at their Istanbul
meeting (February 2010), as a response to economic
downturn and in order to improve responsiveness of the
Alliance, Secretary General Rasmussen proposes to
dissolve half of the 14 NATO agencies, to reduce the joint
personnel from 13,500 to 7,500 and to cut the number of
committees by 75 per cent to become less than 100.
August The new Emerging Security Challenges Division
(ESCD) begins its work, which is focused on
non-traditional security risks: terrorism, the proliferation
of Weapons of Mass Destruction, cyber defence, and
energy security.
19–20 November At NATO Lisbon summit the new Strategic Concept is
adopted and decision-making bodies are revised.
Member states have agreed upon a framework
for a new, more effective and cost-efficient
NATO Command Structure. A significant number of
personnel to be reduced by June 2011. NATO’s 14
agencies consolidated into 3.
2011
14 January Opening of the new Energy Security Centre in Vilnius,
which is set to become a NATO Centre of Excellence,
supposed to contribute to NATO’s capability in the
energy security area.
8 June The new Emerging Security Challenges Division
(ESCD) begins its work, which is focused on
non-traditional security risks: terrorism, the proliferation
of Weapons of Mass Destruction, cyber defence, and
energy security.
2012
May Inauguration of the Comprehensive Crisis and
Operations Management Centre (CCOMC) at SHAPE in
Casteau.
20 May At their Chicago Summit, the Alliance’s heads of state
and government adopt the Declaration on Defence
Capabilities. Along with the Lisbon Declaration, it sets
the goals for reforming the NATO Command Structure,
the NATO headquarters, the NATO agencies, and the
field of resource management.
Source: Own compilation, largely based on information from NATO’s homepage.

Index
accession, see enlargement aid, 31, 33, 37, 52, 219, 225, 242–3,
Acheson, Dean (US), 18 246–7, 260, 285
ACT, see Allied Command see also humanitarian disaster relief
Transformation Airborne Warning and Control System
Adler, Emanuel, 81 (AWACS), 65–6, 114–15, 117–18,
Afghanistan, 65, 72, 86, 89, 93–5, 120, 134, 176, 205–6, 264, 321
97–100, 112, 114, 131, 151, 167, air surveillance, 112, 163, 222
176–7, 179, 184–6, 190, 205, 219, Albright, Madeline (US), 296
223, 225, 226, 234, 237, 239–47, Allied Command Transformation
252, 254, 255, 257, 260, 263, 264, (ACT), 65
269, 272, 278, 292, 295, 297, 298, Allied Forces Mediterranean (AFMED),
300, 306, 312–13, 316 57–8
Afghan Security Forces, 241 Allied Forces Northern Europe
Ghazni province, 263 (AFNORTH), 57–8, 65
International Security Assistance Allied Forces Southern Europe
Force (ISAF), 65, 72, 86, 89, (AFSOUTH), 57–8
93–5, 97–100, 112, 114, 131, Annan, Kofi, 227
151, 167, 176–7, 180, 184–90, Annual Review process, 32, 34, 36–8,
226, 239–47, 251–2, 254, 257–8, 45, 59, 305
262–4, 292, 297, 316 anti-pirating operation, 131
Operation Enduring Freedom see also terrorism
(OEF), 243, 245, 260, 264 arms embargo, 112, 118, 224
Provincial Reconstruction Teams Article 5, see collective defence
(PRTs), 241–4, 263 non-article 5, see crisis response
Taliban, 98, 239, 241, see also operations
terrorism Asia, 12, 16, 72, 86, 127, 294, 299
AFMED, see Allied Forces asymmetric alliance, 38, 280
Mediterranean asymmetrical threats, 293, 295
AFNORTH, see Allied Forces Northern see also terrorism
Europe Atlantic Policy Advisory Group
AFNORTHWEST, see Allied Forces (APAG), 40
Northwestern Europe Aust, Anthony, 273
Africa, 51, 127, 190, 225, Australia, 258, 264
256, 284 Austrian-Hungarian Empire, 51
Algeria, 240 AWACS, see Airborne Warning and
Horn of Africa, 190, 225 Control System
see also Operation Enduring
Freedom Babst, Stefanie, 93
AFSOUTH, see Allied Forces Southern Balkans, 20, 71, 76, 80–1, 83–5, 94, 96,
Europe 128, 130, 178, 185, 223, 239, 243,
agenda setting, 16, 37, 148, 207 290, 301, 306
325
326 Index
Balkans – continued Chairman of the Military Committee

