Social Torture: The Case of Northern Uganda, 1986-2006

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INTRODUCTION

Why, when almost every concerned party says they wish it would end, does a situation of suffering such as that in northern Uganda continue and indeed worsen? When I first went to northern Uganda in 1998 it was already a pertinent question; by 2006, with ninety per cent of the population internally displaced or in exile, further thousands raped, killed or forcibly abducted, and the economy in tatters, it was still more so. Even as the two ostensible parties to the conflict, the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) and the Government of Uganda (GoU), stated their commitment to peace during two years of talks in the southern Sudanese town of Juba (2006–2008), the question and its answer remained fundamentally important. For the legacy of two decades of violence and violation in northern Uganda is well beyond the scope of any peace deal, not least because many of the actors are not even visible in the talks. Insofar as the situation in northern Uganda exemplifies the ‘new wars’ of the post-cold war era, the question and its answer should also have resonance in a number of other situations whose persistence taxes both the intellect and the imagination.

Contrary to popular presentations of the situation as being primarily an internal war between the LRA and the Government of Uganda, this book makes the case that it is instead a form of mass torture, whose principal victims are the population within the ‘war zone’, and whose ultimate function is the subordinate inclusion of the population in northern Uganda. The so-called ‘protected villages’ for the internally displaced are primary sites of this process, which I shall call Social Torture, as evidenced in widespread violation, dread, disorientation, dependency, debilitation and humiliation, all of which are tactics and symptoms typical of torture, but perpetrated on a mass rather than individual scale.

In this interpretation visible perpetrators include the Government and LRA, but a range of less visible actors are also involved, not least the donor governments, multi-lateral organisations, churches and NGOs. In many instances these can be regarded as complicit bystanders; like doctors in a torture situation, they appear to be there to ease the suffering of victims, but in reality they enable the process to be prolonged by keeping the victim alive for further abuse. Doing this serves a number of inter-linked economic, political and psychological functions for perpetrators and bystanders alike, and is underpinned by both psychological and discursive processes of justification, the most important of which is the idea that this situation is indeed a ‘war’ between the LRA and the Government. Furthermore, by virtue of the scale at which it operates, Social Torture becomes in several senses self-perpetuating and time-indifferent.

In short, whereas torture is generally seen as a tactic with which to prosecute war, in this situation war is being used as the guise under which to perpetrate social torture. Once this reversal of the relationship between means and end is clear it also becomes much clearer why the situation continues: steps to end the war focused on dealing with the LRA through negotiations or military means are necessary but not enough. What is also needed are interventions which address the multiple dimensions of social torture. These include addressing political and economic inequities, governmental impunity and harmful psycho-social dynamics. As those who in principle have the most power to make these changes are implicated in the social torture themselves, the focus has to shift from the intentions of visible perpetrators to the responsibilities of a far wider range of actors.

The Mainstream Discourse of Today's Wars

Arriving at this thesis was not a linear process. Rather it involved an iterative to- and fro- between review of academic literature, policy positions, media coverage, and field-work findings. In the course of this I came to see the literature in terms of two broad types; that which contributes to what I would characterise as the mainstream discourse of today's wars (which in turn informs the majority of policy and media coverage), and that which offers the building blocks of a counter-narrative. The mainstream discourse argues that post-Cold War conflicts are internal and bi-partisan in nature, as well as apolitical and at times irrational, and therefore posits them as detached from wider systemic dynamics at the international level.

An example from the 1990s of this preoccupation with the internal is Ramsbotham and Woodhouse's concept of ‘International Social Conflicts’ (ISCs), situations

which are neither inter-state conflicts…nor contained within the resources of domestic conflict management…There are many other terms for this level of conflict, most commonly ‘internal conflict’ or ‘civil war’, but these do not capture the further twin characteristics of ISCs: a) that they are rooted in relations between communal groups within state borders (the ‘social’ component) and b) that they have broken out of the domestic arena and become a crisis for the state, thereby automatically involving the wider society of states (the ‘international’ component) (1996: 87).

The preoccupation with the internal also pervades the humanitarian sector, which objectifies such situations through terms such as ‘complex emergencies’, ‘complex humanitarian emergencies’ or even ‘complex political emergencies’ (CPEs). These are all terms which entered into humanitarian vocabulary following the creation of a safe haven with military peacekeepers in northern Iraq,¹ an event which marked a dramatic shift in the nature of UN interventions in a range of situations globally (Ramsbotham and Woodhouse 1996: 70).

Notwithstanding references to conflicts being rooted in ‘relations between communal groups’, the mainstream discourse simply adapts ‘the Clausewitzian analysis of inter-state wars’ (Keen 2005: 2) to an intra-state context, but sustains the same basic model of two-party wars which is so deeply embedded in the field of international relations and the related practical fields of mediation and conflict resolution (see, for example, Kelman 1992, Crocker 1999, 2001). In this model third parties are only written into the picture in a responsive capacity. Even in interventions based on a social-psychological perspective ‘that sees conflict at least partly and at times predominantly as a subjective social process’ (e.g. Fisher and Keashly 1996), the assumption prevails that third parties come in solely to help the conflicting parties sort out their internal muddle and play no generative role in creating that muddle.

