Both across and within each of the examined cases, crisis-affected community members varied greatly in their perspectives on armed actors, with characterizations ranging from gratitude and acceptance to condemnation and repudiation. This section presents three themes—derived inductively from the data—on how crisis-affected community members perceived and interacted with armed actors in the examined crisis contexts. First, this section discusses crisis-affected community members’ perceptions of armed actors in relation to the different roles that armed actors played in the response. Second, the section discusses perceptions of the role of NSAGs in particular. Finally, gender-based dynamics of HMR are discussed, given their import for how crisis-affected community members perceived and received armed actors in the examined cases.
Function over form
Crisis-affected community members’ perspectives of armed actors in the examined cases was heavily influenced by the content of the role being performed. Generally speaking, across the examined cases, respondents felt that armed actors’ traditional security roles and the provision of direct aid and other services were the least inconsistent with expectations (whereas, as discussed below, enforcement and public health roles were more controversial). In Rukban, for example—as detailed in the later section on gender—respondents were grateful for the protection they associated with the JAF, and also spoke positively about the JAF’s provision (albeit limited) of food and healthcare to those arriving at the border.
Generally positive associations with armed actors were also expressed by crisis-affected community members recalling the response to the Taal volcano eruption in the Philippines, during which the Filipino national army played a significant role aiding evacuations and running centres in which displaced persons could receive food, shelter, and other assistance. One respondent recalled:
I was very happy because I knew we would be receiving help from other people. We were glad to know that we had a support system in these rescue operations. The military is not just about chaos. I believe that the military helps for humanitarian reasons like rescuing and relief operations.
Nevertheless, for their role contributing to (in)security on the one hand, this respondent saw armed actors as agents of ‘chaos’; for their provision of direct aid and other services during the response to a disaster triggered by natural hazard, this respondent saw armed actors as agents of humanitarian relief. The former association did not preclude the respondent holding what appears to be a dissonant view, if and when the armed actor was providing aid. In other words, the respondent was sensitive to context and function, rather than understanding or seeing armed actors as of single purpose and effect. Across the examined cases, crisis-affected community members were generally understanding (as distinct from accepting) of armed actors’ security functions, and also receptive to their provision of direct aid and other services where relevant. Indeed, no respondent stated an inherent issue with the latter role.
However, in the DRC and the Philippines’ COVID-19 case, crisis-affected community members expressed a diverse (and more often negative) perspective on the role of armed actors. This was especially the case when armed actor roles included enforcement functions. In the DRC, for example, a small majority of crisis-affected community members expressed confusion and consternation when recalling armed actors’ escort roles—wherein armed actors escorted civilian Ebola responders to not only protect them, but also to ensure their access to certain areas. One respondent explained (in a way that was illustrative of many other crisis-affected community member perspectives):
First of all, the disease itself, you cannot say that a nurse must be accompanied by a military or a police officer. Absolutely not. This is what was [making people] question, ‘Is this really this disease, where the nurses walk around with the army and the police, is it really a disease? Is it not a political thing?’ So, all the questions [that] were circulating in the heads of the population [were] because of the presence of the army that accompanied the nurses in different environments.
In the Philippines’ Taal and Rukban cases examined above, the function of armed actors was understood, if not appreciated. In this public health instance, however, the respondent felt the armed actors’ role was deeply incongruous with the crisis at hand. This, in turn, helped construe the outbreak as related to political machinations (which was facilitated in no small way by the decision to disenfranchise eastern Congo from the 2018 elections due to alleged Ebola-related risks).
Across cases, these sentiments were widely reported by crisis-affected community members when considering armed actors’ enforcement roles. In the Philippines’ COVID-19 case, for example, a respondent made the following statement:
[The armed actors] were roaming around the area. It wasn’t giving any sense of relief, aside from additional fear. If they were from the health sector, I would totally understand. There were times that they were roaming around armed with weapons. You don’t know, what is it for? Are they going to attack someone? Were they having [military and security] operations?
These various respondents—as illustrative of a majority of crisis-affected community members—associated armed actors so strongly with more typical security and direct aid functions, that enforcement roles led to suspicion that ulterior motives were at play. It should be noted that there was important dissent on this point amongst a small but meaningful minority of crisis-affected community members in both the DRC and Philippines’ COVID-19 case, who felt that militarized enforcement of public health measures ensured strict compliance in a way that was both effective and valuable.
A related theme—one that was particularly pertinent in DRC—was crisis-affected community members’ consternation that enforcement roles distracted ‘benevolent’ armed actors from helping protect communities from ‘malevolent’ ones. For example, when asked about MONUSCO’s role supporting the Ebola response, one respondent stated:
It’s true, they have a goal, yes, they can help us. But there is a mission to stabilize [things] here at home… And for me, personally, I won’t refuse if they do other ordinary work, but, on [the] condition that they have stabilized… Even though they helped us with [the Ebola] disease, [there remains] the one who forcibly kills me while I [work] my fields.