Bosnia, 13, 81, 93, 112, 128, 167, (CMC), 64, 160, 162, 167,
179–80, 183, 221, 224–6, 234, 169–71, 173
237–9, 243, 245–6, 297 Channel Committee, 57
Kosovo, 71, 81, 83–4, 92–4, 101, chemical-biological weapons, 115
112–13, 129, 167, 180, 184, China, 252, 283, 291
221–2, 225, 227, 229, 237–9, Churchill, Winston (UK), 122
243, 245–6, 295, 298 CINCENT, see Commander-in-chief
Macedonia, 13, 112, 180, 221 Central Europe
Serbia, 129, 184 civilian casualties, 18, 93, 98, 242,
Yugoslavia, 81, 85, 112, 177, 179, 245, 306
219, 224, 230, 237 civil-military cooperation, 34, 38, 41,
BALTAP, 65 45–7, 66, 97, 165, 170–1, 198,
Barnett, Michael, 10–11, 15–16, 225, 241–7, 309
256, 259 see also Provincial Reconstruction
Belgium, 33, 36, 51, 57, 61–2, 97, 115, Teams; inter-institutional
181–2, 262, 298, 320, 322 cooperation
Bevin, Ernest (UK), 36
CJTF, see Combined Joint Task Force
Blair, Tony (UK), 94, 262
Claes, Willy, 129, 225–7
Bland, Douglas L., 159
Clark, Wesley, 129
Bosnia and Herzegovina, see Bosnia
Claude, Inis, 5
Operation Maritime Monitor,
CMC, see Chairman of the Military
179–80
Committee
Operation Sky Monitor, 179–80
Boutros-Ghali, Boutros, 224, 226–7 coalitions of the willing, 8, 142, 260,
Brand state, 92 264, 272, 311–12
see also media coalition warfare, 252, 255, 257
Brazil, 283 cohesion: unity, 6, 31–2, 79, 100, 131,
Brechin, Steven R., 11 195, 281, 298
Brosio, Manlio (Italy), 126–7 Cold War, 1–4, 6–7, 18–20, 50, 62,
Brussels Pact, 32–4, 51–2, 54 65–6, 71–9, 86, 89, 91, 94–5, 100,
burden-sharing, 37, 59, 72, 114, 186, 110–11, 124–5, 127–9, 136, 140,
202, 204, 223–4, 251, 257, 264, 144–5, 147, 151, 153, 156, 159,
280, 289, 291–2, 295 163–4, 168–70, 172–3, 176–7,
Bush, George W. (US), 72, 84, 90, 179–82, 184–5, 198–9, 215, 218,
96–7, 114, 116, 239, 261, 280, 282 222, 224, 229, 247, 251, 253–4,
Butler, Ed (UK), 244 256–9, 269–70, 272, 277–8, 280–3,
290, 292–4, 300–1, 304–7, 310–12
Cameron, David (UK), 301 nuclear deterrence, 32, 62, 234
Campbell, Alastair (UK), 94 collective action problem, 9, 21, 141,
Canada, 35–6, 39, 54, 61–4, 98, 125, 194–5, 200, 206–8, 257–8
178, 258, 298 collective defence, 35, 44–5, 51,
capabilities coordination Cell, 241 109–12, 126, 166, 194–5, 203,
career service, 141, 311, 313 218–19, 254, 279, 281, 292,
Caveats, national, 58, 60, 187, 201 296–7, 301, 304
CDMA, see Cyber Defense Article 5, 34, 54, 59, 109, 113, 117,
Management Authority 119, 179, 199–200, 251–7,
CFSP, see Common Foreign and 259–60, 299–300
Security Policy collective security, 12, 89, 93, 274, 281
Index 327
Collective Security Treaty cyber attacks, 117, 229, 253, 293, 295,
Organization (CSTO), 220, 297, 299, 324
228–9 Cyber Defense Management
co-location, 171–2 Authority (CDMA), 295
Combined Joint Task Force (CJTF), 78 see also Emerging Security
Commander-in-chief Central Europe Challenges
(CINCENT), 58–9, 62, 65 Cyprus, 111
Commission on Security and Czechoslovakia, 58
Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), Czech Republic, 261–2
12, 178, 220–1
Committee of Permanent Military Daalder, Ivo, 93
Representatives, see Military Dayton Peace Accords, see Dayton
Committee Peace Agreement
Common Foreign and Security Dayton Peace Agreement, 81,
Policy (CFSP), see European 183–4
Union (EU) decision making, 1–4, 6, 8, 10–12, 17,
Common Security and Defense Policy 19–20, 37, 107, 108, 112–13,
(CSDP), see European Union (EU) 116–21, 140, 142, 144, 148, 152,
competitive identity, 92, 156, 159–62, 166–8, 171–4, 177,
94, 101 195–6, 200, 206, 217, 225, 230,
see also media 236, 263, 270–2, 274, 276,
279–81, 285, 292, 294–5, 307,
Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban
310–12, 314
Treaty, 282
consensus-rule, 107, 109–22, 114,
see also nuclear weapons
155, 173, 280, 305, 307, 311