The internal model of war is underpinned by two alternative explanations of what motivates the people who are visibly involved. Both of these largely exclude the possibility of political explanations. One is the substantial body of literature which regards such ‘internal’ conflicts as based on economic rationales. The perspective that simple ‘greed’ is what motivates people (more specifically, rebels), has tended to predominate, and is forcefully articulated by Collier (2000). A more nuanced economic perspective is provided by Stewart (2002), who explores the role of horizontal economic inequalities in creating a sense of grievance. Berdal and Malone (2000) argue that, although ‘the presence of economic motives and commercial agendas in wars is not so much a new phenomenon as a familiar theme’, the economic dimensions of civil conflict have not in fact been given sufficiently systematic attention; they therefore seek to explore how economic motivations, violence and destitution all reinforce one another and give rise to ‘a particular dynamic of conflict’ (Berdal and Malone, 2000; 1–2).

Another branch of the literature significantly discounts the existence of any rationale with which to engage, whether political or economic, and also presumes that today's conflicts are internal. This position has variously been termed the ‘New Barbarism thesis’ (Richards 1996: xiii) and the ‘Coming Anarchy’ school’ (Keen 2005: 3). In his 1994 piece, The Coming Anarchy, Robert Kaplan manages to situate the problem of today's conflicts squarely within countries in which he sees a breakdown of the state monopoly of violence, the growth of informal and parallel economies and a thinning down of civil order, but also to suggest what the consequences would be for zones of order if such anarchy were to be allowed to spill over. Keegan, a military historian with a similarly high profile, also tends to present today's conflicts as internal, arising from ‘tribal’ enmities and irrational primitivism which had been long-suppressed during the Cold War. He argues that ‘many of the newer states, particularly those brought into being by the dissolution of European empires, have been unable to liberate themselves from the grip of internal hostilities that pre-date colonisation…’ (1998, 66). The tactics of such internal wars are said to ‘resemble those of the surviving Stone Age peoples of the world's remote regions, at their most savage’ (idem, 68).

Although some have argued that such conflicts are best left to burn themselves out (e.g. Luttwak's provocative article Give War a Chance (1999)), the more usual view has been that solutions are to be found through third party interventions, such as those suggested by Keegan himself, namely ‘progress in aid and development programmes allied to stronger alliances with other nations which strengthen the economic structures of such states and help to neutralise the political insecurities against which their governments constantly battle’ (Keegan, 1998; 73). As such, fear of the spill-over of ‘anarchy’ is closely linked to a containment agenda.

As a whole, this body of literature presents war as a series of dichotomised possibilities; it is either externally or internally driven, it is either rational or irrational, and it is driven by either grievance or greed. When this lens is applied to today's wars it tends to find them as internal, irrational and driven primarily by greed – characteristics encapsulated in the ‘New Barbarism’ argument. These characteristics – or perhaps more accurately, characterisations – are visibly reflected in most presentations of the situation in northern Uganda. Often said to be a war of the LRA against its own people, and thus internal, fundamentally irrational, and without a cause beyond enjoying the fruits of its looting and pillaging, the situation is also presented as a two-party conflict, with the LRA and Government of Uganda as the key protagonists, and the Acholi people as the chief victim. LRA depredations receive considerably more attention than Government ones; indeed the Government is nearly always presented as intervening to protect its own citizens in response to these depredations. In this picture, NGOs, UN, donors, churches and media are all expressly viewed as external. They are presented (and view themselves), as responding to, rather than having any generative role in, the situation.

Building Blocks of a Counter-Narrative

Such interpretations of today's wars in general and of the situation in northern Uganda in particular, have a practical and political weight wholly disproportionate to their analytical and descriptive value. As Keen scathingly argues, chaos theories are the product of ‘chaotic analysts’, which unfortunately also serve the interests of ‘international actors who might wish to justify parsimony and inaction’ (Keen 2005: 4). In this respect, helpful parallels and connections can be drawn between the discourse on ‘internal’ wars outlined above, and Abrahamsen's analysis of discourses of development, and their role in sustaining particular external interests.

At the heart of Abrahamsen's argument lies the observation that the western discourse on good governance and democracy coincides with the end of the Cold War and the need to find alternative mechanisms and legitimations for implementing a neo-liberal economic agenda driven by the West (Abrahamsen 2000; 25–45). She notes that it constructs whole areas of the globe ‘as objects to be reformed rather than as subjects with a history and with their own power to transform the world and react to changing circumstances’ (idem 2000; 20). Effectively this discourse ‘is implicated in power relationships and serves to perpetuate international relations of dominance and subordination’ (idem, viii). Key to the discourses’ success is that they do ‘not take sufficient account of the interconnectedness of states and political forces in the global era, and that they maintain a strict internal/external dichotomy that is no longer an accurate or useful description of the world’ (idem 2000: xi). In short, Abrahamsen identifies both the function (subordination) and the mechanism (partial representation and over-simplified dichotomies) of public discourses.

