Presidential role

SSR is unrealistic primarily because presidents dominate their police by virtue of the nature of their regimes and the force of their personalities. Even though most of the countries referred to here incorporate accountability into their security governance, such accountability is meaningless. Compare Zimbabwe, for example, where President Mugabe legitimises his personal survival strategy in terms of a people's democracy, with Kenya, where President Kibaki has no constitutional obligation to consult officials or to disclose the nature of his instructions to the police. Even in Ghana, where governance is relatively transparent, President Kufuor chooses the members of the Police Council to which his commissioner is formally answerable.

In theory and in practice presidents have complete authority over their police. Legislative provisions usually mean they can direct police operations, for example. They also control the appointment and tenure of their commissioners. It is true that presidential nominees are occasionally rejected. For example, Malawi's parliament rejected President Mutharika's nominee in the summer of 2005, forcing him to appoint the deputy inspector general (DIG) as acting chief. Mutharika's nominee, Mary Nangwale (southern Africa's first woman commissioner) had been in post for seven months when a narrow majority of MPs voted against her in an open vote. However, the move was seen as a symbolic opposition show of force against the notoriously corrupt administration, rather than an indictment of Nangwale's capabilities. But this is rare.

Presidential attitudes to the police can only be guessed at, but most presidents probably regard the police as little more than technicians capable of dealing with crime. As a Nigerian Senate spokesman said in the aftermath of several political assassinations in Nigeria in the summer of 2006, the State Security Service (SSS) deal with ‘issues bordering on security intelligence, but (tackling) crime is strictly the work of the police’ (Daily Trust 2006).Footnote ⁴ Presidents use special units to deal with important matters, and never rely on police units for their personal security. Most have alternative policing resources. Kenya's Kibaki, for instance, has a separate secretive police agency, the Administration Police, which answers to him by way of presidentially appointed district commissioners. Its sole purpose appears to be that of bolstering presidential resources.

The police's secondary status is reinforced by the fact that unlike the military, they rarely have access to resources they can control, or build power bases to rival military or civilian rulers. Unable to operate as independent political actors, they attach themselves to other groups, hoping to attract favours and resources. Despite this, the police remain a core security actor and presidents rarely ignore them. Presidents do not want an effective or efficient police answerable to parliamentary committees or judicial enquiries (some have committed so many crimes that they cannot afford to), but they value the police as a tool for enforcing political decisions, maintaining order, regulating activities and regime representation. Commissioners are a president's point of access to the police institution.

Commissioners are presidential agents of political domination, but they must still take their place in an environment in which security governance, like government more generally, is a family business; commissioners may be career officers, but a president's relatives usually hold the important posts of interior and justice minister. The traditional preference for strong leaders and Big Men who provide for their kin may help to explain this. Thus Mugabe promoted his close relatives to security posts in parliament after Zimbabwe's March 2005 election (Independent Online 2005; see also Chabal Reference Chabal1986: 37; Daloz Reference Daloz2003). Indeed, Mugabe's approach to governance, with its emphasis on loyalty and patronage, is more typical of police governance in Africa than anything promoted by donors. Compare the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) where governance also relies on clan manoeuvres and family members. In 2001, Joseph Kabila Snr appointed only those whose survival depended on him: the police chief and the general in charge of Kinshasa's forces were brothers-in-law, while the ministries of the interior and justice went to cousins. As ever, the police were not involved in protecting Kabila's presidential palace – that unit was recruited exclusively from his hometown. That a president should appoint and control a commissioner makes sense in such a world.Footnote ⁵

Commissioners' roles

Little is known about the role, background, and political or administrative functions of commissioners. There are no systematic comparisons of their social origins, career paths, rewards, or philosophies of policing. There is no analysis of how they exert their agency even though ‘the fundamental problem … in Africa … has been to project authority over inhospitable territories that contain relatively low densities of people’ (Herbst Reference Herbst2000: 11). Similarly, policing is concentrated in urban areas, yet we do not know how commissioners understand territorial policing in cities such as Lagos or slums such as Nairobi's Kibera. This matters because in many cities the struggle for public space is a defining feature of inter-ethnic relations (Adetula Reference Adetula, Simone and Abouhani2005: 208). The ways in which commissioners manoeuvre through ethnic-based politics are not known.