Comprehensive Political Guidance
rapid, 6, 168–9, 172–4, 307,
(CPG), 198
316–17
Concerted Planning and Action (CPA)
rules for, 116
initiative, 240
silence procedure, 108–9, 169
constructivism, 20, 81 veto, 6, 39, 107, 117, 155, 198, 203,
Cooperation and Regional Security 206, 208, 224–5, 279, 306
division, 164, 171 Defense Capabilities Initiative (DCI),
CPA, see Concerted Planning and 19, 197
Action initiative Defense Financial and Economic
crisis management, 13, 19, 72, 93, Committee (DFEC), 41
166, 177, 219, 224, 228, 234, 240, Defense Planning Committee (DPC),
279, 290, 293 16, 46, 62–3, 112, 195,
see also crisis response operation 319–21, 323
crisis response operations, 6, 66, 71, Defense Planning Questionnaire
80, 82–4, 112, 120, 178–9, (DPQ), see Annual Review process
199–200, 221, 224, 299 Defense Policy and Planning
CSCE, see Commission on Security (DPP), 145
and Cooperation in Europe Denmark, 54, 57, 62, 110, 132, 181–2,
CSDP, see Common Security and 240, 255, 258, 260, 262–4, 298
Defense Policy Détente, 43–5
CSTO, see Collective Security Treaty domestic opposition, see national
Organization constituencies
customary practices, see informal DPC, see Defense Planning Committee
institutions DPP, see Defense Policy and Planning
328 Index
DPQ, see Defense Planning force generation, 19, 21, 176–7, 183,
Questionnaire 186–90, 194–5, 199–207, 305, 308
dual-key arrangements, 224, 229 force plans, 196
Duvall, Raymond, 256, 259 founding of NATO, 16, 31–2, 35, 53,
125, 144
EDC, see European Union France, 17–18, 31, 33, 36, 39, 44–6,
Egypt, 43, 111 51–5, 57–8, 60–3, 65, 78, 98, 100,
Eisenhower, Dwight D., 17, 32, 41, 110–12, 115, 117, 127–9, 132,
43–4, 51, 56, 58, 111, 125, 319 134, 161, 178, 181–4, 234, 254,
electronic warfare, 184 256, 258–60, 262–4, 272, 275,
Emerging Security Challenges 282, 284–5, 293, 297–8, 301
(ESC), 145 free-riding, 114, 194, 258, 298
Emerging Security Challenges see also collective action problem
Division (ESCD), 296, 324 Frum, David (Canada), 90
enlargement
cold war, 16, 55, 111 Gates, Robert (US), 263, 292, 296
post-cold war, 7, 80, 82–5, 93, 100, de Gaulle, Charles (France), 45, 60–1,
114–16, 129–30, 153, 160, 222, 112, 127, 254
253, 270, 279, 290, 292 genocide, 83–4, 306
ESC, see Emerging Security Challenges geopolitics, 39, 56, 62, 100, 253, 255,
ESDI, see European Security and 260, 277
Defense Identity Georgia, 253, 295
Estonia, 295 Germany, 16, 18, 39, 44, 51, 55,
ethnic cleansing, see genocide 57–62, 64–5, 71, 98, 110–11, 115,
Euro-Atlantic Partnership, 279, 322 117, 134, 151, 178, 181–2, 184,
European Defense Community (EDC), 205–8, 234, 252, 262, 264, 272,
see European Union (EU) 275, 278, 284, 293–4, 297–8, 300
European Security and Defense German re-armament, 16, 53, 55
Identity (ESDI), 77–8, 86 Ostpolitik, 43, 45, 278
EU, see European Union Giddens, Anthony, 74–5
European Union (EU), 107, 197, 243, Globalization, 4, 290–1
299, 311 governance, 1, 3, 8–10, 12, 21, 33,
Common Foreign and Security 140–1, 143, 156, 215, 222, 229,
Policy (CFSP), 5, 12, 77 241, 259, 310, 312
Common Security and Defense global, 8, 12, 310
Policy (CSDP), 85, 120, 222, regional, 241
275, 315 Great Britain, see United Kingdom
European Defense Community Greece, 57, 62, 64–5, 111, 113,
(EDC), 38, 53, 67, 77 180–2, 293
Lisbon Treaty, 121 Group of Experts, 50, 116–17
Maastricht Treaty, 77–8, 85
Haftendorn, Helga, 144, 316
financial constraints, 135, 165, 180, Haiti, 294
182, 310, 317 Harmel Report, 45, 62, 111
see also burden-sharing Harriman, William Averell (US),
Finland, 220, 252, 258 33, 41
Finnemore, Martha, 10 Havel, Václav (Czechoslovakia), 262
Flexible Response doctrine, 43–5, 62 Hawkins, Darren, 15
Index 329
Headquarters Policy Board (HQPB), international law, 226, 236, 271,