Many aspects of this analysis can also be applied to the literature on internal war outlined above. By asserting one primary motivation for war, the literature plays havoc with the subjectivities of people in war, indeed it silences them.² By focusing attention on some actors and diverting it from others it simultaneously discounts the importance of historical process and the possibility of ‘external’ involvement in and responsibility for the state of affairs in a given place. Its function is thus exculpatory (in that it casts silence on the sins of the past and present), justificatory (in that it justifies particular patterns of intervention), and politically oppressive (in that subjectivities are silenced, knowledge gaps created, and wars depoliticised). In short, the discourse on internal war (and the representations of northern Uganda which reflect it) has similar mechanisms and functions to those on good governance, democracy and development. Indeed it can be regarded as an extension of them.

To create a resilient counter-narrative to such mainstream discourses requires a firm empirical basis. This has been amply demonstrated by a number of fine-grained context-based analyses of particular conflict-related situations. The importance of external involvement in the dynamics of supposedly internal situations resonates throughout these readings, whether in the political economies of assistance (Harrell-Bond 1986, Keen 1994, De Waal 1997) and war (Berdal and Malone, 2000), or in the de facto cultural and political connections between very local dynamics and wider social and political processes (Girling 1960, Allen 1991, 1994, 1998, Richards 1996, Behrend 1999, Finnström 2003, Keen 2005). Work on the constructed nature of war and ethnicity (Jabri 1996, Turton 1997), as well as broader ranging political economy analyses linking ‘new wars’ with processes of globalisation (Kaldor, 2001) and global governance (Duffield, 2001) offer further support for such perspectives.

From a more psychological angle, Zur's work on Guatemala (1993, 1998), and Mamdani's work on the genocide in Rwanda in which he highlights the importance of understanding the complex interplay between a ‘victim-consciousness’ and a perpetrator role (1997b), offer important analyses of how ordinary people are drawn into and contribute to the dynamics of a conflict situation. Mamdani's work on the truth and reconciliation processes in South Africa also suggests the imperative of considering not just the visible perpetrators, but also the indirect beneficiaries of their acts (1997a, 1997b).

Gilligan, having spent twenty-five years working in and observing the American penal system, combines a psychoanalytical perspective with a public health agenda and a socio-political analysis to create an epidemiology of violence. He isolates humiliation and shame – notably in relation to men's sense of their masculinity – as the ‘pathogens’ causing violence. He suggests that perpetrators of violence have themselves generally been the victims of extreme forms of physical and psychological violence which weaken their self-worth and make them vulnerable to processes of shaming and humiliation. He argues that a penal system which punishes the violence born of humiliation by systematically ensuring the perpetrators are subjected to further humiliation and shame might appear self-defeating and counter-productive, but is in fact the result of deliberate choices made by the ruling classes. The latter wish to ensure that the lower classes (both black and white) turn the shame-induced violence of their social position against themselves and each other rather than against the ruling classes (Gilligan, 2000). While Gilligan's work is not directly addressed at the ‘new wars’, the importance of humiliation in the perpetuation of conflict – and linked to that, the withholding of dignity and recognition – is increasingly recognised (see, for example, Keen, 2005), though rarely addressed in policy or practice.

A reading of this more empirically based literature highlights the way in which reductive accounts draw attention away from the systemic dimensions and linkages of today's conflicts and violence, and the consequent involvement of multiple actors at all levels. It reinforces the importance of building a picture both of local involvement, and of the true extent of external involvement in supposedly internal dynamics. There is considerable power in the different ways in which Mamdani, Zur and Gilligan are all able to integrate historical, economic, political and socio-psychological factors into their analyses. These readings also underline the value of taking a ‘bottom up’ starting point which ensures that the subjectivities which are silenced by mainstream discourses are heard and inform the counter-narrative.

It was such ‘bottom up’ views which ultimately prompted me to explore the relationships between the situation in northern Uganda and the literature on torture. I was repeatedly struck while working there by how often people referred to what was happening to them as ‘torture’, and as a form of persecution. Many would describe the ‘protected villages’ as ‘concentration camps’, and even talk of a ‘genocide’. Equally, it was very common for people to say ‘we are all traumatised’, and this language of ‘trauma’ had become common currency by the time I was in northern Uganda. UNOCHA, for example, argued that the LRA's practice of abduction had ‘profoundly traumatized the entire population’ (Weeks, 2002: 28), and a consultancy report for NURP II reported that:

…the districts of Gulu and Kitgum were found to be the most affected…It was established that there was only a variation of intensity, otherwise in one way or the other, everybody was found to be traumatised (COWI, 1999; 68).