Commissioners' relations with their rank and file remain a matter of anecdotal assessment. Their allocation of resources and operational directives affect the working conditions of their officers, yet their influence appears to be limited. Take the case of the then Nigerian IG, Sunday Ehindero, whose 2005 annual report noted that ‘It is disheartening to see Policemen live in a kennel … The conditions in some barracks are, to say the least, nauseating’ (Nigeria Police 2005: 26). The situation remains much the same two years on. He also changed the motto of the police. ‘To Serve and Protect with Integrity’ is now written on the side of many police vehicles, yet most of Nigeria's police remain brutal and dependent on ‘community generosity’ (i.e. the tolls of N20, or £0.08, collected at check points). Ehindero repeatedly states that the rank and file do not carry out his orders (Vanguard 2006).

Notwithstanding this, most commissioners have a high public profile. Their names appear frequently in newspapers such as Kenya's Kenyan, Nigeria's Guardian, Sierra Leone's Awareness Times, South Africa's Mail & Guardian and Uganda's New Vision, especially when they fail in some way. Others attract attention because of their international profile and involvement in domestic politics. Jackie Selebi, the civilian national commissioner of the South African Police Service since January 2000, and current president of INTERPOL falls into this category.

Military men

African policing has a tradition of paramilitarism. This is evident in the ranks, discipline, uniforms and drill training in use since independence. Thus Tanzania's Gen. Omar Mahita is a career policeman despite his rank, as is Lt.-Gen. Lukas Hangula of Namibia, while Nigeria's Mobile Police (Mopol) squadrons have access to helicopter gunships and armoured personnel carriers (APCs).

The deterioration in security in even relatively stable countries arguably requires such a response. Accurate crime statistics are not available, but most commentators believe there has been a marked increase in armed robbery and violent crime throughout the continent, and a corresponding decrease in public confidence in the police. Several presidents have acknowledged the extent of the problem by appointing senior military officers as commissioners – in Kenya and Uganda, civilian commissioners were replaced by one star military officers who were then promoted to two star rank. Two appointments may be data points, rather than a trend, yet they suggest the distrust with which presidents view police competence, and also the relative unimportance of the police vis-à-vis the military.

African militaries have traditionally had a strong internal security role, but today's involvement is different from what it was in 1971 when the Ghanaian parliament conferred policing powers (including crime detection) on all members of Ghana's armed forces above the rank of sergeant. Take the case of Uganda.

Politicisation

Militarisation is important, but the major theme affecting police governance is politicisation. This affects every commissioner. It influences the intimidation to which he and his officers are subject, the length of his tenure, and the manner of his retirement or dismissal. Most politicisation is overt. Sierra Leone's IGP, Brima Acha Kamara, may have argued that his police's ‘neutrality and operational independence’ was evident in the 2006 elections, but blatant politicisation is more usual (Awareness Times 2006). In Nigeria, for example, Obasanjo has had three inspector-generals over the last eight years. The first, Musiliu Smith, was removed from office because he displeased the president, while his successor, Tafa Balogun, was forced to resign by Obasanjo on the basis that he had stolen US$98m. In reality, Balogun (who had been IG for nearly three years, and in the police for more than 28 years) was probably sacrificed to appease donors.

The more usual pattern is for commissioners to be retained while useful, and dismissed after offending their presidents in some way. Thus Ehindero should have retired on reaching the mandatory age of 60, but Obasanjo evidently found him useful and twice extended his tenure. In contrast, an angry President Mwanawasa of Zambia dismissed Zunga Siakalima in July 2005 for delaying the arrest of an opposition leader, and questioning the legitimacy of his verbal orders.

A comparison: Ghana

The relative importance of environmental and personality-based variables in police governance is as evident in Zimbabwe as it is in Kenya. So too is the gulf that exists between liberal ideals and African realities. Elsewhere the relationship between presidents and their commissioners is seemingly less politicised. Ghana is a case in point.

Ghana is widely seen as a model for political and economic reform.Footnote ⁸ It is well administered by regional standards, and has shifted from authoritarianism towards a more accountable system; the Ghanaian model is about the reinstatement of institutions, the rule of law and press freedom. Its police acknowledge democratic precepts: they are a service focused on forming strategic partnerships with the public in the fight against crime. In other words, the situation in Ghana suggests that reform in a relatively democratic policing environment can make a genuine difference to police standards and norms. Nonetheless, Ghana shares certain similarities with the examples discussed above. President John Kufuor may have succeeded Jerry Rawlings in a peaceful, democratic transfer of power in 2000, but he also inherited the results of Rawlings' heavy investment in a compliant security sector and parallel security organisations, with a concomitant increase in the role of security forces in politics. Ghana's military retain influence, while the country, like much of West Africa, is experiencing increased levels of violence; small arms, gangs and private security actors proliferate. The press enjoy a high level of freedom, but corruption and accumulation are evident in politics. The possibility that democratic styles of governance are used primarily as a strategy for gaining and maintaining political influence is strong. How, then, are Ghana's police governed? What is the role of the IG vis-à-vis Kufuor? To what extent are the police subject to political interference?