131, 147–8 273, 283
Helsinki headline goals, 220 International Military Staff (IMS), 19,
Henri-Spaak, Paul, 127 21, 61, 63, 108, 126, 145, 159–60,
Hillen, Hans (Netherlands), 118 163–4, 307, 320, 322
Hoffmann, Stanley, 290–2 Armaments and Standardization
Holbrooke-Milosevic-Agreement, 221 Division, 163–4
HQPB, see Headquarters Policy Board Communication and Information
humanitarian disaster relief, 114, 199, Systems Division, 163
220, 234, 237, 298 Intelligence Division, 163–4
see also aid Logistics and Resources Division,
humanitarian intervention, 94, 235, 163–4
292, 295 Operations Division, 99, 163–4
human rights, 12, 89–90, 99, 112, 133, Plans and Policy Division, 160,
220, 222, 236, 246–7, 292 163–4, 169
Hungary, 129, 181–2, 263 international organisations, 1–11,
Austrian-Hungarian Empire, 51 13–14, 21, 50, 89, 92, 94–5, 100,
141–3, 215–19, 222, 228–9, 231,
Iceland, 62 234–6, 245, 256, 258, 272–4, 282,
ICTY, see International Criminal 284, 294, 304, 309–14
Tribunal for the Former International Security Assistance Force
Yugoslavia (ISAF), see Afghanistan
identity construction, 76–7, 83
International Staff, 6, 18–19, 21, 33,
IFOR, see Implementation Force
42, 45, 59, 108, 126, 140–6, 165,
Implementation Force (IFOR), 83, 180,
195, 296, 319, 323
183–4, 237
Emerging Security Challenges
IMS, see International Military Staff
Division, 296, 324
India, 131, 283
Office of Information and Press,
informal institutions, 2, 4–5, 8, 21, 34,
94–5, 305, see also media
39, 107, 130, 132, 142–3, 145–6,
Political Affairs and Security Policy
269–77, 281–3, 285, 307, 311
Division, 171
see also coalitions of the willing
Private Office, 146–8, 307
information-sharing, 148, 154, 207,
217–19, 222–3, 228, 282, 293, Public Diplomacy Division, 20, 89,
296, 298–300, 307 95, 151, 198, 305, 323, see also
institutionalism, 11, 14–15, 314 media
historical, 2, 9, 15, 202, 226, 277 see also Secretary General
rational choice, 9, 14 interoperability, 19, 81, 252, 257
sociological, 15 Iraq, 86, 115, 131, 153, 179
Integrated Military Command, see Iraq war, 84, 115, 130, 137, 255–6,
NATO Command Structure 260, 262–4, 269, 272, 275, 278,
inter-institutional cooperation, 282, 300
216, 309 NATO Training Mission, 131,
NATO-AU relations, 230 180, 185
NATO-OSCE relations, 220, 222, 229 ISAF, see Afghanistan
NATO-UN relations, 223, 225, Israel, 133
229–30 Istanbul cooperation initiative, 199
International Criminal Tribunal for Italy, 36, 39, 44, 54, 57, 62, 65, 125,
the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY), 219 129, 181–4, 205, 258, 262, 272
330 Index
Japan, 205, 260, 294 Lungescu, Oana, 95