When asked to further clarify the appropriate role of MONUSCO and government troops, the respondent continued:
Their job is to protect people and their property. So, when we see [they are] not following up [and protecting people], confidence starts to drop. But, it is our army. We cannot trust elsewhere [i.e., exogenous armed actors]. But, it is because of them that the confidence of the population in them disappears, since they are not doing their job as planned.
In other words, this respondent accepted armed actors’ enforcement and public health roles, but only ‘on [the] condition’ that security was first maintained. Without first ‘doing their job as planned’, ‘the confidence… of the population… disappears’—which, as corroborated by a number of other crisis-affected community members, further contributed to allegations of ulterior political and financial motives.
Table 2 presents a typology that summarises these key roles (as reflected in the data, these roles can—and sometimes did—occur simultaneously, and/or were sometimes interrelated).
Perceptions of NSAGs
NSAGs were highly relevant to each response,but played very different roles both within and across all three cases. In some circumstances, NSAGs were antagonistic to the response at hand, such as the violent extremist ADF group in DRC. In other circumstances, however, NSAGs proactively supported humanitarian responses—and on occasion, even performed humanitarian-type activities themselves. Therefore, the involvement of NSAGs was a key factor influencing crisis-affected community members’ perspectives of armed actors more generally in the humanitarian and public health crises that were examined.
In the DRC case, crisis-affected community member respondents generally expressed strong opinions about state and non-state armed actors’ role in the Ebola response. However, there was no obvious consensus to this perspective: many spoke openly in support of armed actor intervention, many spoke against it, and many had differing opinions depending on the armed actor in question. Some respondents, for example, reported that local Mai Mai militia groups played positive roles in public health outreach and communication, with one stating these groups were “especially spirited” towards such activities when cases arose in their territories. For example, one respondent stated:
There was the [militia’s] commander, who had directly started to raise awareness and tell people that the disease really exists. He said, ‘Here at home we refused that the disease does not exist. Now people are dying’… So, the gunmen who are not in the government have also helped make people [i.e., the general public] understand that the disease exists. I have seen it with my own eyes, these armed people carrying out good outreach. People really listened to them.
In other words, the militia commander worked proactively to raise awareness of Ebola, and to convince crisis-affected community members to take the outbreak seriously.
Another crisis-affected community member reported observing similar behaviour on the part of a different militia leader, who leveraged local networks for public health outreach:
One day, their [the militia] commander even sensitized us here in this room where we are seated. He told us, ‘The disease exists, don’t be obstinate! This disease kills the proud, and we have to get to work to eradicate it’… There was indeed such a case in the village of Mahohe. Almost 9 people from the same family had died of Ebola. There was great resistance in this family. [The militia commander] went there and convinced them [not to resist the Ebola response]. If it weren’t for his actions in those days, Ebola would still be in Mahohe. He convinced the mothers who sell pineapples [by the road] to tell them that the disease is indeed there, and that we must protect ourselves.
As indicated in this quote, the DRC case demonstrates the diversity of how NSAGs might interact with a response, and how crisis-affected community members perceive these different interactions. For example, one respondent simply stated: “it’s only the ADF that bothers us”.
Indeed, due partially to the violent actions of the ADF, some respondents spoke very positively about the protection afforded them by other NSAGs. The UPLC, for example, reportedly protected response staff, supplies, and buildings against the ADF:
Those from the UPLC supported the response and avoided [causing] any damage. For example, the ETC [Ebola Treatment Centre], when it was built here [in Kalunguta], people thought it was a slaughterhouse to kill the people inside. The UPLC Mai Mai have done everything to keep it [safe]. It is thanks to them that this ETC is still there, and it is thanks to them that Ebola was quickly eradicated here.
In addition to this protective function, crisis-affected community members also praised certain NSAGs for the role they reportedly played in facilitating access for Ebola response teams. For example, one respondent stated:
I can say that our peripheral roads are maintained and the city are clean thanks to the Mai Mai… They tell the men of such and such a village to do the work, so that the road is well maintained. I remember there was a bridge somewhere. They had done everything to maintain the bridge and let vehicles pass through it without problem.
Notably, the support that crisis-affected community members expressed towards some NSAGs was not necessarily extended to the FARDC and their involvement in the Ebola response.
For example, reflecting on the FARDC’s role providing armed escorts to public health responders, one crisis-affected community member stated:
When we started to see the soldiers, then the doubt started to set in. We said to ourselves, ‘Who is this patient that we have to look for with a gun?’.
Another echoed similar hesitation and consternation for the role of the FARDC:
Usually, when the population begins to demonstrate… the army has always intervened, and this has always created a kind of opposition between the army and the population. Obviously, during the response, the population also asked themselves many questions. ‘Why are armed people also intervening in the response? Do they also want to force us to die?’… For some people, seeing the army in the activities of the response, they interpreted that it is a way to eliminate us. Because we do not want to accept them, and they will eliminate us by force.
To an extent, then, the historically fraught relationship between the FARDC (and the government more generally) and the population of North Kivu and Ituri provinces meant that NSAGs were usually received more positively than the FARDC. Hence, another respondent simply stated that “a soldier or policeman is always bad”.