Initially I dismissed such usages, thinking they were due to English being a second language, or to rhetorical exaggeration in the interests of making a political point. After all, there is nothing unusual about the use of protected villages as a counter-insurgency strategy. Similar strategies were used by the Sandinistas in the mountains of northern Nicaragua, by FRELIMO in the fight against RENAMO in Mozambique, and perhaps most uncomfortably as a point of comparison, by Ian Smith in Rhodesia.³ Moreover, when I asked what people meant by this use of ‘torture’, it turned out to refer to anything from various degrees of beating through being unlawfully detained under gruelling circumstances, to extreme violations such as the mutilations of the LRA. Effectively a whole range of abusive behaviours were being put under the rubric of torture. There seemed little connection between this broad picture of torture, much of which could be seen happening to the population at large in their daily lives, and the more conventional notions of torture as something which sets out to destroy targeted individuals in places well-hidden from the public gaze. And, given that there were instances of abuse which clearly did qualify as torture,⁴ it seemed there was a danger of diluting the force of the term by seeking to apply it more broadly.

Article 1 of The Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, defines torture as

any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity.⁵

Although this definition puts an explicit emphasis on the intentionality of perpetrators, and appears to narrow the possible range of perpetrators to public officials or other persons acting in official capacity, it is in many other respects a broad and wide-reaching one. The phrase ‘for such purposes as’ suggests that while obtaining information, punishment, intimidation and coercion are major objectives of torture, they are not exclusive. The inclusion of suffering ‘for any reason based on discrimination of any kind’ makes the possibilities even broader. And while Article 1 talks of pain or suffering inflicted ‘on a person’ by ‘a public official or other person acting in an official capacity’, in other words implies a focus on individuals, Article 3 of the Convention, which prohibits the refoulement of an asylum seeker ‘where there are substantial grounds for believing that he would be in danger of being subjected to torture’, defines substantial grounds as including ‘flagrant or mass violations of human rights’ (emphasis added).

I therefore increasingly wondered if there were indeed parallels to be drawn between what happens to individuals in torture chambers and what was happening to the population living in the war zone, especially but not exclusively to those people living in the ‘protected villages’. There is nothing in the convention definition which excludes the mass violations of human rights entailed in the forcible displacement of populations, or in the failure to provide physical security and access to basic education and health care, as described in Chapter 5. If these failings could potentially be considered a form of torture, this raised questions around who the actors might be, and how they could have organised and legitimised torture on such a grand scale. It also began to suggest that the protected villages, despite failing in the stated objectives of protection of civilians and counter-insurgency, might be serving a function after all.

When I then turned to the literature on torture I found analyses which, rather than privileging individual intention above all else, incorporated and integrated multiple elements, not least the impacts on victims but also the multiple actors and their roles, the benefits and functions of torture, and the mechanisms used to justify it. As such there were direct conceptual links to some of the ‘building blocks’ of a counter-narrative outlined above, indicating that a non-legal model of torture could and should incorporate elements from the existing literature on today's wars, not least considerations of political economy, social psychology, and discourse analysis.

In seeking to create a counter-narrative which would make explicit these linkages I initially focused on what the literature suggested about the following four elements: impacts of torture, actors, benefits and functions, and justificatory mechanisms.

Impacts

As Melamed et al. point out (1990), ‘Torture is defined not only by the acts committed, but also by the individual's response to these acts’. In other words, it is not always necessary to know who the torturer was, how exactly they did it, or what their precise intentions were, in order to be able to diagnose a victim of torture. In asylum determination procedures, for example, medical examination to corroborate the claims of torture victims may count for more than the account of torture itself.

Diagram 1.1 Key Elements in Identifying Torture

Some of the key states to be found in victims of torture, as summarised by Suedfeld (1990: 3), include debilitation, dependency, dread and disorientation.

Debilitation is the result of the captor deliberately inducing physical and mental weakness. The elements identified by Suedfeld as key to debilitating torture victims are ‘Hunger, fatigue, lack of medical attention, lack of shelter from the elements, lack of sleep, beatings’. Linked to debilitation is a strong element of enforced dependency, both material and psychological. The former arises when victims are unable to meet their own needs, and Suedfeld describes how psychological dependency is created when ‘friendships and lines of authority among prisoners are destroyed, and the prisoner is stripped of status and dignity’. Dread is described by Suedfeld as the state of mind induced in a victim who is kept ‘in a constant state of fear and anxiety’, and a key tactic in this is ‘keeping the prisoner in doubt as to when if ever he or she will be released’. Disorientation is induced by removing the victim's sense of control by making events unpredictable and incomprehensible, a process which seriously hinders the victims’ capacity to develop coping mechanisms (Suedfeld 1990, Melamed et al. 1990: 16). The main tactic to achieve this is to change the treatment of the victim ‘in unpredictable fashion’ (Suedfeld, 1990:3).