Johnson, Lyndon B. (US), 44 Luns, Joseph, 126–7, 133
Jones, Grahame (UK), 165 Luxembourg, 54, 115
Kennedy, John F. (US), 44–5 Macedonia, 13, 112, 180, 221

Keohane, Robert O., 9 see also Balkans
KFOR, see Kosovo MacShane, Denis (UK), 122
Korea, 16 Madrid Summit, 129
Korea War, 16, 32, 55, 66 maritime forces, 64, 66, 112, 118, 163,
Kosovo, 71, 81, 83–4, 92–4, 101, 171, 179, 184, 205
112–13, 129, 167, 180, 184, Martino, Gaetano (Italy), 125
221–2, 225, 227, 229, 237–9, 243, see also ‘Three Wise Men’s Report’
245–6, 295, 298 Meciar, Vladmir (Slovakia), 114
Kosovo Force (KFOR), 180, 183–5, media, 89–101, 125, 130, 132–6, 168
221, 238, 245 Office of Information and Press, see
Kosovo Verification Mission, 221 International Staff
Operation Allied Force, 112, 129, Public Diplomacy Division, see
180, 184 International Staff
see also Balkans; Holbrooke- see also legitimacy of NATO
Milosevic-Agreement Mediterranean Dialogue (MD),
80, 219
LANDSOUTH, 57 Melissen, Jan, 89, 92
LANDSOUTHEAST, 57 Membership Action Plan (MAP), 80
Lange, Halvard (Norway), 125 member-state contributions, 17, 33,
see also ‘Three Wise Men’s Report’ 44, 55–6, 98, 110, 118, 121, 184,
Latvia, 187, 282 186, 188, 195–8, 200–2, 251–5,
legitimacy of NATO, 89, 101, 112, 258–60, 262–3, 282, 297, 308, 312
159, 220–4, 229, 236, 259, 286, Middle, East, 133
295, 297, 305, 310, 312, 315 Military Committee (MC), 2, 16, 19,
legitimacy crisis, 222, 316 21, 33, 52, 54–5, 108, 159–74,
‘Letter of Eight’, 262 200–1, 236, 304, 319–21
liberal democracy, 292 Montgomery, Bernard L., 52
liberal democracy building, 98, 301 Morrow, James, 280
Libya, 117–18, 134–6, 180, 205, 225–6, multinationalization, 13, 19, 176–7,
251–2, 254, 257, 260, 263–4, 278, 183, 190, 314
282, 291–2, 294–5, 298–9,
312–13 NAC, see North Atlantic Council
Bengazi, 298 national constituencies, 37, 98,
Muammar Qaddafi, 134, 298 113–14, 122, 168, 178, 187, 189,
Operation Unified Protector, 118, 196, 205–7, 242, 252, 263, 273,
180, 205, 207, 263–4 275–6, 292, 305–6, 311, 315
see also United Nations Security national contributions, see
Council member-state contributions
Lipson, Charles, 273 national defense budgets, 38, 41,
Lisbon Treaty, see European Union 177–80, 183–5, 189–90, 292, 308
London Summit, 79 see also NATO Budget
Lord George Robertson, 95, national delegations, 17, 33, 38, 40,
115–16, 129 42–6, 74, 108, 113, 115, 117, 148,
Lord Ismay, 17, 42, 126–7, 254 150–1, 154, 162, 187, 200, 319
Index 331
national interests, 50, 55, 59, 60, 64, North Atlantic Cooperation Council
144, 149, 151, 156, 194–5, 198, (NACC), 79–80, 163, 279,
257, 263, 296, 301, 305, 308, 321–2
313–14 North Atlantic Council (NAC), 16, 34,
national preferences, see national 53, 63, 82, 108, 125, 141, 161,
interests 196, 201, 236, 256, 279, 298, 304,
national sovereignty, 5–7, 34, 51, 53, 307, 319
60–1, 64, 107, 112, 121, 155, 294, North Atlantic Treaty, 16, 31, 34, 53,
305, 307–8, 310–11 66, 107, 141, 319
Nation branding, 92 Norway, 36, 54, 57, 62, 65, 110, 125,
see also media 150, 181–2, 253–5, 258, 260–1,
264, 298
NATO Budget, 33, 117, 131, 310, 317
NPG, see Nuclear Planning Group
see also national defence budgets;
Nuclear Defense Affairs
member-state contributions
Committee, 62
NATO Command Structure (NCS), 17,
Nuclear Planning Group (NPG), 18,
55, 66, 110–11, 135, 163, 165,
62–3, 112, 320–1
170, 237, 300, 305, 312, 323–4
nuclear weapons, 31, 43–4, 62–3,
NATO Defense Planning Process 110–11, 283, 300
(NDPP), 197–8, 202 Nye, Joseph, 90–1, 99, 292
NATO Expansion, see enlargement
NATO Standardization Agency, 164, Obama, Barack (US), 97, 261–2
200–2, 323 OCHA, see United Nations Office of
Naval Forces Mediterranean Coordination of Humanitarian
(NAVSOUTH), 57 Affairs
NAVSOUTH, see Naval Forces ODHIR, see Organization for Security
Mediterranean and Co-operation in Europe
NCS, see NATO Command Structure OEEC, see Organization for European
NDPP, see NATO Defense Planning Economic Cooperation
Process OEF, see Operation Enduring Freedom;
neorealism, see realist theory Afghanistan
Netherlands, 36, 57, 62, 64, 97, 178, Olsen, Johan P., 11, 16
181–3, 258 Olson, Mancur, 258
ontological security, 75–6, 83–4
NGOs, see nongovernmental
Operation Active Endeavour, 180
organizations
Operation Enduring Freedom
nongovernmental organizations
(OEF), 243
(NGOs), 91, 96, 98, 150–1, 230,
see also Afghanistan; Africa
234–50, 309
Operation Essential Harvest, 180
non-members, see third-party states
see also Macedonia
non-proliferation, 21, 43–4, 270, Operation Maritime Monitor,
281–4 179–80
see also Nuclear Weapons; Weapons see also Yugoslavia
of Mass Destruction Operation Sky Monitor, 179–80
non-state actors, 8, 10, 79, 142, 151, see also Bosnia and Herzegovina
155, 282, 293, 309–10 Operations Policy Committee, 151
see also nongovernmental Operation Unified Protector, 118, 205,
organizations 207, 263–4
Norstad, Lauris, 45, 125 see also Libya
332 Index
Organization for European Economic Proliferation Security Initiative (PSI),