The appointment and role of Patrick Kwateng Acheampong, Kufuor's current IG, is informative, particularly with respect to the location of influence within the institution. Acheampong is a legally trained career policeman with international experience who personifies the ‘professional’ standing of senior officers advocated by liberal models. Born in 1951, he was a regarded as outstanding cadet of the year 1976 at the Police College. Educated at the Universities of Ghana and Exeter (UK), he served as a public prosecutor and the commander of several districts and a region before becoming a deputy commissioner at the National Police Headquarters in Accra. A member of a UN peacekeeping mission to Bosnia in 1997, he became commandant of the Police College in Accra, 1998–2001, and director of Ghana Police Service's Criminal Investigations Department, 2001–02 (Ghanaweb 2005).

The criteria for his appointment included the confidence of all the security agencies, ethnicity (this was to ensure that the IG's position did not become the property of any particular ethnic group), operational efficiency and effectiveness, and a commitment to deliver the Ghana Police Service's (GPS) constitutional mandate. Age and the number of years left before retirement played a part too; successful candidates are expected to have at least three years to serve. This is in line with the government's stated desire to ensure long-term planning and development of the service.

According to Accra newspapers, the appointments process was orderly but accompanied by intense lobbying as government and party functionaries promoted their favourites (Daily Graphic 2005). A short list of six candidates was drawn up in early March 2005, all of whom were senior career officers: two deputy IGs (DIG), one of whom was Acheampong; the commissioner in charge of operations; the CID director; the commissioner in charge of research and planning; and the deputy chief of police of the UN Mission in Liberia. On the other hand, at least one had achieved rank as the result of political gesturing. This was reputedly the case for Acheampong's fellow DIG, Mrs Mills-Robertson, a Fanti barrister, who was in charge of courts before her appointment.

In the event, Kufuor appointed Acheampong in consultation with the Council of State when IG Owusu-Nsiah retired at 60. Judging from his predecessors' record, Acheampong will serve out his tenure. Since the early 1990s, IG tenure has varied from J. Y. A. Kwofie's six years to Ernest Owusu-Poku's six months in early 2001. Kufuor inherited an IG, Peter Nanfuri, who had been in post since 1996, replacing him with first Owusu-Poku, and then Nana Owusu-Nsiah, a 57-year-old legally trained career policeman of some 25 years standing who was also a traditional ruler. All since Kwofie were serving commissioners, and none stayed beyond their allotted period of office.

Acheampong's working relationship with Kufuor is difficult to assess. The governing body of the GPS is the Police Council, which advises the president on matters relating to internal security, but Kufuor exerts considerable influence over this, for he personally appoints its chairman, its two GPS members, and two other members. Further, he appoints the Council's additional members, who comprise the minister of the interior, the IG, the attorney general or his representative, a lawyer nominated by the Ghana Bar Association and a representative of the Retired Senior Police Officers Association (Aning Reference Aning and Karikari2002; Atuguba Reference Atuguba2003).

How then is political influence exerted over the police? Relations between Kufuor (who won a second term in December 2004) and Acheampong appear relatively non-politicised, but this has more to do with Kufuor's personality and interests than institutional factors as such. Kufuor, a 68-year-old devout Roman Catholic and lawyer who previously held positions as deputy foreign minister and as secretary for local government, has made economic growth a priority, and has taken a leading role in mediating regional conflicts.

Regardless of this, there have been many instances of political interference, though most relate to the release of suspects by police headquarters and government officials, rather than to overt involvement by Kufuor. The issue of political interference in the police arose early on in his presidency, and has surfaced periodically ever since. For example, it dominated some sessions at a 2002 workshop discussing reform priorities for the police, prompting the then IG to insist that it was wrong to think that the IG must satisfy ‘the whims and caprices of politicians’ (Addo Reference Addo2002: 16). He stated that the IG should act as the Police Council's implementing agent, with the government's role confined to funding (ibid.: 18). But presidential nominees effectively fill the Council. Significantly, the Ministry of the Interior, which should submit an annual report to parliament on police performance, last did so in 1970.