While debilitation, dependency, dread and disorientation are the states which torturers seek to induce, evidence of torture can also be found in symptoms which are less visibly linked to the act of torture itself. Thus victims may continue to exhibit symptoms related to their experiences long after the acts of torture are over. These would normally fall under the rubric of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), defined as the development of ‘characteristic symptoms following a psychologically traumatic event that is generally outside the range of usual human experience’.⁶ Symptoms of PTSD which are particularly prevalent in torture victims include ‘psychic numbing or emotional anaesthesia. There is loss of ability to feel close; frequently, intimacy and sexuality are not possible’ (Melamed et al. 1990: 15). Studies such as those of Peterson and Seligman (1983) show that the ‘uncontrollability of the onset and termination of victimization…best explains why some victims become numb and passive. They [Peterson and Seligman] believe that because the onset is unpredictable and the event inescapable, coping attempts are futile. Low self-esteem and self-blame are associated with this state’ (Melamed et al. 1990: 15–16).

Along with victims of abuse and oppression more broadly, torture victims often get blamed by others for their own misfortunes, and tend to search for their own responsibility (i.e. blame themselves) for what happened to them.

Actors

Having once identified various physical and psychological states and behaviours as possible impacts of torture, it is necessary to read backwards to find the actors involved. Much of the literature on torture and genocide draws on a model of perpetrators, bystanders and victims. The term perpetrator, as used by Staub, encompasses not only ‘the torturers themselves, but also those who are in charge of a system which perpetrates torture.’ (Staub 1990:106).

The bystander group includes all those who either observe directly or at least are aware that torture is being committed, but take no action to prevent or stop it, despite having some potential to do so. This inaction may be because they are intimidated as a result of being aware of the torture of others, or because they share some of the perpetrator group's values (Staub 1990, 1995, Hilberg 1992). Staub distinguishes ‘internal’ bystanders who are individual ‘members of society who are neither victims nor part of the perpetrator group’, from ‘external’ bystanders whom he considers to be ‘other nations’ who fit into an international relations model of nations as metaphorical individuals in a community of states.

Closer scrutiny of the relationship between the actions of perpetrators and those of ostensibly passive bystanders suggests that over time the distinction between the two can break down. As Staub himself points out, using the example of the doctors who help to keep torture victims alive, it is disturbingly easy for actors to shift between bystander and perpetrator positions: ‘although their participation may be seemingly humane, it usually serves the perpetrators not the victims – by helping to revive or keep alive victims for more torture or selecting methods of torture to minimize visible signs’ (Staub 1990: 68).

Futhermore, there is reason to suppose that some victims become perpetrators themselves – possibly against a less powerful third party – as a means of dealing with their situation. Gilligan, for example, argues that ‘The violent criminals I have known have been objects of violence from early childhood’ (Gilligan, 2000: 45). As such, in analysing torture, it is necessary to hold two viewpoints simultaneously; on the one hand the snapshot or cross-sectional view, in which the perpetrator-bystander-victim distinctions are clear, on the other the filmed or longitudinal view over time, in which individuals shift between roles or indeed experience several roles simultaneously.

Benefits and Functions

Staub makes a convincing case that, alongside its overt functions of coercing direct victims into particular behaviours (e.g. yielding a confession, handing over information about ‘rebel co-ordinators’), torture serves a psychological function for its perpetrators. He argues that rich and poor alike – when they experience ‘difficult conditions of life’ such as ‘severe economic problems, persistent and intense political conflict, and rapid, substantial social change’ – are liable to develop certain psychological needs. These include the need for a sense of security, a sense of ‘positive identity’ (both individual and group), ‘a meaningful comprehension of reality, a sense of how the world is ordered and of one's place in it’, and also a ‘connection to others’. Turning against another group is one of a number of processes whereby groups will seek to meet these psychological needs rather than addressing the actual difficulties they face. Within this, scapegoating, victimisation, devaluation and dehumanisation of others all help people to recover a positive sense of self, and adherence to ideologies (whether religious or secular) helps to create a sense of how the world is ordered.

Devaluation and dehumanisation can be achieved in many ways. In Kelman's analysis, torturers label their victims as ‘terrorists, insurgents, or dissidents who endanger the state’ as a part of the dehumanisation process. To move from this kind of dehumanisation of a limited number of individuals to dehumanisation of an entire social group is relatively easy, as demonstrated by the post-September 11 2001 blurring of distinctions between the categories ‘terrorists’ and ‘Muslims’ by western governments and media. This is the more so if individuals behave in ways which appear to confirm the negative qualities already ascribed to the social group from which they stem. Once catalysed, the processes of devaluation and dehumanisation can quickly acquire their own momentum. As Staub points out, torture often renders victims ‘bloody, dirty, undignified’ such that ‘they can easily be seen as less than human’ – and as Gilligan establishes, when victims be-come perpetrators the fact they were once victims is forgotten, resulting in interventions focused on punishment rather than rehabilitation or reintegration.