Cooperation (OEEC), 36, 52 269–70, 282–6, 311
Organization for Security and see also Weapons of Mass
Co-operation in Europe (OSCE), Destruction
21, 215–16, 218–23, 228–30 Provincial Reconstruction Teams
see also inter-institutional (PRT), 241–4, 263
co-operation PRT, see Provincial Reconstruction
OSCE, see Organization for Security Teams
and Co-operation in Europe PSI, see Proliferation Security Initiative
Osgood, Robert E., 7, 91, 141 Public Diplomacy, see media;
out-of-area, see crisis response International Staff
operations public opinion, 79, 89, 91–100,
112, 297
see also media
Pakistan, 131, 180 Public-private-partnerships (PPPs), 230
Palmer, Diego Ruiz, 99
partnership initiatives, 80, 93, 163, Rasmussen, Anders Fogh, 116, 125,
279, 322–3 130, 132–7, 145, 148, 154, 165,
Partnership for Peace, 80, 93, 163, 279 170–1, 173, 306
PASP, see International Staff rational choice, see institutionalism
PDD, see International Staff realist theory, 72, 255, 257, 259,
peace enforcement, 6, 93, 199, 264–5, 280
224, 304 global distribution of power,
peace operations, see crisis response 289, 291
operations neorealism, 2, 3, 7–8, 14, 195
Pearson, Lester (Canada), 125 power politics, 99, 234, 253
see also ‘Three Wise Men’s Report’ Reed, Jack (US), 116
Permanent Representatives, see regime, international, 14, 179, 224,
national delegations 226, 259, 282, 285, 299, 309
theory, 2–3, 8–10, 273see also
personnel management, 117
institutionalism, rational choice
Pfeiffer, Holger, 195
Ridgway, Matthew B. (US), 58, 125
PfP, see partnership for peace;
Robertson, George, 95, 115–16, 129
partnership initiatives
Romania, 114, 129, 262
pooling of capabilities, 13, 19, 33, 66,
Rumsfeld, Donald (US), 90, 262, 278
221, 224, 308, 314
Russia, 12, 93, 96, 219–20, 222, 226–7,
Portugal, 64, 262 252–5, 262, 293–5
post-conflict reconstruction, 98, 100,
111, 239, 241–4, 298 SACEUR, see Supreme Allied
Pouliot, Vincent, 81 Commander Europe
Powell, Colin (US), 116 SACLANT, see Supreme Allied
Prague Capabilities Commander Atlantic
Commitment/initiative, 197 Scheffer, Jaap de Hoop, 125, 130–3,
Prague Summit, 114, 130, 153 136, 148, 153–4, 165, 171, 223
principal-agent, 2, 6, 9, 13–15, 17, Schuman, Robert (France), 36
141–2, 197, 204–6, 271, 309, SCO, see Shanghai Cooperation
314–15 Organization
see also institutionalism, Secretary General, 12, 17–18, 32–3,
rational-choice 38–40, 42–6, 61, 64, 108–9, 117,
Index 333
119–20, 141, 145–8, 150, 154–6, Sudan, 131, 179–80