Gender dimensions of HMR
Gender was a key factor influencing crisis-affected community members’ perspectives of armed actors’ presence and role in response to the examined humanitarian crises and public health emergencies.
In the Rukban case, for example, crisis-affected community members generally felt either neutral or positive towards the Jordanian Armed Forces (JAF). The JAF were situated at the border between Jordan and Syria, and were, in many ways, gatekeepers to the Rukban camp. Therefore, during the process of displacement from Syria, the JAF were the first visible evidence of having reached the border. Respondents consistently noted relief and gratitude for the safety and security they therefore associated with the JAF—including for reasons specifically related to the large number of female refugees. For example, one crisis-affected community member recalled:
[The JAF’s] role at the camp was to make sure it was secure. When we arrived, they told us that any troublemakers would face consequences, [and that troublemakers] may not be allowed to enter. So, they kept us in check. We were very happy with their role, especially since there were women and children, [and] widows without protection.
In other words, this respondent felt that the presence of the JAF alleviated particular risks facing female refugees from other displaced persons (‘troublemakers’) that resulted from the absence of male family members who would otherwise provide ‘protection’.
Other female respondents specifically highlighted differential—and preferential—treatment they felt they experienced from the JAF due to their gender. For example, one recalled arriving at the border, and waiting in a kind of no-man’s-land, unsure of where to go as the entrance to the camp was closed at the time. Only those in need of urgent medical attention were being permitted entrance. She waited.
Then, at night, a few tanks approached, as well as an ambulance and some [military] physicians. [I had a small injury on my foot], so I went to have them look at my toe, and one of them said it needs to be amputated. He said [to me privately], ‘There’s [actually] nothing wrong with you… don’t be afraid… but I’m saying this to find a way to let you in [to the camp]’… I will never forget this. It was very humane of him… The women, just us the women, were placed in the ambulance… Now we were special… and we [were therefore able to] enter the first checkpoint [into the camp].
In this instance, the respondent felt that the JAF granted them access to the relative safety of Rukban specifically because they were women. Indeed, in this instance, the ‘humane’ treatment—purposefully misassigning her ailment as a medical emergency, so that she was ‘special’ and was therefore permitted access into the camp—was extended only to the other women and their children waiting at the border.
However, while treatment by JAF personnel was generally remembered as being quite positive (other examples included JAF personnel carrying refugees’ luggage and assisting the elderly), it was not necessarily consistent. One female respondent and mother, for example, recalled how JAF personnel.
…registered her [eldest daughter’s] information. They took pictures with her, and have these saved to this day. They asked me if I could leave her with them! I said, ‘No way!’. I left Syria primarily for my children. I’d never leave her.
In her interview, the respondent characterized this as a ‘bad apple’ incident, and as with other respondents, generally associated the JAF with protection. Indeed, in the Rukban context, respondents’ examples of this kind of predatory behaviour by armed actors were very few. However, it nevertheless evidences a particular risk faced by women in such insecure environments—even in ones where military personnel were almost always felt to be protectors.
This notion was echoed strongly in the Philippines, where during the COVID-19 response, the (armed) Philippines National Police (PNP) operated checkpoints (as raised by respondents, the PNP’s armaments and tactical camouflage made their personnel difficult-if-not-impossible to distinguish from members of the Armed Forces of the Philippines). These checkpoints were to enforce lockdowns that—in theory—were in place to protect communities.
However, several crisis-affected community members recalled how these armed checkpoints presented opportunities for gendered coercion including sexual harassment and assault. Second-hand—though as corroborated by numerous sources in the grey literature [16, 53, 56], such as those referring to quarantine cordon ‘sex-for-pass’ schemes in which multiple rape victims were reported on a daily basis—one respondent said:
The fact that you hear reports about these guys using their authorities to rape women at the checkpoint, that’s the thing that gets me emotional.
Indeed, for many female respondents, interactions at checkpoints became inherently gendered experiences, provided that PNP personnel—as with most armed forces in all contexts examined in this study—were overwhelmingly male. Another female respondent recalled their first-hand experiences navigating the checkpoints:
Then this military person, when I rolled down the window, came out as aggressive. It was like, direct interaction. And that bothered me. Women, especially women of marginalized groups, were being harassed, so I guess there was this notion in my head that when they stopped me, I should have my defences out. I was like, for me, there was a bit of anxiety.
In this case, therefore, interaction with armed actors became highly gendered experiences, in a way that included confrontation and harassment, and which resulted in defensiveness and anxiety. Far from being understood as protectors, in the Philippines’ COVID-19 case, armed actors were generally performing an enforcement role, for which they were feared.
In the DRC case, no study respondents in the crisis-affected community member category concretely recalled gender-based violence or other gender-based interactions with armed actors..However, sexual violence by armed actors is rife in eastern Congo, with widespread documented evidence of these abuses by NSAGs, FARDC, PNC, and MONUSCO personnel. It should also be noted that civilian Ebola responders have been widely reported to have perpetrated sexual abuses as well) [40, 44, 48, 57, 58].
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