Such processes for devaluing others and creating a sense of order are more easily catalysed where there is already a ‘history of devaluation of a group of people’, a ‘monolithic rather than a pluralistic society’, a cultural concept which has been frustrated, ‘strong respect for and a tendency to obey authority’, a history of aggression in which violence is normalised and made acceptable, and an ‘ideology of antagonism’ (Staub 1990, 1995: 101–103).

Alongside the military and psychological functions it is possible to identify political and economic ones. The links between the psychological and political ones are likely to be intimate in a situation such as Uganda; it seems probable that with the colonial legacy still within living memory, and with neo-colonial forms of control being exercised through concepts of ‘modernisation’, ‘democracy’, ‘good governance’ and ‘structural adjustment’, the psychological need for a strong sense of positive identity will be considerable. Achieving this is likely to entail, through devaluation, the subordination of minority groups, and, through the signals this sends, the control of the wider society as a whole.

The economic benefits arising from social torture scenarios, I would suggest, are likely to resemble those emerging in other situations of widespread suffering, as identified by Keen in The Benefits of Famine (1994); they could include the establishment of activities such as humanitarian relief interventions, the establishment of niche activities focused on identifiable ‘victims’ such as child soldiers, and the exploitation of captive markets by particular individuals and groups. The management of these in turn is liable to be linked to political functions, such as using economic rewards to buy off dissidents and potential critics.

Justifications

While the multiple possible functions of torture explain some of the incentives for keeping it going, it is also necessary to explain how the perpetrators and bystanders justify it.

In terms of justifying torture to themselves, the psychological processes adopted by perpetrators for immediate legitimation are similar to the mechanisms used to meet their underlying psychological needs discussed above. Staub summarises them as ‘differentiation, devaluation, and moral exclusion’ (1990: 52). Clearly the three are linked. Differentiation into an ‘in’ and an ‘out-group’ allows devaluation of the ‘out-group’. Devaluation in turn makes the moral exclusion of the out-group more feasible, thereby enabling their torture. Kelman similarly describes ‘dehumanization’, along with ‘routinization’ and ‘authorization’, as what makes possible ‘the exclusion of torture victims from the torturer's moral community’ (1995: 31).

The psychological mechanisms employed by ostensible ‘bystanders’ to justify their apparent passivity share some characteristics with those used by the perpetrators. Staub points to their use of what he calls ‘just world thinking’, a process in which, ‘Wanting to believe both in a just world and that they themselves will not become victims of random circumstances, people tend to view those who suffer as being responsible for and deserving of their fate because of their character or prior conduct’ (1990: 56, 1995: 106). In other words, ‘just world thinking’ goes hand in hand with devaluation of the victims.

Elaborating a Model of Social Torture

In seeking to apply the above elements of the torture model to what I knew of northern Uganda I felt that while some of the impacts I observed closely resembled those commonly attributed to torture, the term torture as it stands within a particular strand of legal practice and the popular imagination, cannot do justice to processes and impacts on the scale I had observed. I also felt that the hidden processes behind the visible impacts were in some respects diametrically opposed to those we suppose to take place in individual torture. To capture this sense of both overlap and difference I arrived at the term social torture, a process which can be differentiated from individual torture around six key issues, as set out in Table 1.1 below.

Table 1.1 Key Differences between Individual and Social Torture

Low Intensity, Wide Impact

Whereas individual torture is conventionally thought of in terms of a highly intense and intrusive intervention, which impacts primarily on the individual victim and his or her immediate family, Social Torture can be characterised as ‘low intensity’ in that its methods and impacts are often not immediately visible but should be identifiable across society as a whole. In other words, while in individual torture only a minority are directly affected, in Social Torture only a minority will escape the impacts.

Low intensity goes hand in hand with a wide yet gradual impact. Its mechanisms are not always immediately identifiable for there is not always a simple one-to-one correlation between acts of torture and symptoms of such torture, particularly where the torturer is skilled in working so as to minimise visible damage. One symptom may arise from a number of discrete causes, or from a combination of them. For example, the literature suggests that the likelihood of PTSD among torture victims is increased if, amongst other things, the torture victim has already experienced ‘the phenomenon of being forcibly uprooted from one's home’, and if the victim is either very young or very old (Melamed et al. 1990: 20).⁷ In short, it may be the cumulative impact of multiple violations which triggers a visible symptom, such that cause cannot be traced back to any one of those violations in particular. This suggests the need to look for impact over the medium rather than the short term, and to speak of causal contexts rather than single causal incidents.