161–2, 167, 170, 300, 305, 307, Suez Crisis, 43, 111
310, 320, 324 Supreme Allied Commander Atlantic
Senior Civilian Representative (SCR), (SACLANT), 56–7, 59, 63–5,
243, 246 166–7, 320
Serbia, 129, 184 Supreme Allied Commander Europe
see also Balkans (SACEUR), 17–18, 33, 41, 43, 45,
SFOR, see Stabilization Force 55–9, 61, 64, 111, 119–20,
Shanghai Cooperation Organization 124–5, 127, 129, 160–1, 166,
(SCO), 220 171–2, 186–7, 200–4, 308, 313,
SHAPE, see Supreme Headquarters 319, 322
Allied Powers Europe Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers
Shea, Jamie, 81, 84, 94 Europe (SHAPE), 17–19, 32, 41,
Sikorski, Radek (Poland), 262 56, 58–9, 62–6, 97, 184, 186–8,
Slovakia, 114 201, 313, 319–20, 324
Slovenia, 129 Sweden, 151–2, 258, 264
‘smart defense’, 118, 294
Smith, Leighton, 225 Talbott, Strobe, 251
Snyder, Glenn, 13, 253–5 Temporary Council Committee,
soft power, 20, 89–94, 101, 226, 229, 33, 319
292, 295, 305 territorial integrity, 35, 115, 119
see also media terrorism, 153, 223, 269, 277, 279,
Solana, Javier, 113, 124, 128–31, 133, 282, 293, 295, 297, 299, 323–4
135–6, 227, 306 Al Qaeda, 114
sovereignty, see national sovereignty September 11, 93, 113–14, 142,
Soviet Union, 31, 43, 50, 91, 224 145, 153, 199, 256, 292–3,
collapse of, 79, 93, 127, 234 307, 323
perceived threat of, 7, 16, 52, 64, 66, Taliban, 98, 239, 243
76, 111, 169, 254, 277–8, war on, 113, 292
281–2, 290, 305 third-party states, 142, 269–70, 274–5,
Spain, 65, 98, 181–2, 258, 262, 297 285, 310–11
Spofford, Charles M., 42 ‘Three Wise Men’s Report’, 17,
Stabilization Force (SFOR), see Bosnia 39, 125
and Herzegovina see also Lange, Halvard; Martino,
Standard Operating Procedures Gaetano; Pearson, Lester B
(SOPs), 194–5 Tool for Operations Planning
see also institutionalism, historical Functional Area Services
Standing Group, 34, 41, 43, 45, 54–6, (TOPFAS), 198, 202–4
61, 63–4, 110, 319 transatlantic dinner, 152–3
Stikker, Dirk, 127 see also informal institutions
Stopford, Michael, 97 Treaty of Brussels, see Brussels Pact
Strasbourg-Kehl Summit, 132, 282 Truman, Harry S. (US), 32–3, 41
Strategic Concepts, 86, 93, 169, Tuesday breakfast, 130, 132
269, 312 see also informal institutions
before 1991, 44, 79, 110, 320 Tuesday luncheon, 130, 132
1991, 78, 80, 128, 177, 279 see also informal institutions
1999, 170, 83 Turkey, 44, 57, 62, 64–5, 97, 111, 115,
2010, 116–17, 134, 166, 170, 251–2, 117, 134, 180–2, 256, 262, 275,
254, 261, 196, 198, 324 293, 323
334 Index
Ukraine, 96, 322–3 Resolution 1860, 151

UK, see United Kingdom Resolution 1973, 117, 205, 226
UNAMA, see United Nations US Secretary of Defense, 18, 56, 90,
Assistance Mission in Afghanistan 116, 263, 280, 292, 296
UNHCR, see United Nations High US security guarantee, 31, 258,
Commissioner on Refugees 260–1
Unified Combatant Commanders, 119
unilateral action, 7, 14, 35, 127, 141, Vahr, Jesper, 171
180, 220, 225–6, 256, Vietnam, 240
278, 306
United Kingdom (UK), 18, 31, 33, 36,
Wallander, Celeste, 19, 66, 276,
39, 44, 51–2, 54–7, 62, 64, 97–8,
306, 314
110–11, 115, 117, 122, 126–7,
Walt, Stephen, 8, 275, 277, 280
165, 178, 181–4, 222, 244–5, 255,
see also realist theory
258, 260–2, 264, 275, 298
Waltz, Kenneth, 7, 71–5, 257
United Nations, 5, 21, 50, 81, 83–4,
see also realist theory
100, 107, 143, 178–9, 215–16,
war on terror, see terrorism
218–20, 223–30, 236, 244,
Washington Summit, 80
259–60, 263–4, 282, 297, 309, 316
Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD),
Charter, 221, 223–4, 230, 295
see nuclear weapons;
Secretary General, 12, 228
chemical-biological weapons
see also United Nations Security
Western Union Defence Organisation
Council
(WUDO), 32–5, 42, 47, 51–2
United Nations Assistance Mission in
Wörner, Manfred, 124, 127–36, 220,
Afghanistan (UNAMA), 226, 243
224, 227, 306
United Nations High Commissioner
WUDO, see Western Union Defence
on Refugees (UNHCR), 219
Organization
United Nations Office of Coordination
of Humanitarian Affairs
(OCHA), 228 Yost, David S., 216, 220, 222–3,
United Nations Security Council, 39, 226–7, 279
43, 98, 107, 112, 134, 205, 223–5, Yugoslavia, 81, 85, 112, 177, 179, 219,
227, 230, 310 224, 230, 237
Resolution 781, 179 see also Balkans
Resolution 1325, 150
Resolution 1386, 98 Zeckhauser, Richard, 258