This is noteworthy because an IG's role as the link between presidents and the police as an institution means that influence and authority are concentrated in his office. Even so, the location of power within the institution is more nuanced than this suggests. Admittedly the GPS's command structure consists of a centralised and hierarchical placement of schedules, reporting procedures, departments and units that privilege the IG. Based at the police headquarters in Accra, he is responsible for the day-to-day administration and operation of the 17,000-strong service, and is assisted by two DIGs (responsible for administration and operational matters respectively, though neither have detailed job descriptions) and a headquarters management advisory board. Senior ranks curry favour with him. He in turn must operate in an environment that is riddled with corruption. Not only do officers pay bribes for transfers or places on well-paid UN peacekeeping operations, but also politicians and their friends expect favours. Inter-departmental and inter-sectoral corruption concerning, for instance, the adjutant general's department and the prison service is common. What is more, the over-concentration of power in his office hinders decision-making, encourages inefficiency and limits his influence. In short, Ghanaian IGs, like their peers elsewhere, are confronted with bureaucracy, institutional inertia, institutional incapacity and inadequate resources. Many posts in the GPS lack clear lines of authority, let alone accountability.

The consequences of this for Acheampong were quickly apparent. Like his predecessors, he attempted to stamp his authority on the GPS; every IG develops his own guidelines for operational policing. But the obstacles to operationalising these are many. As soon as Acheampong assumed office, he initiated a countrywide transfer of officers (all ranks) who had been at a station for more than five years. According to the police public relations director, some officers had become too ‘friendly’ with locals, so the transfers were part of an attempt to instil discipline and professionalism (Ghana Homepage 2005). Unofficially, however, many attributed the exercise to Acheampong's anger at the criticism levelled – in his presence – at senior ranks by middle-ranking officers (interview 2005). This would be consistent with comparable moves by commissioners elsewhere, for transfer powers are commonly used to punish or stifle criticism; Kenya's Ali also uses relocation as a means to control indiscipline (Kenya Times 2006).

Estimating Acheampong's influence on his underresourced rank and file is more problematic. He sets the GPS's formal goals, which are (according to Deputy Commissioner George Asiamah) building ‘a Police Service that is efficient, effective, incorruptible, accountable, transparent and which above all has respect for human rights’ (Ghanaian Chronicle 2006). But most rank-and-file police, especially in rural areas, think that their senior officers neglect them. Morale is low, and intimidation is common. District commanders are subject to pressure from district chief executives and politicians – they must also respond to the needs of the particular police district that pays for them – while constables feel that discretion is discouraged. Ghanaian policing has much in common with policing elsewhere.

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In 1969, Christian Potholm (Reference Potholm1969: 142), whose work represents the first attempt to understand African policing as a coherent whole, observed that the police, as an institution, were ‘consistently involved in the output side of the political process’. He listed their functions as the maintenance of order, paramilitary operations, regulatory activities and regime representation. In other words, he argued that police enforce decisions taken by the political elites to whom they are accountable (ibid.: 157). This remains the case. Despite significant shifts over the last two decades, policing remains an expression of presidential preference, and the key variable in police governance is a president's political calculations. Similarly, the main constraints on an IG's power are political. This is not to argue that police reform and a relatively democratic political environment cannot make a difference, or should not be attempted even where police establishments remain politicised and subject to presidential control. Rather it is to suggest that similar patterns of manipulation and response are identifiable across sub-Saharan Africa.

Taking this as its point of departure, the argument presented here has six elements. First, analysis based on liberal models of police governance is flawed. It assumes that the police can be made accountable to civilian authorities while ignoring the reality that commissioners are accountable to political elites, and are usually co-opted into their networks. Second, presidential control is complete – and usually constitutionally legitimate – with the critical variables being a president's personality, agenda and ethnicity, rather than the nature of the regime itself. Third, the role of commissioners therefore offers an accurate indication of presidential priorities. Fourth, the commissioner represents the primary location of power and influence within the police institution. Fifth, despite this, commissioners face significant structural obstacles. Each attempts to operationalise his power by stamping his authority on police personnel and working practices, at the same time as political imperatives, institutional incapacity and inadequate training and resources offset it.

Lastly, the police are content to be used. Regardless of rhetoric, regime and resources, senior officers rarely build power bases comparable to those of the military. Some (as in Ghana and Zimbabwe) seek to preserve a minimal degree of operational and professional autonomy, yet most appear unable or unwilling to operate as independent political actors; they are typically adjuncts to groups that control resources more directly. When asked in 2004 if they would join trade unions, some low-ranking Zimbabwean police said: ‘Why should we? We are the state’ (personal communication 2005). For such reasons, analysis based on the norms and procedures associated with SSR is incomplete.