Even when they are visible, impacts cannot always be traced back directly to a particular act. As studies of the families of Holocaust survivors and of the disappeared in Latin America have shown, the torture of individuals affects not just the immediate object of the torturer's attentions, but also those associated with that person in the form of symptoms such as withdrawal, depression, and intense generalised fear (Melamed et al. 1990: 25). It is thus possible for impacts to be transmitted across and down the generations without the continued need of a physical perpetrator. This distance between individual acts and overall impact contributes substantially to the gradual nature and low visibility of the phenomenon of social torture. As one MP in northern Uganda commented; ‘This insecurity is a greater threat than the abductions. It is present every day but nobody sees it’.⁸

Geographic Extension and Time-Indifference

In the popular imagination torture takes place in very specific sites, generally away from the purview of the general public, at the hands of a very particular set of people, and over a delimited period of time determined by the limited capacity of the individual body and mind to resist torture. It has a beginning, when the victim is whisked away from their normal daily life, and it has an end, when the person, if still alive, may be returned to the ‘outside’ world, often with visible physical and psychological scars to deal with – in the midst of people the majority of whom have not undergone the same experience.

Social Torture, by contrast, rather than taking place in very restricted locations in short bursts, is both geographically extensive and time indifferent. The whole environment, in this case both the ‘protected villages’ and the war zone as a whole, are the site of torture – all the time. For most people, who have no resources with which to remove themselves from the war zone, there is no ‘outside’. You are not whisked away from your daily life to be tortured; daily life is your torture. This is not helped if the ‘outsiders’, who in the individual model of torture give victims hope by creating political pressure on the victim's behalf, in this scenario are ‘bystanders’ whose inaction is itself a contribution to social torture.

If your whole world has become the torture chamber, then determining a clear beginning becomes hard. As I shall suggest in Chapter 3, it is never easy to know when a war truly begins. Nor is it easy to know when torture begins. If, as argued in Chapter 6, it is necessary to look at debilitation arising not just from discrete incidents but from the accumulation of such, then pin-pointing a particular incident as the torture becomes redundant. Forcible displacement prior to an act of individual torture does not just render the victim more susceptible to PTSD symptoms after such an act, it is a part of the torture process itself.

Just as the beginning is hard to pinpoint, so is the end. What people experience and the symptoms they exhibit can barely be described as post-traumatic, as for most people there is no end to the circumstances which caused the trauma. Whereas the aid workers in war zones are sent on R and R (Rest and Recuperation), there is no such respite for the population at large. From this point of view to use the term post-traumatic stress to describe what is happening inside the war zone can itself be seen as part of a structure of denial, or at least a refusal to acknowledge that there is no ‘normal’ or pre-traumatic situation to revert to. In short, the process of social torture is time indifferent, measured in years or decades rather than the days of torture to which the individual's body can be subjected.

Multiple Actors

Over time large sections of society (rather than a narrowly selected group of ‘public officials’) become involved in the process, and a synergy is established between the psychological needs and wants of some and the petty economic and political interests of others. These are needs which the various actors involved will deny, and interests which they will have no wish to see exposed. In drawing in multiple actors (particularly the so-called ‘external’ ones), social torture furthers underlying processes of social and political change over which individual actors have little direct control or influence, and, to the extent that their own interests are furthered by keeping quiet, little incentive to challenge. This integration of multiple actors into the dynamics of social torture challenges a key aspect of many existing models of conflict, namely the tendency to view conflict situations as somehow ‘out there’, completely other and detached from the contexts in which those doing the analyses are situated. If, as I shall argue, social torture has to be understood as a systemic process in which what is happening, for example, in Gulu, is influenced by and of import to those making decisions in Kampala, London, Brussels and Washington, then an ‘internal’ versus ‘external’ model will only hold insofar as it describes those who are physically inside the war zone and those who are outside it. It will not have any value in identifying causal responsibility for what is happening inside the war zone.

Self-Perpetuating

Once under way, social torture elicits from its victims states of physical and psychological debilitation, dependency, dread and disorientation and corresponding behavioural responses. These tend to mutually reinforce and deepen each other rather than resolving themselves, and thus contribute to perpetuating or escalating the situation.

For example, although torture is often visited upon the physical body in the first instance, it is at core an invasion of people's minds which is very difficult to reverse, such that methods and impacts ultimately become one and the same thing. As Primo Levi (1989) puts it, ‘Anyone who has been tortured, remains tortured’. The mental state described as ‘disorientation’ is an outcome of torture, but being in that state is itself an additional form of torture.⁹

Even those who are being devalued may participate in their own devaluation, for discourses of devaluation catalysed by external actors (e.g. colonial notions of the ‘native’, or blaming the Acholi for what happened to them) are internalised by a particular population and quickly acquire a momentum which is independent of the actors who catalysed the discourse and continues long after they have left.

Not only is the invasion of the mind hard to reverse, it also finds expression in further physical debilitation. Both direct and indirect victims are subject to severe psychological stress, which is known to weaken the immune system.¹⁰ This may increase morbidity, thereby accelerating physical debilitation and economic dependency, a state in which people are unable to fulfil or learn the roles which under normal circumstances would give them a sense of their adult identity (e.g. provision and protection). This in turn aggravates psychological debility.