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New Security Challenges Series

Abdul Haqq Baker

New Security Challenges Series

List of Tables and Figures vii

List of Abbreviations and Acronyms xii

1 Introduction: NATO as an Organization and Bureaucracy 1

Part I The Origins of NATO and Its Bureaucratic

3 Institutionalizing NATO’s Military Bureaucracy: The

Part II Changing Security Challenges and NATO’s

5 Self-Presentation and Impression Management: NATO’s

Part III NATO’s Post-Cold War Bureaucracy,

7 The Changing Role of NATO’s Secretary General 124

8 Coping with Complexity: Informal Political Forums

9 Enduring Rules, Changing Practices: NATO’s Post-Cold

10 Perfectly Flawed? The Evolution of NATO’s Force

11 The Impact of NATO’s Defence Planning and Force

Part IV NATO’s Relations with Third-Party Actors

13 In the Line of Fire: NATO–NGO Relations from Bosnia

14 Partners versus Members? NATO as an Arena for Coalitions 251

Part V External Power Structures and Global

16 NATO’s Transformation and Global Security 289

17 Conclusion: NATO’s Transformed Provision of Security 304

Timeline: NATO’s Bureaucratic-Institutional Development since

8.1 Clusters of interaction: Informal institutions at NATO

3.1 NATO commands in Central Europe 1953–1967 58

chapters which were helpful for me in shaping the ﬁnal manuscript.

Rafael Biermann is Professor of International Relations at the Depart-

John R. Deni is Research Professor of Joint, Interagency, Intergov-

Mette Eilstrup-Sangiovanni is Lecturer in International Studies at the

Trine Flockhart is Senior Researcher at the Danish Institute for Interna-

Jo G. Gade, Rear Admiral (retd.), formerly Director, Plans and Policy

Janne Haaland Matláry is Professor of International Politics at the

Ryan C. Hendrickson is Professor of Political Science at Eastern Illinois

Paal Sigurd Hilde is Associate Professor at the Norwegian Defence

Sean Kay is Professor of International Relations in the Department of

Dieter Krüger is Adjunct Professor for Contemporary History at the

Sebastian Mayer is Research Fellow at the Institute for Intercultural and

Leo G. Michel is a Distinguished Research Fellow at the Institute for

Magnus Petersson is Professor of Modern History at the Norwegian

Gustav Schmidt is Professor Emeritus of International Relations at the

Odette Tomescu-Hatto is Senior Lecturer in International Relations and

Christian Tuschhoff is Adjunct Professor at the Political and Social

M. J. Williams is Reader in International Relations at Royal Holloway,

ACE Allied Command Europe

OEF Operation Enduring Freedom

Like other international organizations (IOs), the North Atlantic Treaty

1) How did NATO as an organization and civil service change in

common analytical theme running through all subsequent chapters.

Internationalization: A framework for analysis

The concept of ‘internationalization’ is suggested as an analytical frame-

a lower degree – by way of an increased contact-density among national

Yet, although (the powerful) NATO members may be the principal,

Formation, persistence, and change of alliances: The

The formation of alliances is one of the most striking phenomena in

dangerous business’ which is characterized by anarchy with no ‘9/11’ to

Alternative views: Regime theory and security governance

converge in a given issue-area’ (Krasner 1982: 185). As a counter-

to identify key properties of the post-bipolar European (or global) secu-

Bureaucratic politics perspectives on international

Owed to their abstract level of analysis where organizations feature as

independent impact on political decision-making or decision-shaping.

Delegation to IOs, institutional autonomy, and agency

building on rational-choice institutionalism. It explores why, how, and