Once physical dependency has been induced through lack of food and lack of sleep (which in turn is related to dread), people cannot afford to bite the hand that feeds them, and their time horizons become foreshortened by the realities of day-to-day survival in the war zone. Coping mechanisms adopted to ameliorate their personal situation in the short term often have the opposite effect in the long term. To eat today, for example, people resort to selling sex with its concomitant risk of HIV tomorrow (see Chapter 6).

In a sense torture becomes involuntarily self-administered, and, insofar as these behaviours are perceived and/or portrayed as self-inflicted, it also becomes possible to ‘blame the victim’ and thereby reinforce discourses of devaluation and dehumanisation. This diverts attention away from causes and directs it to symptoms, in a manner which is used to justify the action and inaction of those who in principle have the capacity to do differently. It becomes difficult for any of the multiple actors involved to step back and assess their true contribution to – or position in – the various intersecting cycles of violation and violence. Social Torture thus acquires a degree of momentum independent of the perpetrators’ original actions or intentions.

Public Discourses

Because of the scale of social torture, and its potential visibility to the public eye, institutions such as governments, churches and NGOs need to convince their constituencies, congregations, and funding bases respectively, that institutional actions and inaction make sense and are legitimate. This is likely to be achieved through the manipulation of discourses and their accompanying silences. By focusing loudly on some elements of the situation, and keeping silent on others, these discourses serve to fragment and thus to divert attention from the bigger picture. Just as the individual perpetrator draws on a language of devaluation shared with other members of society to pre-empt any psychological discomfort with his own actions, so institutions and interest groups pre-empt the threat of their own failings being exposed by using discourses to externalise, make public and thereby involve their constituencies in processes of institutional self-justification.¹¹

Overview of the Book

The book is structured in the following manner. Chapter 2 sets out the institutional framework within which the research for this book was conducted, and the key elements of the approach adopted in order to address the contextual and conceptual challenges arising from doing research both on and in a ‘war zone’. To uncover the hidden rather than focus on the already visible, and to enable the emergence of a counter-narrative from those who are generally silenced by the mainstream discourses of the powerful, it was necessary to adopt an extremely open and non-prescriptive approach, in which the subjectivity of people living in that situation was given considerable scope and priority.

Chapter 3 serves a three-fold purpose. It begins with an objective history of major events occurring in northern Uganda over the period 1986 to 2006, including the various Governmental initiatives to deal with the LRA. It is ‘objective’ in the sense that few would dispute these happenings. This is then juxtaposed with peoples’ subjective memories to illuminate the importance of bringing subjective accounts into ‘objective’ history, for when this is done it indicates that although there were undeniably elements of intra-ethnic violence, there were no obvious reasons for giving primacy to an intra-ethnic explanation as there were also inter-ethnic, nationalist, international and trans-national dimensions. Rather than being lead actor, the LRA appears to be one amongst many.

Chapter 4 therefore confronts directly the argument that this is primarily a war between LRA and Government of Uganda, first through a consideration of the nature of the LRA, then through a review of the gap between the Government's stated intentions and actions. The LRA is seen as having both a certain coherence and an identifiable cause – not least to confront the Museveni government, as part of a rejection of wider processes of social and political change. It is also shown to have been more of a force to be reckoned with than national and international propaganda generally allowed. However, it is also shown to have been inherently self-limiting by virtue of its rejection of ‘modernity’. As an organisation it could in principle have been overcome by military means many years ago, and therefore does not offer a sufficient explanation for the continuation of the war. A review of the Government's approach to the 1994 Peace Talks – often cited as the closest they had come to a non-military solution prior to the peace talks which began in June 2006 – suggests that dealing conclusively with the LRA was never the aim of the Government and that its ‘peace talks’ were in fact a form of war-talk. Chapter 4 concludes that the main targets of Government policy and strategy were broader than the LRA and also extended to the Acholi population. The self-limiting nature of the LRA and the Government's lack of commitment to achieving peace allow the argument that this is primarily a Clausewitzian confrontation between two opposing groups to be substantially discounted, and suggest that the confrontation between LRA and Government, though real, is limited and is more important in its function as a disguise for a deeper process, namely social torture.

The following three chapters, which focus on the objective and subjective experiences of the bulk of the population in the war zone in Uganda, particularly in the protected villages, provide the evidence for this argument. They show how, in the name of protection, the population experienced on a mass scale, the key elements of torture, most notably violation (Chapter 5), debilitation (Chapter 6) and humiliation (Chapter 7).

Chapter 8, in reviewing this evidence, argues that in addition to those elements, dread, dependency and disorientation, are also evident throughout the war zone. In exploring these impacts it also becomes evident that while the LRA and Government were the two most visible parties to the situation, a multiplicity of other actors were also involved with differing levels of visibility and with different ways of making the situation function for them. Perpetrators, complicit bystanders and victims are all in place.

At the most mundane level the functions relate to the petty spoils of war-related corruption and the internal momentum of the ‘aid industry’. At a more important level they relate to the shifting balance of economic and political power within and between states in the post-cold war era of globalisation. In this context social torture supports entire processes of social and political change, and here again